Shell-Shocked Survivors

Even as the shells of warring factions continue to burst over the city, Sylvester Stallone's Rambo is breaking all box-office records in Beirut. During the ten years of almost nonstop civil war, at least 50,000 residents of Lebanon's capital have died. More than 100,000 have been dislocated. Street battles and car bombings are almost daily occurrences. Nonetheless, Beirutis manage to carry on a semblance of a daily routine: shopping, working and even indulging a taste for the blood and glory of escapist films.

In East Beirut, where a single Christian militia maintains a surprising degree of control, life seems relatively calm. But in Muslim-controlled West Beirut -- across the barricaded "green line," a swath of no-man's-land that divides the city between east and west -- gunmen from various Shi'ite and Sunni factions rule the streets. Neighborhoods in this area, where the American hostages are presumably being held, often change hands from week to week in the endless fighting among factions.

None of this, however, can destroy the city's legendary mercantile spirit; even in the war-torn western sector, stores are still open, selling quality goods at bargain prices ($40 for a pair of stylish Italian-made shoes, $4 for a bottle of Scotch). Main reason: the government has been unable to collect customs duties for many months. Even some liquor stores are operating, though they keep their stocks hidden for fear of attracting the attention of fanatic Shi'ite militiamen who roam about looking for violations of the Islamic stricture against alcohol. Shortages of staples are rare; only severe and prolonged shelling interrupts the flow of imported goods. Housewives rush out to do their shopping early in the morning, when an unofficial cease-fire reigns; the shelling usually does not start until midday.

Thieves steal with impunity, but it is not much use complaining to the police, who do little except direct traffic these days. It is occasionally possible to protest to whatever militiamen control the neighborhood; they sometimes catch a criminal and deal out rough justice. Then again, the robbers might be their comrades. For self-protection, many Beiruti men -- even if they , are not affiliated with one or another militia -- carry guns tucked under their belts, and women have neat little .38s stashed away in their purses.

Children still go to school, and even take exams. But their mothers frequently retrieve them and head for shelters when the firing begins. Sometimes it is the students who cause problems; at the American University, professors have been menaced by gun-wielding scholars demanding higher grades.

In the daylight hours, the cratered, potholed streets are crowded. Beirutis whose cars have not been stolen drive around the city with an ear cocked for bursts of gunfire, signs that militiamen are approaching in their Jeeps and battered cars. Generally the gunmen shoot their automatic weapons into the air as they career around a corner, warning other drivers to clear a lane. But they can get ornery if anyone blocks their way. Many a hesitant motorist has had his tires shot out from under him.