Look at Those Fish
By Emmett Barnes
In the early part of the 1970s my wife, LaNell, and I started working closely with Pastor Fuad Shorrosh in the Beqaa Valley of Lebanon. I took a lighter responsibility at the Arab Baptist Seminary in Beirut so that we could move to Baalbek in 1974. This meant that on various occasions we would make the trip over the beautiful Lebanese mountains between Beirut and Baalbek.
The Syrian army was in control of the Baalbek valley and had numerous check-points at strategic places on the highway. We were at ease with the roadblocks since we were non-combatants in any conflict in the area. The soldiers usually looked at our residence permits and sent us on our way.
One spring day as we were not far from Baalbek, on the main highway north of the town of Riyak, we were stopped at one of these Syrian roadblocks. The Lebanese army had an airbase there, and that check-point was quite respectable with sandbags and a machine gun, manned by three soldiers.
From there the highway made a long, wide curve to the north for about an eighth of a mile where there was another entrance to the town and another roadblock. This one consisted of simply one soldier, standing in the middle of the highway with a rifle.
Since this was an area of open fields and there were no other cars coming from our direction, I was sure this soldier had seen us stop at the first checkpoint and knew he did not need to stop us. For this reason I just slowed the car as we approached. Of course I took off my sunglasses, which we always had to do so that soldiers could look us in the eyes.
The soldier himself, had intelligent looking, blue-gray eyes. He was a tall, handsome fellow. I remember how one young woman from the United States remarked about how handsome the people were in Lebanon. She said, “You can see people who look like movie stars on every street corner.” Well, Syria did not lack the same handsome people and this man was a good example. Moving at a slow walk speed I looked him in the eyes as I rolled past him. He had a slight smile and I am sure that I had the same smile myself. He made no move to stop me, so I did not stop. In fact, when I was a little past I started to accelerate. At that point LaNell literally jerked to attention, saying, “Aren’t you going to stop?”
I don’t know if the soldier saw LaNell’s reaction, or if he realized that he had a superior a short distance away watching, but he immediately yelled at me to stop, and motioned for me to come back. I backed the car to where he was without trepidation, for I was confident that the situation would turn out without difficulty.
“Inzil min assayara” (Get out of the car.) he commanded. Actually that means “Come down from the car.” You have to realize that the ancient language of Arabic has not completely adapted to modern ways. Not so long ago “Come down from your horse” or “Come down from your camel” made perfect sense. His order was a normal reaction to someone who had committed a traffic offense. I got out of the car wondering what he would he say or do.
By that time he had stopped a small car coming from the opposite direction, apparently one imported from Eastern Europe, shaped like a tiny station wagon, and he was looking at something in the back of the van.
“Come here” he said. I walked over and stood beside him and we peered into the van. “Look at those fish,” he said. In the van were four or five trout-looking fish, each at least 16 inches long, all laid out on a plastic sheet. “Oh, those are really nice fish,” I responded.
Then he turned to me. His duty was done. My duty was done. “Yalla, rouh (Go on, go),” he said. We went on our way. Baalbek was not far ahead.