Djinn
وَأَنَّا مِنَّا ٱلصَّـٰلِحُونَ وَمِنَّا دُونَ ذَٰلِكَ ۖ كُنَّا طَرَآئِقَ قِدَدًۭا
Clack… Benge u’ du’
Clack… Shesh Yak
Clack… Shesh eshar’
And so it went, the old man rolling the dice over the backgammon board, calling out the numbers, as tradition required, in a combination of Turkish and Persian words. Seated across from Tarek was his grandson Mohammed. Barely ten now, the child and the old man participated in a family ritual that was as much a part of them as their last name. For hundreds of years the men performed the routine without deliberate intention, almost by default. Little boys and their grandfathers, bonding with each other over a game that was easy to teach and hard to master, as ancient as the Arab culture itself.
This was Mohammad’s first day and it didn’t seem like he was all that thrilled to be at the board with the old man. Tarek, on the other hand, could not have been happier. Seated across from his grandson, he was reminded of his own childhood; and how excited he was when he finally started playing with his grandfather. Sharing the game gave him a sense of camaraderie with an adult, the feeling of being an equal somehow — to challenge and be challenged and eventually either win or loose, but to do so honestly, not like the play wrestling his father and him enjoyed a few years earlier or the chess games that his older brother obviously let him win.
But his grandson’s generation was different. The old man didn’t know if it was because of the influence this strange new land had on the boy, or the effect that other games had on his grandson: games filled with flashing lights and sounds emanating from the television. Sometimes it looked as if the little boy’s soul would be sucked right into the metal screen hanging from the living room wall.
Tarek had his work cut out for him. Speaking to his son about the need to give little Mohammed roots, the boy’s father was concerned that maybe time and technology had robbed him of the opportunity.
“Are you sure you’re up to it? He’s quite a handful you know. Maybe it’s time to put the game to rest for good.” Salim said, trying to be diplomatic and avoiding the truth: that the child didn’t want to sit around rolling dice with an old man when he could be playing video games on line with his friends from school.
“Grandparents are different,” Tarek replied. “We have always had a way with the children, probably because we speak to them as equals, taking from the exchange as much as we give. We are kindred spirits, the young and the old, one generation almost forgotten while the other passively ignored, we are the perfect counterparts to each other. I’ll take my chances with the boy and see where it goes.”
Tarek felt like it was his duty as the grandfather, or Jiddo as was the proper Arabic name for it, to keep this family traditions going, especially in this strange new land. It was the only way he knew to teach the little boy about their people and their rich cultural heritage. He wasn’t going to let it all die at his feet and spend what little days he had left watching his grandson lose himself to a world that was devoid of any culture.
So on this first day, he weathered the storm, playing with a frowning child who turned his head every few seconds out of boredom — glancing over at the clock to figure out when his time in purgatory would be over. Patiently, the old man waited in silence and played, letting the tension of the child’s emotions dissipate with the passing minutes and the clanging of the dice. He knew the questions would come — they always did.
“Jiddo, did I do something wrong?”
“No Mohammed, why do you ask?”
“Dad says I have to stop playing video games in the afternoon now.”
“That’s not all he said, is it?”
“No. He says it’s important that I play tawlah with you.”
“Do you know why?”
“No.”
“I know you think it’s boring, but just make an old man happy for the next few weeks; after that, if you don’t want to play anymore, I’ll leave you to your own games. Do we have a deal?”
He smiled at the little boy, reached out his hand, and held out a piece of chocolate.
“Deal.” Mohammed’s answer was simultaneous with the snatching of the chocolate from the old man’s open palm.
The old man smiled and rolled the dice once more.
“Shesh Besh”
“Jiddo, why do you say it like that?”
“it’s our custom. It’s the dice roll, six-five.”
“Do I have to learn the numbers that way too?”
“No, I’ll take care of that. You just try to get your pieces to my side of the board. Seems simple enough, right? Good luck.” Tarek winked at his grandson and the boy smiled. It was his turn now, his move.
The boy picked up the six-sided ivory cubes and threw them across the wooden table.
As the dice rattled against the sides of the board, a canine’s senses awakened. A mysterious black dog, hearing the noise through the open window of the living room, took the first steps of his journey while the child and the old man continued to play. Every dice rattle created the unique percussive rhythm, causing the dog’s pace to quicken. It sensed the presence of something familiar, something tantalizing — a dormant purpose finally aroused from its slumber. A field mouse crossing the dog’s path served only as a momentary distraction, its paw swiftly administering a deadly blow before resuming its intended path towards the welcoming sound.
When the dog reached the back yard, it lingered there for a few moments and then walked towards an open-curtained window. In the kitchen was a woman cooking a meal and a little baby on the counter, strapped in to a baby seat and chewing on a rubber giraffe. The dog ran around to the other side of the house, the sound of the dice grew louder. It sidled up to an open window and placed its front legs on the ledge, staring directly at the living room table and the old man seated on the couch in front of it. Across from him on the floor was a child o sitting with his legs crossed. The dog scraped its paw against the window screen, making a subtle scratching noise to get the old man’s attention. It worked.
Tarek looked over the boy’s shoulder to the open window across the living room to his left. The shock at what he saw caused him to drop the dice in his hands.
“Jiddo, are you OK?” asked Mohammed.
“Yes” replied Tarek. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. “I guess I’ve had enough for one afternoon. We’ll play again tomorrow.”
“Do you need some help cleaning up the board, Jiddo?” The boy asked.
“It’s OK… just tell mama I’m tired and I’ll be taking my nap on the couch. I’m not to be disturbed until dinner.”
The boy scurried off into the kitchen as the old man picked up the dice from the floor and placed them on top of the backgammon board. He walked over to the window and sat on the chair in the corner, tilting his face towards the window screen.
“How?” asked the old man.
“Did you think I wouldn’t be able to find you old man?” said the dog through gritted teeth. “If the likes of you can descend the mountains of Aleppo and cross the sea to this godless place, shouldn’t I as well?” The dog’s voice was low and gravely.
“What do you know of gods and men?” replied Tarek. “You mocked the idols before Allah and rejoiced when his prophet tore them down and set them ablaze. Then you sought to corrupt the land once more, even though he had no quarrel with you and your kind.”
“No, he did not. But you did, and so did the rest of his tribes.”
“Kassab!” the old man’s voice grew stern, his face showed anger.
The dog smiled. “It is true; I rejoiced when the messenger arrived,” he said, “but that’s when I thought Allah would be a god of destruction, brought down from the heavens to supplant the idols and punish the tribes. But one God led to one people — a united Arab empire. That made my job harder. I liked the lot of you better when you were worshipping statues and paying tributes to inanimate objects.”
“What do you want from me? I am old and tired, past my prime now, no longer a threat to you and your kind. If you must have your revenge, so be it… strike me down! Kill me in the twilight of my years, if that is what will make you happy.”
“Foolish old man, did you think I followed your kin here to exact vengeance on a withered old relic who means nothing to anyone. They all expect you to die now anyhow, don’t they? Any day or week or month — it really doesn’t make much difference whether you live another hour or ten years, your time is gone for good. I have no need to put an exclamation mark on a foregone conclusion.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I heard the little game again, I was curious. It’s a marvelous thing isn’t it? Such charm, such power… you haven’t shared any of its secrets yet — at least not with the boy. It’s a shame really. It is you that has brought me here — you forgot how the sound of the dice travels — how it can summon one of my kind if you’re not careful with it. In your haste to start teaching the boy, you forgot the first lesson your grandfather taught you, didn’t you?”
“Always close the window first, lest you should arouse the Djinn to come find us.”
“That’s right old man, and now I’ve found you — your carelessness has brought me to this wonderful place, where there’s so much for me to play with — so many ways I can corrupt and manipulate. It’s a dream really. This is the only place on earth where they don’t see us coming. I intend to do battle once more with your house. It’s not enough to drive you to the grave old man, I will do so much more than that.” The dog started laughing, the sounds out of its nozzle equal parts cackling and growling.
“Mohammed…” The old man’s face turned pale white as shifted his face towards the kitchen.
“That’s right Jiddo… I’m here for the boy’s soul. And judging from the expression on your face, I’m already ten steps ahead of you and I haven’t even done a thing yet. This is almost too easy.”
“But why him? He’s a sweet boy and doesn’t belong to this battle. He’s of the new — his kind will throw away the good with the bad and only look to the practical. His generation does not belong to this battle any more than you and I belong to this new world. They will do away with the both of us in equal parts, so why waste your time?”
“You’re a fool and a liar old man. How stupid are you, Jiddo? Or are you just trying to trick me?
The dog lifted his neck and tilted his head back, so that his eyes were level with the old man’s. “I see what you’re doing to the boy. Where there are old customs the old ways are followed. This game of yours predates the idols and it’s always been the tool of the story teller and the wisdom bearer. So now I’ve come as well, to disrupt every lesson taught with the game. I will make the boy mine and then he will come and claim you, then and only then will this war between your family and my kind be over. What the boy does after that will no longer concern me.”
The dog scurried off to the other side of the house and began to beg at the kitchen window.
“Look mama, a dog. He’s hungry. Let’s feed it!”
Tarek heard his grandson’s voice and he struggled against the urge to open his mouth and warn them. He was an old man now and steeped in the old ways — traditions that hate progress. They will think you paranoid and senile if you tell them you spent the afternoon speaking with the Djinn, then you will have no hope of bringing anyone over to your cause and this battle will be over before it has even begun.
He walked over to the backgammon table and picked up the dice. It rolled another six-five: Du-Shesh, the strongest possible roll one could make in a loosing situation. He would need this luck now as he prepared to do battle, once more, like so many of his forefathers before him. Only now, it was his grandson who would be on the front line.
Tomorrow there will be time for another game and another lesson. Tomorrow Mohammed, you will begin to know yourself, who you are, where you came from, and what your ultimate destiny is.