Martha, the Priest’s Daughter

She was of a beauty no words can describe. Her charm took your breath away. There was no one like her, for she was incomparable. Her eyes held a depth of mystery for which words failed one. Her forehead was like that of the angel Gabriel. Her smile was like the silent music of the spheres seen under a starry sky in the month of August in this fairyland of the East. Her face was a universe waiting to be discovered and her voice like that of a nightingale lost in its solitude.

Martha was inimitable, unique. Anybody who did not know Martha was from the world outside her region. In addition to her own particular personality and gifts, she had one outstanding characteristic, that of being daughter of the parish priest. In the East, many of our parish priests are married, serving in the townships, the cities and the villages alike, though not at present quite so numerous. Is it a craft that they follow? A profession? A career? Or truly a vocation, a message, a religious mission? This is a question over which one might ponder endlessly, but one thing is certain. The parish priest is one who has sacrificed himself in the service of love, love for his parish and the parish faithful, love expressed in an active and healthy moral presence, setting an example to be followed on the road of faith.

The parish priest stands at the head not only of the parish but of the local community, having the last word when there are problems to be settled. He is like the great, sturdy, spreading oak at the center of the village around which the people of the parish gather and under which the first lessons of community good manners and of intellectual culture are given. One of the services rendered by the parish priest is that of following from day to day the growth and development of the members of his flock, whom he has baptized, catechized, confessed, and prepared for a holy death.

Above all he must pray for them and celebrate for them the Holy Mass in memory of the death and resurrection of Christ. He marries them, buries them teaches them, cares for them, and visits them. So many things to do! Further, unless he is celibate he has also his own family to raise and he must always stay up-to-date.

Now the one we are talking about in this case was a certain Father John, father of a family of four boys and two girls. They lived in a little port not far from Tripoli in the northern part of Lebanon. The inhabitants lived on their daily haul of fish, which was auctioned off in a cooperative. Fishmongers came from far and near to join the bidding.

There was another family that interests our story besides that of the priest. This was the family of Abu Milad, “Father of Christian or Noel”, composed of three daughters and two boys, of whom the elder was named Christian. All these children knew each other well from being at school together and during the holidays they spent their time helping their parents. Fishing is one of the oldest profession and one of the most exciting. The children would play together on the beach or in the square in front of the church, and they would take turns serving the priest during Mass.

Martha and Christian were two young friends, close to each other, and following lessons together in a school in Tripoli, where a bus took the pupils in the morning and brought them back home in the evening. The village was like one big family. Abu Milad was the head of the cooperative, taking care of everybody and serving the village from the kindness of his heart.

A small spring gushing up among the rocks on the beach had been fitted with a pump to provide water for every house and even to allow some irrigation. One small store in the village provided everybody’s needs. Abu Milad, who had a small truck for getting about, would buy sacks of flour, sugar and rice from which the local folk would stock up every weekend. Abu Milad also brought a butcher who would slaughter just one sheep or goat, whose meat would serve all the neighborhood. The whole atmosphere of the district couldn’t have been more friendly.

And now there arrived a third family, emigrants who had gone to Nigeria and came originally from around Miziara further inland, but who had bought land and built a chalet of three floors on the edge of the shore, nearly a thousand square yards on which to spend the weekends. This family of returned emigrants headed by a certain Yusuf Awad had one boy called Bernard and also a daughter. They were extremely wealthy and their residence, just a hundred yards from the house of the priest, stood out among the modest homes of the local folk.

Young Martha used to pass by the place several times a day in her comings and goings between her family and the beach or the church, passing along the Beirut–Tripoli high road.

Whenever Martha passed, a silence would fall when you could hear a pin drop. She was often to be seen in the company of Christian. As we have indicated before, they were in the same class and studied together and there was a firm friendship between them. They passed many hours together on the beach, sitting on the sand or on the rocks and admiring the setting sun, or sometimes helping the fishermen to pick the fish out of the nets. Occasionally they would go to the northern or eastern side among the far-stretching olive groves, or the terraces of fig trees, or the stands of palm trees, or the vineyards, firm in friendship together. From primary school up to the University, Christian and Martha were inseparable and for his part Father John had a soft spot in his heart for both Christian and Abu Milad.

As for the ex-emigrant, the local people respected him but were somewhat suspicious of him and preferred to avoid his company. In any case, most of the time he was absent, either somewhere in the North or in Nigeria. He was said to be in a mafia, a smuggler, for how otherwise could he have made so much money so quickly? Many emigrants gone to Nigeria owned gambling slot machines, games of chance, bars, lotteries, and lotto halls. As soon as they had their wages in their pockets, the poor African workers came to try their luck with the devilish slot machines, so depriving their wives and children of their miserable earnings. With such games it is always the machines who are the winners.

This kind of business does not call for any technical ability or any high degree of learning. In any case, the emigrant in the past was almost always totally illiterate. It was enough to be dishonest and without pity in one’s heart to make money by ruining with such games the poor Africans. But by these means many emigrants in Nigeria had been able to make a large fortune and to build for themselves residences like palaces worthy of the Arabian Nights. Later they could go on to business in industry, commerce, and even politics. In short the ex-emigrants of our story had pockets well lined and let nothing stand in the way of their projects, desires and schemes – little matter the methods, it was only the final results that counted.
But Martha and Christian loved each other with a sincere and gentle love and it seemed that nothing could come between them. They always appeared as a couple, known as such by all the village. They thought of making their future together, having a family, and bringing improvement to the village. They founded a small club for sports and cultural activities which brought together all the young people.

Together they made all the necessary arrangements for public feast-days, ceremonies, mutual help organizations and competitions, bringing life to an otherwise sleepy village. But Bernard, the son of the emigrant, often met Martha in the street in front of his residence. He was as it were thunderstruck by the sight of her, refusing to leave the place, to go to his family’s other home in the North, or to travel to Africa to work beside his father and gradually take over his father’s business. He remained as if rooted to the spot, a hundred yards from the house of the priest, impatiently waiting for Martha to pass by. As soon as he saw her appear, he would go down into the street, gazing at her and greeting her, wanting only an excuse to draw closer to the innocent Martha, who answered back with her winning smile and her candid expression. As for Martha’s figure, I have not even tried to describe it, but I can simply say that her proportions, her line, were those of a goddess on Olympus, a breath from Paradise.

Poor Bernard, who had never before been inside a church, since church-going was an activity that made up no part of his family’s routine, now came every day to attend the parish priest’s Mass in his desire to draw closer to Martha and to lose himself in her world. But Bernard’s father Yusuf, the cunning emigrant, saw that he risked his son being taken away from him and finally guessed that the cause lay in some affair of the heart. He watched Bernard closely, his movements, his whole life, and suddenly it dawned on him that the person of Martha explained everything. He was convinced that Bernard was trapped in Martha’s snare. And why not? She was beautiful, cultivated, friendly, all one could desire. He decided that, all things considered, the time had come to act, to play his hand.

The artful old fox called his son. With great seriousness he explained to him that he was of an age to marry. He should not make the stupid mistake of his father and leave it too late. He should find a girl who suited him, and take her as his bride with him to Nigeria. Young Bernard felt himself as if waking up from a dream with the ground now more solid under his feet.
The very same day his father sent a message to the parish priest that he wished to see him. Arriving at the priest’s house and seeing Martha and Christian sitting together there, he reacted with all his malice and craft. He told the priest that he could not stay more than a few minutes; his son Bernard was leaving for abroad the next day or in a week’s time at the very latest. Meanwhile Bernard looked at his father and wondered to himself what was happening, for this seemed to have nothing to do with the original purpose of the visit.

The emigrant then hailed Christian with great warmth and friendliness, saying that he was interested in the young, and then asked him questions about the club, about what was going on in the village, and so on. He wished to show that he did not act out of personal interest; he had his house in the North and came to the village only for occasional weekends. But he would like to help the village and to bring about some improvement. On the spot he offered a thousand dollars for the restoration of the church and a thousand more for the club, with the promise of further help to come.

“The purpose of my visit,” he went on, “is this: I need three your people to help me in my business in Lagos. I have found two such young men in the North, but prefer to find a university graduate if possible for the third. I would take him on for four months. If he is happy and satisfied with the work, we might agree on an indefinite period; otherwise, he will be able to return home. I have come to ask you, Reverend Father, to find me somebody suitable among the young people here, somebody who can be sure of being very well paid.”

Christian seemed to be showing interest and Martha felt her heart beating. Yusuf continued:: “I’ll be back shortly, Reverend Father, as soon as you find somebody, so I can arrange the passports quickly. As for the visa, I’ll get that in no time. Your young man will travel with the two fellows from the North. I have a soft spot for this village and would like to be of some help.”

Once they had left, Bernard said to his father, “What’s this you have done? We came for Martha and not to get employees!”

“Shut up, you idiot!” answered his father, “Didn’t you see Christian snuggling up close to Martha, sign clear enough that they were fond of each other? You now must go up North and be out of sight until Christian leaves, for I am sure and certain that it is Christian whom the priest will suggest to work for me.” It was only then that Bernard discovered fully how sharp and artful his father was. He obeyed his father and went off to the North with his memories of Martha as his only baggage.

The very next day the priest came knocking at the door of the emigrant to see him about Christian, proposing him to Yusuf to travel with him to try some months’ work in Africa and make a little money. If the situation suited him he could stay on there with such an agreeable boss, otherwise he could come back home. Priest, Martha, Christian, Bernard, all were in the grasp of Yusuf and caught in his snare. His aim was clear: to get Christian a long way from Martha without any problems arising and to leave the way open to Martha for Bernard his son. Yusuf’s plan had been an overwhelming success.

Martha was very upset at being separated from her sweetheart, but at least happy that their future would now be assured. They would remain in contact by mail and by the intermediary of Yusuf. Christian for his part had an uneasy feeling that Martha was being taken away from him and that some misfortune lay ahead. What would all the lucrative work be worth if the price would be the loss of Martha? The last week together was a painful one for Martha, for Abu Milad, and for Christian.

To say goodbye to such a good and helpful son was hard for Abu Milad. But he thought that the boy, a university graduate, could not go on doing the same job as his father in these modern times; he preferred to let his son get launched into business with such an honest neighbor. Everybody shed tears, all were sad and happy at one and the same time. Christian wiped the tears away from the eyes of Martha and promised her his early return for their final coming together. Martha swore that every day she would think of him.

All the same, Abu Milad could not help wondering why Yusuf, during all the ten years he had occupied his chalet, had never greeted the people of the village nor said a word to them. Was he really so kind-hearted? What was going on?

In under ten days the passports and visas were all prepared. The luxurious car of Yusuf drew up in front of the home of Christian, where the parish priest and all the relatives of Martha were present for a last farewell.

Martha and Christian had spent the previous day together on the beach among the rocks, on the warm, clean sand. Christian admired Martha for her beauty and complexion; everything about her was in perfect harmony. They hugged each other and shed tears over their coming separation.

The car glided forward and sped in the direction of Beirut Airport. The emigrant still acted as the good, kind, generous father-figure.

Soon it was Christian’s first day in Lagos, port city of Nigeria. Christian was introduced to Suraya, Yusuf’s secretary, on whom Christian would depend. His position was one of coordination and control, overseeing the orderly working of the system in place. He had to assure control over the large numbers of workers and administrative personnel.

Yusuf gave those close to him to understand that he did not really need Christian; he only wanted to get him away from Martha to leave the way open to his son Bernard, who was madly in love with her. Suraya was one person who really understood this man Yusuf and who knew how wicked he could be. She felt for Christian, who was about the age of her own son, and she was always at his side to protect him, for she was suspicious of the intentions of Yusuf. Christian wrote two or three letters to Martha which never reached their destination, for Yusuf tore them up. Further, Yusuf wanted to return to Lebanon to ensure the success of his evil designs.

On seeing him return, people hurried to meet him and present their compliments. Martha in particular asked him if Christian hadn’t sent her anything. “Why should he write, given that he is in good hands. He has no longing for home. He spends all his time with a certain Susanne of Lebanese origin. I think he is taken by her beauty as they never leave one another. He is so well off there, so happy, that I don’t think he ever wants to return to Lebanon. This is not what we agreed to to begin with, but Christian is such a good employee and runs his section so well, that one day he might be able to set up his own business.”

From time to time Yusuf glanced at Martha as if himself completely unconcerned. For a moment she believed what she had heard; she went off and ran down to her favorite spot among the rocks and the sand, under the warm sun and the deep azure sky. After sobbing awhile, she calmed down and said to herself that this Yusuf was a big liar.

Then a few days later it was Yusuf himself who sent word that he would drop in on the priest and the same evening arrived with his son Bernard. Bernard drew from his pocket a small box and offered it to Martha, who absolutely refused to accept it. It was, however, a diamond solitaire worth at least fifteen thousand dollars. Yusuf put in, “We are neighbors, almost relatives; we must see each other more often and you, Martha dear, I consider as my daughter. Take this little gift from my son as an emblem of friendship, it’s just a souvenir.”

At the insistence of the priest and her mother, Martha accepted the solitaire. “She is taking the bait,” said old Yusuf to himself. Then aloud, “We invite you to come and have a drink with us, any evening that suits you.” So it was that the two families drew closer together and there were good relations between them. But deep within herself Martha remained obstinate. She was not convinced by what was going on, feeling still so close to Christian and in love with him. She refused to give in and prayed to the Virgin of the Rocks to come to her aid, finding herself alone in opposition to all those around her. The priest was happy to have Yusuf as a friend and to see Martha showered with precious gifts, as necklaces, bracelets, broaches and gold fell upon the innocent girl like rain. The day finally came when Yusuf told the priest about the desires of his son Bernard, adding that he himself would be happy to have Martha married to his only son. But Martha flatly refused, saying that she wished to finish her education and that at present she was in no hurry whatsoever.

Faced with this obstacle, Yusuf preferred to wait and go back to Nigeria, but this time with the intention of finishing with Christian once and for all. When he reached Lagos, Christian came and asked him if he had any news. Once again, Yusuf had torn up all the letters that he carried from Martha. His secretary Suraya felt anxious about Christian and suggested to him that he should move away somewhere and disappear.

One day Yusuf told his secretary to order two of his men to come for a meeting. This was interrupted by a telephone call and Yusuf absent-mindedly left his extension open when he left to answer it from outside. Suraya could overhear the plot being hatched and understood that the two Africans present had a mission, that of drowning Christian in the river Niger in a supposed car accident. She ran to Christian’s office and begged him to run away, to disappear, as Yusuf was giving orders for him to be killed. She also gave Christian all the money she had on her, some four hundred dollars. Christian then realized the scenario of which he was to be the unwilling hero. But he did not have his passport with him as this had been taken by Yusuf. He embraced Suwaya to thank her and wasted no time in getting away.

He went down in the street, and jumped into a bus that was leaving for Aba in Biafra. He had no document on him and no luggage. But seated in the bus he saw a priest in white, evidently, a Dominican friar. He sat down next to him and wrote on a piece of paper, “Reverend Father, my life is in danger. There is a plan to do away with me, please help me.”

“What is it all about?”
“My boss wants to get rid of me. Give me shelter for just two days, the time I need to arrange my flight. Please! I am a Maronite from Lebanon.”
“I have been to Lebanon twice,” answered the priest. “At the terminus stick close beside me and follow me.”

At Aba, the bus stopped. The journey had passed off well. The Dominican now strode on ahead until they reached a large gateway guarded by an African gatekeeper, to whom the Dominican announced that he had come with a friend. This was in fact the residence of a Belgian acquaintance of his, an industrialist and businessman, a certain Pierre Lesueur who came out to greet the priest and straight away extended his hand to Christian. “Here, m’sieur Lesueur,’ said the Dominican, “I want to find a job for my friend Christian who has to stay well away from Lagos for reasons of safety, any kind of job, even as a simple workman.”

This Mr. Pierre ordered his driver to put Christian down in his premises in the industrial zone. There Christian soon got the hang of his work, with his experience, abilities, and honesty. Pierre took to him and put him in charge, making him director of a factory extracting oil from sunflower seed or from soya bean which was then put on the market.

Three years passed during which Christian dared give no sign of life and kept strictly quiet for fear that Yusuf might cause trouble to his parents or the priest and to Martha. Meanwhile back in Lebanon Martha gave Bernard to understand that she could never love him but under the pressure of her relatives accepted a marriage that was to remain unconsummated. She was like a tigress that had lost her cubs. Bernard did not dare to go anywhere near her. A marriage that remained unconsummated? The poor husband became more and more drawn in on himself, melancholic, irritable and sick. He no more left his house and even Martha felt pity for him, without giving way an inch, however. As for Yusuf, caring little about other people and entirely selfish, he was concerned only about his business. The affair of Bernard was just one more deal like any other.

His own daughter took drugs and died as the result of an overdose. The emigrant’s own wife dropped out of the picture too, as all the great wealth brought no happiness. After a long nervous depression, Bernard also died.

In Africa, meanwhile, a boiler exploded at Calabar not far from the frontier with Camaroun in a factory belonging to Lesueur. Christian had to go to the scene of the accident immediately, where a poor African had been killed. Christian was given his personal belongings and found that he was a Somali. He pocketed his passport, now useless to its original owner, and said, “I need only replace his photo by my own and I become Hassan Sinno, with an identity that will enable me to move around.”

He went to Lagos by air and called up Suraya to ask about Yusuf. ‘He is in Lebanon,” she answered. He told her that it was Christian speaking and asked to see her. She was deeply moved and Christian threw himself into her arms and knelt at her feet, for he owed her his life. He told her about his recent doings and she told him about Yusuf, about the death of his daughter, the failed marriage of Bernard, and so on, adding that Yusuf’s men had been a long time looking for him. Christian asked her to get him his passport, which she found in the drawer where Yusuf kept his personal documents. She was secretary and department head but her husband was an associate of Yusuf. She gave Christian what he wanted and they embraced each other in the hope that one day they would meet again.

Christian went to the Lebanese Embassy in Lagos to have his passport brought up to date and then returned to Aba to inform his benefactor Pierre that he wanted to go back to Lebanon and would return in a few months’ time. Christian now had enough money and was comfortably well off. Ten or eleven years had gone by since our two lovers had sworn fidelity to each other and seen a bright future before them. Eleven years without any news, without any letter, only a complete blank! Christian realized that there had been changes affecting the village, the church, the parish priest and Martha.

And now you may well wonder how I, who write down this story, came to know about all these events. Quite simply, one August 15th I was invited to a grandiose celebration of the Feast of the Assumption in the region of Miziara. I stopped in front of an immense palace of cut stone, a Heliopolis, superb and awesome, with terraces and orchards, worthy of Haroun el-Rasheed and the Arabian Nights. Yet it was lifeless, empty. I was told that the owner had been a racketeer and that now there was no heir, the family having gone to an early grave.

Curiosity led me to investigate and this led me to the fishing village. I found the priest with his head in a venerable halo of white hair and beard. The old Abu Milad was now thin and nervy. The chalet of Yusuf had become a center for all the local activities, and that very night when I arrived there was a celebration there. The one sun who still radiated joy and light was Martha, as beautiful and as entrancing as ever, with no sign of age, still at thirty looking like a Greek goddess.

I had an opportunity to meet Christian but it was Martha who told me how on September 8th, Feast of the Immaculate Conception, when going to the rocks on her daily pilgrimage, she saw somebody sitting where Christian had once sat. Her heart beat fiercely and her pace quickened. Was she dreaming? Was this paradise? While still at some distance she felt tears come to her eyes – yes, it was him! “It was Our Lady, no less,” she explained to me. “Our Lady had answered my supplication, my prayers!”

On seeing Martha approaching, Christian rose up and ran to meet her, smothering her with the kisses that had been interrupted a dozen years earlier. Nothing could have been more deeply moving than this encounter full of emotion and grace, with arms interlaced while they turned towards the village, the priest, Abu Milad, and their friends. Great was the rejoicing.

In fact the palace of Yusuf did have an heir, for Yusuf ended his days in a home for paralytics and in his last will and testament had left all his fortune to his son Bernard, who also had left this world as I explained earlier. So now the heir was Martha, who however had never set foot in the palace, which was now under the care of a gardener, and as for the chalet by the sea, she had handed it over to the village youth club. Now that she had Christian, she had all the wealth in the world.

Martha and Christian invited me into their home where I spent four hours in their company which passed like so many seconds. One is never bored when one is with people whom one loves.

Joseph Matar
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Translated from French: K.J.Mortimer