by Abufares
I would never willfully lie to Amar but I could not disclose the whole truth. Surely she was dreading the time we were going to spend away from each other but was too lofty to reveal her disquiet.
“Drive carefully and call me tonight.”
Oh Well, there is no turning back!
—
I had just earned my master’s degree from the University of Damascus when I turned twenty five and was subsequently drafted. Six months later I was transformed to a communication unit near the capital. I did not feel like a soldier at all, let alone a lieutenant, until I was summoned to headquarters. There, I was asked to fill several pages with extensive trivia about myself and my family then was cleared to a series of interviews. Evidently, I was hand-picked for my high grades in college but the fact that I was neither a party member nor remotely related to anyone who was a party member proved problematic to my inquirers. On the second day, my orders to join the staff of a high-ranking official as his personal translator were issued. I spent the next eighteen months translating to a beehive of drafted engineers and technicians sensitive and classified documents pertaining to the assembly and erection of an infrared sauna, a capacious gym and a hybrid steam room in the officer’s luxurious villa. A car was made available to me, a comfortable apartment and Rana, his beautiful daughter.
A man would munch a whole apple tree and walk out of paradise for Rana without regret or guilt. She was a sinfully tempting eighteen-year-old when we met. Two weeks later, after we made love on her parents’ bed, I found out that she was only seventeen. By then it really mattered very little, if at all. We were never able to keep our hands or the rest of our bodies apart. Neither the risk of her father’s finding out about us in the early years nor the fact that she married my friend Rayyan later ever made a difference. It was five in the afternoon when I finally reached Damascus but the adrenalin rush had already begun.
—
The Malki area looks ostentatious at best. For people who choose to forget their humble origins, like Rana, this is a natural habitat. Despite my strong aversion to the nouveau riche, I could never bring myself not to like her. Until Amar came along, Rana was the woman in my life. We had last been together one week before my mother passed away. She came to the funeral and we kept in touch by phone afterward. She was very supportive during those days of grief and talked to me for hours, easing my pain and keeping me company. I was as surprised as she was when I stopped answering her calls. Rana gave me some time then tried again but when I remained silent she quietly withdrew. I was desperate to leave the country, never to return. Eventually, however, I realized that I was only running away from myself. For months on end, I missed Rana, her laughter and humor, her wit and levity. I also longed for our brazen lovemaking. At precisely nine o’clock I stood by the iron gate and pressed the buzzer.
“Ohhh so sweet, you’re wearing blue for me. Don’t keep me waiting Habibi¹, come on up.” Her accent, a mix of Tartoussi candor and Chami² lure, was both charismatic and seductive. The electric door swayed open then closed with a jolt. I climbed the stairs and made it short of breath to the third floor. I composed myself, held the bouquet of sunflowers with both hands and… she opened the door before I rang the bell.
She was wearing a low cut black dress and Loulou by Cacharel, an eau de parfum inspired by and made of her original scent. As I moved closer, clumsily intending to kiss her cheek, she wrapped her arms around my neck and homed her lips on mine. I lost my will to resist for a sugary moment, overwhelmed by an avalanche of passion and desire then imperceptibly tensed. My hands, glued to her naked ivory shoulders, pushed her back ever so slightly.
Rana knew me like an open book. “Ooooh, why are you here then? It must be really serious or you wouldn’t come all this way and not want to kiss me. What’s wrong, Youssef!”
We were still standing. “Rana, I would never hurt you. You know how much I loved you but I had to move on. We don’t have to be lovers to be the friends we always were.”
As she closed the door behind me, my eyes took in the familiar and beautiful space that was all hers. This was her private sanctuary where even her husband was not allowed in. We had made love between these walls. We had walked naked, watched TV lying on the couch there and slept in each others arms. Two candles burned on the low table in the middle of the room, dimly illuminating the sensual olio of finger food and the silver bucket of ice on the rug and the bottle of Scotch nearby. Rana, the Damascene mistress of effeminate charms was hurt and I better be careful. Only a man of incurable naiveté underestimates the ferocity of an injured tigress.
“Do you want me to leave, Rana? Can you ever forgive me?”
“When did you stop loving me?”
“Less than a week ago.”
“Why you never returned my calls?”
“Tu es la femme de mon ami³.”
“Bullshit, Youssef. You screwed me a thousand times after I married that idiot friend of yours and it never bothered you. Tell me what happened.” She seated herself on the sofa with her usual refined dignity. Her breasts were the most perfect objects ever created by nature. Her legs had often made my mind drool and I was very close to breaking apart. I sat next to her, the left leg of my trousers touching her short dress. I brought my hand to her face and ran my fingers through her hair. She refused to look at me.
“Rana, I was never good enough for you but you wouldn’t admit it. I couldn’t go on being the second man in your life.”
“When did I ever make you feel second? When did I not treat you like my prince?”
“But you married someone else. You always wanted it all and I was just a diversion. I was close to losing my self-respect…”
“Instead you decided to ditch me. What’s the big deal, you must’ve thought, she’s only a whore. If you loved me as much as you say you did how come you never proposed? When I told you that Rayyan wanted to marry me, why didn’t you stop me? I asked you, damn you, I asked you what I should do and you just looked the other way.”
“I don’t accept favors from anyone Rana, including you. Yet I’m here precisely for this tonight. Except, it’s for somebody else and not for me.”
“Ahhh, and you were awarded that PhD scholarship in England because you were first in class. What kind of fool are you? It doesn’t work like this here and you know it. You were selected out of fourteen candidates, Youssef. All of them properly connected. You don’t expect favors? You always thought you were better than me, didn’t you? You really believe you did it all on your own? Well, surprise! I’m sorry to burst your bubble. I made them take you, Youssef. I sent you to London.”
I was furious, “I hope you didn’t have to pay too high a price for that.”
With all the anger and hurt bottled up inside she slapped me hard on the face, almost knocking me down. Before I realized what happened I saw the tears running down her cheeks. “Goddamn you Youssef, you’re such a bastard. Why are you here..?”
“I told you I need your help. May be you’d like to see me begging but I won’t do it.”
She put her hand on mine, feigned a smile and trained her misty brown eyes on my face. “Well, why don’t we eat and you tell me all about it. You must be starving.”
“Just like this?”
“Youssef, you came all the way from Tartous, not to make love to me, not to even kiss me. You came to talk and I want to listen. I always loved the way you talked with your hands anyway. So don’t take that pleasure away from me, please.”
Over the next hour I recounted every single detail, fact or fiction, I knew about Yasmina, Housam and Yazan. She intently listened and asked me some specific questions about Housam. I admitted my ignorance to a couple but she assured me that it wouldn’t really matter anyway. Then all of a sudden, “You still have not told me the most important thing. What happened less than a week ago?”
I hesitated then mumbled,“I fell in love with another woman.” I studied the intricate patterns on the sublime Persian rug under her feet.
“What’s her name?”
“Uh!…”
“What’s her name, Youssef?”
“Amar!”
I’ve never seen her so accepting, so subdued and content before. It was such a welcomed relief. Just like old times, I told her all. I suspected a flit of jealousy at the corner of her mouth as she listened, upon her insistence, to my description of Amar. But she would not let me stop. Although I did most of the talking she became increasingly thirsty whilst I sipped sparingly from my drink. The food remained untouched on the table while the candles slowly died.
“Rana, you’re the best friend I ever had. I’m sorry I broke up with you the way I did. It was stupid of me but I didn’t know any better. If you excuse me now, I’m really tired and I want to go to the hotel and rest. I should get back to Tartous early in the morning.”
“You will sleep here Youssef. You can use the other room. Your clothes are still here, clean and folded. Please don’t go.”
“Are you sure?”
She stood up and gave me her hand. “Come on, let me make you comfortable.”
We stood in the corridor and kissed, as friends. She wished me goodnight and walked toward her room. I left the door to mine open and went in for a long shower. The hot water swept away the grime and guilt and made me long for Amar. When I came out, I sat on the bed, a white towel wrapped around my waist and called her on my mobile phone.
“Hello Hayati.” I did not wait for her answer. “I missed you so much.”
“Hi Youssef, me too. Kifak4?”
Rana quietly slithered in and sat by my side. It was a surreal moment and my mind was heavy and turbid. She put her head on my shoulder and spoke directly into my phone. “Youssef Habibi, you’re not gonna keep me waiting in bed all alone. I want you to make love to me right now.” She took the phone from my hand, stood up then smashed it into a hundred pieces on the floor.
“Now I forgive you Youssef.” She walked over the debris, not bothering looking back.
As I silently closed the apartment door I heard her sobbing. I took the elevator down. The night was used and a sickly easterly wind rustled the trees lining the Malki neighborhood. I walked past my car and kept going, having no place to go, not knowing what to do.
—
¹Habibi: My love
²Chami: Of or related to Cham or Damascus, as it is affectionately called
³Tu es la femme de mon ami (1962): You are the woman (wife) of my friend, a French song by Algeria born Enrico Macias (1938 – )
4Kifak: How are you
© Mariyah Ayoub and Mariyah’s Blog, 2008-2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Mariyah Ayoub and Mariyah’s Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.



Amar’s taste took my breath away. Her lips fluttered like a butterfly, brushing a dash of fragrant nectar on mine. They left my tongue athirst and my heart thrashing in its ribcage with raw yet tender hunger. My arms sheathed then swept her off the ground. I kissed her again, squishing her body against mine, my mouth and hers crushing miles and years of empty space and time into gleaming embers.
I cruised along the Corniche instead of going home on this late afternoon. I left my car toward the end of the lane, not far from the wharf, then walked briskly to the waterfront. The massive rocks outlining the pier may look alike to wandering inlanders but to lovers in need of concealment and to me, a sea dweller in search of his soul, each one has taken a distinctive personality. My rock was at the far edge and extended further west into the water beyond all the rest. I had named her after my grandmother, a Phoenician Princess from 

“Sabah el nour, Amar.”* I was carrying three bags filled with hot Msabha and Fool, assorted pickles, fresh vegetables and warm bread. Under my right arm I also held a package containing two hefty notebooks and some basic articles Amar needed for her writing. “I would’ve kissed you if I could but my hands are tied.” I joked.
You look perfect together







