Sea Side – Part 20

November 27, 2009 at 10:00 am (Canada, Damascus, Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, marriage, memories, travel)
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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.

15 Comments

Eid Mubarak

November 26, 2009 at 10:05 pm (Syria, eid, family, friends, life)
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Wishing all readers celebrating a wonderful Eid Adha.
Mariyah

15 Comments

Sea Side – Part 19

November 20, 2009 at 6:57 am (Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, travel, vacation)
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By Mariyah

Youssef’s sudden departure unsettled me somewhat. It wasn’t that I was worried about him, I just felt…left out. Rationally, I knew that this was probably business only he could conduct, but emotionally I wanted to be made part of it all. I was so eager, almost desperate, to help Yasmina. The pain in her eyes, the desperation created by forbidden love, was almost too much for me to bear. I could only begin to imagine how she felt. So it was with her I decided to spend the day. Well, with her and whomever drifted into the Sea Breeze that day. I left my apartment early in the morning – long after Yasmina had gone to work but well before it was busy at the cafe. I brought with me my writing bag full of notebooks, pens, an old and well-used thesaurus, and my reading glasses. Yasmina showed me, at my request, to a table off to the side where I could sit comfortably and privately to write. I didn’t want to be alone – that’s what I told her – but, secretly, I also needed to observe and to learn what I could about Yasmina and Yazan.

The table was perfect. I had, to my delight, an almost unobstructed view of the kitchen. I could see Yazan meticulously scrubbing the grill. His face bore very little expression, but his vigorous, nearly hostile, approach to the grill spoke volumes. I noticed, with some alarm, the sweat glistening on his forehead and his knuckles, as he gripped the brush, were white. I wondered what might be on his mind. What thoughts were making him so ferocious? I looked, then, for Yasmina and found her busying herself at the front of the cafe, folding napkins. I watched her for a few minutes and noted, curiously, that she was also keeping an eye on Yazan. I needed to know what she was thinking.

“Yasmina!” I called as pleasantly as possible so as not to alarm her. She came to my table immediately and, uncharacteristically, sat down.

“Amar?” She looked at me perplexed and concerned. “Did you see?”

I nodded. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. He’s usually so peaceful in the mornings. Well, more quiet and contemplative than peaceful. But certainly not like this.”

“Is it usually just you and he here first thing?” I asked rather coaxingly.

She was obviously too concerned about him to be suspicious of my question. “Yes. It’s normally my favourite part of the day. We don’t talk. We’re just here, together, working. Just the two of us. I’m comforted by the sound of him rattling around in the kitchen. It’s difficult to explain, but his silent strength makes me feel safe. It always has.” She smiled thoughtfully and then remembered. “But today…”

“He’s been like this all morning?”

She nodded. “When I first walk in, we normally wish each other a heartfelt good morning. This morning he didn’t look up when I entered. I said ‘good morning’ and he mumbled an incomprehensible reply without even looking at me. He’s only been this way with me twice before. Once when he had received bad news from a relative. What it was, he never told me. That was very early on. And then more recently when he thought I had been too flirtatious with a customer. I had been. It was a bad day and I felt…reckless. But it was foolish since the man was in municipal office in Lattakia. Yazan was very upset…more from concern than anger though, I think. He’s always looking out for me. Always.”

Suddenly she looked much younger and fragile, like a child. I couldn’t help but smile. “Of course he is. You’re his priceless jewel, Yasmina. You realize that don’t you?”

She laughed scornfully. “Sure. Except that I’m not his. I belong to a man who’s voice I can no longer even hear in my mind, it’s been so long since I’ve heard it.”

I barely managed to withhold the annoyance in my voice. “You don’t belong to Housam. You’re being held for ransom by society, and your family, and your own fears. And you’ve paid more than your share in pain. Let it go. Let him go. Your heart has already moved on. Bring your mind to the place where your heart is. Put them both in Yazan’s protective hands.”

Yasmina looked at me rather bitterly. “His hands look a little less than welcoming today, Amar.”

“Try him.”

“What?” Her eyes opened wide.

“Try him. Go to him. Ask him to hold you.”

“I can’t.” She shook her head nervously.

“Yes. You can.”

“No.”

“Yasmina, have you ever asked him for anything? Anything at all?”

“Never. Just to prepare special dishes for the customers.”

“I mean for something for you.”

“No…except for the time he removed a sliver from my finger.”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, my friend, if this situation weren’t so sensitive…Go, Yasmina. I guarantee it will change your entire world.”

She hesitated a few minutes more and then rose slowly from her seat. She looked at me pleadingly.

“Go.”

I watched as she entered the cafe. I knew her heart must be pounding like thunder in her chest. Her usual self-assured gait had disappeared. Her body was tense and stiff. I glanced at Yazan. His back was to the door. My heart started to beat quickly then. I prayed that my wager was correct – that his temperament today was due to the fact that the distance he had to maintain from Yasmina had become too much for him.

As she approached him, she must have said his name for he turned around gruffly. His face was dark with near agony. He remained aloof, several steps away, even as she was speaking to him. I held my breath as she moved closer still. And then she did something I hadn’t expected. She stretched out her hand and stroked his face lovingly. The change in his expression was immediate. His eyes softened and the muscles that held his scowl relaxed. He looked at her intently, adoringly. And then, cautiously, he wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her and drew her into him. As I watched tears course down his cheeks, and Yasmina’s body tremble in his arms, I cried too.

And then I thought of Youssef and wondered…

© 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.

17 Comments

Sea Side – Part 18

November 13, 2009 at 11:45 am (Damascus, Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, love, travel)
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by Abufares

Renoir-ConfidencesAmar’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.

“Yous…sef!” she gasped a second time. Youssef… Please… We’re in the middle of the street!”

I reluctantly released my hold. Her breasts, pressed firmly against my chest, slowly plowed their way down turning me inside out. The glee in her eyes buoyed me then held my reins. Her closeness soothed my raging passion into a tranquil lake as I realized that she loved me as much I loved her. I closed my eyes and etched the moment in my memory, forever.

I wanted to do that since the very first time I saw her. I reached for the vagrant strand of hair and pulled it behind her ear. It fell back, satin gliding on silk, soft and glistening in the morning sun. I squinted, begging for night to come, for a soft mountain gust to flute through the fields, for the surf to sing, for our silhouettes, hers and mine, to clasp under the moonlight then to collapse where the sand dandles them and the froth makes them one. I held her face and craved one more kiss, then another.

“Youssef!” Oh, the way she says my name. She licked her lips.

“Yes my Amar.” I licked mine.

“Before we go anywhere, I want you to come with me and talk to Yasmina. She really needs all the help and support we can give her.” She signaled for me to wait and climbed the stairs in a blink. Three minutes later she popped her sweet little head from a window and invited me to join them on the veranda.

There was something about Yasmina which captivated a man, any man, who dared look at her for more than a fleeting instance. But with Amar by her side and with the love of Yazan wrapping her shoulders with an invisible shawl, Yasmina turned into an untouchable woman. She was the little sister I never had and her explicit and unbound beauty blended with the mountains and merged with the colorful background. Only the sadness in her eyes remained.

“Yasmina… We will do our best to help but you must know from the outset that it won’t be good news in the end. You have to accept Housam’s fate to set yourself free. You’ve mourned him already and there’s nothing left behind the shut doors of the past. You understand?”

“Thank you Doctor… It’s just that I’m tired of living like this. I have nowhere to go, no one to turn to and I’m…” Her tears blazed then fell. I swallowed hard, keeping my emotions under the lid, flaunting my manly façade for her sake. Amar pulled her chair closer to Yasmina and held her hand.

“Call me Youssef please. You’re not alone Yasmina. Yazan is here and he’s a man who is absolutely and madly in love with you. He would drink the sea if you ask him to. He loves you beyond his capacity to explain and further than your willingness to accept for the time being. I hope we’ll find out that Housam died in his sleep a few days after his arrest and not under torture. This is the best you could ever expect. But if we fail to learn the truth you still need to let go of him Yasmina. He’s gone and he won’t be back.”

Gradually, hesitantly she shook her head in agreement and wiped the tears with the short sleeve of her white shirt. “Thank you Youssef and oh thank you Amar, you’re my only friend.”

The sight of the two women, trustingly embracing reminded me of “Confidences”, a stunning masterpiece of oil on canvas I saw once in a book. Yet Amar and Yasmina were far more beautiful than Renoir or any other mortal could ever convey.

___

I brought her fingers to my lips and kissed them, one by one. “Where would you like to go? Tartous or Lattakia? Mountain or sea? What would you like to eat?” I kept switching views between her gorgeous face and the winding side road.

“Ummm, Lattakia, mountain, barbequed chicken in olive oil and garlic, homemade Arak too, anywhere you can hold me and people won’t stare at us.” It was her turn. She brought my fingers to her lips and kissed them, one by one.

We huddled in each others arms in a small restaurant at the edge of the world. I hugged her to fend off the creeping afternoon cold descending the northern slopes. She leaned her head on me while the sun sneaked in between two peaks. From this distance, even in turmoil, the blue sea looked placid and calm. Yet every passing moment brought us closer to the day she boards that plane and leaves. My joy and gloom wrestled within but I was too happy to let despair get the upper hand. I knew that we will soon have to face our reality but I did not want to think about it today. We have merely started discovering each other and we must have realized by now how painful it would be to part. The more intimate we became, the graver our loss looked and loomed ahead.

“Youssef! I’ve never felt so safe in my life.”

I planted a kiss on her forehead and pulled her tighter; the sea shimmered behind my callow tears. I shut my eyes close and willed them to dry. When she looked up, only a smile remained. “I’ve never been happier Amar.”

___

I have tried to talk to Rayyan several times during the day. His secretary continually refused to divulge his whereabouts or to even give me a number I can reach him at. If I knew him well, he had hired her for her bedroom talents not her tact.

“Doctor Khalil, I have already told you that Captain Rayyan is traveling in Europe and that I will give him your message when he calls the office. And, you’re right, if he doesn’t call in a week he wouldn’t know that you wanted to talk to him at all.”

This time she was rude enough to hang up before I had a chance to give her a piece of my mind. Despair was written on Amar’s face.

“Don’t worry Hayati. I will later make one more phone call and settle the matter once and for all. Why don’t we just enjoy our time together?” I reassured her.

“Can’t you do something now? I want Yasmina to know that we’re trying.”

“I promise I will, but later. Take my word for it; I won’t sleep tonight till I take care of it.”

We reached her apartment a little before midnight. We parked the car under the huge walnut tree and kissed for a very long time. My hands danced over her body and I sensed her tensing then melting under my touch. Knowingly, an unspoken vow to resolve Yasmina’s dilemma before she would ask me to come up pervaded our consciousness. We hugged for an endless minute near the gate and stared inside each other until we exhausted the spoken word. I drove home in silence dreading the next hour yet impatient to get it out of the way.

___

I dialed the almost forgotten mobile number and waited, fumbling with an unlit cigarette.

“Aloo!” A sleepy voice came on the other end.

“It’s me, Youssef. You’re sleeping?”

“Oh, Youssef! What’s wrong? Are you in any kind of trouble?”

“No! Nothing at all. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Can it wait or do you need me now?”

“It can wait. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“No you won’t. I’m in the villa in Damascus. I’ll be at the Malki* apartment tomorrow at nine in the evening. Don’t forget to bring me flowers. And Youssef, when I see you I don’t know whether I should be mad at you or tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

“Ok Rana. See you then.” My hand trembled as I lit the cigarette. I inhaled then coughed my lungs out. I haven’t smoked in well over a year.
___

*Malki- A posh residential neighborhood in Damascus

© 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.

27 Comments

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.

22 Comments

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.

21 Comments

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 Rayyan 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.

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