Men in the Sun by Ghassan Kanafani

Marwan came out of the shop belonging to the fat man who smuggled people from Basra to Kuwait, and found himself in the crowded covered street, which smelt of dates and big straw baskets. He had no definite idea where to make for now; there, inside the shop, the last threads of hope that had held together everything inside him for long years had been snapped. The last words the fat man had spoken were decisive and final; it seemed to him that they were forged from lead.

"Fifteen dinars, can't you hear?"

"But."

"I beg you, I beg you. Don't start wailing. You all come here and then start wailing like widows. My friend! My dear friend! No one's forcing you to stay here. Why don't you go and ask someone else? Basra is full of smugglers."

Yes, of course Marwan would go and ask someone else. Hasan, who had worked in Kuwait for four years, had told him that to smuggle one person from Basra to Kuwait cost five dinars and no more, and that when he came to stand in front of the smuggler he must be more than a man, and show more than courage, or they would laugh at him, cheat him, and take advantage of his sixteen years.

"They told me that the price for one person was five dinars."

"Five dinars? Ha, ha! That was before Adam married Eve. Turn around, my boy, take three steps, and you will find yourself in the road without being thrown out."

Marwan gathered all his courage and put it into his words. There were only seven dinars left in his pocket, and a moment before he had thought himself rich. But now. was he being treated like a child?

"You'll take five dinars from me and be satisfied, or else."

"Or else?"

"Or else I'll denounce you to the police."

Getting up, the fat man came round his desk, till he stood, panting and dripping with sweat, in front of Marwan. He stared at him for a second, looking him up and down, and then raised his heavy hand in the air. "You want to complain to the police about me, son of a."

The heavy hand crashed down onto his cheek, and the word was lost in a fearful roar, which began reverberating between his ears. He almost lost his balance for a moment, and staggered a couple of steps back. The voice of the fat man, hoarse with anger, reached him:

"Go and tell the pimps that I've hit you. You'll complain to the police about me? "

Marwan stood his ground for a short while, which was enough for him to realize that any attempt to restore his honor was futile. In fact he felt, to the marrow of his bones, that he had committed an unforgivable sin. As the marks of the fingers on his left cheek burned, he began to digest his humiliation.

"What are you waiting here for?"

He turned on his heel and went out through the door. His nose was assailed by the smell of dates and big straw baskets. What should he do now? He had no wish to ask himself the question. Yet he didn't know why he felt some sort of relief; what could be the reason for it? He wanted to distract himself by searching for the reason. Part of his mind was taken up with feelings of happiness and relief, but they couldn't sidetrack him from all the sorrows that had filled his heart in the last half hour. When all his efforts failed, he leaned against the wall. Crowds of people walked past without paying him any attention. Perhaps it was the first time in his life that he had found himself alone and a stranger in a throng of people like this.

He wanted to know the reason for that remote sensation that gave him contentment and rest; a sensation like the one he used to have when he had finished watching a film, and felt that life was grand and vast, and that in the future he would be one of those men who spend every hour and day of their lives in exciting fulfilment and variety. But what was the reason for his having such a feeling now, when he had not seen a film like that for a long time, and only a few minutes before the threads of hope that had woven fine dreams in his heart had been broken in the fat man's shop?

It was no use. It seemed he would not be able to penetrate the thick veil of disappointment that separated him from that distinct feeling which existed, unexpressed, somewhere in his mind. In the end he decided not to wear his brain out, but to occupy himself with walking. But as soon as he left the wall and began to walk through the crowd, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

"Don't be so desperate. Where are you going now?"