Enough About Love

ANNA AND MORAD

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“WHAT DOES ‘UPSET’ MEAN?”

A little boy asked Anna this question.

Sometimes, on the way home from the hospital, Anna makes a slight detour and drops in on Yves, staying for an hour, or two. She tells him about her day, the patients, the progress they are making. That day, a woman had come to see her with her five-year-old son. It was their tenth visit, she is from Mali, very young, speaks French badly. Her little boy Morad is very restless, has trouble concentrating; it was his nursery school that asked for him to be seen. He sat, quietly, drawing with colored pencils, a tree, a path, in dark shades. Within a few sessions a difficult truth emerged: the mother had never dared tell the child that his father died on a building site two years ago. All she had managed was to say, Daddy’s not here anymore, he’s gone. This absence filled the child with unutterable shame, as he pretended to wait, in vain, for his father to come back, although he had probably grasped the truth. His mother — powerless and overwhelmed — clung stubbornly to her lie. She thought she could protect her son, distance him from that suffering, but it was from herself that she was distancing him: Morad was alone in his distress.

Anna went on the journey with the mother and child as they took the first steps toward this revelation. All of a sudden, the words were said, and Morad looked at his mother in amazement. It was when Anna told Morad, “Now when you’re upset you can talk to mommy about it,” that the child asked his question.

“What does ‘upset’ mean?”

“Sad. Do you know what it is to be sad?”

The child nodded. Anna looked at him, smiled, and said: “Do you remember your father, Morad?”

The child did not answer. The mother had tears in her eyes.

“What about you,” Anna said, turning to her. “What could you tell Morad about his father? What sort of thing did he like doing with Morad, for example?”

The mother thought for a long time, then murmured: “My husband liked singing. He sang a song, a song from our village.”

“And do you still sing this song with Morad?”

“Oh no, I don’t sing it. I can’t sing.”

“How about you, Morad, can you sing?”

The child looked at his mother, drew a little bear. Anna did not give up.

“Would you agree to sing the song for us?” she asked the mother. “Maybe just the tune?”

The woman consented, squeezing her handkerchief in her hand, silent. Her knuckles went pale. She sang softly, but it took considerable effort.

“Aandi d’beyyib ya mahleh ya mahleh gannouchou khachmou wateh.”

“What’s the song about?”

“It means: ‘I have a little teddy bear, soft and cute, with an adorable nose …’ ”

“So, do you remember it at all, Morad? If you’re sad, maybe you and mommy could sing the song your daddy used to sing when you were a little baby.”

The child smiled at Anna and nodded his head. Yes, he knew the song, “Aandi d’beyyib ya mahleh.” He would sing it with his mommy. For his daddy who’s dead. He got it. “Aandi d’beyyib ya mahleh.” He was allowed to be upset. Now he knew he could turn to his mother once more, to talk about his father. The mother would be back in her rightful place. She could cope with it now.

Yves listens to Anna. He feels a surge of tenderness, and goes to make a cup of tea before Anna notices the tears in his eyes and makes fun of him.