Beirut: Farewell to the Arabs
445
inhaling the fumes, each series of inhalations followed by the
same rocking explosion. The josie came down to the derelict.
He held on to the reed a long time, as if his life depended on
it. He sucked at it savagely, exhaled, and went back to it again
and again. As the drug is consumed with the charcoal, it gradually loses its strength. The next Arab—a youth in his late
teens with a cluster of pimples on his forehead—was eager to
get at the reed while it still had a "kick." The derelict finally
released it.
It was my turn again to have the josie. Though more than
half its strength had by this time become dissipated, it was
still powerful enough for me and I reacted with even greater
violence. After this the josie made the rounds once again, for
Arab etiquette demanded that the pipe be shared by all present until the hasheesh was all consumed.
"Fill the josie again," Hagop said to the waiting proprietor,
then turned to me with a look that said: "You asked for it,
my friend."
The Arab went into the kitchen, humming a tune, and reappeared with the pipe. I offered him the first whiff, but he
declined, and I went through the same torture over again. My
head reeled, my throat was aflame. The josie made the rounds.
I kept coughing. I had had enough for one sitting and wanted
to leave. I motioned to Hagop. But one of our friends offered
to treat the group. We couldn't turn it down without offending those present. So I stayed and got a third dose of the drug
in my nostrils, lungs, and into my quivering body. After this
we left.
"How do you feel?" Hagop asked.
"I was dizzy at first. I'm all right now."
"Are you nauseated?"
"No. On the contrary, I feel like eating. Let's go to another
dive."
"Are you sure you want to go?"
"Yes, I want to experience the full effect it has on those
who take it."