When I was caught in the storm
My memories of my ‘palace’ home
This is the third in a series of articles on the life story of Lidia Qattan, a writer, columnist and artist.
– Editor
Impressed by her skill father began bringing home other goods not available in local shops for her to sell, and bought her a license to legalize her activity.
Independent
I never saw mother more happy or more proud than when she felt financially independent, because whatever profit she made, it was for her.
The easy rent policy my father adopted for hiring out the larger hall made it a center of activities. On weekends there was dancing and during the week there was a puppet show.
Once I was allowed to attended the puppets show, at the end of the performance one of the puppeteers carried me on stage, sat me next to “Sandron”, one of the main puppet characters and began asking me questions.
I was then three years old, living in my own world and believing that Sandron was actually talking to me.The innocent logic of my answers was making the audience crack with laughter.
Once there was a magician performing in that hall. On the last night of his performance he stressed that no woman would be admitted, but the wife of the marshal insisted to attend disguised as a man.
That night the magician created the illusion that water was steadily flooding the hall, when the water rose above the woman’s waist-line and kept on rising, she began screaming to stop it. In the commotion her husband fired a shot in the air causing a confusion that made the magician lose his concentration. In an instant all the water disappeared.
In the morning the news was all over the village, everyone was adding something to the story.
We also had a troupe of acrobats performing in the courtyard under a large tent, while the performance lasted it was a thrilling experience.
The first and last toy I ever had from my parents was at Canale on Christmas morning when in waking up I discovered a doll on my pillow, began avoiding her. When she started playing with me I was happy, till she tried to sexually molest me; from that day I also never wanted to see her.
Storm
Though my brother and sister were older than me, mother apparently only trusted me to fetch milk from my uncle’s farm about 4km away from home; this made me proud, till the day I was caught in a storm.
On my way to the farm seeing some dark clouds in the sky getting darker I was worried I would be caught in the rain before reaching home, so I ran to the farm earlier than usual to get the milk and to return home before the rain. However when I arrived to the farm the milking was not yet done.
Looking at those dark clouds getting darker I was pressing my aunt to start the milking, but she was a woman of strict habits. Finally when I got my milk the first drops of rain were beginning to fall.
I raced home as fast as I could, hoping I would reach the wooden bridge crossing the stream before it got wet and slippery. Unfortunately by the time I arrived the wind and rain had become so strong that it was impossible for me to cross to the other side without risking falling into the fast-moving water.
The bridge was a simple, narrow wooden structure with nothing to hold on to, some planks were missing and that made it more dangerous for me to cross to the other side.
Holding my warm bottle of milk I was getting soaked wet worrying about the creeping darkness, when a woman living across the stream saw me from the window of her house. It was dangerous also for her to cross the bridge, but she came running, grabbed me, carried me across and took me inside her home.
Quickly she took off my wet clothing and sat me in front of the fire to warm up wrapped in a blanket. By the time mother came searching for me my clothing were dry.
Seeing my mother the woman called her inside and gave her a lecture during which mother stood silent, she had tears in her eyes when we left and till we reached home she never spoke a word to me. From that day she never allowed me to fetch the milk from the farm.
To be continued