Bisan was waiting.
Breathing, trying to be patient. But nothing happened. Well, everything
happened, but nothing of any significance to be worth a click of the Leica. She
was leaning against a stone wall in Wadi Nisnas, at the edge of the souk. She’s
been here the day before with her Canon 60D digital camera, and shot more than
200 frames. Today, she was here with film – only 36 possibilities. After about
half an hour, she gave in and put the camera to her eye. She stood there like
this for a minute, a statue. Didn’t move the camera, just waited for the people
to walk into the frame. And they did. Over the next hour, she shot 35 frames.
She wasn’t being too picky, nor was she focused as she worked. Her mind kept
wandering back to Muna’s touch.
She was impatient about
seeing the results, but had no other option but to wait until tomorrow to
develop the film. The last photograph has to be different. She studied her
surroundings. All 35 frames were taken with the souk in the background, people
either on their way shopping with just a purse, or of people coming back from
shopping, with plastic bags. Taher told her to pick one spot and use the whole
film without moving. She turned around and faced the other direction, still
standing in the same spot. The view was much duller and less colorful. She held
up the camera to her eye, positioned the St. John’s church in the upper right
corner of the frame, and waited. She had one shot and she wanted it to be
exquisite.
She was just now beginning
to realize what Taher had meant when he said to be patient. There was
absolutely nothing extraordinary about the frame. She felt like a predator
waiting on its prey. However, she was caught unprepared when an ancient man
walked by with a walking cane. Although he was walking slow enough for her to
take the shot, she couldn’t make the decision quickly enough, and the man
disappeared behind the corner. The same thing was repeated twice again: a young
girl who ran by and a man in his forties dressed in jeans and a black shirt.
That’s it, not waiting for any magnificent moment! The next person walks into
the frame – click! She didn’t have to wait long. She was so focused on her
frame that she didn’t even see the woman. All she saw was the form of a woman.
Click. And she was gone. End of film.
It was already dusk when she shot that last frame,
and her hand slightly trembled. But she got the shot at the right moment, just
as the young woman turned her head and looked straight into the camera. Bisan
wasn't sure if she noticed she was being photographed, but it was a spontaneous
moment, one of those that street photographers would kill for.
She had her Leica slung over her shoulder when she
walked in the house. Her father was helping her mother set up the table for
dinner. "New toy, I see," he said in disdain.
Her mother shot him a sharp look, "Leave her
be."
"Why should I? She's not doing anything
constructive with her life. All her high school friends are already finishing
university, and she's still stuck in that musty old shop with ancient
Taher."
Bisan ate in silence, since her father was talking
about her as if she weren't there. She wouldn't get in the same argument with
him for the hundredth time. It was useless to try to explain to him that
photography for her was so much more than a passing hobby, not to talk about
the fact that the Leica was definitely not a toy.
The alarm clock went off at 5:30 sharp. Although
she didn’t get much sleep, Bisan jumped out of bed and was out of the house by
6:15. She walked the short distance to Kamera in brisk strides, passing on her
way a young woman in a sweat suit, a hoodie partially covering her head,
jogging up the street. Who in their right mind would abuse their body in such a
way? Bisan didn’t practice any sport. She didn’t need to, as she walked
everywhere, even up to the Carmel, through Haifa’s maze of stairs that ran from
the bottom of the mountain all the way to Carmel Center.
As Salma jogged up the street, she noticed the
young woman with the old camera slung across her shoulder. She couldn’t know it
was the same woman who took her picture the day before, as she wasn’t really
paying attention. What coincidence. Someone takes her photo the day before. And
now, a woman with a camera at 6:20 in the morning! Stalker? She jogged up to
the roundabout at the end of Khoury street and headed back, trying to look
inconspicuous. The camera woman didn’t look in her direction; she seemed
impatient getting to wherever she had to get to, her stride full of intent.
Just my imagination, thought Salma, as she increased her pace. She wasn’t
making any progress in the last couple of weeks. At least she got back on track
with her running. She was almost out of breath, but decided to turn around
again and job back up. She reached the roundabout, and as she was jogging
around it, she saw the camera woman on Ha-Nevi’im street for a brief moment
before she disappeared into one of the buildings. Salma again increased her
pace, salty sweat dripping down her forehead and into her eyes, and jogged in
that direction. She jogged all the way to the end of the street, taking in the
entrances. These were mostly businesses, but all were still dark. Weird. She
looked at her watch and realized she was almost running late. She would just
have enough time to shower and head to the university for her much-dreaded
meeting with Hiba. She still had nothing other than some haphazard notes that
didn’t amount to anything that could be considered to be sound research basis.
Bisan saw the jogging woman twice more from the
corner of her eye, the second time when she was already inside Kamera, still
with the lights off. She was trying to apply the patience technique to her
daily routine. Taher said it helped. So Bisan now sat in the dark Kamera in
silence. She couldn’t take more than five minutes before she dashed to boot the
computer and then turn on the lights. At nine sharp she unlocked the door, but
there were no customers until around eleven except for one man who came in for
some batteries. Miraculously, there were only two email orders from the day
before, and one that came in around ten thirty. None of them were due for a few
days, which gave Bisan enough time to develop the film from yesterday. Some
thought kept coming back to her, but it was so vague she couldn’t pin it down.
Something about the way that jogger carried her body, which she only realized
now that she was already working. Detail! Taher always said it’s all in the
details. Need to pay more attention, even when camera not on hip and ready to
shoot.
When Taher walked in with some
fresh-out-of-the-oven mana’eesh, Bisan had already gone through all 36 frames.
They were neatly stacked next to the computer, and Bisan had printed an A3 size
of frame number 36.
“What have we here? First prints from the Leica!
May I?” Taher was peeking at the large print from behind Bisan’s tangled mess
of curls. She handed him the stack of photographs without looking up and
continued to study the one in front of her. Taher took another look at it
before settling down with to study the ones she handed him. Weird kid. He could
see the larger frame had potential, if it only wasn’t just a tiny bit out of
focus. Give the kid some slack. She’s just a beginner, her first film shots.
Bisan was focused on the face of the woman in the
frame. There was something familiar about her. But there was something else.
Bisan has seen this face somewhere else. Shit! My memory is like that of my
eighty-something years old grandmother! She put the photograph in the bottom
drawer and went over to Taher. “What do you think? Just remember, my first
film, so please be kind.”
“Kind? These are great, Biso! For a first film, I
mean.” Bisan was ecstatic. She knew Taher didn’t give away compliments so
easily. “Ok, let’s get the constructive criticism then.” She dragged a stool
over to his side and the bag of mana’eesh, trying to push the woman from frame
number 36 who happened also to be the researcher to a corner of her mind for
now. She’ll deal with it later.
(c) khulud khamis, 2014 from Taboos in Arabic, novel-in-progress
