Sea Side – Part 30

February 5, 2010 at 9:32 am (Beirut, Canada, Damascus, English Literature, Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, friends, home, life, love, marriage, memories, travel, vacation)
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by Abufares

I detected panic in Amar’s tears and pulled her closer. The impact of her eminent departure must have finally sunk in. Although I have disguised my pain under a blithe mask of self-composure my malady was probably contagious.

“Amar my love, please don’t worry about what’s in store for us. Now that we’ve found each other I can’t afford to lose you. We’ll work it out. No matter what happens our forced separation would only be temporary.” I held her chin up and brought her eyes in line with mine. “I promise.”

She kissed me again, betraying residual anxiety in her hunger before she pulled back hastily. “Yasmina and I want to spend some time together tomorrow.” She stuttered. “Just the two of us and I hope you don’t mind.” As she said that she turned in bed and curled up in my arms. I felt like a lock being opened by its long missing key, my body engulfing hers snugly.

“Uh, OK Hayati! Where are you going if you don’t mind me asking?” A hint of concern bled through my voice.

“Well… Yasmina has business to attend to and invited me to accompany her. We’ll probably stay late and I’d rather return to my apartment in the village. Habibi I don’t want her to be alone, not now at least.” Her body shivered uncontrollably as she pressed herself against my chest and abdomen. I tightened my grip around her waist and steadied her.

“I can wait for you at Sea Breeze. How about if I stay there until you come back then we’ll drive here together?” I buried my nose in her hair. “Where are you going to Ammourti?” I asked again.

“No Habibi, please don’t wait up for me… I’m not sure yet, perhaps… Lattakia. I’ll leave around seven thirty and pick up Yasmina on my way. I hope you don’t mind Youssef. You know that I’d rather spend every moment with you but I ought to do this for her.”

I neither had the will nor the strength to pressure Amar any further and I slowly drifted into sleep. I dreamed of a flock of crows clouding the sky after razing a corn field and turning it into a wasteland. When I woke up she was already gone. The green digits by the bed read 6:59AM. She left me a note on the night table. I love you my wonderful man. You’re my everything. Please don’t feel bad. I will call you later today. Yours forever, Amar. I kissed the lipstick signature and faintly smelled her scent on the piece of paper.

Like an immense slab of granite her absence fell heavily on me, crushing my ribs, breaking my spine and paralyzing my whole body. I gasped for air but there was none. The crows shrieked then pecked at the pupils of my eyes. I stared at a crack in the ceiling before I rapidly lost vision. My etherized eyelids, unable to dam the gush any longer, caved in. Saline flowed in my throat, over my face and down around my ears. It streamed in rivulets on both sides of my head, staining the white bed sheets with two dead seas. I was alone and I was scared and the alarm clock wailed in the empty room. It was 7:00AM.

—

It had rained all night but the storm had come to pass. I stepped on the veranda and absentmindedly scanned the horizon. The sea was calming down and morning felt unusually brisk for this time of year and my state of mind. Al-Mina Street was coming to life and the pavement and sidewalks were drying up quickly. Shopkeepers were opening their stores and a few passersby waved at me as I stood there in a pair of boxers. Below a blue compact car came to a stop and a man stepped out. He blew the horn several times and called my name before I realized that it was my car, that it was Yazan.

“God man, are you putting on a show? Amar leaves for a day and you stand naked on the balcony!” He leaned on the top of the car and smiled. “I’m all alone too you know and I thought we might spend the day together.”

“Sorry Yazan. I wasn’t paying much attention. Please come upstairs. I’ll put the coffee on.”

“Don’t! I have a thermos full of hot coffee, plenty of food and more cold beer than both of us can drink. Just put on your swimming shorts and a T-shirt and get your ass down here. We’re going spear fishing.”

I wanted to be left alone to drown in self-pity but Yazan would not let me have my way. I nodded reluctantly. “Give me five minutes.”

—

We parked the car near a battered shed to the north of Bseereh¹ then took to the sea in a felucca. A few hundred meters offshore Jazeeret al Namel² loomed closer. As I opened the throttle of the two-cylinder diesel engine memories of the distant past flooded my mind. I dog paddled in the sea one full month before I walked on the ground, my father once told me. The sounds and smells, the wind and taste, the reflection of the cloudy sky and the rainbow of colors in the froth the boat made as she knifed her way on the oily surface reawakened my aquatic genes. The undulating movement, the pitching and rolling with the surf dulled the desolation in my heart. Yazan sat on the elevated surface of the bow as he struggled with the oversized fins. His powerful and muscular body belied his age. He was deeply tanned and made me feel inadequate in my un-Tartoussi and ungodly paleness. I was spending too much time indoors and on dry land. To him I must look like a …, like a Damascene merchant. No wonder he asked me if I could handle a boat when we first embarked. As soon as I aptly brought the engine to life and untied the ropes though he relaxed and busied himself with the snorkeling gear and speargun.

“Where does Amar live in Canada?” He roared above the drone of the engine.

“Kingston, Ontario.” I replied and sipped my coffee.

He thought for a moment. “It’s not near the ocean. Is it anywhere near the Hudson Bay?”

“No but it’s on a lake.”

“Ah, will you be OK there?”

“I’ll be just fine in Kabul, Afghanistan if I’m with Amar. I just need to find a way to get to her.” I reduced power when Yazan signaled with his hand to go slower then I killed the engine. He hoisted the anchor and sent it plunging to the bottom of the sea.

“Let me take a look down here. There’s a Ferekh Le’os Ibn Haram³ I saw last week, at least a kilo and a half. May be I get luckier this time. You don’t mind me killing a fish, do you now sensitive man?

“Yazan, for god’s sake you were contemplating murdering a human being. No I don’t give a damn if you kill the fucking sea bass. As a matter of fact, I’d love to eat it with a Kass Arak later tonight, if you’re as good as you think you are.”

He skimmed the surface in a seemingly random fashion; the snorkel emitting short misty bursts, his back glistening in the sun. Thirty meters or so to starboard he stopped moving then dived vertically, his fins disappearing in the water last. The sea yelled out my name, come to me you miserable soul and let me wash your sadness away. I put on a mask and a pair of fins, grabbed the smaller speargun and plunged after Yazan barely in time to see him take his aim and shoot. When the murk on the coral floor settled the black fish was writhing desperately but in vain. We reemerged together leaving twenty years of our lives behind. Yazan has been doing this regularly and was by far the better diver and marksman. By noontime we had killed seven superb specimens of different sizes. The largest and most magnificent was the first one of the morning.

I munched on a sandwich stuffed with some sort of cold meat and lettuce and plenty of mustard while sipping my beer.

“What are you going to do? About you and Amar, I mean.” He gulped his third can and burped.

“I don’t know Yazan. Whatever I need to do can’t be done before Amar leaves. An immigration visa to Canada requires a long time to be processed, assuming they are willing to grant it to me. I don’t know how I’m going to live without her.”

“But she’s a writer isn’t she? I mean she has no steady job or place of employment. She’s a freelancer and if she loves it here as much as she seems to why doesn’t she stay instead?”

I did not think of Amar staying in Syria before. She never mentioned it and I completely blocked it out of my mind. But what Yazan just said made sense. “How can I ask her to leave her life behind though? She had made a name for herself Yazan. She had worked hard to become who she is. When we first met I had time to read one of her novels and she’s really, really, good. I can’t tell her to drop it all for me.”

“You don’t have to. Ask her to marry you, that’s all!” He popped open another can. “Cheers my friend. Here’s to love. To Amar and Yasmina, the most beautiful women on this fucking planet and to the two of us, the luckiest bastards in the whole damn world.”

—

It was dark when we reached Sea Breeze. Walid was tending the kitchen and his wife Salma and a young man were waiting on the tables. Yazan ushered Walid out and took over. The big man seemed very relieved when he saw me.

“Thank you for putting some sense in Yazan’s head. I had a long talk with him last night and he seems to be dealing with his anger properly. Where are the girls by the way?”

Salma was bringing a tray of cold Mezza to a table nearby where two elderly men sat hunched over their Arak. She glanced in my direction and wordlessly called on me to follow her inside. I excused myself and told Walid that I needed to wash my hands. I went into the vacant room and saw Salma standing in the shadows by the desk. A sense of foreboding took hold of me when I saw the fear in her eyes.

“Oh, Doctor Youssef I don’t know what to do. I promised to cover up for the girls but they are running late. She  unnecessarily glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s after ten and Yasmina hadn’t called me like she was supposed to over two hours ago.”

“Where are they? What’s wrong? Please tell me.” I panicked.

“They left early and didn’t want you or Yazan to find out where they were until I tell you myself in case they don’t contact you first… I’m worried sick about them. They… They are in Beirut…”

—

¹Bseereh: A seaside village 7 km north of Tartous
²Jazeeret al Namel: Ants Island, a small uninhabited rocky island north of Tartous
³Ferekh Le’os Ibn Haram: Ferekh Le’os = sea bass, Ibn Haram = An illegitimate son, a bastard

—

© Mariyah Ayoub and Mariyah’s Blog, 2008-2010. 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 29

January 29, 2010 at 6:16 am (Beirut, Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, vacation)
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By Mariyah

I sat uneasily at the table in Yasmina’s apartment. She fidgeted with the glassware in the kitchen, aligning it and realigning it. Her hands trembled as she moved each glass. She seemed so frail, more so than she ever had before. It seemed to me, knowing that Houssam was alive proved more difficult for her than not knowing whether he were alive or dead. I never thought it possible. But maybe there was still so much I didn’t know or understand. Perhaps I had tread far too much into her life without comprehending all the nuances. Was it possible that in trying to bring her happiness I had actually done the opposite? Had I brought her more misery than even she, strong, brave Yasmina, was equipped to handle? Here I was, soon to fly off to my own life away from here and what will I be leaving behind? A miserable friend, and a heartbroken lover. Then again, maybe I was giving myself too much credit. Maybe my presence here was negligible in the grand scheme of things.

“What’s wrong, Amar?” Yasmina’s voice broke softly into my thoughts.

“Do you wish that I had minded my own business? That I hadn’t interfered in your life?”

“Oh, Amar.” Yasmina sat beside me and took my hands in hers. They weren’t shaking now. “You have done what I have never had the strength to do. Honestly, I never wanted to try. There was some perverse comfort in the ridiculous life I had gotten used to. If you and Youssef hadn’t come along, I would still be holding Yazan at bay and crying myself to sleep every night. Certainly, knowing about Houssam and what he has done has hurt me beyond any pain I’ve known, but that is no fault of yours. Why do you ask, dear?”

“You seem so distressed. I only wanted to bring you happiness not more misery.”

“I know that.” She smiled sympathetically and more bright than I had seen in a long while. “I told you that you think too much!”

“I know but…”

“Shhh.” She looked deep into my eyes. “My worry is not for myself. It is for Yazan. He is so angry. There are parts of his past that even I don’t know about. I’m afraid of what he might do if we go to Beirut.”

“That look in his eyes is rather difficult to miss.” I agreed. “What do you think we should do?”

“I think you and I should go alone.”

“Without Youssef and Yazan?”

“Yes. But we can’t tell them we’re going!”

“Yasmina!” I gasped for air. “That’s insane! I mean, even if we managed to get away on our own, they would soon catch up with us. They would be furious!”

“Listen. I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I have a plan.”

I was flabbergasted. “Oh my god!”

“Are you with me or not?” She looked at me with an intense determination I had not seen on her before.

“Well, I certainly won’t let you go alone!”

“Fine. Then here’s my idea. We’ll tell the men that we’re going to Lattakia for the day tomorrow, that you have agreed to accompany me while I take care of some personal business there, and that we’ll be gone the day. Ok?”

“Then what?”

“I know a taxi driver who will take us to Beirut first thing. That will give us a day ahead which, I think, is enough time to track down Houssam. We know his stupid, fake name and…”

“Never mind, I can probably find him on the internet. God! Why didn’t I think about this before?!”

“Yes! Here…use my computer! It’s slow but hopefully we’ll find something.”

My mind was whirring. It should take nothing to find Houssam at all. I couldn’t wait to tell Youssef…oh god…Youssef. I couldn’t tell him. How could I not tell him? He would never forgive me. It made sense not to tell Yazan but not to keep this from Youssef. My fingers flew over the keyboard – Jacques Lambert, Bureau Chief, Agence France Press, Lebanon…

As the photograph of Houssam slowly appeared on Yasmina’s screen, we both watched in anticipation. Finally, the image of an extremely handsome man with neatly cropped, graying hair materialized. His large brown eyes seemed to look beyond the lens of the camera, and his lips…oh my god…his lips curved into a very slight, but very sexy smile – far more sexy than one would expect for a professional shot of a Bureau Chief. His unbuttoned, navy, sport jacket perfectly framed his broad shoulders and gave him an almost playful, carefree, appearance. I had always imagined that he was attractive but this was more than I expected.

“Oh.” I couldn’t say more.

Yasmina sat down on the couch behind me. Obviously she had seen way beyond the sexy smile.”Oh, Houssam. Oh god, Houssam.” She couldn’t hold back her tears and as she cried her heart out again, I knew that I couldn’t let her down. I would just have to hope that Youssef would forgive me…someday.

“We’ll go in the morning, Yasmina. I’ll be here early. Ok?” I said as soothingly as I could.

“Thank you.”

—–

The ride back to Tartous with Youssef was quiet – each of us deep in our own thoughts. I don’t know what had happened when he met with Walid. I wanted to know but I was afraid if I said anything, Youssef would ask me a question that would force me to lie to him. The thought of being untruthful to him was nearly killing me, but what else could I do? He would never let me and Yasmina go to Beirut alone but I had left Yasmina with the promise of a secret. The city lights flashed amber through the windshield as we made our way toward Youssef’s apartment, I could feel that knot in my stomach begin to tighten. The sound of the car doors closing echoed in my head and the feel of Youssef’s hand on my back as we ascended the stairs made me dizzy with nervousness.

As soon as we were in the apartment, I grabbed Youssef wordlessly and begged him with my body to make love to me. I fretted that it might be the last time, I worried that he may never speak to me again after tonight. I needed to feel his love in me one last time. It took no time to lose myself in the softness of his lips and the gentle pleasure of his caresses. As we made love, my tears began to flow freely. Oh god. I had always been terrible at being dishonest and I started wondering why I was risking Youssef’s love at all. Why was I being so stupid? The tears rushed with wild abandon now. My entire body trembled as I reached ecstasy and deepest misery at the same time.

“Hayati?” Youssef brushed the tears from my face as he held me, his own face contorted with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I love you.”

“This is wrong to you?” he asked, slightly amused.

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I always screw things up, Youssef. Always. You are the love of my life and still…”

“You won’t lose me no matter what. Ever. Do you understand that, Amari?”

“But…”

“I love you forever.”

“Oh god…” I sat up at the edge of the bed and studied the stream of pale moonlight that stretched across the room.

“Amar, tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Tomorrow…” The words evaporated off of my tongue.

“Come and lie beside me. Let me tell you about tomorrow. It’s not what you think it will be.” Youssef nodded as I turned to look at him quizzically. “Come…”

—–

© Mariyah Ayoub and Mariyah’s Blog, 2008-2010. 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 28

January 22, 2010 at 11:25 am (Canada, English Literature, Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, marriage, memories, travel, vacation, weather)
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by Abufares

Amar asked me to switch off the air conditioning and leave the window open. Around three in the morning the moon sneaked below the edge of the veranda’s canopy cascading silver into the room. A wave collapsed and sighed on the breakwater. Somewhere near, an unfettered shutter yawned reluctantly with a faint squeak. The ceiling fan stirred the air above our bed whirling a cool caress over our bodies. By the time our guests had left we were too exhausted to stay on our feet. We dragged our butts to bed taking our clothes off along the way. We made sweet and tender love then fell asleep in each others arms. Her skin shimmered in the moonlight and her dark hair, loose and unbound, lolled over my shoulders and chest. I was her soft pillow. She was my gossamer blanket. With wide open eyes I stared in silence at the argent shadows.

Amar was going soon leaving me chained to this steadfast place. I could not ask her to stay nor cast the line of time away. I had worked hard to fulfill my dream. All I ever wanted was to be a college professor of English, a teacher no more. After the untimely death of my father and the flight of my two brothers, however, even that seemed far fetched and difficult to achieve. When I stayed behind with mother little did I know that she was the one who would make it all happen. I put bread upon the table while she instilled perseverance in my character and will into my heart. Whatever I became I owed it entirely to her but she was gone too. I had nothing to keep me here but a name. If I decided to leave and start from scratch at forty four I could only be a nameless immigrant who was good at English. They were more interested in plumbers and radiator mechanics in Canada and they could care less about a Syrian with an affection for Shakespeare. I could not go on living without Amar but I had no options to consider at the moment. She was the one, the only one, I ever loved. I wanted to wake her up and ask her to marry me. It tore at my heart because I knew that she would say yes. Dropping my career for her was the easy part. Even leaving home was an acceptable loss but not belittling the man in me. While I was ready to do whatever it takes to keep Amar I would not use her to get anywhere myself.

When the telephone rang at nine o’clock I had barely fallen back asleep. I reached for the receiver while she busied her lips with my neck.

“Good morning Dr. Youssef. This is Walid Haddad, the owner of Sea Breeze. I hope you still remember me.”

“Of course I do.” I was lightheaded from lack of sleep but how could I forget the generous and friendly giant with the thick mustache.

It was rather important that we meet, he told me. He was ready to drive to Tartous in case it was hard for me to go to Sea Breeze. When Amar realized who was on the other end she  whispered that she needed to pick up some personal effects from her apartment anyway. We agreed to be there in ninety minutes.

“What does he want?” Amar got on top of me.

I held her tight then surprised her with a barrel roll, a counter move of a sort. “He didn’t say. But I can tell you what I want.” I showered her with a downpour of kisses. For a start!

—

I dropped Amar at her apartment first then drove to the cafe. Walid was sitting alone on the terrace smoking a narghile¹ and drinking his Turkish coffee. As soon as he saw me he rose with enthusiasm and greeted me like an old friend. We exchanged pleasantries then he told me that he had asked Yasmina to come a little later than usual so we could have some privacy.

“What’s in common between the three of us, you, Yazan and me?” He asked rhetorically.

“Yasmina, I guess. We all care about her in our different ways.” I replied with the only answer that came to mind.

“Precisely! You are a learned man my dear doctor, a man of intellect and reflection. On the other hand, Yazan has been fighting his way through life, a gladiator of a type, a man of action. I, and I don’t mean to brag, am a combination of both of you. I’m not as careful or as careless as you two but I need to confide in you to help me out. You have to delay that stupid trip to Beirut you intend to take, if not cancel it all together.”

“What for? You should tell me that much at least.” I was starting to feel uncomfortable with the conversation.

“OK, promise first that you let me finish what I have to say without interruption.” His narghile bubbled feverishly before he let out a cloud of blue smoke.

Since he seemed to be waiting for an answer, I silently nodded in agreement.

“I was a sergeant in the Special Forces and I served in Lebanon among other places. I have as many friends as I have enemies in Beirut. Wasting this dog, Houssam, is as simple as making a phone call. He’s not worth a bullet though. I need a few days to arrange for a car to hit him or whatever makes his death look like an accident…”

I dropped my jaw. I could not believe what I was hearing. I wanted to cut in, to tell this jerk, if I dared, that he was absolutely mad but he did not give me enough time.

“You, Yasmina and your sweet girlfriend are so naïve as to think that you’re going on a pleasure trip to Beirut, that Yazan will not kill the miserable son of a bitch at first sight. I saw that look in his eyes when he and Yasmina came late last night from your place. I know that look. It takes one with my background to recognize it. He’s a killer on a mission and he wants to do it in broad daylight. He might be already packing and I need you to hold him back. I don’t want him to throw away his life and that of Yasmina’s for that Kalb². I will take care of it and make sure he’s as far away as possible when it happens. Yasmina already lost so much and I care more than you can imagine about her. I don’t want her to get hurt in any way again.”

I had to say something and quickly. “Wait a minute no one is going to get killed. I will talk to Yazan. Just promise me you wouldn’t do anything stupid now.”

“I’m not stupid Doctor Youssef and I know that you didn’t mean it that way.” His eyes pierced me like drill bits.” I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt though. Bring Yazan to me and let him say it to my face that he doesn’t intend to kill Houssam. Otherwise I know what I’m going to do and I wouldn’t wait for your approval.”

—

When I told him that we needed to talk immediately Yazan thought that I was calling for my car. “Can I see you in the village somewhere alone?” I asked. “And it’s not about the car. We have Amar’s and we don’t need mine for the time being.”

“Very well, wait for me at the end of the beach to the north, near the outcrop. That’s the only place we can be away from prying eyes and ears.” He said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

I did not have to wait much longer than that. I sat on a rock and laved in the mist of the crashing breakers. It was windy, a day for fools and desperate men to spend on the beach. The sea was losing patience and its exasperation was building up by the hour. A summer storm was brewing offshore. Yazan reminded me so much of the sea. His face looked as old. His mood as murky and mysterious. He offered me a smoke and I irresistibly accepted. He sat next to me, expertly cupped his hands around the burning match and lit my cigarette then his. He took a deep drag and stared at something only he could see beyond the horizon.

“What is troubling you Youssef? Tell me who’s upsetting you and I’ll whip his ass.” He sneered unconvincingly.

“You know what will happen to Yasmina if you lay a finger on Houssam?” I retorted.

He did not answer.

“If you love her as much as I think you do, will you still risk losing her to get your revenge?” I felt as if I was talking to the rocks around me, my words flying in the Shmali³. “I guess now that the possibility of you and Yasmina being finally together, holding each other, sleeping in the same bed and making love is becoming a reality you’re scared shitless. You’d rather live the rest of your life like a vagabond or rot in jail but you’re too much of a coward to commit yourself to making her happy.”

“Watch your mouth Youssef!”

“What is it Yazan? You hate Houssam more than you love Yasmina or is it that you’re utterly stupid? This could be the beginning of your happy life together but instead you want to turn it into an everlasting nightmare for Yasmina. What kind of a moron are you?”

“He broke her heart Youssef. For eight years, the son of a bitch broke my darling’s heart and you don’t expect me to rip his heart out.” His face was wet with spray and tears, his glazed eyes red with blood, his lips quivering with trapped anger.

“I don’t expect anything from you Yazan but Yasmina does. Let go my friend, just let go of the fucking past.” I stood up and started walking away. “When you’re both ready to go to Beirut let me know. Amar and I are looking forward spending a beautiful time there together. The mountains of Lebanon are lovely in August. And Yazan, Walid needs to see you. He has something important to ask you.”

I did not look back. I missed Amar like crazy and did not want to waste another minute away from her. Way off to the west the sky kindled with lightening. It was going to rain tonight, my bones told me. I could smell it in the air and I craved the scent of my woman.

—

¹narghile: a Middle Eastern tobacco pipe in which the smoke is drawn through water before reaching the lips; hookah.
²kalb: a derogatory insult in Arabic; a dog.
³Shmali: a summer northwesterly wind blowing over the Mediterranean, if followed by a shift in direction from the  southwest is a prelude to wet weather.
Painting: Storm at Sea – Lorraine Foster: http://fineartamerica.com/featured/storm-at-sea-lorraine-foster.html

—

© Mariyah Ayoub and Mariyah’s Blog, 2008-2010. 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.

18 Comments

Sea Side – Part 27

January 15, 2010 at 7:18 am (Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, vacation)
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By Mariyah

As she sat down at the table in Youssef’s apartment, I noticed Yasmina’s lower lip quiver. I realized then, just how difficult the evening may be. For most of the early evening, Youssef and I enjoyed our time together preparing for Yazan’s and Yasmina’s arrival. In our frivolity we had managed to distance our minds somewhat from the real purpose of the dinner. Youssef had already decided that the gathering should be viewed as a celebration. It was his way of dealing with the situation I suppose. I couldn’t quite bring myself to the same frame of mind as I knew that Yasmina could not view it that way, not entirely anyway. Of course, in the end she could finally be with Yazan, but there were so many uncertainties that still needed investigating, and misconceptions that needed to be laid to rest.

Upon reaching Tartous and before going into Youssef’s apartment, he and I decided to shop for the ingredients we needed for dinner. We walked along the streets of his neighbourhood, arm in arm, not minding the heavy humidity. As we went from shop to shop, I began noticing that our presence was creating a bit of a stir. We were being watched but either Youssef didn’t notice or he continued to pull me closer to make a point. Many neighbours, acquaintances, or local businessmen made a concerted effort to cross the street or exit their shops to talk to Youssef. After a while, I became quite amused with the obvious nosiness that these people were so poorly trying to conceal. After about the tenth “visitor”, Youssef lost his composure and began to chuckle.

“Goddamnit! They’re nosy!” He whispered in my ear. “But I’m loving it. I want to show you off to the whole world.”

My smile was bigger than my face. It had grown constantly right from the beginning of our walk. I loved being in Youssef’s arms, and in some strange way, that some might mistake as vanity, I loved that he was proud to show me off. But it really wasn’t vanity, it was more the satisfaction of being with him, being his. No one had ever made me feel this way. He made me feel like a priceless jewel and I could only hope that he knew how proud I was to be with him.

“Thank you, Habibi.” I kissed him on the cheek as we sauntered back to the apartment loaded with bags of food and ingredients.

—–
I had laid the table as beautifully as I could with as many dishes as I could create with Youssef’s help. But once everyone was seated the food seemed of little importance. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Yasmina. My mind was racing trying to think of the right thing to say but nothing was coming to me. I tried the truth.

“Yasmina, I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.” Yazan quipped. Yasmina touched his arm and he softened a little. “I don’t want to talk about it beyond saying this: We need to know where Houssam is. Yasmina and I will go to meet him and put this to rest once and for all.”

Yazan looked tired. His face was drawn and it was obvious that the truth of what had happened ignited a firestorm within him that was burning barely under control beneath the surface.

“Amar and I would like to come with you, my friend.” Youssef said softly.

Yazan nodded his head and I was surprised to see no trace of reluctance. He genuinely wanted us (Youssef, in particular I think) to be there. I looked at Yasmina again. She was so tense but trying so hard to remain calm. She seemed to be avoiding looking at anyone directly. I wanted to reach out and take her hand and to tell her everything would be ok. But I knew, at this moment, if I did so, she would begin to cry so I passed her a plate of lamb ribs instead and the dinner officially began.

We ate in silence for a little while. It seemed no one really felt like talking or like trying to force a conversation. I looked at Youssef across the table from me. His eyes sparkled when they caught my glance. I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“Well, Yazan, what do you think of the food?” Youssef smiled.

Yazan nodded in appreciation. “Not bad.”

“It’s excellent, Amar.” Yasmina said quietly and then smiled at Yazan. “He’s fussy.”

“Coming from the great chef of Nasim el Bahr, I think it’s a huge compliment!” Youssef boomed proudly and added mischievously, “This was all we had time for, but Amar desperately wanted to make her delicious Wara’ Inab. I suggested next time.”

I feigned silent outrage and rubbed my foot up his leg under the table. “How about if I make it for you tomorrow, then? You’ll eat it all won’t you?” I replied challengingly. Youssef’s eyes were filled with mischievousness and a huge grin crossed his face but he said nothing.

“I love watching you two. It’s like seeing two playful puppies.” Yasmina smiled but then the smile dissolved as quickly as it had appeared. “Amar…?”

“Yes?”

“Where is he? You said you didn’t have all the details, but I think you do. I know you were trying to lessen the blow, but I’m prepared now. Please tell me…us…everything.”

“Of course.” There was no point in trying to withhold it any longer.

“You’re right, Yasmina. We wanted to give you the information in person.” Youssef said gently.

“Then let’s have it.” Yazan’s patience was thin. Even with his deep respect for Youssef he could not hide his disposition.

Youssef, not the least bit disquieted by Yazan’s temper, went immediately into full detail about all that we had learned from Rana. I held Youssef’s hand and watched their faces, Yazan’s and Yasmina’s, while they listened. Yazan’s features were like stone and his eyes like thunder. Yasmina looked lost. The more information she received, the more distant and disoriented she seemed. But she needed to know. They both did. And I knew that, together, they could bring each other to an equilibrium to enable themselves to move forward. I just hoped that it would happen before they tried to find Houssam.

After Youssef had given them all he knew, we sat again in silence. No one felt particularly celebratory.

Yazan’s voice was strained. “Yasmina and I should go.”

“Ok my friend.” Youssef sighed sympathetically. “Rest and we’ll discuss our strategy tomorrow…if you wish.”

Yazan did not respond but rather took Yasmina’s arm, gently, as she raised to leave the table. By the door she turned from Yazan and hugged me so tightly. I could feel her strength and her fear all at once.

“We’ll talk soon.” I whispered while still in her embrace.

“Yes, my dear Amar. Soon.”

“Goodnight.”

With that they walked into the night and I leaned into Youssef’s arms as we watched them disappear. I didn’t feel like doing anything except sleeping while he held me. He felt the same.

“Come, Hayati, our bed is waiting. Leave everything. We’ll clean it in the morning. Let’s sleep in each other’s arms. I need to feel you close. I need to feel you at home with me.”

“My home is with you, Youssef.”

We closed the door on the evening and the wafts of humid, night air, and went to bed.

© Mariyah Ayoub and Mariyah’s Blog, 2008-2010. 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 26

January 8, 2010 at 9:17 am (Canada, Damascus, English Literature, Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, travel, vacation, weather)
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by Abufares

August around the Mediterranean is oppressively hot but nowhere more so than in Damascus where it is scorching and dry. For Amar and me, however, the lingering memories from the night before would make her our city forever. Once we left her behind we kissed, held hands and touched, quietly effacing the passage of time. A few minutes west of Homs my grip on the steering wheel relaxed and the compact car drove itself instinctively. A light gust from the distant sea bled through the air vents filling our lungs with a soothing flutter from Tartous. A shawl of delight wrapped our bodies in fulfillment and isolated us from the nuisances of the world, big and small. I ran my fingers through my beard stirring her embedded scent and watched her as she slept next to me, a white kitten, a Beeseh¹, breathing softly in peace and glee.

Her nearness chased away the entrenched coldness and the immanent disquiet of my heart but the resurgence of Houssam chafed it with bitter resentment. I barely knew Yasmina and Yazan, yet my anger was threatening to inevitably change my true nature. A thirst for revenge was taking hold of me and in a moment of inner candor I realized that I had to dampen the shock on Yazan. He would need me to calm him down not to induce him to act rashly in anger. I looked again at my gorgeous Amar, the woman who completed me overnight and filled me with everything I had missed before. She was resting, dreaming perhaps of our walk on the beach. A slight bump on the road broke the stillness and brought her out of her nap.

“What’s wrong habibi? You seem terribly worried.” She straightened herself and looked gravely at me.

“Yasmina and Yazan must know about Houssam. We need to be there with both of them and tell them the whole story. I was thinking that perhaps we should break the news gradually. That miserable bastard stole their lives and I really wouldn’t blame them for losing their wits. I know what Yazan is capable of Hayati and it scares me. He would kill Houssam in the blink of an eye for what he did to Yasmina.”

“You’re absolutely right. How about if I call Yasmina first and tell her that Houssam is alive? Then you call Yazan and do the same. By the time we reach Sea Breeze the element of surprise would be all but gone.”

“You see why I love you. You’re so much smarter than I am, especially under pressure. And baby, I need to thank you for believing in me after what happened with Rana.” I was truly blessed with Amar. Another woman would have walked out on me and never looked back.

“Well you’re not completely off the hook yet. You’re still under probation. I learned a thing or two about you from Rana today that…” she stopped in mid-sentence. “I’d better make that call now.” Amar resisted my earlier attempts to coerce her into revealing what went on between them in private. It was her way of getting back at me. I knew that she forgave me though as soon as I pinned her against the wall in our hotel room. She can torture me all she wants. I love her more than anything she can ever dream of conceiving as punishment.

She called Yasmina and exposed the tip of the iceberg. Houssam was alive. Amar did not have all the details yet about his whereabouts but he had been out of prison for quite some time. She would tell Yasmina later why he never called. Depending on how we look at it, this might be actually good news, she reassured her then hung up. When Yasmina was no longer on the other end Amar sighed with relief. Her hands were shaking slightly but she managed to maintain her composure in front of me as she did over the phone. There certainly was more to her than meets the eye. Her fragile exterior hid an iron will underneath the surface. Amar was a much tougher woman inside than she cared to show.

“How did she take it?” I asked.

“I don’t know habibi, I did most of the talking but she sounded overwhelmed.”

It was my turn to call Yazan. He answered after the seventh ring, his gruff voice not in the least inviting. “It’s me, Youssef, Kifak?”

He dropped his act immediately or was it that he put a more civil one for me. Except for one interjection, he listened in silence while I parroted Amar’s earlier discourse.

“How about Yasmina and you come over for dinner tonight at my place. Amar and I are going to prepare some real food.” I laughed.

“What time?” He asked simply.

I looked at Amar who seemed puzzled. She drew a soundless What? on her lips then punched me lightly on the shoulder. “Nine o’clock!” I said to both of them. “Amar will call Yasmina and invite her right away.”

“She just walked into Sea Breeze. Here, go ahead and tell her.” He handed his phone to Yasmina.

“Hello Youssef.” She sounded broken.

I took a deep breath. “Yasmina! Houssam’s real story is perhaps the best thing that ever happened to you. We’d like to have you and Yazan for dinner at my place to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what Youssef? That Houssam is alive and well but left me in the dark to face my nightmares alone. Is that what I should be so thrilled and happy about?” She asked bitterly, her words soaked in tears.

“Please come over. It’ll be only the four of us. We’ll eat and drink together to forget the past and celebrate a new beginning. I know it’s not as simple as I make it but time will prove me right. We’re waiting for you at nine.” I hung up after she resigned herself and surrendered to my insistence.

I was on a roll and before Amar could give me a piece of her mind or object. “I want you to stay with me in my apartment Ya Omri². The last few days flew by like a blur. I’m brushing aside any thought of you leaving at the end of the month. For now, we have to be together every moment of our day and night. When I open my eyes in the morning I need to see your face. When I close them to sleep I want you in my arms. Every day and every night! My apartment is the only home I ever owned and it’s waiting for you. The windows overlooking the sea, the blue shutters, the rugs, the books, my bed and every single brick in the walls are dying to meet you.”

“Oh, habibi! I want to be with you too and not miss a thing.” She craned her neck and kissed me behind my ear. I turned to catch her lips with mine when her small eager breasts nearly jumped out of her top like a pair of startled bunnies. I had to grab them, one of them at least.

She purred with delight, “Akhhh mennak shou Mal’oun³!” Then she caressed my arm with her cheek and bit me.

—

¹Beeseh: Kitten
²Ya Omri: used in absolute adoration = my life (as in the moments that make up my life)
³Akhhh mennak shou Mal’oun: Oh how naughty you are

© Mariyah Ayoub and Mariyah’s Blog, 2008-2010. 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 25

January 1, 2010 at 6:00 am (Damascus, Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, vacation)
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Kol 3am wa antom bi kheir. Happy New Year everyone!

By Mariyah

She told me I had such a warmth about me, a softness, that even she could not dislike me. I didn’t dislike her either even though Rana was everything I thought I could never be and so far from who I was. She was the type of woman who could fill a room by just entering it. She had perfectly crafted her mask of indifference. On the surface she was like a clichéd character from a novel – rarely the leading lady but rather the seductress or the nemesis in many genres. I always objected to how those characters too often lacked dimension and were always unlikable. Rana, however, had a vulnerability about her that was so obvious in her eyes. Any resentment I had felt toward her subsided the moment we said hello. She intrigued me, in fact. Possibly because she had been Youssef’s lover for so long, but more likely because I rarely had the chance to talk to anyone like her.

Initially, she seemed resigned to having lost Youssef which surprised me somewhat. Rana did not strike me as the kind of woman who gave anything up easily. It appeared, however, she had, within seconds of seeing me, measured me up and decided that I was suitable for Youssef. The more we talked it became obvious to me that she felt the need to hand over the reigns, in a manner of speaking. Although, it was more like she was handing me the keys to her weekend home with a list of instructions on how to keep it. I inwardly resented feeling like her replacement or worse, a substitute, but I knew that she was still injured so I smiled and indulged her.

“Personally I think that Youssef has a discerning eye when it comes to women. You and I are the only ones who seem to have captured his heart.” Rana smiled sadly. “Come to think of it, his tastes in most things are very refined. Did you know that he only smokes Gitannes Short?”

“I wasn’t aware that he smokes.” I was starting to wonder now how well I actually knew Youssef and if the only light in which I had seen him over the past week was the golden light of my vacation.

Rana raised her eyebrows slightly. “Oh, yes. Mostly after…well…Are you a good cook, Amar?”

“I enjoy cooking.”

“His favourite dish is Yabra’¹. I often had it prepared specially for him when he visited.”

“Uh huh.” Most of the conversation continued this way; Youssef’s likes and dislikes and Rana’s expertise on the subject. It was equally informative and irritating, but it was easier to remain cordial, particularly for Youssef’s sake. Also, in case she had been trying to get under my skin, I thought it best that she not know whether she had succeeded. If it ever became necessary to go up against her I would have to keep my cards close to my chest against such a formidable adversary. These were my thoughts as she and I hugged goodbye. I doubted whether we would ever meet again, but I would definitely never forget her.

——

On the drive home, the irritation bubbled to the surface. Between the information that we had acquired about Houssam and the tête-à-tête with Rana I was nearly at my wit’s end. I watched, in a silent fury, the countryside skip by in a blur as we barreled down the highway. I needed to get back to the serenity of the sea. More than anything, I needed to feel Youssef’s arms around me.

“Hayati? Are you alright? You’re very quiet.” He seemed to read my mind.

“Do you like Yabra’?” I asked without looking at him. “I can’t cook them very well. They always fall apart.”

“Menshan Allah²!” he laughed and placed his hand behind my neck and massaged it lightly. “After all that we learned today, this is what you’re worried about?”

I nodded my head but said nothing. I knew I was being ridiculous but hearing his laughter and feeling his touch was immediately soothing.

“First of all, people in Damascus don’t have a clue how to make proper Wara’ Inab¹. They even give it a stupid name!” I couldn’t help but laugh and he continued. “If you made it for me I wouldn’t care if it turned to soup! Your touch would make it a delicacy.”

I smiled coyly. “It would be soup.”

“Then serve it with a spoon, Habibti.” He grabbed my neck and pulled me close to him so that he could kiss me. I leaned my head on his shoulder as we passed Homs and felt my entire being relax.

“What are we going to do, Youssef?” I asked quietly.

“About what, my love?”

“Houssam. How can I tell Yasmina?”

“Habibti, I think we should tell Yazan first.”

I raised my head from his shoulder to look at him. His brow was furrowed and his jaw tense. “Why?”

“It was something I promised him. Besides, he knows Yasmina better than both of us. I think it’s best if he tells her.”

I sighed heavily as I rested my head again. “I suppose.” I just didn’t have the energy to argue and I wasn’t really sure that I disagreed.

“Ok, Hayati?”

“Ok.” I turned to kiss his cheek but he gave me his lips instead. I savoured their softness and taste.

We rode toward the sea in silence, both with our own thoughts – which were likely not that different.

——

¹Yabra’/Wara’ Inab: Stuffed grape leaves as called in Damascus/Tartous.

²Menshan Allah: For the sake of God.

© Mariyah Ayoub and Mariyah’s Blog, 2008-2010. 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 24

December 25, 2009 at 11:50 am (Canada, Damascus, English Literature, Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, life, love, travel)
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Milad Majeed Mariyah, Merry Christmas Everyone!

by Abufares

A ripple passed over her body and tingled my skin. She stirred. I opened my eyes. Luscious morning light seeped around the hem of the velvet curtain and a ray darted through a slender gap illuminating her uncovered shoulder. The hairs on my chest caressed her spine and grazed on her sugar-coated back. I was holding her tightly in my arms, her scent filling my head, her body entirely engulfed in mine. She looked divine in her sleep and I tried to remain as still as possible. Her breathing was soft, her breasts heaving ever so lightly, one of them cupped in the palm of my hand. She turned around and woke up and at the same moment she smiled.

“Good morning habibi.” She whispered.

“Sabah el nour¹ sweetheart.” I kissed her.

It was the most natural of things to wake up in bed together. We felt as if we had been doing so our entire lives. There was no shame, no regret, no disguise. We were one in our godly nakedness and as a wave of realization bathed our entwined being we knew that we could not exist separately anymore. The night had blotted all qualms and allayed every need we ever had. We drank our coffee and nibbled at the buttered toast and  marmalade. I licked a small crumb at the corner of her mouth then swallowed it.

“Are you sure you want to meet her?” I asked, knowing her answer full well.

“Yes I am and this is non-negotiable.” She combed my hair back with her fingers. “I was so hungry”, she giggled and jumped out of bed, her butt bouncing on her way to the bathroom. Oh well, I’d be a fool not to follow her.

“Habibi I forgot to pack my toothbrush. Can I use yours?” She said loudly above the sound of the running water.

I unnecessarily closed the door and gladly let her use all of me.

—

Around ten o’clock I called Rana and invited her to lunch. She picked a cozy place we had been to many times before in the old city. I warned her that I would not be alone and she seemed to find this bit of news very comic. She also changed her mind about the restaurant and picked one of the fancier joints in Abu Rommaneh².

“I can’t wait to find out who’s coming with you. But wait, don’t tell me. You’re getting better and better at surprising me. I’ll be there at one thirty darling. And Youssef, can I still call you darling in front of our mystery guest?” Rana hung up, her pert laughter echoing within the confines of my worried skull. I was doomed.

—

If Amar had any scruple about having a casual lunch with  my ex she did not show it at all. I also had the feeling that Rana already knew who my companion was. They were the most significant women in my life. On the one hand, I was Rana’s  first lover. She had been my girlfriend and mistress since she had become of age. She was endowed with untamed beauty, a dominating personality and a powerful father who was feared by everyone in Syria. Yet she had never, not a single time, said no to me. On the opposite side, only a few days ago Amar took her eyes off of her plate of small fish, glanced in my direction and made me fall desperately in love with her in mere seconds, something Rana was unable to attain in sixteen years. Angels dreamed of having Amar’s innocent looks, yet she was, without any effort on her part, savagely sexy. When she said “non-negotiable” she literally meant it. I very much doubt that I, or any other man with eyes in his face, could ever dissent.

—

We packed our suitcases in the trunk of the car and agreed that we would leave back to Tartous after lunch. Amar and I walked into the chic restaurant five minutes late but still could not beat Rana at her own game. While we were able to park very near I had the feeling that Amar purposely wasted time by gazing at store fronts in search of nothing in particular. Once we were led to our reserved table, she sat with her back to the door. Amar obviously wanted to negate Rana’s attempt at making an impression with a grand entrance. We had to wait a full ten minutes more before the heavy oak door opened. In the blink of an eye the maitre d’ rushed from behind his lectern and almost stumbled then bowed excessively to greet the newcomer. The waiters dropped everything they were doing and flanked their boss on both sides. Rana catwalked into the place and every patron, except Amar, became aware that she had just walked in. Rana looked straight ahead not seeing anybody but her quick eyes caught Amar’s hands in mine and her step faltered for a millisecond before she composed herself again. Amar felt the twitch in my fingers and did not bother to check my face for confirmation. Her expression unchanged, she brought my hands to her lips and kissed them. I stood up nervously while she remained seated.

“Hello Rana, how are you?”

“Kteer Mneeha³, how about you?” She kissed my left cheek then my right, her perfume assaulting my brains and ripping my wits apart. If Amar was jealous she did not show it. As a matter of fact she seemed as if she had not seen Rana at all.

“And you must be… Amar! Isn’t that right Youssef?”

I nodded like an idiot. Oh, you dumb bastard, why don’t you dig a hole and disappear while these two devour each other.

The head waiter reverently seated her and stepped back. The women were at the same eye level while I was still standing. For a moment, I seized to exist for them. They were less than a yard apart, eying each other like a pair of predators.

“You look very different from what I expected.” Rana said, without any further elaboration.

“Oh, do I? Well you look exactly the same as I thought you would.” Amar retorted in her sweet little voice.

“Come on girls… Let’s be…” I started but was interrupted by Rana.

“Youssef darling, why don’t you leave us girls alone. Sorry to ask you to do that, but how about you go sit at the bar. What do you think Amar?” She dared her.

“Yes, that’s a good idea. Give us ten minutes Hayati. That should be enough.” Amar said and blew me a little kiss in the air.

“Are you both out of your minds?” I was stunned.

They lost their patience. “Just leave us for a while, OK!” It was not a mere request anymore. It was a unanimous decision.

I ordered a straight double scotch, drowned it in one gulp and stared at my watch till eternity. Ten minutes and one second later, I left the bar and went back to them. They stopped whatever they were talking about and greeted me as if they had not seen me in a week.

“You’re OK honey?” Amar asked and rubbed the back of my hand with hers.

“We were talking about your exceptional taste in women.” Rana said and Amar smiled cordially. Then she asked me to sit down and in a conspiratorial tone she continued, “Let’s eat. I’m starving. Then I’ll tell you what you both want to hear.”

It was hard for me to follow their blasé banter. The waiter served the salads and hors d’æuvre and the two of them seemed to have quite the appetite. I was picking at my food absentmindedly wondering about what went on while they were alone. I peeked at their faces but I could not detect any animosity there. Their body language puzzled me too. Whatever their real feelings for each other were they concealed them exceptionally well. We all ordered steak and it just blew me away how heartily they ate. They were both on the skinny side. In fact they possessed gorgeous figures and one would assume that they followed very disciplined diets. Before dessert Rana told us all about Houssam.

Houssam Marjad was arrested on suspicion of weakening the national sentiment in his writings, a charge to be taken very seriously in Syria. The government at the time was in the early stages of negotiations with the European Union on some sort of partnership. The German mediator had a list of political detainees and Houssam’s name was one of them. Only a few days after his arrest the local authorities were on the verge of releasing him for lack of sufficient evidence. In Syria that simply meant that the man never did anything wrong. In a gesture of good will he was freed among a few other “harmless” intellectuals. When asked by the Europeans, Houssam opted to leave the country for fear of further persecution. He also chose for his expatriation to remain covert. Rana was absolutely certain from her infallible sources that he was in no danger whatsoever had he chosen to stay. She believed that he had left Syria seeking better opportunities or might have initially believed that it was not safe for him to stay. He lived and worked in France for a few years as a journalist and steadily climbed his way up the ladder. He had changed his name and eventually relocated to Beirut as bureau chief for one of the major international news agencies. The Syrian security service kept an eye on him all along but he had proved totally benign. Houssam was striving as French National, Jacques Lambert, in Lebanon. He was never under pressure or coercion from the Syrian government. He had seen an opportunity and he took it. He could have returned to Syria anytime or at least called his wife, if he wanted to.

Amar was shocked. She lost her composure and started crying in anger. Yasmina was robbed of a good part of her life thinking that she was waiting for a man of principle who was being tortured or who was already dead. She repeatedly asked Rana if she was confident that her information was accurate. Perhaps there was some misunderstanding or her sources were trying to hide the truth, she almost begged. Rana shook her head. Every word she said was the only truth.

My mind was working in overdrive. Yasmina should not learn about any of this, not immediately at least. Yazan must hear it first. I would not attempt to calm him down. If he needed my help I would gladly volunteer to kill the son of a bitch with my bare hands. We ran out of talk near Rana’s car, the three of us stood there each with his or her own private thoughts, then.

“Amar, do you mind if I kiss Youssef goodbye or should I only kiss you?” Rana asked.

“Oh Rana, thank you for everything.” Amar moved one step closer and they hugged briefly. There was no pretense in the gesture, just mutual acceptance.

“Take good care of him. He’s a baby you know.” A subtle hint of defeat leaked through her words but she was too proud to let it get the best of her. “You too Youssef, don’t screw up this time. Call me if you need anything, both of you.”

We held hands and watched Rana get away in her car. I was contemplating what to say next when Amar wrapped her arm around my waist and leaned her head on me.

“What did you talk about you two?” I wanted to know.

She handed me the key to her car and simply said, “Oh how I need to walk with you on our beach tonight. Please Youssef, take me to the sea.”

—

¹Sabah el nour: morning of light, used in reply to sabah el kheir: good morning.
²Abu Rommaneh: An exclusive neighborhood in Damascus with expensive boutiques and restaurants.
³Kteer Mneeha: Very good

© 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

Merry Christmas

December 23, 2009 at 3:30 pm (Syria)
Tags: ,

Wishing all readers celebrating a Wonderful and Merry Christmas.
Mariyah

7 Comments

Sea Side – Part 23

December 18, 2009 at 7:02 am (Damascus, Syria, Tartous, life, love, travel, vacation)
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By Mariyah

I felt dazed. My mind and body were fighting one another with opposing impulses. The speed with which Youssef had moved up against me gave me little time to think. The forcefulness of his passion swept through me like wild fire. I could feel the heat in me rising to meet his as his lips devoured mine and then moved lower to my neck and shoulders, and lower still to caress the exposed area of my breasts. And yet, the knot in my stomach twisted hard as my mind screamed for me to move away from him; to have space to contemplate clearly. But as his hands traveled deftly over my body, under the skirt of my dress and up my thighs, these thoughts were nearly lost in a sea of overwhelming desire. I tried, like a drowning woman, to fight the final wave that would immerse me hopelessly.

“Yous…sef…please…” Oh, how easy it would have been to surrender. I thought I would lose my breath completely as he explored more deeply “I…can’t…”

“Bhebek…bhebek rohi¹.” his whispers embraced my soul. “Bmoot alayki².”

“Oh God.” I took his face in my hands and brought it close to mine. As I looked into his eyes, I saw that they were, at the same time, wild with lust and filled with love and devotion. I had never, in my life, seen such intensity, or felt such longing. “Bhebak ya albi³.” My lips found his this time and I kissed him from the depths of my being and the fire within me. I hadn’t meant to forgive him so easily. But then part of me realized there was nothing to forgive, not really. I was more hurt because he hadn’t told me about her. Initially, I thought he hadn’t trusted me. But I realized that, perhaps, it was only poor judgement on his part.

As my hands found their way under his shirt to his chest and shoulders, the warmth and incredibly alluring tautness of his skin pushed any of these troubling thoughts further into the recesses of my mind. I found myself solely focused on discovering a Youssef of whom I had only seen glimpses. He was no longer just the awkward professor, the romantic hero, or the naïve lover, although these were all parts of him. He was the man who loved me, who wanted me, and the man to whom I so desperately wanted to give all of myself. But even at the threshold of abandoning myself to pure passion, I could feel that I was still holding back. Why? I unbuttoned his shirt willing myself past whatever uncertainties were restraining me and exposed his admirable chest. The top of my head barely came to his shoulders and it became so tantalizing to press my lips against him in a series of kisses, to inhale his scent, to taste his skin, while he enveloped me.

He pulled me in to him so tightly, his hands constantly reaching, touching, caressing every part of me under my dress. He was pushing my dress upwards to release me from the confining material and I could hear his breathing intensify. I, too, could feel my chest heaving and I thought momentarily of the torrid leading ladies of romance with their heaving bosoms. I couldn’t help but smile but succumbed quickly again to a moan as he found the sensitive place below my ear with his teeth and nibbled seductively.

I had all but become like jelly in his arms when his cell phone rang.

“Forget it.” he muttered more to himself than to me probably, but its sound nevertheless cut through the atmosphere of passion around us. It stopped after several rings and then started up again before we could get back to where we were before the interruption.

“Youssef, please, just answer it. It could be Yasmina.”

“Uh.” Youssef looked to the ceiling and sighed heavily before picking up the phone.

“Allo?” he answered coldly.

I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end and Youssef suddenly eyed me uncertainly.

“Yasmina?” I mouthed.

“No.”

Oh god. I closed my eyes and sat rigidly on the edge of the bed. I felt nauseous again.

“Where?” he was asking. “Alive? Oh.”

He looked so glum I wanted to grab the phone and smash it as she had. I assumed it was “she” anyway.

“Thank you…” he looked at me again with eyes begging for forgiveness. “Rana. All debts are paid in full. Right. Goodbye.”

He slowly replaced the phone on the table and sat uncomfortably beside me on the bed. He suddenly looked exhausted.

“She knows about Housam.”

My heart leaped and I could barely contain my glee. She didn’t matter any more. “What? Tell me!”

“He’s alive. Living and working in Lebanon.” Youssef’s eyes were trained on the floor as if it would pain him more to look at me.

“Well, that’s good isn’t it?”

Now he looked at me quizzically. “Good?”

“Yes! If he’s there, living, why did he never come back for Yasmina? Clearly he’s not interested in his marriage.”

“Not necessarily.” He turned to me and took my hands in his. “Amar. I have to meet with Rana again tomorrow. She has more information.”

“I want to come with you.”

“Amar…” he shook his head, a look of dread graying his face. “That’s not a good idea, Hayati.”

“Why?”

“She’s very angry with me, Habibti. It could be very unpleasant.”

“Well, then you have me there to stand by you.”

“Amar…” he looked deeply into my eyes and then took my face in his hands and kissed me for a long time. After that we were lost together to the night.

—–

¹Bhebek rohi: I love you my soul.

²Bmoot alayki: I would die for you.

³albi: my heart.

© 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 22

December 11, 2009 at 12:03 pm (Canada, Damascus, English Literature, Lattakia, Mediterranean Sea, Syria, Tartous, friends, life, love, travel)
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

by Abufares

I woke up around noon fully dressed. I did not even remove my shoes before I slumped in bed the night before. Leaving my car behind, I had walked from Malki to Bab Touma¹ at the witching hour. The streets of Damascus were all but deserted while the narrower lanes and useless sidewalks served as an endless morgue to the thousands of incongruous cars. The cobblestone paths of the old city, by far my favorite quarter, closed down on me. I felt like a fish out of water struggling to breathe the dry and suffocating air of this tired land. As I pushed it in, the main door of the small boutique hotel creaked and Fadi, the night clerk, was instantly alarmed.

“Are you OK Dr. Youssef?”

I nodded, “I had a long and wearying day Fadi. Please don’t wake me up for breakfast. I need a good rest before I drive back to Tartous.”

When I chose to stay in a hotel in Damascus, Dar Adad² was my residence of choice. Named after the Syrian Storm God of the early second millennium BC, this renovated old Damascene house, turned hotel, boasted a fine Dyiar³, ten cozy rooms and a superb choice of food and wines. Best of all, it was obscurely located on a narrow back alley and the nice middle-aged couple who owned it and befriended their clientele did not see the need to advertise their secluded piece of heaven in an industry of exaggerations.

—

What have you done old fool? I asked my battered reflection in the bathroom mirror. Rana took her revenge on Amar because she knew that she would hurt me most this way. Should I have told Amar that I was willingly walking into the lioness’ lair? She deserved to learn the truth, even the part about my betrayal of a friend. Was it too late, I wondered, to redeem myself to her? I felt ten years older overnight yet I knew that I would fight for Amar till the last day of my life. Folly does not make a devil out of a man, I consoled myself.

My first impulse was to get to my car and drive back to Tartous. I could use the time on the road to consider my options. I would tell Amar everything, of that I was certain, but I still needed the right approach. Her previous night was as bad as mine if not worse. By the time I arrived in my room and tried to call her she refused to answer. She obviously preferred to remain completely in the dark than to talk to me. I was wronged not by Amar, not even by Rana, but by a past that I no longer had control over. I felt miserable and as if showering and shaving with bitterly cold water purged me from my self-confessed guilt, I watched with indifference the feeble stream of blood running down my body then pooling around my toes before being swept away with the rushing water. I have always been meticulous with a razor blade but a deep cut on my neck betrayed my physical weariness and emotional fatigue. My neatly trimmed beard never looked more jagged and disheveled.

Before I left Rana’s apartment I absentmindedly yet carefully picked the larger pieces of my cell phone off the floor then once on the street threw them away in a garbage can save for the SIM card. The numbers of Yasmina, the cafe and everybody else I normally call were saved there. A five-minute walk from the hotel put me near one of the hundreds of small cellular phone stores that pervaded Damascus and every other city and village in Syria. I was relieved to find the exact same model like the one Rana… Oh, God damn it, forget about Rana you pathetic man, just find Amar and ask for her forgiveness.

It took me a couple of hours more to get hold of Yasmina. If I told her what had transpired the night before she could intervene with Amar, sort of calm her down, until my arrival. When she said that Amar was already in Damascus my heart was stabbed with a dagger of fear then washed with relief when I learned that Yazan was with her. Good man, Yazan, I thanked him under my breath. You’re one hell of a friend.

“Please hold Youssef, let me call Yazan on the other line.” Yasmina fumbled with two phones.

She gave me directions to a small cafeteria she had been to only once before. It surprised me that Amar was eating in the Shaghour area as she simply did not fit in. I ran to the square, hailed a taxi, asked the cabby to drop me near my car then rode in nervous silence. The elderly driver offered me a cigarette, his way of asking if he can smoke.

“Thank you, go ahead. I’ve quit smoking for good but I don’t mind if you do.”

—

I walked into a very unattractive yet reasonably air-conditioned restaurant with a few Formica tables drably arranged. I could not, for the life of me, imagine why Yazan brought Amar to such a place but there they were anyway, sitting in a corner, the only two customers at this hour of the day. Yazan stood up and looked at me gravely. Amar turned her head away to avoid seeing me all together.

“Amar, nothing happened.” I babbled nervously.

“I told you so, didn’t I?” Yazan spoke to her matter-of-factly. “Come on; give the guy a chance to make a fool of himself. I’d better leave you two lovebirds alone. I need to get back to the cafe. Walid must be pulling his hair by now.”

“Yazan, if you leave I will leave too. I’m not staying with him.” She stood up abruptly, still not looking at me.

“Yazan, I don’t know how to thank you enough. I hope one day I can return your favor. Take my car please it’s parked outside.” I handed him the key.

“He’s not riding with me! In fact, I’m staying in Damascus. I might not go back at all.” She was talking to me but blaring defiantly at Yazan.

“Just go my friend. Yasmina must be worried sick about you. If she won’t let me ride with her, I’ll take the bus back don’t worry. In fact, I might stay here in Damascus as well. It’s a perfect place to make up.” I smiled at him while we shook hands. He walked a couple of steps then came back and put his hand on Amar’s shoulder. It was all in her eyes; she was so grateful to him but did not even have the time to say it. He turned around, spoke briefly to the owner then hurried out, disappearing instantly.

It seemed to make more sense to apologize to the wall than to her as she continued to ignore me completely. Once I started shyly disrobing my past, however, I caught her attention. Her face was still expressionless when she interrupted me.

“You don’t owe me an explanation. You’re a free man and I’m in no position to hold you back.” Finally, a hint of hurt seeped through her words.

I was waiting for the right moment. I wanted to be with her on the beach, together gazing at the setting sun, not in this god forsaken greasy spoon in Shaghour when I tell her for the first time. “Amar, I love you and I can’t live without you.”

I reached for her hand and walked with her to the door. “Can I get in the car with you?”

“Where are we going?” she asked, deliberately evading eye contact, seemingly lost.

She fastened her seat-belt and turned the ignition on. I touched her face with the back of my hand and spoke softly. “Look at me Amar, please.” She fought the impulse to yield but lost. I took her hand and kissed it. “I’m sorry Hayati. Not only I didn’t mean to hurt you but I can’t ever hurt you. I am no longer the man I was. You have changed me and for the first time in my life forever is such an easy word to say. I want you forever. I fancied being your hero, to impress you most but to help Yasmina too. If I wasn’t sure that Ra..  that she didn’t mean anything to me I would’ve not put myself into that position. But she’s the only one I knew who could’ve helped.”

“What you just told me inside. Doesn’t it scare you?” she leaned her head to the side, her bluest eyes rapturing, penetrating then soothing my soul.

“I love you till the end of time, then beyond. That we won’t spend the rest of our lives together doesn’t even cross my mind. I will find my way to you even if I have to carve it with my fingernails. You will never lose me unless you decide that you don’t want me anymore. I’m not scared and you shouldn’t be. Do you love me Amar?”

“Oh, Youssef! I love you more than I ever loved anyone.” She was gorgeous, the most complete woman on earth.

I kissed her forehead and breathed the scent of her hair. “Now that we’re here we might as well get Damascus under our skin. Let’s go to the hotel my love. You look exhausted.”

She drove carefully amid the psychotic taxis and the homicidal micros of Damascus while I excitedly told her about Dar Adad. I called the front desk and asked for a valet to meet us as close as possible to the hotel. We had to walk the remaining distance.

“But are you sure they have a room for me?” She anxiously asked.

Once in the inner court Amar became truly enchanted by the simple beauty of this immured oasis. The charming olden days of Damascus were captured in the intricate details of this restored abode. The perfumes of jasmine and magnolia saturated the air and lightened the head. Madame Mona, the proprietress, greeted us with a smile that never abandoned her face. There were no vacancies except for one reserved room. The German couple was supposed to arrive two hours ago but did not show up yet. She will honor their reservation till 10:00PM but not longer. It was still seven in the evening and Madame Mona suggested that Amar should rest and wait in my room. She would contact us later and update us on the situation, if we are still interested that is. I could not but smile mischievously. I fought it with all of my power but I simply could not hold my happiness back. Both women noticed my gritty euphoria. Madame Mona found it most amusing while Amar’s cheeks turned redder than a handful of mouthwatering strawberries. The bellboy carried her bag and led the way to my room on the first floor. He dropped it at the foot of the bed and left immediately. Amar did not know what to do with her hands and seemed very conscious of them. I closed the door gently, walked over to her, grabbed her hips and without the slightest hesitation pushed her against the wall. We were both starving for that fevered embrace and burning kiss.

—

¹Bab Touma: St. Thomas Gate. Named after the Christian Saint, the Gate of Thomas is one of the seven original entrances to the Old City. One stone is engraved with Greek letters suggesting that it was originally built by the Greek before it was rebuilt at a later date by the Romans.

²Dar Adad: The House of Adad

³Dyiar: Inner Court

© 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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