Vendetta:

Lebanon is a land of mountains, with high peaks and deep valleys and gorges. There are mighty rocks jutting up like temples in which one might easily hollow out a shelter, caves here and there, thousand-year-old trees, and numberless small terraces holding good soil for farming which climb the slopes until lost in the clouds. Wild nature is such that every feature seems like a rampart.

The people are at one and the same time hospitable and tenacious and so it is that they have resisted every encroachment, whether on the part of Ottomans coming down from the North or Arabs coming up from the South. These armed hordes cut down the forests and even the orchards and vineyards, destroying vines, olive trees and carob trees, burning all in their way, and leaving behind no means of subsistence for the people left behind. The district of Kesrouan was deforested ruthlessly more than once, with no trace of life to be seen after the passage of the roving bands.

The Ottoman authorities were always looking for individuals whom they could accuse of wrongdoing, such as failure to pay taxes, to make them serve without pay in the forces of the Sublime Porte. Any excuse would serve. Thus men were driven to become virtual outlaws, living in hiding with arms in their hands. They received help from the villagers, who sympathized with them and gave them protection, for often they suffered from the same problems and might have the same needs.

These outlaws were mostly not evil men. Many of them helped the peasants in their labors, neither stealing from them nor plundering from the flocks of the goatherds, neither looting nor killing. Only a few were ill-disposed and attacked the poor dwellers in the mountains.

Now the events that I am going to talk about occurred in the region comprising the districts of Kesrouan and Jbeil, the latter commonly known as Byblos, lying between the coast and the bare higher slopes. The time was just after the First World War when the regime of the Mutassarefs had come to an end.

Travel along the coast was easy but up in the mountains one could find only footpaths and difficult climbs, in a rough landscape hard to negotiate. But sources of water were abundant and the peasants were generous and offered their bread to the hungry.

At this time outlaws were few and far between and were often decent people, in many cases ones who had become involved in a quarrel through no fault of their own. When a dispute ended without shooting or murder, a settlement was easily arranged; but in the opposite case, if there was a question of gunfire, kidnapping of a girl, violence or insult to honor, the whole matter became far more difficult.

All had a fierce attachment to their honor, their traditional morals and their customs, and in this way there rose up vendettas and a need to avenge, for outrage could be cleansed only by blood, with no easy pardon. Bitterness was long-lasting between individuals, between families, and between villages. There were numberless villages where hatred flowed in the veins like the very blood. Even more numerous were the enmities between different social classes.

The fugitives from the law, the outlaws, were called in popular language tayars, people in flight. Between the years 1920 and 1930 the government spent more than one and a half million pounds (in the Lebanese money of the time) simply on ammunition used in running them down. Most often, it was the gendarmes who suffered most wounded in the clashes. One outlaw might hold out against ten gendarmes and oblige them to withdraw.

Saad, a fine young man, strong, proud, and much admired by the village maidens, was called in to intervene during a wedding in his village of Ghabat, in the forests of the jurd (wild mountain land) of Byblos not far from Akoura, famous for the toughness and vigor of its men, strong, bold and generous.

What had actually happened at this wedding? I cannot say, but what is certain is that a misunderstanding had degenerated into an actual battle between guests come from the village of Hrajel and those of Ghabat.

Saad dominated the fight, pushing back the attackers, knocking them down, wounding them, intimidating them, breaking the arm of one and the jaw of another, acting in effect like a real bulldozer. Seeing one of the attackers drawing a gun, like lightning Saad shot him full in the face. He fled straight away down a path that led into the valley.

What should have been a happy occasion became a bloodbath, until the opponents withdrew to their respective sides. The gendarmes moved in and the local dignitaries, the parish priest, the superior of the monastery and the groom did their best to restore calm, but already mourning, sorrow, and bitterness had struck deep root.

As for Saad, he had disappeared once and for all. This good young man, a model for all, had acted in legitimate self-defense when he fired. Now there was a problem of conscience, and a new life, a new existence, lay before him. Should he give himself up to justice and risk capital punishment on the scaffold? Would he be sentenced to life imprisonment and forced labor? Should he live free but as an outlaw, always pursued by the authorities?

For two days he tramped on, hiding, avoiding human contact and meeting people, until he reached the village of Tartaj lying on the upper sloped of the Byblos district. He turned towards the house of the mayor, who was a family friend. He was well received and was able to tell the mayor what had happened to him from the beginning to the end. The mayor gave him food and drink and urged him to disappear from the village, advising him to go and hide on its other slope where he himself owned a vegetable garden and also a hut which Saad could occupy. This was soon done, for nobody had noticed Saad on the mayor’s premises. Early next morning Saad was already weeding the mayor’s garden and putting aside the nutritious plants for the mayor’s livestock. Saad began to get used to this sort of life and to adapt himself to this out-of-the-way existence. He got to know another outlaw who had passed by the mayor, a certain Abdu el-Kreydi, who expressed a strong wish to accompany him.

Saad finally took leave of the mayor and went with Abdu in the direction of Wata el-Jawz, Ain el-Delbeh and Mayrouba, carefully avoiding Hrajel, which was still in mourning for the death of its son. Saad knew friends of the father of the dead man, individuals who were to be found all around. This region is now known as Jabal Moussa, the Mount of Moses, stretching over some twenty or more square miles and at that time occupied by a number of villages and hamlets and providing pasture for goatherds. When the two men passed fairly close to a tent, they would talk out aloud thinking that somebody might take notice of their voices.

Suddenly a man came out of a small hut who on seeing Saad said to him, “What are you doing here? They are looking for you everywhere. Come in here quick and don’t go out before nightfall. We have been wondering a lot about you. My father said that if you had opened fire it must have been in legitimate self-defense.”

The two fugitives passed five days in this place and Saad was provided with s good gun, ammunition and some grenades. From then on he lived with the greatest discretion. He remained unseen, but he lamented that he was neither thief, nor wrongdoer, nor murderer, nor criminal; he had an unlucky star and was the victim of misfortune. Now he worked with some peasants who had the kindness to protect him. He helped them in the field, built terrace walls, cut wood, cared for livestock, and did some carpentry for his protectors.

He lived alone. He was a religious believer and from time to time went to confession in front of a local parish priest. He had a strong devotion to the Holy Virgin Mary. When the gendarmes came patrolling the region, he would be informed so he could take precautions. He was always assured information and protection, for he had never willfully hurt anyone. During his escapes he met others like him in addition to Abdu el-Kreydi, such as Gerios en-Naccash to mention only one of them, and in particular a certain Murshed Imad whom he had always avoided. Each of these fugitives from justice had his particular story to tell, his reasons and his problems.

Generally speaking, they were truly innocent; there were some outlaws who were aggressive and demanded ransom or stole, but such was not the case here. Most had been involved in absurd vendettas, which demanded the spilling of blood to avenge a wrong, real or imagined. There were many such cases, hundreds of them, a fact which only goes to prove how little Christians have understood their Christian religion, one which imposes pardon as a duty. The story of Saad and his brother is a true one; chance has led me to learn some of the details from firsthand and several of the persons involved I have known personally.

Saad never slept in the same place two nights running. He remembered the happy days that he had spent in his village of Ghabat, and the school, the parish priest, the church, the work of this father in his carpenter’s shop, and much else. He remembered his mother and the tasty dishes she cooked, also the wedding celebrated in his village, the shots fired, how he unintentionally killed a man, how people tried their best to intervene, the pursuit by the gendarmerie, his life always in danger, and the fear of denunciation by traitors and cowards ready to give him away to the authorities for a handful of money.

Saad had become another person; whenever he passed by a church he entered and knelt to implore Christ and the Virgin to come to his aid. Then from one village or hamlet to another, during days spent hidden in the forest, he was also continually in touch with Abdu el-Kreydi and George en-Naccash, and with a certain Rafic from the village of Ashqout who kept them supplied with ammunition. Kind and generous people paid for all the services that Saad, Abdu and Gerios rendered them.

Every two or three months they clashed with the security forces which had ferreted them out. They were sometimes wounded and had to secretly get a doctor or nurse to treat them. There was a price on their heads and they were harassed by the security forces who now had improved means at their disposal such as police dogs and wireless.

Murshid Imad, mentioned above, also an outlaw, took advantage of the fact that he was under the protection of the President of the Republic. He arranged a deal with the authorities, promising to help them attain their ends. He gave himself up as arranged without the security forces having to exert themselves against him. He admitted his guilt, repented, and took up a normal orderly and law-abiding life. Cunning as he was, he thought that the story of Samson and Delilah could be repeated.

He rented a basement room in an old building, though perhaps “rented” is the wrong word. He moved in on the pretext that he would act as guardian for the house and the adjacent garden. He found a servant woman with whom he lived and he acted as judge, chief and upholder of law and order.

Every day Murshid went for a ride around the district on his mare, wearing traditional dress with a Colt stuck in his belt. He rode round the narrow streets of Jounieh leading to the school of the Apostles, through the markets, in front of the arches of the church of Saint John, up the alley in front of the Sisters of the Holy Hearts or the one in front of the Marist Brothers, finally galloping home along the railroad track. He was often stopped by people wanting to discuss their worries and problems with him. The all-powerful Murshid, as a magnificent Solomon wielding the sword of justice, had a solution for everything.

Meanwhile, the area where Saad and the other outlaws could move around became more and more restricted and the thought of being hunted down by the security forces became a nightmare. One morning the death was announced of Abdu el-Kriedy at Douma. The authorities took his remains and handed them over to his family, who took legal possession of them.

Saad, still a fugitive, followed the course of operations. His heart beat strongly as he waited for his turn to come. He knew how Abdu had met his end. A woman of Douma, pretending to be his accomplice, had been paid to poison him.

What difference is there between the scissors used to cut the hair of Samson and a little cyanide or rat poison or pesticide in a can of sardines? Abdu had wanted to eat and had a can of sardines among his provisions. In order to open it he had asked the woman in question for a can-opener or a pocket knife. His pretended accomplice had shown her readiness to help by taking the can, opening it, putting the contents on a plate, and adding lemon juice with some of the deadly poison she had in her possession. So the chapter was closed. Abdu was no more and his disappearance had cost the authorities neither ammunition nor human effort.

Saad had to stay alert. Some months passed and the death was announced of Gerios en-Naccash. How did this occur? I have no idea, for I know no witness. But now Saad found himself alone in this area, one of the most beautiful districts in Lebanon and now devoted to ecological tourism.

Desperately Saad waited for the death that was closing upon him. Should he hand himself over to the forces of law and order to be judged? The uplands were now being pierced by more and more roads and the government had more and more means at its disposal, so now the best place to hide was the heart of the cities!

Before making up his mind, Saad decided to go back to see his friend the mayor of Tartaj. After walking for two days, he found himself again in front of the house and knocking on the door, which stood ajar. Suddenly four gendarmes burst out, for they knew that Saad sometimes came to the mayor. Saad kept his calm and invited them in.

“No, thank you, Mr. Mayor!” they answered, “Has Ephrem Saad come this way?”

“Yes!” he said, “He has just gone off that way!” Saad needed only a few minutes to take advantage of his deception and disappear. He rushed to the church of t. George to thank the Lord for having saved him.

To come back to Murshid, he did not dare to come face-to-face with Saad and for the moment the Security Forces were not bothering about him; they knew that with Murshid’s help they would someday get hold of him, dead or alive. In fact, more than once Saad and Murshid met, but with some distance between them. Murshid did not dare to use his weapon for he knew that Saad was quicker on the draw and a good shot.

So Mushid then changed his tactics. He had a nephew called Hasseeb who was a real rascal, and also unknown to Saad. He offered Hasseeb five gold pounds in the money of the time to shoot and kill Saad. But he warned him, “Be careful! Saad has sharp eyes and is quick on the draw, so he won’t be easy.” Hasseeb watched Saad and noticed that from time to time he slept under a certain oak tree near the hut of a goatherd in order to have a rest.

He found a good opportunity and waited until Saad was sound asleep under the oak tree. He approached him silently as a cat, took careful aim, and emptied his magazine into the head and chest of Saad, who was killed on the spot. Hasseeb immediately fled. The goatherds and peasants ran up on hearing the shots and within ten minutes the Security Forces arrived, but these were hand-in-hand with Murshid.
From now on there were no more outlaws up in the mountains and the jurd. With their new equipment and methods, the security services were vigilant and effective. But killing is not a thing to be considered lightly by the government. It goes against a law imposed by the Creator. In the Ten Commandments revealed to Moses on Mount Sinai and even on the Sumerian and Babylonian tablets of the law, the order not to kill is as clear as the light of day: “Thou shalt not kill; thou shalt deprive nobody of his life!” Life, this flame lit by the Creator, must not be put out. To kill is to deny creation.

Throughout his existence as a fugitive, Saad had never once had in mind to kill anybody, to commit murder. He was simply fleeing his evil luck, his misfortune, the gallows, the darkness of a prison cell, the loss of liberty. It was this that killed him and Saad himself was no more. His father, still alive and a strong as an oak in his old age, arranged for him to be buried at Ghabat. He asked that there should be pardon and prayer and the evil act forgotten, for he knew that vengeance was handed down from generation to generation and regarded as an act of justice.

With Saad put to rest, his father, tearful and overwhelmed by sorrow, brought a bouquet of flowers which he placed on the tomb. He held by the hand his youngest son, born quite recently and practically a stranger to Saad. This little Aziz, only four or five years old, watched and was deeply moved. Everybody thought that the page had been turned and that the whole story had ended with the final prayers to the Lord and celebrations of Mass. But in the mind of little Aziz this was only a beginning.
Aziz refused to show clemency and would know no rest until he had avenged his brother by the death of Hasseeb. For Aziz, Saad, victim of tradition and of his own heroism, was his ideal. Throughout his childhood he collected information and opened a file about Hasseeb, about his house, relatives and village, his work, his timetable, and his friends. Hasseeb was his unique obsession, but by a strange twist of fate when Aziz was barely fifteen years old it was announced in the region that Hasseeb had died after three months of agony.

Aziz was furious. “He should have died by my hand,” he proclaimed, “and not through illness.” However, he knew that the one who had driven Hasseeb to commit the crime was Mushid Imad, Hasseeb’s uncle. “Very well!” he thought and tore up the whole file of Hasseeb to open another on Murshid, noting with the same regularity as before his daily routine, his house, and his friends. He wondered whether he should bring him down in front of his house or wait for him at some street corner as he passed by proud as a peacock on the saddle of his steed.

Every day Aziz examined a Colt that he had picked up at home from his brother. He would examine it carefully and oil it so that it would be in perfect condition when it was required. One Saturday he went into the forest near Ghabat and there placed a target first at ten meters, then at fifteen, and then at twenty, to perfect his aim. He could have become a professional sharpshooter. He was finally confident that he could bring his sights to bear on Murshid and bring him down like a bird. At school he was often in the clouds, with other thoughts than study on his mind. He was more and more certain that it was Murshid who had paid his nephew Hasseeb and urged him to commit the crime, so it was Murshid who had pay the price with his life. Every day Aziz sauntered along the route that Murshid always followed, carefully noting every detail.

After the burial of Hasseeb it was Murshid who received the condolences from a large crowd, into which Aziz managed to squeeze. Although only fifteen years old, he looked like a young man of eighteen, having the body of an adult. He had his revolver under his jacket and counted on passing unnoticed. The people formed a long line to express their sympathy to the relatives of the deceased and Aziz got into the queue and passed in front of Murshid without attracting any attention. Should he pull out his gun and finish with Murshid there and then? Would he be mastered by the crowd? Might the shots hurt someone innocent? Should he wait for an opportunity to meet Murshid face-to-face? All these questions passed through the mind of this fifteen-year old boy. Finally he decided to wait for the end of the week. It was Wednesday now and he resolved to stay away from school from Thursday onwards and wait for his intended victim Murshid not far from the school of the Apostles.

On Thursday he passed the whole day walking up and down wearing his school uniform, but this time Murshid gave no sign of life.

On Friday Aziz sauntered in the narrow streets surrounding the college, his father meanwhile unaware of his truancy.

Saturday being consecrated to the Virgin Mary, Aziz thought he would not do Murshid the honor of letting him die on such a day.

On Sunday it poured with rain all day.

Monday was sunny and bright and in the marvelous weather the muddy ground dried up. Once again Aziz stayed away from school.

On Monday the weather was again fine, with a bright sun. Aziz put on his black school uniform, under which he hid his revolver, and wandered in the alleyways around the school where Murshid was due to pass. It was almost noon when Murshid appeared riding his mare, prouder than Napoleon at Austerlitz.

Aziz sat down on a stone and prepared his weapon unnoticed. Murshid galloped along upright in his saddle and as soon as he came with a dozen yards Aziz jumped on him like a tiger, yelling and firing straight into Murshid’s face. “That’s for Saad,” he shouted, and continued to fire with straight aim into the chest, heart and neck of his victim. The last words of Murshid were, “Bass! Ya Walad! (Enough, boy!)” and he fell down from his mount, which in its fright dragged him some fifty yards.

Aziz fled through gardens, fields and narrow paths to reach the valley leading to the patriarchal seat at Bkerki. From there he crossed the Dog River valley (Nahr el-Kelb) in the direction of Jeita, which he reached next day, never having taken a minute’s rest. He was walking along the road when he saw a truck ascending towards Faraya. He stopped it and the driver gave him a lift. Aziz told him that he had found a job at Faraya in a baker’s and that he was going there to see if the work suited him. The truck driver suggested that if he was not taken on at the baker’s, he could take Aziz on to Baalbek (Heliopolis), from where he came. He said that he was transporting a load of hay for cattle. He was going to stay two or three hours in Faraya, so Aziz would see his lorry and go along with him.”

The driver could see that Aziz was a strong, alert and dynamic young man and he himself owned a butcher’s shop and a store run by his wife and children where he sold fruit, vegetables and general provisions. His proposition was a God-send for Aziz, who replied that the offer interested him should he not reach agreement with the baker. In point of fact he was only too glad to get as far away as possible, and he had with him his identity card and a little money. The first thing he did when he got out of the truck was to go across a field, hide his revolver in an old wall and then fill in the hole. He then bought some bread and a bun as he was very hungry, and quenched his thirst with cold water from a stream. He finally went back to the truck. saying that he would have had to wait two or three weeks to be taken on at the baker’s. Now he was attracted by the offer of working in Baalbek, which he knew only by name.

They reached Baalbek at about five in the evening. His new employer invited him to lie down and rest in a corner at the back of the store. His work next morning consisted of taking some sheep and goats destined for butchery out to graze, and then to lend a hand in the butcher’s shop and the store, cleaning them out and in general acting as if he were one of the household. He would have food and board and receive two Lebanese pounds a day. Aziz had not been in touch with his parents and when his boss asked about them he said that he was thinking of visiting them in a month’s time.

This he pretended to do two or three months later. He took leave, saying that he would be away for two or three days to see his parents and invite them to visit him in Baalbek. He boarded a bus for Zahleh. He bought some sandwiches and delicacies and then passed by the little monastery of St. Anthony’s. He entered the church and spent more than a couple of hours in prayer and silence, with tears running down his face as he asked God for pardon. And why not? Repentance is a feature of the Christian religion and God grants pardon.

At about four or five o’clock in the evening a priest saw Aziz kneeling in the church. Aziz said to him, “Father, I have come from Kesrouan and I cannot spend the night alone. I can pay for a night. Could you tell me of some inn that you recommend?” The good priest had a kind heart and told Aziz that he was welcome to sleep in the monastery with the staff. More tears came to the eyes of Aziz.

In his simplicity, Aziz asked the priest to let him confess. He went down on his knees and told the father everything. The priest invited him to have dinner and asked to be considered as a friend; Aziz could stay as long as he liked and return to the monastery whenever he wanted.

Four days later Aziz returned to his employers in Baalbek. A year passed and in the meantime the Security Forces were actively engaged in a search for the young fifteen-year-old minor. Providentially, one day the head of the Security in the Beqaa, a friend of the priest, told the latter that the gendarmerie were busy looking for a young criminal, a minor, fifteen years old. His name, description, and photos had been communicated to all the frontier posts and to police officers and detectives everywhere.

The priest said nothing but once his informant had gone he took a taxi for Baalbek. Zahleh is half-way between Beirut and Baalbek, and within an hour the priest was standing in front of the butcher’s. He called Aziz, took him on one side and told him that the police were on his trail and that he had better disappear. He gave him the address of a friend in Damascus over the border in Syria and a letter of recommendation to show him. He told his employers that Aziz was obliged to go away for a month or two.

That evening Aziz left Baalbek for the frontier with Syria, and on his way met some smugglers whom he had got to know in the store and who passed goods in contraband to avoid paying Customs duty. Next day Aziz was at Bab Touma in Damascus, staying with friends of the priest who were craftsmen making little presents for sale as souvenirs. This part of Damascus is a tourist site. Aziz stayed in the workshop, where he did not meet anybody, and spent almost a year in the house. The priest kept in contact with him and asked attorneys to study his case to see if the gravity of the charge against him could be reduced.

For most Lebanese, the State does not exist. For them it has no conscience. They consider that the State is something left by the Ottomans, a legacy of injustice leaving each to obtain his rights as best he can. Aziz was now seventeen years old, mature and responsible. For nearly three years he had not seen any of his family, who had however been reassured about him by the priest on a visit to Jounieh. Now Aziz received a telephone call from the priest whom he loved, telling him to give himself up to the law at the frontier. The priest promised to help him and save his life.

All this came to pass. Aziz was handcuffed and brought before the court. He was condemned to forced labor for life, which sentence was reduced to thirty years prison as Aziz was a minor, and twenty-five years of actual imprisonment on condition of good conduct. The pronouncement was followed by shock, cries and tears. But Aziz was allowed to see his relatives regularly and every month the priest came to see him. With a new President of the Republic and a consequent change of Administration, the priest used all the influence he could, through his friends, his acquaintances, and people in authority. As a result the condemnation was reduced to eleven years. Aziz worked hard and was a model of good conduct in prison until he was released at the age of thirty.

He married at the age of forty-five. His first child was a boy whom he named Saad after his brother. Saad junior ran a garage specializing in French cars, mainly Peugeot and Renault.

His workshop was on the road where I have my home in the valley of Eddeh. How did I come to know him? It so happened that I was visiting the citadel of Byblos with some friends, and when we wanted to leave the parking lot my car would not start. An attendant gave me a telephone number and in three or four minutes a certain Saad, a well-built good-looking young man, arrived all smiles. He started the car and then asked me to go to his garage. I said Goodbye to my friends who were with me and wanted to go back to Beirut. I spent nearly half an hour waiting as a customer in Saad’s repair and revision workshop and during this time we got on very well together. Saad told me that he lived in Jounieh, that he had two daughters, and that his wife was a musician who ran an “Academy of Music”. He brought me home and then later took the car to check it again. I went with him and he invited me into his house for a drink.

He told me how his father had killed Murshid Imad in Jounieh about 1950 and I was able to say that I remembered the event as if it were yesterday. He kept repeating about what a hero his uncle had been. For everything I have just told you the source is Saad in the year 2012.

One day I was passing in front of the garage and noticed that it was closed, with a requiem notice stuck on the wall outside. I saw Saad, who told me that his father had died two days previously. We discussed all the adventures of Saad senior and Aziz, which I have summarized very briefly with much omission, for Aziz wandered through several villages before reaching Damascus and later giving himself up to the law. We talked also about how members of this honest family had twice had the misfortune to kill.

At present people are victims of genocide and massacred by the thousand as if it were of no importance. One no longer need flee to the forests and wildernesses. The jungle of alleyways in the cities can shelter all evildoers, but as far as these are concerned one can only say with Victor Hugo, “The eye was in the tomb and fixed upon Cain.”

Joseph Matar
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Translated from French: K.J.Mortimer