Globusz^® Publishing 

Disturbed since he arrived, haunted by cruel memories and bloodies faces, surrounded by ghostly images of dead souls, broken pieces, human remains and desperate cries. The gory corpses in his mind’s eye traumatize him with each waking moment, even though he is safe now, there is nothing that can erase the past.

He looks around himself and finds emptiness. The crowd confuses his mind and makes him lonelier. He has merged with unknown souls. He talks with them, he listens to them, he argues with them, he loves them”to others he is insane.

His blonde hair and blue eyes makes him a stranger amongst these people.

Since his arrival to this land the crowd has ridiculed him, their eyes staring, probing, watching his every move. The children mock him, laughing at his strange pallor, giggling as his stuttering which was started from fear and the loud cannon blasts.

The more he grows, the more the fear grows within him and the need to hide grows. Panic is rooted in his heart.

In their eyes he had tried to find a friend but in vain, all of them despised him.

Five years ago he had arrived here from war torn Bosnia.

He had been saved from the war but now faces this crowd of uncaring faces.

His name is Maged. His father’s occupation was in tourism and he met his Maged’s mother in Bosnia. They were married there and had a son and daughter. The war, which Serbia started with the intent to destroy the Bosnia Moslem Race, broke out and his father had fled with his family to his home country.

Maged was 8 and his sister was 3 at that time. Which language should they speak? His mother speaks Bosnian at home with his father but here, in the street, they speak a strange language with mixed voices and their eyes always stare. This makes him feel divided and detached.

Fear is with him always, from the war, dead bodies, dismembered limbs...someone that he spoke to a moment ago lies with his throat cut.

Here the fear is different but gives him the same sense of horror; he cannot distinguish his feelings anymore. It is one nightmare.

His father had told him of this land, this bountiful land, its loving inhabitants, the lush green plants, and the love.

Yes, his father had told him but his father did not understand how lost he felt, how wounded. His father did not probe into his feelings... his father trusted his kinsmen.

His sister succeeded in overcoming her experiences easily and quickly. Because of her age, she adapted comfortably and effortlessly, forgetting the past but for him it was different.

He could still hear the sounds; he could still see the corpses.

His father left him to his own defenses thinking that he would improve, trusting the goodwill of his fellowman.

But things may have changed since he went away; did he not consider that?

People change.

The children had thronged around him out of curiosity not friendship and because of his size, some wanted to test his strength but they soon discovered how cowardly and afraid he was and this they found even more hilarious. They bullied him, each one bragging with dignity how he had knocked Maged to the ground.

All he wanted was to be left in peace, to silently roam the streets.

He wished that at least his father, who thought him grown, knew that he had become a joke.

His mother, who daily thanked God for their survival, stayed at home, her heart at ease”finally”she could sleep without fearing for her life or that of her family’s. Maged asked his father to buy him earphones” but it was not so much as to listen to music but to drown out the staring eyes. As the sounds filled his ears, so all other sounds became hushed and he withdrew into himself becoming invisible. This becomes his shield, his shelter. He prefers to walk in remote places, afraid to be seen, acting out his imaginary play. He mimics a foreigner as they treat foreigners with respect and kindness. He hears the words clearly”.”Hi”. Hello”. Welcome””and this makes him feel warm and loved and thus he retreats deeper and deeper into this safe world. When he feels that someone might get too close, he retaliates with abusive shouting and the kicking of stones. Those are his defenses.

I once tried to help him, tried to show him that he did not have to be alone, tried to show him love, I tried to enter his world but I failed.

I took him to an institution where I thought he could be helped, he was reluctant to go, but after gentle persuasion, I managed to have him admitted. He ran away from there and I was told””Maged prefers to be alone, roaming the streets, insulting his hallucinations, he is insane, he cannot be helped.”

One evening as he walked aimlessly, he did not realize how far away from home he was. He just walked and walked, his ears tuned into his music. Farther and father until he saw some ordinary people, those who are equal, those you did not mock. He found that he could understand them even better than his own mother tongue. He stopped listening to his music for awhile and stood listening to their animated conversation.

Suddenly he found himself very close to three young men his own age. They were glaring at him. What should he do? Should he insult them? Should he kick stones?

Should he act insane? Should he pretend he was a foreigner?

As he was contemplating on what to do, his mind flashed back... he remembered a Serbian soldier who had killed his friend’s father, no mercy was shown, he was shot at pint blank range, the blood had gushed from the now faceless head. He could not avoid the youngsters now; they came closer and closer. They surrounded him, staring maliciously.

He smirked idiotically, his heart pounding against his ribs, his voice disappearing, his feet rooted to the spot. He was completely aghast with fear as they came face to face.

One of them said something and Maged understood that they wanted his headphones, the other taunted him with a small knife while the third one pushed him violently.

Maged removed his headphones, giving it to them with nervous fingers, his eyes apprehensive; it felt as if the knife was the Serbian bullet.

As the youngsters were checking the headphones, Maged broke away and started to run for his life.

He ran, and he ran, like a guilty sheep from a flying arrow.

Faster and faster, all his ghosts returning, the images changing into flying arrows, chasing, pursuing, there was no time to catch his breath, they might catch him”stab him. Breathless, he reached home and only felt safe once he was sobbing loudly against his father’s chest but the horror never left his eyes. His influential father managed to find the boys and his headphones the following day.

Maged is 16 now... his inanity has rooted itself in his mind”he now has better experience in dealing with people and the children do not mock or tease him anymore as they have become accustomed.

He still has no friends; he has never spoken to a girl other than his sister.

Whenever he has tried to approach one, she has shied away from him.

He trudges along very slowly, his clothes are untidy, his hear is disheveled and unkempt, he is as silent as the dumb.

He is dirty and devastated. As it was said, ”Maged likes to be an idiot.”

”””

In the famous square of Helmya a crowd of young people gather... the shining light gives them a vivid appearance... their voices and smiles makes one feel young and winsome.

A little way off in a darkened corner Maged stands alone”his headphones on”his body is moving in a strange exaggerated way... a kind of dance.

I was passing by on the other side of the street and halted to greet him. He returned my greeting without stopping his dance. I felt drawn closer, a desire to see him face to face. I approach, moving closer and closer until I can see his face clearly.

His dance does not stop.

The tears stream down his face unchecked, his nose wet with mucus, this time he is so hidden in his dance that no one can see his tears.