Sea Side – Part 17

November 6, 2009 at 7:00 am (Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, travel, vacation)
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By Mariyah

Kiera's Green Dress - Edith Dora ReyI sat on the edge of my bed and thought about the call from which I had just hung up. I really had missed Youssef. But I hadn’t planned on admitting it to him. In fact, I was annoyed at myself for caving so quickly. As soon as I had heard his voice, though, that was it. His voice always did something to me. It seemed to have the properties of an auditory opiate. The moment he spoke my name I dropped all barriers and drifted carefree upon its smooth tones. All the worries that had plagued me, before the conversation, drifted away. No one had ever had this kind of effect on me.  A colleague once remarked that I “appeared impervious to romance”. It was surprising to her that I could write about it since I just “didn’t get it”. And she was right. It all seemed so superficial to me…until I met Youssef. But with him, romance was simply the icing on a rich and delicious cake, most of which I had yet to discover. The question was whether I would allow myself to really enjoy the taste. Later as I listened to the sweet words of his dedicated song, my resolve to remain respectfully distant was significantly weakened even further. I slept dreaming of what the following day might unfold.

—–

Sweet, summer, morning mists drifted through my bedroom window filling my airways with the combined scents of wildflowers, earth, and sea. I breathed deeply and rose to part the curtains away from the window so that I could enjoy the view. Strips of sunshine lit up the eastern sides of the whitewashed homes and pooled in the open fields as the rays climbed over the mountain peaks. I got a sudden urge to walk, maybe run, through the fields as far as I could go. I imagined myself in a floppy hat and flowing dress – yes, like a cliched romantic movie clip. I couldn’t help it. The place seemed to bring it out in me. Even though I was becoming increasingly aware of the heartbreak and suffocating traditions that crept through the lives of some of the people here, this view had such a contagious, warm, dream-like quality. I was easily swept away from a cool reality.

Quickly, so as not to lose my precious spark of spontaneity, I rifled through my dresses hung in the closet to find the most gracefully flowing one. I had brought one, packed at the last minute; floral, silk, cinched waist, low neckline. Perhaps more appropriate for an evening dinner date than a walk through a field, but at that moment I didn’t care. As I slipped it on, I felt a strange sense of freedom. I felt beautiful. I left my hair long and slipped on dainty sandals. I didn’t have the proper hat so I went without. As I opened the apartment door, the breezes caught my hair and caressed all of me tingling my skin pleasantly. I leapt down the stairs with a childlike giggle. I intended to head straight for the field but stopped abruptly when I became aware of someone sobbing nearby. I looked up and saw Yasmina leaning forlornly against her window and crying bitterly.

Sometimes people like to be left alone in their misery, but sometimes it is just impossible to turn your back.

“Yasmina?” I called up to her.

She shrunk away from the window and I instantly felt badly for my intrusion. But then she opened her door and motioned weakly for me to come up. I suddenly felt ridiculous in my florid dress but did not hesitate to help a friend who was so obviously in need. When I entered her apartment she was curled up, like a small child, in the corner of her sofa. I stood, motionless, in the doorway, not knowing whether to go to her or to give her some space.

“I love him, Amar. Oh god, how I love him.” she whispered between tears.

My heart filled with optimism but I erred on the side of caution. “Housam?”

“No, Amar. Yazan.” she looked at me pleadingly as if I might accuse her of treachery. “I loved Housam once, certainly, but that was so long ago. What am I going to do?”

It took everything in me to contain my glee. I sat on the edge of her sofa. “Yasmina, will you let me help you?”

“What could you possibly do?”

“I don’t know yet, but it would mean a lot to me to know you’ll accept my help when and if I can give it.”

Yasmina looked at me quizzically and then smiled sadly. “It is difficult to say no to you, Amar. Your eyes shine with such optimism – something I haven’t seen in so long.” She looked away toward the window. “I would do anything…” Her voice trailed off but I understood.

Just then, I heard the sound of a car pulling up outside the building. Yasmina looked at me and smiled. She had heard it too.

“Go! Don’t keep him waiting if you don’t need to.”

I reached out and grasped her hand. Her meaning hit me forcefully.

“Go, Amar.”

“Just tell me one thing, Yasmina.” I needed to know. “Why do you love him?”

“He is me.”

I reeled with the complex simplicity. He is me. He is me.

—–

Once outside, I waved excitedly, “Youssef!”, and bounded down the stairs. Youssef looked at me over the top of his car and continued to watch me approaching him as he rounded the car to meet me. I fell into his embrace and he kissed me hungrily.

“Yous…sef!” I tried to speak between kisses. Youssef…Please…Listen!”

“Kiss me.” He insisted. I fell silent as his lips met mine again and tenderly but effectively spoke of everything that mattered at that moment.

© 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.

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Sea Side – Part 16

October 30, 2009 at 9:46 am (Canada, English Literature, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, travel)
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by Abufares

2menI 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 Tyre(1), who was abducted by Zeus 3,400 years ago. In return for her freedom, my ancestors gave the Greeks the alphabet of Ugarit(2). Today, on the other side of my sea, they call their land Europa(3), oblivious to the fact that it is the name of the rock I was sitting on at my day’s end.

Sunset flamed the horizon in sorrel and roseate hues. The smalto sea heaved then sighed with the burdens of history. Tired waves yawned and collapsed at the foot of my rock. My heart soared, catching fire, a comet burning like a thousand stars. Amar’s lips left my soul starving. I gazed at the crestfallen sun, skinny-dipping in my horizon yet fiery and beaming above the distant land she called home. I inhaled deep, drawing a waft of seaweeds. The scent swirled and mixed with her sweet perfume and shot straight to my head. I would abandon my rock and swim all the way to Canada if I had to but I will not lose Amar, not as long as I shall live.

_____

When I woke up the next morning I called her. Her voice came in weak and I instantly knew that she might be sick. Except for my mother, I did not worry about anybody before and the alien fear hit me hard. A gutless, earth shaking and soul rattling torment took hold of me. She ended up calming me down and easing my mind.

“It’s just a little exhaustion Youssef that’s all. Please go on with your day… No, I don’t need a doctor… I’m telling you it’s nothing… I guess I had too much sun… I’m going to stay in the apartment… Just call me in the evening, OK! Before you go to bed not earlier, Please Youssef… Please don’t worry!”

No wonder I stopped falling in love. It scared the shit out of me. I called Sea Breeze and prayed that Yasmina would answer. She found my concern endearing and promised to check on Amar every once in a while. I could not eat but went on drinking coffee and worrying until it was time for my lecture. Around fifty people showed up at the Tartous Cultural Center, several of whom I knew by name or face. In one corner, two Orwellian “undercover” agents sat with notebooks in laps and pens in hands. They had to write down every single word I said just in case I strayed into the forbidden. What torture it must be for them to listen to my worthless crap. My friend Bassam and his wife, an English high school teacher, sat in the front row. I looked around and wished Amar was there too. I was reading out of my last page when I detected Yazan’s face in the crowd. He was sitting alone way in the back. When he saw that I recognized him he grinned broadly and gave me a thumbs up.

Bassam and his wife apologized for not being able to spend more time with me since they were attending a private dinner. As usual we agreed to stay in touch with a light tap on the shoulder before we parted ways. While my small audience filed out with mendacious smiles or feigned handshakes Yazan approached me in his usual nonchalant way.

“Very good Doc. I’m really impressed.” It was difficult to tell whether he was being serious or sarcastic.

“How about a drink?” I offered. My stomach churning on coffee and air but I sought companionship.

“Who cooks for you? If I may ask.” He obviously did not expect an answer. “How about if I invite you for a drink and a light dinner in my apartment? Don’t worry, I won’t prepare any quiche. I’ll fix sandwiches only. That ought to make you feel secure enough. We can sit outside and talk about the facts of life.”

The man was obviously very strange, I thought, but I welcomed his offer. It would make Amar happy when I tell her that I had spent time with Yazan. Moreover, he found out about my lecture in one of the fliers distributed to bookstores in the city and made the effort to attend. I was intrigued by his presence. Evidently, I made a gross error of judgment about him. There was far more to him than meets the eye and if I had any doubts about the authenticity of his character they were totally dispelled as soon as he turned host. He kept both my drink and his perpetually fresh and engaged me in a fascinating conversation about music, art and literature.

I have never known a man more like me than Yazan, yet somehow he was my complete opposite. Unlike me he did not hesitate with his choices. He simply bullied his way through life and rarely looked back. He was unwilling to talk about himself, but with two or three Vodka Martinis under our belts I blurted it out.

“Tell me about Yasmina and you. I bet it’s an interesting story.”

He held his liquor well but his eyes were unfocussed and reddish. “Why don’t you tell me about Amar. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Well I kissed her and I think I’m going all the way.” I said impishly. “All the way to stay with her for the rest of my life, that’s what I mean.”

“You lucky bastard. You kissed her after four days only and I haven’t laid a hand on Yasmina, let alone kissed her in four years. I knew you’re not as clumsy as you looked.” He raised his glass, “Kassak!”(4)

“I kissed her after only three days, to be precise.” I rubbed salt in his wound.

Then he spilled his beans. Yazan never stayed in any one single place for more than months. He made landfall in the United States, moved from city to city, got married then got a divorce in the span of a few years. He later left to Europe and jumped all over the continent working as a chef. One summer, he climbed on his BMW motorcycle and rode from Germany to Syria. Twenty days later he decided he had enough of his homeland. He packed his stuff again, left his birthplace, a seaside village near Tartous, and was on his way to the Turkish border when he zoomed by Sea Breeze. He brought his machine to a full stop, glanced over his shoulder and made a U-Turn for a bite to eat. Yasmina came to his table to get his order. He’s been there since waiting for the right moment to tell her that he loved her and to whisk her away to their own place in the world. Twice in the early days after he started working for Walid, he packed and rode to the border but then came back for Yasmina. He would never leave the cafe again until she either becomes his woman or tells him to get out of her life. He sold his bike and was making less money per week at Sea Breeze than he used to make in a day when he worked abroad. But for Yasmina, his heart, his mind and soul, as he called her, he would do whatever it takes to keep her from harm’s way. He would kill for her and almost did a few times when some hapless assholes made the mistake of going too far in expressing their infatuation.

“And you never told her that you love her?” I asked in total disbelief, drunk but fully aware of every word he said.

He turned and faced me. “It’s not easy competing with a dead man Doc”, he was illimitably bitter. He stared again at the silhouette of the distant mountains and fell silent.

The man was forged out of desperation and iron will. Now, however, I finally understood him. “Do you think she loves you Yazan?”

He gulped down a full glass then answered as if he was in a trance. “She loves me Youssef… And that’s what makes it even more painful.”

_____

On my way home I called an old friend who worked as a DJ at an FM radio station in Lebanon. I asked him to play a special song and he gladly promised to.

At 11:45PM, I dialed Amar’s number. She answered after the first ring. “How are you Hayati(5)?” I asked.

“Much better now Youssef. Please come early tomorrow. I miss you.”

“Of course I will.” I placed a pillow behind my back, dimmed the light and floated on her voice for a few minutes which felt like an eternity. “I saw a radio on the night table near your bed Amar. Can you please tune it to 88.0 at midnight exactly. The song is for you. Sweet dreams Eyouni(6).”

(Click image below to listen with Amar)

Radio

Midnight Song: Youssef to Amar

(1)Tyre: a city in south Lebanon
(2)Ugarit: Ras Shamra, ancient city in northwestern Syria
(3)Europa: Phoenician Princess
(4)Kassak = Cheers
(5)Hayati = My Life
(6)Eyouni = My Eyes

© 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.

15 Comments

Sea Side – Part 15

October 23, 2009 at 5:34 am (Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, travel, vacation)
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By Mariyah

7 - Ahed RajjoubI stood in my own stunned silence as I watched Youssef drive away. Well, not stunned exactly. I had half expected him to kiss me. Dazed would be a better word, dazed and delighted. And surprised. Surprised because I was so delighted. I smiled and shook my head as his car disappeared from view. I touched my lips with my fingers and felt the tingle of his kiss all over again. It had been soft and so tender, completely unlike I had previously imagined it might be. My stereotyping had blinded me. I thought perhaps an awkward professor might dispense rather dry, dispassionate kisses. But he was not awkward, nor dry and definitely not dispassionate. In fact, the more time I spent with him, the more I realized that perhaps his exterior image may be a disguise, one he devised, perhaps subconsciously, to shield himself from unwanted attention.

“Too bad.” I said aloud to myself. He could have made some woman very happy. Then immediately realized the irony in my thoughts. He was making me very happy. Why was I not completely allowing myself to enjoy him even if it would only be a brief time we could have together? That was the problem, the brevity. I was holding back, not intentionally, but the time constraints weighed on my mind and affected my behavior. What would I have done had I known I would never leave this place? The answer hit me so hard, I felt the tears well in my eyes. I would have fallen completely and utterly in love with this man. I sighed deeply. The reality was that I was falling in love with him and the thought of leaving him tore at my heart. I turned back to face my temporary home and walked toward it with a purposeful stride. I had decided instantaneously. I couldn’t allow myself the selfish pleasure of toying with Youssef’s heart or my own. I had only a few weeks left and my purpose here was clear. To help Yasmina and Yazan. They had a good chance at a future together. Youssef and I, as far as I could see, did not.

—–

My make-shift writing table was a bit wobbly. I tried to ignore it as I scribbled down a few thoughts in one of the notebooks Youssef had picked up for me. But my mind was distracted and I welcomed the excuse to find something to shove under the table-leg to stabilize it. I wandered aimlessly around the apartment, halfheartedly opening drawers and cupboards. I stopped in front of the west-facing window and stared absentmindedly at the shining waters beyond the village. My heart ached to stay here…forever. But it just wasn’t possible. My whole life, well, my career, lay ahead of me back home. I had worked so hard to make it as far as I had, I couldn’t give it up for something…someone…I knew so little about. It just didn’t seem reasonable or practical. Besides my track record with relationships wasn’t exactly stellar. Obviously. That was probably part of the reason my father suggested I vacation here. He knew the relatives would never stand for this kind of lackadaisical, non-committal behaviour. I couldn’t help but smile at my own clumsiness. And then Youssef’s smile floated into my mind…

A loud knock at the door startled me. I hadn’t been expecting anyone and I felt tense at the interruption.

“Amar? Its Yasmina.”

Relief flooded me. This was a welcome interruption after all. I flung open the door and greeted her warmly.

“Yasmina! What a wonderful surprise.”

She raised one eyebrow and looked hesitantly inside before entering.
“I’m not disrupting anything am I?”

I knew what she meant. “No. I’m all alone.”

We plunked ourselves on the sofa like two teenaged girls.

“So…?” Yasmina asked curiously.

I played dumb. “So, what?”

“Oh come on! How was your morning with Youssef?”

I answered too briskly. “It was fine. Lovely.” I tried to force a smile.

Yasmina started to laugh, hard.

“What?”

“You’re terrified!” she laughed harder. “He kissed you didn’t he? He kissed you and you liked it!”

Women have an uncanny ability to pick up on body language, especially when that body language contradicts the spoken words. I decided my only defense was to throw something back at her to set her off-guard and off the topic of me and Youssef.

“What do you think of Yazan?”

“Oh no, no! We were talking about you!” She smiled broadly.

“Please, Yasmina?” I practically begged. “Tell me about Yazan.”

I could see her entire body withdraw almost within itself. “I barely know him, Amar. He won’t let anyone know him. But then, I’m married so I don’t make it my business.”

“And I have no business leading Youssef on. I’ll be leaving soon. Its not fair to either of us.”

We looked at each other in silence. Each of us knowing full well that we were in love and that we were both hiding behind these obstacles that we closely guarded as being legitimate for the sake of self-preservation. Now I was further set in my determination to tear down her obstacle, and clearly she was equally determined to destroy mine.

“He would go anywhere with you.” An effective verbal grenade.

Shields up. My response was almost robotic in nature. “But he has his life and career here. He couldn’t leave as much as I couldn’t stay.”

“That’s bullshit, Amar, and you know it.” Yasmina wasn’t smiling.

“Well what about you? You can’t live like this forever, Yasmina.” I threw everything at her. “Yazan is in love with you.”

She sighed. She already knew. “It’s all bullshit.” I held her while she cried her heart out and in my own heart I longed to be held by Youssef.

© 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.

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Sea Side – Part 14

October 16, 2009 at 10:04 am (Canada, English Literature, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, love, travel)
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by Abufares

marqab1“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.

“Ah, you wish!” she broke out laughing. “I’m sorry. I just woke up and didn’t have time to prepare anything. Let me help you with the bags?” She took the package of stationary and I followed her to the countertop which defined the kitchenette in the corner. I did not expect to find myself in a bedroom and the sight of the ruffled bedsheets, her natural beauty, her braless little breasts clinging to the light summer dress and the way her butt bounced as she walked made me long to drop everything on the floor, grab her from behind, kiss her neck, take a nibble at her ear and… She turned and faced me.

“What’s wrong? Did you lose something.”

“Uh, not really. As a matter of fact I just found what I’ve been missing. A little bit more than I can handle at the moment but not for long I hope.” I grinned. “You like the way I smile, you told me yesterday.” I didn’t take my eyes off of hers. “I was just admiring the view and I’m not talking about your cozy little apartment.” She blushed, pinched me in my arm, busied herself with unpacking and ordered me to help in setting the table, all at the same time. All, a little too self-consciously. Oh God, she was painfully beautiful and I could not look away from her, even if I wanted to.

I have not enjoyed a meal such as this in years. I have never been happier in my life as I felt when I was around her. The short drive then the climb on foot to the castle left me breathless. I was not tired but rather floating in elation. I helped her, by holding her hand a few times over uneven ground and once because of a missing step, I had to reach for her waist and bring her down slowly to my side. Her innate scent, more than the perfume she wore, drove me very close to pushing her with my body against an ancient wall then to kiss her feverishly till the end of time. She, more than the thrilling location of this magnificent Crusader castle, spun my imagination in a vertigo of fancy. As we descended the endless stairs we agreed to skip lunch and instead ordered Turkish coffee at a small place at the foot of the Marqab. The unrestricted view of the sea was nothing short of spectacular.

“Youssef! Can I ask you something?” It was the first thing she said after what seemed like an eternity. As soon as we sat on the old and battered bench she had grown quiet and somehow distant. She was obviously troubled but I was hesitant to ask. I was worried that either my morning flirting or my amative stares were too much for her to handle. I nodded expecting the worst.

“Are you well connected here in Syria?” She turned, placed her hand on mine and waited for my answer. I gulped down my relief, my surprise and delight.

“I am as disconnected as they come, Amar. I’ve never done favors nor asked for any in my whole life. I’m virtually unknown outside my immediate circle of friends, colleagues and students. But why did you even think that I might be so in the first place?”

She seemed to be considering her next words carefully. “I want to help Yasmina find out about her husband if I could. She never received a convincing answer about his fate.” Her eyes misted slightly. “Can you imagine the poor woman’s life, the pain and agony of uncertainty? I wanted to know if you could help and I so hoped you could.”

When cornered I often withdraw inwardly to myself. I had an uncanny ability to shut out the whole world around me and walk by the shadow of a wall, staring at my own feet, never looking back. But not with Amar, Oh God no, not with Amar.

“Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into Haya…?” I stopped myself before saying the word. It’s been three days only since I first saw her, my Amar, and I almost called her Hayati (my life). “Amar, this is not a game. This is way too dangerous for you. I don’t want you to get involved, please. Besides, her husband is dead anyway.”

“I’m already involved and I’m not turning back. I will help Yasmina. Perhaps I should call the Canadian Embassy and consider my options. I really didn’t want to impose on you Youssef… but what would you do if you were in her place? Assume that the woman you love is dead and walk away. Is that it?”

“Please don’t!” I grabbed both of her hands firmly this time. “Don’t call your embassy. They wouldn’t have anything of value to tell you except to mind your own business and perhaps that you should leave as soon as possible. “I think I can find a way, Amar. My friend Marwan is, as you put it, well connected. I can ask him and see where that might take us.”

The way her face brightened right away convinced me that I would walk barefooted to the far end of earth to make her happy. I was only afraid that I might disappoint her. That after all, my effort would be an exercise in futility. Unless I… Oh Dear God No! What am I getting myself into?

“You’d better tell me and right now where did your mind wonder in the last few moments?” She asked and stared at my lips waiting for an answer. “Youssef, you would make a terrible poker player. I know that something big gave you a mental blow. I don’t want you to get in trouble or if…”

“Amar, is it too early to ask you to trust me?”

She obviously was taken aback. “Trust you with what Youssef? I don’t understand.”

“I will do my best to help Yasmina and Yazan, I promise. But do you trust me no matter what?”

“Yazan! The cook? What does he have to do with what we’re talking about?” She left her thought hanging in the air. I just love the way her facial expressions follow her beautiful mind. “You think Yasmina and Yazan are..?”

“There’s no one more qualified than me to know when a man is in love.” I said. “I have only recently acquired this talent by the way. If I’m not a fool, Yazan is madly in love with your friend. But Amar, you still didn’t say whether you trust me or not.” We left our bench and were walking very close to the unprotected edge of a steep cliff.

“Oh I trust you Youssef. I know that you’re hiding something. But I’m willing to take my chances with you.” Her fingers barely touched my palm but I got hold of them. This time, I didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. I didn’t let go until we reached the car.

She wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon writing. She was so excited about the prospect I realized that I’d better leave her alone. I stopped near the front gate of Walid’s house, opened my door and walked around the car to hers. I offered her my hand as she stepped out. She took it.

“I’m lecturing about Imagism in English Poetry at the Cultural Center of Tartous tomorrow afternoon. There will be at least a dozen people in the audience.” I laughed. “Would you honor me with your presence?” My body inches away from hers.

She looked up at me, delighted by my invitation. “Just call me in the morning, OK?”

“Ah… and one more thing, Amar.” She saw the purpose in my eyes but was either too late responding or waiting for it all along. I planted a slow and tender kiss on her mouth. When I pulled back, our upper lips kind of stuck and peeled away reluctantly from one another. Her dazed eyes provided me with the answer I was dying to know. There was no point in aborting the pregnant silence. I climbed back in my little car and drove down the incline. Somehow though, the wheels were not touching the road. I was flying and there were birds singing all around me.

*Sabah el nour = Morning of light (in reply to Sabah el Kheir = Morning of goodness or good morning)

© 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.

23 Comments

Sea Side – Part 13

October 9, 2009 at 5:39 am (Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, love, travel)
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Rockslide - Randall Tipton“Souma.” He had always called her that. Others had tried to before him, and she would never allow it. But the way the sound passed over his lips, like a whisper of silk, changed her perception of the nickname entirely. In fact, during the times in between, the times when she was away from him, she longed with every fiber of her being to hear it. “Souma.” It had quickly become her morning and noon; when they brushed past one another in the hallways or in the confines of the otherwise drab, walled school-grounds. In the evening she could swear that his voice was carried in the wind that drifted across the threshold of her bedroom window. “Souma.” It lifted her hair gently, caressed her ear, and then slipped away again leaving in its wake her mind full of daydreams.

The first time Yasmina saw Housam was during her first week at the high-school in Lattakia. He looked as though he had just walked off the set as a hero in an Egyptian movie. It seemed almost surreal how perfect he was; tall and slender with a gorgeous mane of flowing, wavy black hair. His eyes were large and emerald green, framed by thick, dark lashes and his smooth lips settled handsomely above a strong, masculine jawline. The thing that struck her the most about him, however, was his smile. It seemed as though it could radiate across a thousand miles and not lose its brilliance. It wasn’t long before Yasmina began wishing that that smile was just for her and it wasn’t long after that that it became so.

They were perfect together. Both of them beautiful and both of them successful. It was a given, by the end of high-school, or at least after college, that they would marry. Their lives and hearts were so entwined it would be nearly impossible to imagine anything else. Her marriage to Housam, the start of her life with him, so full of promise, marked some of the happiest days of Yasmina’s life.

“Sometimes when I close my eyes visions of those days skip across my eyelids like an amateurish home movie. We laughed, held each other at the waters edge, watched the sun setting, held hands as the last brilliant bands of the sun’s rays spread across the sky and then melted into a pool of blues, greys, and indigos. But sometimes I wonder if my memories are wrapped in a comfortable blanket of time that has been embroidered with loving emotion or, perhaps, stained with a desperation for it to have been that way. Whether I’m remembering accurately or not, I cannot tell you. All I know is that this is what I have left.”

“Souma.” She still listens for it in the wind but now the wind sounds hollow. If she strains she may hear a feeble echo but the delicate intonation that warmed her heart and serenaded her soul is gone, it seems, forever.

—–

After my evening with Yasmina, I dreaded the dead of night. Her story had fully absorbed me. My emotions were raw, and my mind exhausted. I have noted at times how the path of life opens up before us, often with a bright ray of optimism leading the way. Many can walk it, perhaps stumble a few times, but find the end in relative peace. While for others, the path is wrought with thorns and huge crevasses, sometimes even blocked by a nearly insurmountable rock-slide that may or may not have taken the traveler beneath it as it fell. Sometimes the rock-slide is of our own making, foreseeable or not, sometimes it is brought upon us without warning, and without reason. With Youssef, today, I saw that ray of optimism illuminated before me. With Yasmina, I’ve seen the damage of a rock-slide. Now I’m afraid as I look upon that path again, it may be with some trepidation. Then again, tragedy has swept the world over and over with an undiscerning brush stroke, and we still exist, we still dream, and we still succeed. Perhaps after a night’s sleep, what sounded like the rumblings of loose rock will have only been a passing storm and my path will be lit with bright blue skies.

—–

I awoke to another perfect day. A morning dove cooed softly outside my window. The lace curtains that hung there were delicately woven with sunshine; the rays dappled across my bedsheets. I had only managed to fall asleep a few hours before. During the night, my mind although well worn, would not, could not, settle. Now as I lay enjoying the lazy comfort of early morning, my mind refused to budge. I stared mindlessly into the vastness of the skies beyond my little apartment and dozed on and off for what length of time I could not tell you. As the sunshine shifted and caressed my face with its warmth, I looked into the dazzling light and saw his face there. Youssef’s kind, handsome face.

“Youssef!” I bounded from bed with screech. I was still dizzy with sleep but my heart raced. I paced about the room trying to bring equilibrium to my frantic body so I could think of a single thing I was supposed to be doing. A knock at the door brought me to sudden halt. I stared at the door.

“Amar? It is Youssef. I’ve brought breakfast as we planned.”

I looked down at myself in my nightgown.

“Just a minute, Youssef!” I grabbed the first dress I could find and flipped it over my head after slipping out of my gown. I quickly tied my hair back, turbo brushed my teeth, and threw the bedsheets into place. Oh god! I thought to myself. What an eyeful this poor man will receive this morning! I padded across the marble floor in my bare feet and swung the door open greeting Youssef with a ridiculously large grin – all the fears of the night before forgotten for the time being.

“Sabah el kheir, Youssef. Please come in.”

24 Comments

Sea Side – Part 12

October 2, 2009 at 10:24 am (Canada, Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, home, life, love, memories, travel)
Tags: , , , ,

by Abufares

You look perfect together
Good luck ;-)

I read Farid’s short message on my mobile phone and simpered quietly. He was probably having fun with the guys in Lattakia but thoughtful enough to send his words of support. He and May, his wife,  have tried to hook me up with an interesting friend or a pretty relative a million times over the years. I always appreciated their concern but also felt awkward. There was nothing inherently wrong with me. For all practical purposes I “am” a decent man, a little distant perhaps but not out of hauteur. I was rather coy with genuine modesty, weary with the burden of broken promises and despaired of ever finding a woman; the woman who would change my outlook on life and give me meaning and purpose. I often dreamed of an Amar illuminating the dark of night in search of me. And, having found what she was yearning for my moon would spawn silver rays of light turning the invariant gray into a rainbow of bliss. No longer would I fear the treacherous shallow waters, jagged with knives of coral and ragged with spears of rock. She would show me the way, a lighthouse beckoning at me, be safe my Youssef, I’m here for you… forever.

We reached the entrance to the little garden surrounding the quaint building where she was staying. The landlord, Walid, lived with his family on the ground floor. Up the flight of stairs, Amar told me, two little apartments shared the western veranda with a magnificent view of the sea. I was not gawky at all when I took her little hand in mine and kissed it softly. I had a long way ahead to reach then to hold on to her and I had no intention whatsoever to be careless. My mind was perfectly clear, my heart calmly set.

“Goodnight Amar”, I spoke softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning and bring you the stuff you need from the bookstore.”

She hesitated then, “Are you sure I’m not monopolizing your time. I mean really Youssef. You must have responsibilities, some sort of obligations…”

“Please stop it Amar.” I interrupted. “I’m on summer break. Sure I drive a couple of times per week to the university in Lattakia but not out of necessity. I mainly go to have an espresso at a corner cafe in the Amerkan area. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing than spending my time with you. Besides I’m truly and genuinely in love with castles and fortresses. I plan to show them all to you. As lovely as Sea Breeze and this village are you still need to see the rest of the coast.”

It was her turn to interrupt me. “And there’s no one else I want to have as my guide. But, …” She hesitated again, “you know that I would be leaving Syria back to Canada in a month, and…”

“I’ll be here at nine. I’ll bring breakfast, Msabha and Fool from the old town. I’ll also bring the hot Mashrouh bread from the bakery. Pickles, fresh green mint, I think I’ll skip the onions though.” I laughed for her.

“I like onions”, she said, “and I have no reason why I shouldn’t eat them. Do you?” She had that lovely mal’ouneh look on her gorgeous face again.

“Not at all. I’ll bring onions and lots of garlic just for you.” I laughed, earnestly this time. “Get the table set and tea ready on the veranda so that we eat then leave. The Marqab Castle is not far but if we were to see it all we should give ourselves ample time.” I grinned, the very same way she told me less than an hour ago over by the sea that she really liked before she, for no reason at all, changed the subject.

—–

I was getting in my car near the front entrance of the cafe when I noticed a solitary man waiting by the highway for a micro-bus to take to Tartous or some small village along the way. I have seen him before. He was staring at me from the kitchen’s door when I had my little talk with Yasmina yesterday.

“I’m going to Tartous,” I said, “and if you’re on my way you’re welcome to hop along.”

He dithered for a passing instant then opened the front passenger’s door and climbed in without uttering a word. He stared through the windshield as if he was driving and didn’t give me a second look.

“I’m Youssef Khalil.” I introduced myself. “Can you please fasten your seat belt?”

He rolled his eyes in disbelief. He wanted me to realize that my request was too nerdy for his big and silent type persona. I could care less. He complied though but remained uninterested in pursuing any further conversation. For five complete minutes, I drove in silence and totally ignored him.

“I’m Yazan,” he proclaimed all of a sudden. It was dark and I couldn’t see his face clearly. He kept, however, looking ahead while he talked. “So you are a doctor, I hear! A gynecologist perhaps?”

“You know Yazan”, I replied without taking my eyes off of the road, “A friend of mine, a physician, once told me that the best specialty in medicine for the purpose of pursuing and picking up women is pediatrics. The mothers are fit and young. Besides, when a perfectly healthy woman comes alone to the doctor’s office with her child, dressed up, smelling nice and looking pretty that’s the best any doctor could ever dream of examining, with his eyes if not with his hands at least. Gynecology is too messy and way over-rated in my opinion.”

He burst out laughing and finally thought that I deserved being talked to. “I’m sorry. I knew you were an English professor. Yasmina already told me. I’m Yazan Moussa. I’m the cook at that dump.”

“So you are responsible for that most delicious Mezza and the sea food delicacies. By the way, the Sea Breeze is not a dump at all. I honestly think it’s the best little restaurant I’ve ever been to.”

He softened up quite noticeably. I could see that he was not a talkative man but when we both faced each other in the car I felt an authentic goodness emanating from him despite his effort to conceal it.

“So where did you learn how to cook,” I asked truthfully interested.

“Oh, I traveled the sea for many years. I worked as a chef on large general cargo ships and been all over the world. I learned a trick or two about cooking but look where I am now.” He painted his face with a sarcastic smirk, not at all convincing.

I don’t know what got into me but it was the first thing that came to mind. “Perhaps you are there because there is something you can’t stay away from.” I obviously meant someone in particular and we both knew it.

“You can drop me anywhere you like and thank you for the ride.” He said quickly as we barely entered the city from the north. I was not sure whether my incursion further irritated him or not. He was a difficult man to read.

I insisted on driving him all the way to his apartment. He lived in one of the newer neighborhoods of Tartous, the Sixth Project as it was called. I knew it by name but rarely went there, if hardly at all. We shook hands and an ephemeral trace of a smile appeared on his facial furrows and lines rather than on his mouth. I was far from gifted when it came to possessing omniscient faculties but I had an overpowering feeling that Yazan and I would meet again. Not casually for I might see him every time I go to the cafe. It was more arcane than that. Something told me that our fates converged for a purpose tonight. For a person like me, who could be described as agnostic at best, the feeling was very unsettling.

—–

I drove along Mar Elias Avenue toward the Corniche. At the second fountain, where Cinema El-Nejmeh once proudly stood and brought the magic of the movies to my doorstep, I made a right turn down Al-Mina St. The theater, like everything else I loved about my city had disappeared and only survived as an engraved memory in my head.

“I was born in Kingston, Ontario.” Amar told me as we walked earlier on the beach. “I would love to be able to show you around some day, especially in the fall.” Like a little child she spoke excitedly, looking back and forth at me then toward the distance West. “On a sunny day, when the trees are bright with color and back-dropped with the gray limestone of the buildings, it can almost feel as though you’re walking in a dream. It’s hard to explain really. But whenever someone mentions Kingston, this and the bright blue waters of the lake come to mind.”

I never wanted to be anywhere else. Even in London where the whole world was at my feet, I missed Tartous. When I returned, however, I realized that I was missing her in a different time, a time which had ceased to exist all together. I stood on my balcony, a generous glass of Scotch in hand, captivated by a late evening fog descending on the harbor and thick enough to obscure all view of the sea. I downed my drink with a consuming thirst and instantly felt the amber tendrils caressing my being. The mist dissipated and vanished like magic in thin air. Beyond the black silhouettes of shore cranes and the dancing lights of moored ships I saw the colored trees, the limestone buildings and the bright blue waters of a lake. I was yearning for a place I had often visited in my dreams. I opened my eyes and swallowed hard, my longing inevitable. At long last, I was homesick.

© 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.

33 Comments

Sea Side – Part 11

September 25, 2009 at 6:54 am (Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, roses, travel)

Together - Tom BaxterYasmina’s eyes lit up as I approached her and her warm smile gave her a look I hadn’t seen on her before. It was sincere and without any attempt to mask it.

“They’re lovely!” she whispered excitedly, indicating the bouquet in my hand, and in a slightly teasing tone she added, “What a lucky girl you are!”

“Am I? I really don’t know what to think.” I couldn’t help giggling in a rather flustered way.

“You think too much. You’re very much like me that way.” She chuckled but I noticed a shadow cloud her eyes. “Dr. Youssef is one of the gentlest, kindest men I’ve ever met. A little quirky, but we all have our oddities, don’t we?”

Yasmina’s words quickly brought to mind Youssef’s nervous charm. I smiled. “Oh yes, we do. Yasmina, can I ask you something about Youssef?” She nodded and I continued. “I know he was your professor, but you seem closer to him than that. Not that I’m suggesting…”

“Oh no, I know. I was in his class when…” her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat. “Although I never confided in him, I mean, he barely remembered me yesterday when he saw me, we weren’t that close, but somehow he managed to keep me afloat for a while.”

“But how, if you never spoke to him about what happened?” I stopped abruptly. I didn’t want to push her too hard for information. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”

“Its alright, Amar. I know you know what happened. Do you think I didn’t hear you last night when you cried out in your sleep? Its a familiar sound, dear.” Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked hard to chase them away. I wanted to embrace her but something told me to hold back. She continued. “Everyone knew what happened almost as soon as it happened. Word travels fast in these small communities.” She smiled pensively.

I nodded sympathetically in hopes she would not stop her story.

“Dr. Youssef seems to have an uncanny ability to see through any facade and to understand exactly what the soul needs.” She shook her head. “Perhaps I’m giving him too much credit, but I don’t think so. Amar, I really can’t tell you whether he intentionally focused his lectures to give my life meaning, but the time I spent in his class were the brightest moments in those dark days.”

My stomach lurched partially from a deep seeded empathy for Yasmina, and from a sudden urgent realization about Youssef. I felt the bouquet in my hand, not the weight of it, but the optimism in it.

“Yasmina?” I almost whispered. “What is your husband’s name?”

She looked at me with eyes bright with relief. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You didn’t say “was”.” She smiled sadly. “Housam. My husband is Housam.”

“Housam…” I repeated but stopped as I noticed Yasmina looking over my shoulder.

“Excuse me, Yasmina.” A soft, but gruff voice came from behind me. As I turned to see who it was, the man I saw there was completely unfamiliar to me. I thought I had noticed everyone in the cafe – at least seen them once since I’d been there – but he had eluded me. In his food stained, white apron, there was no question that he was the cook. He was probably in his late 40’s, on the tall side of average, broad of shoulder, and time worn in a most interestingly handsome way. I saw immediately the quiet tempest brewing beneath the surface. His eyes were dark pools nearly hidden beneath his furrowed brow. They were eyes which, under normal circumstances, would be impossible to read – but now, as they looked at Yasmina, they spoke a thousand words.

“Yes, Yazan?” Yasmina replied, her face softening delicately.

“Can I speak to you?” He gestured gently toward the kitchen.

“Of course.” She first smiled at him and then winked at me. “Yazan, this is Amar, she’s visiting from Canada. She’s seems to like this place.”

Yazan gave a brisk nod in my direction not even attempting to force a smile. “You haven’t been here long then.”

“Only a day.” My writer’s mind was whirring now. The exterior of this man presented a formidable challenge, but I believed the information held deep within may be a treasure trove. “But I’d like to stay longer.”

A low, indecipherable sound came from Yazan’s throat before he turned back toward the kitchen. “It was nice to meet you.” I called after him. He waved without looking back.

Yasmina shook her head. “He’s a big bear. I’ll go now and see what he wants. Enjoy your day, Amar. We’ll get together later?”

“I would like that very much. You have a good day too, my friend.” I hoped I wasn’t being presumptuous but her smile suggested that she appreciated my gesture.

—–

The romantic hero indeed. As his words washed over me, Youssef’s eyes were lit as though there were a thousand stars behind them. I knew then, as I stared into their inner depths, that I had definitely made a mistake – several, in fact. I had never imagined myself as a character in the story I was collecting here – especially not the love interest of my hero. And, although I saw the potential in Youssef to be a romantic, I had completely underestimated him. In none of my experience, and I would fully admit that there hadn’t been much in the way of experience, had I ever heard such an expression of affection. I was, in no uncertain terms, completely captivated by it, speechless, in fact – for a moment too long.

“Amar.” Youssef moved his hand toward my face as though he wished to touch it, but then stopped himself and frowned pensively.

“Youssef, I…”

“No, please, you don’t have to say anything.” He hurriedly interrupted me. “Its alright. Just walk with me to the beach. Give me this small pleasure, will you?”

Without waiting for an answer he began walking again, marginally faster than our previous amble.

Without a word, I walked close by his side and slid my hand into his, discretely, and left it there for just the right amount of time.

© 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.

23 Comments

Eid Wishes

September 20, 2009 at 4:35 am (Ramadan, Syria, family, friends, life, peace)

Friday - Walid Karsli
Eid Mubarak

A happy and peaceful Eid to all of you who are celebrating.

I just realized as I looked back at previous Ramadan posts, as I move forward in time, they are getting shorter and shorter. I guess since I started blogging my life has been getting busier and busier. So I stopped a moment before posting to make this one a little more…intimate. Unfortunately Eid, for me, will go by this year for the most part uncelebrated (in the traditional sense) but not forgotten. I am still away from home and its just not the same. My thoughts are with all of you, and I sincerely hope that your celebrations with family and friends are warm, joyful, and very memorable. For those of you who are, like me, away from home…you are not alone. As we are spread out around the globe…we can be sure that our hearts are together throughout the holidays. A blessed Eid to you all.

Mariyah xo

10 Comments

Sea Side – Part 10

September 18, 2009 at 11:05 am (Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, friends, love, roses, travel)
Tags: , , , ,

by Abufares

bouquetI searched for my reflection in the eyes of this stunning and flawless woman. “Hello Amar, how are you today?” There was an aura of uncharted simplicity about her. Her outward candor, however, was illusive. A fool, as most men really were, would be cunning himself if he thought he could ever have an upper hand through deceiving her. She was simple in the way gods were supposed to be. To ever win her heart and mind was by being faithful not only to her but more importantly to oneself.

She looked at the roses in my hand. “Are these for me?” She asked, a bemused and ineluctable smile sweeping her face  momentarily.

“Of course they are. Sorry I couldn’t get you something more beautiful.” I mumbled self-consciously and handed her the bouquet.

“Oh but they are.” She took a deep breath inhaling the luscious fragrance, eyes twinkling with streaks of light and lips parted unveiling a row of perfect pearls. “Eleven pink roses and a single red one! How interesting.” Her countenance shifted subtly from the angelically innocent to the sensually inviting. She had this wonderful frisky spirit, so mal’ouneh (mischievous) in an attractive and sexy way. “Did they run out of pink?” she tittered then restrained herself.

Although I was tremendously enjoying her little game the babble of my five guests pounded my head like a jackhammer. I knew that they were totally absorbed at the moment with us, Amar and me. Thoughts strived in my mind trying to reach equilibrium. I invited them for lunch and they all made it to the cafe before I did. In a moment I would be bombarded by their questions about this gorgeous woman standing so tantalizingly close to me. They would want to know everything about her. If she stays here they will drive me to insanity for sure. The way they already sat around the table left me with no choice but to take the chair with my back to her. I needed to think and think fast to get myself out of this muddle.

“Youssef, I have some errands to run. There’s a Dekkan (convenience store) a couple of minutes down the road. I need to buy some stuff. I also have to make a few phone calls from the apartment. I think I’m going to stay for a while here in the village. After a dreadful night I woke up to the most glorious morning and spent it on that balcony”. She indicated the general direction by a subtle movement of her head. Oh God what a beautiful neck she had. I wish, I wish… I was that aquamarine teardrop hanging over her little… “Youssef! Did you hear what I just said?”

“Sorry, what was it?” I looked and sounded so much the fool. “What went wrong last night? Tell me.”

“Never mind.” A worrying shade wavered somewhere over her lips then as if blown by a gust of wind it disappeared. “I’ll be back around five o’clock. That will give you plenty of time to enjoy your lunch and have your man-talk with your football buddies. Do you have to go immediately afterward or are you going to stay?”

As if she needed to ask. “I’m staying. They will go but I’m staying, indefinitely.” Words run faster than thoughts in the heat of summer. I have shed a layer of dead skin since I first laid eyes on this woman. Do I dare admit this errant ray of happiness passing through my closed shutters, drawing patterns on the wall and exposing specks of suspended dust? How long will it illuminate my heart before sunlight fades and darkness swallows the neglected corners? I was plunging headfirst deeper and deeper into… her. There was no escaping the falling. I closed my eyes for an infinitesimal instant. I might get hurt again, I realized, but this time I did not give a damn.

“Thank you for the lovely roses. I would ask you about the solitary red one later. Enjoy your lunch with your friends. They are straining their ears to listen to every single word we’re saying.” She said that and left to the enclosed part of the cafe. Within a moment I could hear her and Yasmina chatting excitedly. I turned toward my table then, where five hounds, fired up and awfully excited were staring at me with disgusting smirks. Oh, well, I am in for a long session of verbal abuse by a bunch of men I grew up with. They want to know everything about me and the most beautiful woman they have ever seen.

—–

We laughed like children, ate like hungry bears and drank like warriors expecting to die on the battle field come the next day. I have been out of touch with them, with the rest of the world for so long. Three of my best friends lived abroad and it was such an excitingly happy coincidence for all of them to be home at the same time. “She’s your what? How come we’ve never heard of this Bint Khaleh (cousin) before?” Other sarcastic  comments flew around the table and landed in the Arak we earnestly drank. The food and the ambiance in the now fully packed terrace were out of this world. My companions were very  impressed and they blamed me for keeping the Sea Breeze Cafe as my private secret. Farid and I were the closest perhaps all the way back to prep school. He is a very accomplished surgeon in London today. When I lived there during my graduate studies he and I became even closer. He married his high school sweetheart and had two wonderful kids who send me postcards to this day always starting with Dear Ammo Youssef. Marwan made it big in the sea as we say in Tartous. He was my friend too but he was also a nouveau riche shipowner who transported and traded with everything from contraband cigarettes to illegal North and West African immigrants and refugees. He was perhaps the richest man in town but that did not prevent us, his buddies of old, to treat him as the dumb bastard he truly was. He moved back and forth between his several residences in Europe and Tartous a few times per year. Habib was the athlete among us. In his twenties, he was what all the girls wanted or so he wished to believe. The passage of time had enhanced his wonderful sense of humor but his attempt to conceal his scalp with his thinning and dyed hair was funnier than any joke he could ever come up with. He works and lives in New York where he owns three or four middle eastern delis. Bassam was a successful civil engineer with his own private practice in Tartous. We talked regularly over the phone but could not spend any significant time together since last summer. I liked Bassam and enjoyed his company although he never drinks. He worked hard for every penny he earned yet he maintained his affection for serious reading to become an indisputable authority on Mediterranean and Levantine history. Nabil was perhaps less fortunate then all of us. He and I were the only unmarried men in our bunch, each for his own reason. He was a civil servant, who believed, and he was right, that an honest man could never get married and start a family on the meager government salary. Yet we were all equal this afternoon. Even Farid who came from an old money family blended perfectly with us in that most formidable Tartoussi way.

We had our coffee and reminisced about our salad days. When it became time to leave, Farid covered for me while the rest wanted to know why I am not going with them to Lattakia to spend the evening. I kissed each twice on the cheeks and watched them wave goodbye from behind the closed windows of the two cars. I stood there near the entrance until they made a U-turn down the road and sped along the highway heading north.

—–

I did not wait long for Amar. I saw her from a distance walking toward the cafe. I left and met her across the street.

“You look like you’ve had a fantastic time with your friends.” She tilted her head to the side and picked at the lose strand of hair.

“How about we go for a walk on the beach?” I asked while I veered away from the cafe.

“Only if you tell me about the red rose.” She chuckled and walked by my side.

“How many times did you smell them so far?” The Arak tickled my brain as I stared at the distant horizon.

“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps six or seven times, why?” she wondered, frowning amiably.

“And when you smelled them didn’t you single out the red one? Didn’t the red petals come in touch with your nose every time?” I stopped, turned to her, not seeing anything around me except her face.

“Yes, I think so. Why are you asking?” She was really puzzled.

Her shoulder lightly brushed my arm as we resumed our unhurried amble. “Because that’s the one I kissed, ten, perhaps  twenty times, before I gave you the dozen roses.”

© 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.

22 Comments

Sea Side – Part 9

September 11, 2009 at 6:16 am (Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, travel, vacation)
Tags: , , ,

Restless - Tahereh Samadi Tari“Youssef?” The name barely passed my lips.

It had been a long time since I had experienced a nightmare. They plagued me as a child but as an adult they rarely entered my head at night. It was the most unsettling sensation, especially since I awoke with a start in unfamiliar surroundings. As I sat up and pulled my legs into my chest, my breath was quick, my heartbeat quicker, and perspiration dotted my forehead. My eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness and at the same time darted to avoid the nightmare images that still fogged my view. An almost unbearable sense of sadness and foreboding gripped my soul and I wanted to call out to anyone; just someone to take my hand and soothe me back to a reasonable calm.

“Youssef.” The tears welled in my eyes and tumbled unreservedly down my cheeks. I could barely stifle my sobs by pulling the sheets to my face. As I closed my eyes again the water pipes in the small, main floor apartment began to rattle and jolted me back into my nightmare. They were at the door – the men with hidden faces. They had come for Yasmina’s husband. No. They had come for Youssef. He was Yasmina’s husband? The banging pounded in my head and I covered my ears. But still they persisted – louder and louder. They can’t take him away from her…from me!

“No!” My scream hung in the air and then dissipated into the still silence of the deep night. The nightmare evaporated before my eyes but still left me cold and confused. I hugged my knees tighter and searched my mind for the correct answers, to sort nightmare from reality. But even as I recalled that it had been Yasmina who had lost her husband, not I who had lost Youssef, I still couldn’t shake a feeling of dread. I knew many people who believed that their dreams foretold some future event but I had always dismissed it as nonsense. In fact, due to the intensity of my nightmares during my teenage years, I made a point of refusing absolutely that anything could be made of dreams. But now I worried urgently about Youssef and could not settle myself.

I turned on the bedside lamp. The dull light partially illuminated the room in a soft glow but left the far corners in shadow. I felt a sudden chill crawl over my exposed skin. The room, although lovely and modest in the daytime, seemed barren and stark now. I rose reluctantly from the bed and walked to my travel bag to search for the scrap of paper with Youssef’s phone number. The cold of the tile floor seeped up into my body through the soles of my feet. As I pulled the tiny note from the bag, I sighed deeply as if these few numbers were my only salvation, and quickly headed back to the warmth and humble protection of my bedsheets.

I stared at the phone on the night-table. I hadn’t any notion of what the hour was. The old clock that sat beside the phone was of the wind-up variety which I hadn’t bothered to wind the night before. I had figured, then, I would rise to enjoy the morning when the sun awoke me. I was on vacation after all and wasn’t expected at the cafe until after noon. Now I wished the clock would provide some comfort, with a constant, reassuring tic-toc.

I looked again at the tiny note with the carefully handwritten numbers. I envisioned Youssef slumbering peacefully and began to think of how foolish I would look if I called him now and disturbed him. He would have thought I was either a madwoman, or a silly girl with a crush. The very idea of either scenario threw me into a fit of giggles that blossomed and effectively rushed away the sense of dread I had felt only moments before. How could I be so ridiculous, allowing my dreams to affect me so? But deep inside, I knew that I would still feel better once I saw Youssef’s face at the cafe.

—–

All morning I wrote feverishly in my notebook. By noon the scorching sun was high in the sky and I had lost almost all traces of shade on the balcony where I now sat. Yasmina had invited me to use the balcony as it was an extension of her own apartment on the second floor. It overlooked the lower village with a perfect view of the cafe and the sea beyond. For most of the morning I had been very comfortable there. The quaintness of the village inspired my imagination and the words poured out of me onto the page. Now, however, the heat began to congeal the creative juices and I found myself staring wistfully at the sparkling waters.

Suddenly my eyes were distracted by activity at the cafe. Several cars had pulled up along the road and about half a dozen men emerged from them. I wondered if this might be the group whom Youssef had invited to join him, but I did not see Youssef. A pang of worry churned in my stomach and images of my nightmare flashed in my memory. I decided that I needed to go to the cafe now as well. I gathered my things and, as I was returning to the stairwell through Yasmina’s apartment, I stopped to see my refection in the mirror. My face was flushed from the heat, and my hair had coiled into ringlets in the humidity. Self consciously I swept them up onto my head with a clip and slipped out the door.

As I walked the short distance to the cafe, my eyes continued to sweep the area for a glimpse of Youssef. By the time I reached the patio, I still had not spotted him. My worry became agonizing even though I continually reminded myself that I was being ridiculous. It wasn’t long before I was greeted heartily by Walid, his eyes dancing with delight.

“Amar. Welcome back!” he nearly shouted and his huge hand reached across my back and ushered me forward. “Please, sit here. It is the best seat in the house!”

Walid’s smile was broad and warm. I couldn’t help but admire the pride he had for his little cafe.

“This is a perfect spot.” I agreed and returned as bright a smile as I could muster. “Thank you.”

I watched Walid’s eyes wander from me to the street. Although I hadn’t thought it possible, his smile grew.

“Ah, Dr. Youssef, you have arrived.” He bellowed. Walid went out to greet the professor who had just rounded the corner. I stood again quickly in my eagerness to see him, nearly craning my neck to see around the girth of Walid. As my eyes met with Youssef’s, I knew immediately from his expression that perhaps it would have been prudent of me to attempt to conceal my emotions, even if only by a fraction. Without stopping to greet his friends, he moved, instead, swiftly toward me. “Oh my god.” I thought to myself. “What am I going to tell him?”

© 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.

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