BEIRUT, Lebanon - On one side of the wire coils, anti-government protesters fed bread crumbs to the pigeons. On the other, a dozen Lebanese soldiers dozed in the shade. Up the road, a convoy carrying Arab League mediators weaved past barricades outside the prime minister's office. The bodyguards' heads swiveled in the car windows, scanning for trouble.

The recent parallel scenes - the languid and the menacing - show why Lebanon is a puzzle to the outside world.

The country defies easy definition: a parliamentary democracy with a power-sharing quota for top posts, a place where luxury developments sit near bullet-pocked ruins on the Mediterranean, a commercial hub whose land and sea exits are vulnerable to the whims of powerful neighbors like Israel and Syria.

Alliances shift, enemies become friends.

Lebanon is three-quarters of the size of Connecticut and with a population of 4 million, smaller than the city-state of Singapore. It is different from the rest of the Arab world in key ways. But its overlapping tensions - religious, sectarian, regional and international - act as a kind of compressed textbook on the weakness of statehood and other problems that simmer and erupt across the wider Middle East.

Lebanon's adversaries negotiated in Qatar on Sunday after ending the worst violence since the 1975-1990 civil war, and after the deputy chief of the Shiite Muslim militant group, Hezbollah, said it would "return things to what they were."

But whichever way the negotiations go, normality today in Lebanon is elusive.

Hezbollah has a nearly parallel state, with its own social services, police and combatants who took on Israel in a 2006 war. The group prevailed militarily in clashes with pro-government factions last week that killed 67 people and forced the Cabinet to rescind decisions to sack the airport security chief and declare the militants' private telephone network illegal.

The country's army did not intervene in the fighting, for fear of more sectarian bloodshed, even though its Web site says the military's mission is to maintain "internal security and stability,"

Lebanon's lopsided reality also includes United Nations resolutions that call for the dismantling of all militias. But the masked gunmen roaming the country last week testify to the virtual irrelevance of those resolutions.

Unexplained bomb attacks on prominent Lebanese, including critics of Syria's long involvement in Lebanon, are also a grim routine. The first victim in October 2004 was Marwan Hamadeh, the economy minister who resigned to protest a term extension of the Syrian-backed president. He survived with serious injuries and, as telecommunications minister in the current Cabinet, tried in vain to dismantle Hezbollah's communications network.

After its civil war ended in 1990, Lebanon enjoyed a long period of relative peace and even prosperity and its people clearly crave conventional normality: Schools closed during the recent fighting, so some students went to the beach on their off-days.

As the recent tensions subsided, the military established a heavy presence in Beirut. But civilians did too: children played in alleyways, and cafes on the famed Hamra shopping street again drew crowds.

All that means Beirut sometimes resembles a city of alternate visions. In some spots, banners bear the image of Shiite heroes such as the religious leader Moussa al-Sadr, missing since a 1978 trip to Libya. In other spots, billboards bear the image of global sporting icons like Roger Federer and Tiger Woods.

"I have a lot of chalets in the mountains for the summer season," said Christian Baz, owner of a real estate company. Baz, himself a Christian, said property prices have remained stable.

But some Lebanese companies want to move to eastern Beirut from the Muslim west, where Hezbollah gunmen were active, and fears remain.

"It can happen again," said Baz, citing rumors that prices on the illegal market for AK-47 assault rifles and other weapons had soared, indicating increased demand. Pro-government Sunni groups that tried to confront Hezbollah were outgunned, causing bitter feelings among the Sunnis.

Even if Lebanon's fighters stay off the streets for now, memories are sure to be long.

A grisly video that appeared on YouTube purportedly showed several men, fatally wounded by pro-government Sunnis in the northern town of Halba. Grainy images show the men on the ground in a row, still moving slightly despite what appear to be bloodstains on their heads and clothes.

In his 2002 novel "Yalo," Lebanese writer Elias Khoury wrote about a former fighter during the civil war who was forced to confess to crimes, including ones he did not commit. The protagonist's decision to become a militia man helps explain Lebanon's culture of violence.

"He fought to inflict rather than feel terror," Khoury wrote. -AP