Arie Elias
Any attempt to explain to young people nowadays what kind of games children in
Baghdad played when I was a boy is likely to arouse surprise and ridicule. In those
years, when the computer had not yet figured in anyone's wildest dreams, the children
used anything they could get hold of. Arms, legs, sticks, stones, empty vegetable
crates, etc., etc. – but that's a different story.
My games centered on live performances. Already as a child I was hooked on
theater. As festival times drew close I would prepare shows, especially for Purim. The
invited audience consisted mainly of schoolmates and their relatives. The content was
the fruit of my imagination or was taken from books of legends. The scenery was made
out of odd household items – sheets, blankets, or a table; as for costumes, we
"borrowed" those from friends' houses. More than once I heard shouts from the
audience: "Yaba – that's my shirt!" "Those are my trousers!"
One year towards Purim time – I was thirteen then – I got ready to stage a
play about two servants, one good and the other wicked. The wicked servant plotted
to poison his master, and the good servant discovered the scheme. None of my
classmates would agree to play the wicked servant except Naji. Naji was dying to act,
so of course he would even take the part of the wicked servant. So I engaged him at
my theater on condition that he brought his costume for the play from his home.
Naji, who was delighted at having such an opportunity to prove his theatrical
talents, "lifted" his father's pajamas and a cord to serve as a belt.
We got on with rehearsals, and everything appeared to be going according to
plan. But… the day before the performance, a knock reverberated at our front door
and there stood Naji's mother."Inta rais el-firqa? (Are you the director of the
company?) Ma tkhaf min Alla? (Have you no fear of God?) What has my son done to
you, that you make him an actor?" She went on shouting. "And what's more, you even
have the gall to give him the part of the wicked servant? We are the Sawdayi family, a
respectable and well known family, and you let him play the part of the wicked man? If
I ever see you with my son again I'll break your arms and legs (akser eidak we
rejlak)". There and then she hauled the sobbing Naji off with her, and departed.
I stood there dumfounded, in the middle of the yard. The show was to go on
the next day, and I had no partner for the performance. How could I face the large
invited audience and their families? What a disgrace! That evening Naji slipped out
and came to my house with soothing words. "Don't worry. I'll be in the show
tomorrow. Just don't tell anyone so my mother won't find out!" The next day we got
ready for the play in the schoolyard according to plan, and were about to perform on
the makeshift stage. Suddenly my brother rushed in, breathing heavily, and said that
Naji's mother was standing in the alleyway fuming and cursing. In a moment she would
walk in, turn everything upside down, and drag Naji home.
I racked my brains about how to frustrate the plan of the enraged lady. An idea
popped into my head. I made Naji up and glued a beard onto him. We went onstage
and began the play. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Naji's mother in the audience,
which filled the yard. "That's the voice of my Naji", said she, thinking aloud, "But Naji
doesn't have a beard and pajamas – and they're identical to Naji's father's pajamas that
disappeared two weeks ago".
The play came to a successful conclusion, and Naji's mother, like all the
audience, enjoyed it greatly. She applauded, and set off for home. Later, when Naji
came home, his mother told him that she had seen a good play, and the boy who acted
the part of the wicked servant was specially good, and 'if it weren't for his beard I
could have sworn it was you". It was then that Naji disclosed to her that it indeed was
he who had played the part of the wicked servant. His mother responded with two
slaps across his face, and asked, "How did you manage to grow a beard so fast?" She
also wanted to get the pajamas back to her husband, so that he'd have something to
wear at night.
But her enjoyment of the show was so great that she declared that from that
day on we needn't worry about anything we needed for our productions. Sure enough,
from then on Naji's mother took pains to provide us with everything necessary to put
on a performance.