Where is Manar?
Book One: The Twin Star
Chapter 6: The Art of Justice (Or: How to Beat Children Without Leaving Marks)
—
I spun around quickly...
The hallway. Same as always.
Dim light.
Nothing.
I laughed lightly and squeezed her nose:
"Your imagination's working overtime today, sweetheart."
I waited for her to smile... but she didn't.
She kept staring at the same spot...
Then she slowly released my wrist.
"Come on, sweetheart. Let's take you to your room to play with Toqa."
—
I was sitting there having lunch when I noticed Alaa had vanished. Mom realized he'd been in the bathroom too long and went to check — but the little cow wasn't in the house. She went out looking for him, and found him fighting with a monkey his age while a donkey tried to mediate.
Picture this: I'm standing there, facing three small animals. Two rolling on the ground, locked in combat. The third has no idea what to do.
I didn't intervene immediately. I left them there, went back inside, and grabbed a small stick I keep for exactly these occasions.
This situation has repeated itself many times. I learned from my mother — when I was young and fought with Maytham, she had a stick like this. It held the magic solution.
The moment they saw me, the kid standing there watching shouted at the top of his lungs, eyes wide, pupils shrinking:
"RUUUUN! SAaaaaaMI's HEEEEERE!"
But honestly? How could I miss out on this kind of fun? Before he could escape, I sprinted and grabbed him by the neck.
"Sami, I — owww owww —" He tried to explain. I didn't give him the chance.
"You little cows. You like fighting? Today we're going to have fun together." I threw him on the ground next to his friends and started swinging.
Dust flew from their clothes with every strike. Their screams rose, mixing with my laughter. My cultured laughter.
As I was swinging, Alaa curled into the fetal position — he's experienced in these matters — and tried to slide away.
But how could I allow that? I kept moving, positioning myself to block every escape.
"Please, Sa — oww —"
"He started it! I didn't — owww —"
"I don't care who started it or what you have to say. Today I'm going to explain why the donkey is king of the animals." I kept swinging, changing position. If anyone tried to escape, I grabbed them and threw them back into the pile.
Why is the donkey king of the animals? Because... because... well, he's wise. Great wisdom. Qualifies him for leadership. Most men would agree.
"OWWWW MAMAaaaaa!"
"OWWW MAMA!"
The others tried to copy Alaa's crying and escape tactics. I thwarted every attempt — made sure each one got what they deserved without hitting any dangerous spots.
I hit them on their Koons, their feet, shoulders, and backs — lightly by my standards. But for them? Hahahaha. Probably not light.
Then a voice came from behind me: "Sami. Looks like you're enjoying yourself?"
I turned around. Sameh — Hadi's brother. Father of one of the kids.
"Hey, Sameh. You know how it is. The magic solution to conflict resolution." I stopped — I'd had enough fun.
The kids were crying now. The punishment was sufficient. No need for real injuries. I'd hit them lightly, no lasting damage.
"Damn. My body still tingles when I remember how your mother used to 'educate' us back in the day. And now you're passing the legacy to the next generation, hahaha." Sameh laughed, remembering our childhood. He's two years older than me — when we fought, my mother would whip us all.
"Man, she really knows how to hit the right spots. Unlike me — I'm still learning. Art takes time to refine, you know?" I shook his hand.
"Hahaha. Those were good days."
"Yeah... they were. Anyway, what are you doing here? Don't you have work?"
"Yeah, but I took leave to register Ahmed. Going back after lunch." He stood beside me.
"Alright, get up — or I'll give you more. I can't believe I used to pull the same moves." I ordered the little subjects to stand.
"Yeah! My ass! You pulled them more than anyone. What's this bullshit you're trying to feed me? Tsk." Sameh twisted his face.
"Come on, Sameh. You were the one starting fights most of the time. I was the youngest — I had to prove my courage or lose my place in the group."
"Damn you, damn the group, and damn that crazy friend of yours. We were just kids. We didn't have these kinds of schemes." Defensive. Unconvinced.
"Yeah, yeah. Tell that to the guy who tried to boss me around using the 'I'm older' excuse." I imitated his voice.
"Doesn't matter. We were kids. You and your friend were the alleged guard dogs of the group. Most of the problems came from your constant barking. Tsk... Alright, you little subjects — get up. Enough fake crying. Don't think my punishment will be as light as Sami's. I'll smash your heads."
"Dad! Alaa started it!" Sameh's son cried.
"Doesn't matter. You all deserve it." Sameh threatened the kids.
"So what brought you out at midday?" I glared — fixed my eyes on Alaa. "Weren't you eating lunch a moment ago?" I couldn't believe this rat. How long did he need to escape and start a fight? I swear it hadn't been ten minutes. Maybe five.
"I... I... owww... hhhh..." Alaa fake-cried.
You know? This doesn't fool someone with my acting experience. I did it before you. Now you want to use my skills against me? You need more practice. I give you three out of five.
"Enough. We're going home now. The rest of your punishment is up to Mom. And don't think it's over — no video games for a week."
Threatening them after the beating? Genuinely enjoyable. The intoxicating pull of power, folks. Now I understand Stalin. Do I need... a mustache?
"But Karrar said Spider-Man is a stupid game. Said he could beat him with his pinky. You can ask Jawad — he was there." Alaa pointed at the others, protesting.
I was too busy with matters of governance to indulge.
"I don't care about your crap. Go home now. Your punishment isn't over." I shooed them away.
—
CREAK
The door of the house where the kids had been fighting swung open. A girl around nineteen stepped out.
She looked worried, searching frantically. Then she saw us — saw the state of the kids. Surprise flickered across her face, then faded.
"Hey, guys. Looks like there's a new problem?"
"Hey, Sara." Sameh greeted her.
"Hey, Sara. You know how it is. Just kids playing." I glanced at Jawad.
"Thank God... Mom and I were worried sick. We searched everywhere. He just disappeared." She fixed her brother with a threatening stare.
"Looks like they planned this when they met at school," Sameh said, putting it together.
Apparently, when my father took Alaa to register, he met the others and they arranged to meet at midday — continue their discussions without any adults around. The little subjects.
"Okay, Sara. Jawad's banned from PlayStation for a week. Go get the console — I'll have my mom store it at our house. And you lot: home. Now. In front of me."
"But Sami is the on — OWWW MAMA!" Alaa tried to protest before I smacked his back. He ran home crying.
He knew his console was getting confiscated too. Tried to defend himself to Jawad. I didn't let him. The other kids saw and scattered.
"You idiot — your punishment isn't over yet. Sami, wait. I'll get the console." Sara went after her brother.
"Alright, I'm out. Bye." Sameh left after Karrar bolted.
"Bye, Sameh." "Bye, Sameh." Sara went inside.
The reason I asked Sara to bring the console: Jawad's parents had three daughters before him. They never say no to him. Spoiled little prince. Why isn't that me?
I'm probably the only person who hits him — if we don't count my mother. If he cries in front of his parents, they cave immediately. It's happened before. That's why I asked Sara — to ensure fair punishment for all.
She understood immediately. After a short wait, she came out with the console.
"Say hi to Uncle Hammam and Auntie Hind for me." I left with the console.
"Okay, Sami. Say hi to your family. Bye." She went back inside.
—
The day refused to end without more headaches. Walking home, I thought about work. I was exhausted — barely slept, stayed up all night, maybe two hours before Manar woke me.
Work time now. Drained.
I reached into my pocket. Pulled out cigarettes.
Cigarettes — true love. Every time I read about their dangers, I consider quitting. Reading, that is.
And who says we'll live long enough to see smoking's effects? Assuming they're even real.
One American bomb in Japan killed more people than cigarettes ever did. And people still love America. Contradictions are more dangerous than smoking.
—
BRRRING BRRRING
Pick up, idiot. Pick up, idiot. PICK UP, IDIOT.
My phone rang, pulling me out of my thoughts. Wait — what the hell is this ringtone? Did Manar mess with my phone again?
No. I recognize this voice. It's that damn kid. Alaa. He must have tampered with it.
BRRRING BRRRING
Pick up, idiot. Pick up, idiot. PICK UP, IDIOT.
What is this stupidity? Does he think disguising his voice when recording would fool me? Doesn't he ever get tired?
A child recorded a voice clip. Set it as my ringtone. Without me knowing.
— End of Chapter 6 —