I Came From the Old Country

Part I

I Came From the Old Country

The cramped room was growing unbearably stuffy. So many people around me—all of us crowded together in a small wooden safe-house. My relatives had been telling traditional jokes and laughing out their anticipation for the past week. And, by this time, I was tired of it. I guess they were excited about going to America, but I wasn’t. Shoving my way towards the door, I opened it, and stepped outside: some fresh air at last! The night was dark, and the soft lapping of the ocean waves against the sand reminded me of my home. I wanted my mother…

She smiled down at me; my mother was beautiful. “I’m so sorry, darling, but you have to go. If you don’t go to America now, there may never be the chance. Your father and I want you to grow up free, not under a dictatorship or Ottoman rulers, but free in America! Lebanon is changing, Abraham, it’s not what it used to be.”

A tear rolled down my cheek. “I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go alone to America!” My father came near and stood by my mother. He looked upset, like me, and my mother was already crying. “I know I will see you again! As soon as your father and I settle our problems here, we’ll take the next English boat!”

I walked towards my father and stood in front of him. “Father?” I asked.

“Yes?” he replied. A tear was struggling its way out of his eye, but he blinked it back.

“Will I see you again?” I asked, bravely. I knew if my father said “yes” it would be true.

“I pray to God, we will,” he solemnly replied.

I forced a nod. He hadn’t said “yes”. I continued to look up at him, trying to memorize his dark face. I was glad that we had the same eyes, that way I’d never forget them. Years from now, if I looked in a mirror all the way in America, I’d see my father looking straight back at me. “Goodbye, Father.”

“Goodbye, Son.” His tears now fell swiftly down his cheeks as he stooped to hug me for a very long time, both of us trying to wipe away the tears that dampened our faces and the fading light of day. Finally, he let me go, and I turned to Mother. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed as tightly as she possibly could. “Remember, Abraham, God always goes with you. You will never be alone because He will be your protection.” She tried to smile at me and I tried to return it, but my throat wouldn’t let me. I swallowed, “Goodbye, Mother.” She hugged me even tighter, her dark curly hair falling in sweet smelling waves to cover us both. I knew I’d never forget how beautiful she was.

My father cleared his throat, “Hattie, it’s time for Abraham and me to leave.”

My mother looked at me one last time. “I love you, Abraham, don’t ever forget that.” She let go of me, and I tried to stand tall. My dad ruffled my hair and handed me one of my bags. Taking it, I walked towards the door. For the last time, I turned around and looked at my home. The wooden walls were covered with pictures of my family, memories that I didn’t want to leave behind. Could a nine-year-old forget? I hoped I was too young for that.

The sunlight was fading fast as it angled crookedly through the windows and onto a cradle in the corner. “Father, I need to say goodbye again to George.” He nodded, and I put down my bag and walked slowly to where my little brother was sleeping. I held his tiny hand into my own. We looked alike, I smiled. “Goodbye, George. I think that I might see you again.” As he sighed happily in his sleep, I gently released his hand and walked towards my bags and the door. It was time to leave…

I didn’t even realize I was crying until the seagulls echoed my cries in the present. I wiped furiously at my tears. Lebanon was my home! I didn’t want to go to America! Walking further away from the safe-house, I sat down in the sand and hugged my knees. I was scared! I wished that I would stop crying, too. You’d think that tears would end, but I guess they don’t; they just come when you don’t want them, like now. When my father had brought me to this old safe-house thirty days ago, I hadn’t cried. I’d tried to be brave for him because I knew he didn’t want me to leave either. We’d ridden on the horses all night and all day to get here, and neither of us had said much: that’s the way it is when you’re sad.

Finally, we’d arrived at this lonely place, so dismal and quiet. My father had lifted me down from the horse, walked me into the safe-house, and helped me get my stuff situated. He’d given me a tight hug. “You’re grown up now, Abraham. You’re a big boy, and I know you can do this.” I’d nodded again, too numb inside to say anything else. As he’d stood up and walked out the door, I’d realized that I wouldn’t see him again. There’s just a sense that some people get—when they know things for sure and for certain—and I was pretty sure about this. But, I hadn’t cried then, either. There’d been too many people around me. Just like there’d been too many people around me for the past thirty days. I wanted the ship to come.

I looked down at my bare feet. It was nice not to wear shoes, not to be inside. The ocean was calm and soothing, and I liked it. Another seagull shrieked and I began to shiver. It was getting late and the ship still hadn’t come. Standing up, I looked once more at the ocean. It was so dark and big. I hoped the voyage would be safe. It was an English ship, I’d heard. And, in 1889, English ships were said to be sturdy.

I looked closer at the ocean; it was beginning to change shapes, getting bigger in one spot. Something was rising out of the horizon. I walked as close as I could to the waves without getting my feet wet. Squinting, I stared hard. It was the boat! The boat had finally come! I turned and raced towards the safe-house. “Everyone, the boat is here! Come look; it’s here!” The house immediately came to life. People rushed out and pushed one another aside to stare out at the ocean, to see the boat.

“It should be here by midnight,” the owner of the safe-house said. “It’s eleven now, so we have enough time to bring everyone’s luggage outside.”

Everybody headed inside, and I followed slowly. I could see my uncle hugging his wife and sons and daughters in excitement. I knew I should be thankful that so many of my cousins were with me. But, they had their family and I didn’t. I wished my father would’ve been here to hug me. But, I knew that life was over. Just like he’d said, I was all grown up now, and I would go to America.

One hour later, we had all gathered our belongings and were standing around waiting for the small skiff that was approaching the shore. I was cold, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Lebanon. I didn’t know if I would ever see my home again. And, the anticipation around me didn’t rub off.

The first group of excited people climbed into the skiff, but the sailors were very serious. “Stay quiet,” they told us, “We’re not sure if the Ottomans have found out about this escape. We have to hurry.” Everyone quieted down and waited for the skiff to return for another boat load.

Time passed. I had been thinking about my family again when I heard the faint galloping in the distance. The atmosphere changed instantly: excitement to fright. Terror filled everyone’s eyes.

“Is it the Ottomans?” someone asked, “Have we been betrayed?”

“Why won’t the skiff come?” a young mother worried. Although it was night, the moon lit up our faces and there was nowhere to hide. The galloping was getting closer, but so was the skiff. “There’s not enough time for all of us to escape!” my uncle said to those of us still left on the shore. Everyone became even more frantic. I watched as many of them jumped into the ocean and swam towards the boat.

I was scared. My father had never told me what would happen if the Ottomans were to catch anyone who attempted to escape from their control. Remember, Abraham, God always goes with you. You will never be alone because He will be your protection. I hoped what my mother said was true. I didn’t want to get caught by them.

The skiff scraped against the sand just as the many horses and riders came into view at the other end of the beach. The sailors jumped out and began rushing people into the boats. “Hurry!” they shouted. People were screaming. I didn’t know what to do. My uncle was swiftly helping his family into the boat, forgetting about me. Suddenly, a sailor ran towards me and hoisted me upon his shoulders. “Hold on tight, boy! We don’t have much time. I pray to God we'll make it out in time!” I gulped and grabbed at his neck as he raced towards the skiff. He tossed me in first, and then jumped in himself, grabbing an oar. All the sailors were rowing as fast as possible away from the shore. “But what about all the other people?” a women near the back of the boat asked. We turned and looked towards the shrinking shore. The Ottoman Police had arrived and were rounding up our screaming friends. Their cruel shouts darted easily through the thick, salty ocean air, like the knife of pain that simultaneously cut through every heart on that boat. “My sister is left on shore!” a young woman cried, as her husband was trying to comfort her through anguished sobs. The sailors looked grimly at each other; there wasn’t anything they could do. It was a miracle they’d escaped with us. Some of the Ottoman Police were riding their horses into the ocean to catch our boat, but the water was too dark and deep, and they didn’t get far before they had to turn back. I looked away from that familiar shore to the unfamiliar sea. Now, the moon hid behind the clouds, and I couldn’t see the ship until it was almost on top of us. The sailors began shouting orders again. “Climb up the rope! Hurry, we don’t know if they’ll start shooting.” The same sailor who had helped me earlier began to pull me up with the rope.

Finally, we all fell exhausted upon the deck of the huge English ship. It was even bigger than I’d thought. I looked around at everyone standing still, gazing towards the almost invisible shore. Only half of us had made it. The sailor looked down at me, “Go find your family,” he said. “The cabins are the safest place for all of you right now.” I nodded and walked towards my uncle and relatives. The deck was slowly clearing; most had already entered their cabins. My uncle motioned for us to follow him. Turning, I looked for one last time upon the shores of Lebanon, the Old Country. The finality of it was strong, but so was I. “Goodbye,” I said, quietly, and followed my new family into the cabins.