The Radiant City Read Online Free Page A

a round brass-topped table on which stands a silver teaset with a samovar that is not real silver. The teaset is the last remnant of life in Damour, of her mother’s good taste and of promises betrayed.
     
    Saida boils the coffee and sets out bread, cheese and oranges. Elias, her father shuffles out of the bedroom, adjusting his dentures. They do not fit properly and they hurt him, she knows, but he is too proud to go without them. His hair sticks up at odd angles and his eyes have dark shadows under them.
     
    Saida worries about her father, who has never found his way in this country, never healed—as though anyone could—from the loss of so many family members. His wife. His parents. His younger son, Khalil. His daughter-in-law, Farida. His son-in-law, Habib. His grandson, his namesake, Little Elias. He walks through the world now, his ear cocked to the cries of ghosts. Nor has he coped with the fall in status. No longer a civil engineer, respected, a landowner—but a café keeper, and less, the old man who sits by the door. She knows he misses the field, the oranges and the sun. She knows he misses being a man who understands his world. He is so often baffled now, sits gazing out the window.
     
    He kisses her on both cheeks, pats her unscarred arm. “Good morning, Daughter.”
     
    “Did you sleep?”
     
    He raises his eyebrows and makes a tsk - tsk sound. “ La. Two hours, maybe three.”
     
    “So go back to bed, Father.”
     
    “Give me coffee. I’ll be fine. An old man’s complaint. A lack of sleep is nothing in this world. Nothing.”
     
    Saida pours the coffee, sweetens it and hands it to her father. He blows on it noisily and then sips. “Good. Your brother sleeps like a drunkard. Tanks could roll through the living room and he’d hear nothing.”
     
    “Is he up?”
     
    Elias makes a face.
     
    “He’s going to miss the bread man.”
     
    “Get him up.”
     
    Saida goes to the door and opens it. “ Yalla! Ramzi! Up!” Her brother lies on his back on one of the two narrow beds, long arms and legs dangling over the sides, his mouth open. She shakes him on the shoulder. Without waking, he reaches between his legs with both hands. Through the thin blanket Saida sees he has an erection and she feels blood come to her cheeks, bringing with it a flush of resentment. She slaps his arm. “Wake up! You’re late again.” His eyes spring open.
     
    “What?”
     
    “Get up, Ramzi. The bread man will come and you will not be there. What is he going to do? Leave the pita on the stones?”
     
    “I’m not your son, Saida. Get Joseph up if you want to bully someone,” he says, but he sits up and scratches his head, a sure sign he’s moving in the right direction. “What time is it?”
     
    “Seven-thirty.”
     
    “Shit.” He scrambles out of bed. “I need a shower.”
     
    “Yes, you do,” she says, wrinkling her nose as he pushes past her.
     
    She goes back to the kitchen and pours more coffee for her father, puts food on a plate for him. “Do we have grapes?” says Elias.
     
    “No grapes. Have an orange. I have to get Joseph up,” she says.
     
    “Are you taking me to the café, or is Ramzi?”
     
    “I’ll take you.”
     
    “The sheets should be changed today.”
     
    “I know, Father. You don’t have to always tell me,” she says as she leaves.
     
    Back in her own apartment, Joseph has not yet stirred. She runs the back of her hand along his cheek. “Wake up. Come on. Wake up.” He moans and turns away from her. “No, no, you don’t. Up. You have to go to school.”
     
    “No school today. Teachers are on strike,” he mumbles into the back of the sofa.
     
    “You are a liar and a lazy boy,” she says, but her voice is not angry.
     
    Joseph tries to hide a smile. “Donkey boy.”
     
    “Yes, walid himar. Now get up or the donkey will bite your ass.”
     
    “Oh, that’s terrible!” he laughs at the pun and rolls off the couch as his mother goes into the