The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra – Part 10

November 30, 2008 at 5:40 am (Germany, Stuttgart, family, love, memories)

It was a clear and bright September day in Stuttgart as Alexandra entered the front doors of Frau Hanauer’s home. The large wooden doors opened with a welcoming creak and the soft carpeting inside the doors cushioned Alexandra’s feet. At once she felt the excitement in the household. Several of the other girls had also returned that day. There was commotion upstairs as they unpacked their belongings and reacquainted themselves with their rooms and with each other. Alexandra stood motionless in the ample entrance and sighed deeply as she looked up at the ceiling.

Frau Hanauer was not long in discovering Alexandra’s presence. She was the kind of person who always seemed to be brimming with happiness. She greeted everyone with a large smile and a bouquet of courteous and encouraging words. She always made anyone feel like the most important person in her life. Today was no exception. Frau Hanauer embraced Alexandra with a warm hug and chatted merrily as she helped Alexandra take her bags to her room. Once there, she paused briefly to look at Alexandra and with a sympathetic smile left Alexandra alone in her room.

Alexandra’s heart fell. She knew what that look had meant. Before leaving Scotland, Alexandra had gathered the nerve to tell her father about Ghassan. The day they stood in the library alone, as the rain beat against the window, she faced her father with every strength she could muster. She spoke of the man who now held her heart; the man without whom she could not imagine her life. She told him about Magnolia blossoms and Damascus in a summer’s evening. She wore her heart on her sleeve hoping her father would see how much she needed him to understand and to support her. Her father was quiet until she finished, and when she was finished he spoke the most horrible six words she had ever heard. I forbid you to see him.

Alexandra’s father’s face appeared as though made of stone. The more she pleaded the harder it became. When she cried, he dismissed her. As she left the library, beside herself with anger and grief, she heard him pick up the phone. In perfect German he addressed Frau Hanauer: “Madame. My daughter will not accept phone calls from any men, save myself, and shall be accompanied by a chaperon should she leave your home. Alexandra is not to see or speak with any men outside of school. She is at the university to study and not to find a husband.” Alexandra wanted to burst in on him and to tell him that he was being ridiculous and cruel. But she knew better. Chances were that the situation would become worse had she done so.

Outside her bedroom window, Alexandra heard the song of a lone lark perched in a nearby tree. The notes seemed to fall flat as they reached her window ledge. She sat, deflated, on her bed and looked across the room to her dressing table whose polished, bare surface offered little comfort. In fact, much of her room appeared rather dismal. How could she make it through the year knowing that Ghassan was nearby but never being able to see or to talk to him? She suddenly felt a strong hatred for her father. She had always done his bidding and never argued. She decided that he had no respect for her and had no trust in her judgment. Why, all the way here in Stuttgart, should she have to respect him?

As tears welled in her eyes, she suddenly caught a glimpse of a small note tucked into her writing pad on her desk. At first she dismissed it, but finally curiosity became too much for her to resist. She grabbed the note and her heart pounded as she recognized Ghassan’s hand writing. Welcome back to Stuttgart, sweet Alexandra. Please, can we meet? Sept. 15th at Konigstraße and Kronenstraße, 2 pm? I will await you. Your Ghassan.

That was only a day away. (to be continued)

5 Comments

The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra – Part 9

November 26, 2008 at 5:26 am (Damascus, Syria, family, love, memories)

The last breath of summer hung hot and heavy over Damascus when Ghassan received the letter from Alexandra. He had visited the postal outlet many times in anticipation of its arrival, and until this day, had always departed with a keen disappointment. When the letter was placed in his hand, there was no doubt in Ghassan’s mind from whom it had come. The tiny mauve envelope was addressed in Arabic lettering with an obviously unpracticed hand. As he released the letter from the envelope a lovely, feminine scent accompanied it. Before he read it, Ghassan marveled at the tidy and intricate lettering that formed the words in which he was so looking forward to immersing himself.

In the solace of his father’s courtyard, a place where Ghassan always found privacy and some peace from the busy streets, he began pouring over the precious document. He had not wished to read the letter hurriedly but rather to reflect upon each description, emotion, and memory he was sure he would find within. He had wanted to savour everything she would tell him. Ghassan greatly enjoyed letters and had realized that they can impart so many things about their writers – thoughts, feelings, ideas; more than you might come to understand through a verbal conversation. Of course, that all depended on the skill of the writer and whether or not they purposely withheld information from their reader. But then, as much can be learned from what isn’t written as is written. For the most part, however, writers tended to be more free with their thoughts and he hoped the same would be so for Alexandra.

Initially, Ghassan was not disappointed. As he began reading, her words washed over him like a soft sea breeze – gently with a whisper of eternity. He found her reflections thrillingly fresh and innocent. He wished so much to be with her as much as she had written that she wanted to be with him. But suddenly the wonderful thoughts and feelings vanished, as quickly as they had arrived, as he read about Alexandra’s father’s reaction to Syria. A deep chill came over him.

“Politics!” he growled to himself and rose to pace the courtyard. “This cannot happen!”

Ghassan had come so far through some of the most turbulent times in the history of Syria. As he was growing up, Syria was dealing with an occupation, struggling for and with independence, immersed in the second world war, suffering general upheaval and several coups d’etat. Nevertheless, Ghassan had made it through high school and on to university, and was finally accepted at a foreign university to finish his studies. And now, that he had found the love of his life, the Cold War was going to separate them? A flood of emotions and uncertainty surged through his body.

Ghassan resolved that he would do everything in his power to make sure that he shielded both Alexandra and their love from the claws of bigotry created by the current political situation the world was facing. He would look her father in the eye so the man would see that he wasn’t dealing with a country but rather a person; a person whom his daughter loved! But perhaps, he thought, he was overreacting. She hadn’t actually told her father about him, she had just asked about Syria. But still, if he had such a negative reaction to the country, surely he wouldn’t be more positive about those who inhabited it. And then a more sobering thought occurred to Ghassan. What if his pursuit of her drove a wedge between Alexandra and her father? He would, then, be responsible for destroying her family; alienating her. Would she hold it against him and he would be left with nothing to hold?

Ghassan’s staggered as his eagerness to return to Stuttgart had been quelled. (to be continued)

9 Comments

Music on the Side

November 20, 2008 at 7:07 am (Aberdeen, Scotland, love, memories, music)

Unchained Melody, sung by Jimmy Young, topped the charts in the UK in the summer of 1955. Have a listen below. I think its absolutely fitting at this part of the story. Enjoy.

Unchained Melody

Alternatively, if you can’t use the player go here to listen.

2 Comments

The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra – Part 8

November 20, 2008 at 6:40 am (Aberdeen, Scotland, family, love, memories)

July 25, 1955

Dear Ghassan,

Thank you for the most wonderful and romantic letter I have ever received. I will cherish it always. The day I received it, I jumped with delight when I saw that it was postmarked from Syria. As I sat to read it, the tears streamed down my face from pure joy. Your words are so beautifully poetic. I couldn’t put it down for the rest of the day. I held it for a while in my hand and carried it in my pocket everywhere I went. That night (and every night since), I slept with it beneath my pillow. I think I dreamed of you until the morning when I awoke. As I write this letter, yours is placed just above. It truly brings me happiness and lifts me above the dreariness of this wretched place.

I find myself yearning terribly for Stuttgart. The memory of our day at Wilhelma is also clear in my mind. It was like a dream – a sun-filled dream. Here in Aberdeen, it seems, its always wet and cold. Even when the sun shines, I still feel a chill. I often go to the seaside and stare longingly at the horizon as the cold wind, whipping off the icy waters, conspires to blow me asunder. The knowledge that across those waters lies the land that brought us together, a place to which we’ll return to soon, is the blanket that warms me. Never before have I so desperately wanted to return to school!

As much as I would like to shout your name from the top of every mountain, I have only told my closest girlfriend about you. When I first returned home, I asked my father what he knew about Syria. He practically dismissed me on the spot. With a wave of the hand, he muttered something about Russia and left the room. When I pressed him further, his words frightened me into silence. I am so eager to share my happiness with anyone who will listen, but now I am truly afraid of my father’s response. My mother would be sure to tell my father, so I have avoided confiding in her as well. In my nightly prayers, I have asked God for guidance, but he seems unresponsive. Oh, Ghassan, the secret is gnawing away at my heart!

Please write again and tell me more about your wonderful homeland. I’m sure to you it all seems quite ordinary, but to me, reading your descriptions is like reading passages from an adventure book; a novel where the hero travels to exotic lands full of bizarre and fascinating treasures. I wish, too, with everything that I am, that I could be there with you. But, I keep reminding myself that September is only a little over a month away, and then we’ll be together in Stuttgart once again.

Until then, I wish you well, my dear, sweet, Ghassan.

Sincerely, with love,
Alexandra

(to be continued)

5 Comments

Another Musical Post

November 18, 2008 at 6:36 am (Damascus, Syria, love, memories, music)

One of the most popular songs in the Middle East in 1955 originated from the Egyptian film Days and Nights (Ayam We Layali). In the film, the star, Abdel Halim Hafez, an Egyptian, serenaded the heroine with I’m Yours Forever (Ana Lak Ala Tool). I can’t say with any authority that it hit the Syrian airwaves that summer, most likely it did not. But perhaps you can imagine, anyway, that Ghassan was listening to it as he composed his letter. You can play it below:

Ana Lak 3ala Tool

Alternatively, if you cannot use the player, the direct link is Ana Lak Ala Tool.

3 Comments

The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra – Part 7

November 18, 2008 at 6:30 am (Damascus, Syria, family, love, memories)

July 1, 1955

 

My Dearest Alexandra,  

As I sit here at my desk, the sunlight that is now streaming through my window and warming and brightening every surface reminds me of you. Most things remind me of you in one way or another. Every glorious aspect of Damascus in the summertime has a hint of Alexandra. The fresh light of early dawn as it transforms everything in its path, lifting the heavy blanket of night to reveal the splendor of the city. The melodious chatter and laughter of children beneath my window as they fill the streets and alleyways with their play. The eternal turtledove as it lulls us from our afternoon slumber with its soft cooing. The mouthwatering aroma of Damascene cooking as it wafts from every window. The colors of the setting sun as they streak across the evening skies and mingle with the darkness. And the sweet scent of Jasmine as it hangs magnificently in the night air.  

The day we went to Wilhelma constantly runs through my mind like a motion picture. I see your face, your beautiful face, as you looked up at me in the flower market. I remember your eyes wide with awe when you first looked at your surroundings in the park. I think perhaps you belonged there, the loveliest of all the lovely flowers blossoming within. I feel your hand in mine as I led you. It seemed as if it were made just the right size to fit there. I think of our kiss; the softness of your lips filling me with a passion I had never experienced before. And I will never forget our embrace as we parted that day; the warmth of you against me. Those moments will be forever etched in my memory.

I had wished that we were able to see one another a last time before returning to our respective homelands. I wanted to hold your hand again and to feel you in my arms. I regret that I could not tell you how much I’d miss you to your face. Rather, I will have to be satisfied with the sweet echo of your Scottish lilt as I remember it from our phone conversation before your departure. Your passionate words left me reeling both with joy and longing. Now that we are only half way through the summer, that longing has become overwhelming. If only I had a magical chariot that would bring you swiftly here now. But I do not so I must believe that you will write as we agreed.

With this letter I send you my affections and hope that it finds you well and happy. In my mind I am already waiting for you in Stuttgart.

All my devotion,
Ghassan

(to be continued)

5 Comments

The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra – Part 6

November 15, 2008 at 7:21 am (Germany, Stuttgart, Wilhelma Park, family, love, memories)

A light wind lifted and tousled Alexandra’s hair as she stood overlooking what was possibly the most beautiful view she had ever seen. An enormous garden, the Moorish Gardens of Wilhelma Park, stretched out in front of her; its interconnected pathways luring its followers to wondrous delights. Exotic pavilions with onion domes, glass houses with intricate iron work, glorious ponds, a covered walk, and fantastic candelabras mixed with manicured grasses and shrubs, overflowing flower pots, palms, and flowering trees. Awestruck, Alexandra shivered as the skin on the back of her neck tingled. She felt as though she had stepped into another world.

Beside her, Ghassan stood silently as if he understood her amazement. As she admired his stoic features, she wondered what he was thinking, or more so, what he was planning. He seemed so full of surprises that she was sure more were in store for the afternoon.

“This is paradise.” She said quietly.

“Not quite. Paradise is just over there.” Ghassan replied knowingly and pointed northward.

Alexandra wasn’t sure to what he was pointing but she eagerly followed as he lead her away from their vantage point. They walked along the wide, well groomed paths toward a glorious grove of flowering trees. Before they reached it, Ghassan placed his hand on Alexandra’s shoulder gently encouraging her to stop.

“Close your eyes and tell me what fragrance you smell.” he instructed.

As she closed her eyes, she wasn’t able to detect anything at first. But then a delicate breeze brought forth a scent unlike anything she had ever smelled before. It was sweet and fruity yet tangy and ambrosial. Alexandra felt lightheaded with delight as it filled her airways. She leaned slightly into Ghassan resting her cheek against his upper arm. He responded in kind by wrapping his hand around hers.

“Keep your eyes closed. I will lead you.”

“Where are you taking me?” Alexandra asked the question as a reflex more than anything. At that moment she had no cares.

“You’ll soon see.”

As they walked together, the world outside the surrounding terracotta walls seemed to disappear. Alexandra felt as if they were the only two in their private, secret garden. She could hear the birds chirping happily, the wind rustling the tree tops, and the sound of their shoes against the pebble walkway. The comforting warmth of the sun on her face and the thrill of her hand in his was intoxicating.

“Look, Alexandra.” Ghassan whispered in her ear as they stood still again.

Alexandra opened her eyes to the scene that Ghassan had painted so vividly in the taxi. Yet no description could ever completely capture what was before her. The most glorious Magnolia grove glowed in the bright sunshine. Some branches bowed majestically along the pathway, while others reached skyward; their blossoms hanging like delicate pink lanterns in the blue sky. Fallen petals were scattered loosely upon the green lawn and pebble path forming an intricate texture that could only be created by nature. Alexandra watched as a petal fell as if it originated in heaven, swaying this way and that through blue sky, past the other blossoms, past the elegant limbs, down and down, beside Ghassan, and coming to rest at his foot.

She looked up into his face and smiled. If, indeed, this heavenly place was akin to his world, her every desire now was to be part of it.

“Next week I have to return home, as I’m sure you do. I want this moment to last forever.”

As Alexandra looked deep into his eyes, she knew that Ghassan had understood her. He lifted her chin and kissed her tenderly. (to be continued)

12 Comments

The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra – Part 5

November 11, 2008 at 10:04 pm (Germany, Stuttgart, family, love, memories)

As the taxi wound through the streets of Stuttgart to the north and west, Ghassan could barely sit still. He couldn’t believe how quickly the day seemed to be improving and it was only yet early afternoon. He could feel the excitement that rippled off of the beauty beside him and it almost made him mad with anticipation. He suddenly wanted to show her everything; to share all the things he found beautiful and interesting. He wanted to take her lovely, milk white hand and hold it gently in his as he guided her through his world. He needed her to be a part of it all. But he knew he had to restrain himself. He didn’t want to overwhelm or frighten her. He would just simply bring her to what he had decided was the most beautiful place in Stuttgart. There, his work was nearly done for him. He wouldn’t need to push her to see what he saw; he could just stand back and watch her every reaction.

The streets seemed to go on forever. Both Ghassan and Alexandra looked out of their windows longing to see something extraordinary. Ghassan’s heart raced as suddenly, in the distance, from out of the cement, the beautiful greenery of Rosenstein Park rose like an oasis. Where they were going was just beyond.

“It’s not far now, Alexandra.” Ghassan assured both himself and girl beside him who was now appearing slightly nervous. Although she smiled happily in response, Ghassan could see that her hands were trembling as they lay neatly on her lap.

“Have you ever seen a magnolia in bloom?” Ghassan hoped a distraction would settle her.

“I think so, but I’m not sure. I don’t remember flowers types very well.” She responded quickly and he could see the colour rise in her cheeks.

“You would remember if you had.” He smiled encouragingly and, as she gave him a flirtatious sideways glance coupled with a delicate smile, he knew his distraction worked. “A Magnolia grove would surely be the entrance way to heaven. Between the blue sky and the green earth there are only blossoms of the palest pink and pure white you can imagine. Their fragrance is the perfume of the gods, sweet citrus and spice. As the petals begin to fall from the trees they almost appear as though they will hang in the air forever; swaying softly to and fro like large, feathery snowflakes. They land in the grasses to create a downy carpet beneath your feet and you can imagine that, as you walk upon them, you may be swept away to the heavens.” Ghassan nodded. “Yes. You would remember.”

“I believe that I would, too.” Alexandra said musingly.

Ghassan caught her gaze in his. Her eyes were wide and bright. They shone like translucent turquoise; the colour of the waves in the sea as the sun penetrates them the moment before they crash against the shores. Spellbound, he could think of nothing more beautiful. Even the magnolia blossom paled in comparison. He fixed his eyes upon her as if in a daze. He followed her slender nose to her soft, pink lips. They looked as though they had been touched by the brush of an angel, perfectly formed, welcoming. He moved his eyes adoringly from her lips to her eyes and back again.

Ghassan would have happily studied Alexandra’s face for sometime but he was interrupted by the abrupt halt of the taxi. His heart leapt into his throat or so it felt. They were there. Beside them, rose a most magnificent embossed, terracotta, tiled wall, not like anything else in Stuttgart. Once they had exited the taxi, Ghassan watched as Alexandra was immediately drawn to the wall. He smiled satisfactorily as she ran a finger over a simple interlace pattern. He now knew, without question, that she would appreciate what he was about to show her.

4 Comments

Musical Interlude

November 9, 2008 at 7:19 pm (Germany, Stuttgart, love, memories, music)

I looked up the German music “Hit List” from 1955 and found that in the spring the song “Ganz Paris träumt von der Liebe” by Caterina Valente was the #1 song. I believe it translates to “Paris Dreams of Love”. (corrections welcome) I thought I would share it with you. You can imagine it flowing from the taxi radio as Ghassan and Alexandra rode along the streets of Stuttgart! :)

Ganz Paris Traumt von Der Liebe

4 Comments

The Story of Ghassan and Alexandra – Part 4

November 9, 2008 at 2:34 pm (Germany, Stuttgart, family, love, memories)

As the noon sun shone brightly on the market chasing shadows from their hiding places, Alexandra stood as though she was frozen. She was directly opposite a café when she noticed Ghassan suddenly rise from his table. As he made his way toward the flower stand beside which she was standing panic rose in her like a torrent. She quickly moved to behind the stand and was startled by the movement of the elderly merchant who had, until that moment, remained unnoticed by Alexandra. The old woman smiled sweetly at the startled girl before moving around to the front to aid her other customers, who now included Ghassan. Alexandra peeked between the brilliant bouquets – Ghassan was less than two metres from her. If she moved even an inch, he would be sure to see her.

Alexandra’s mind was racing. What would she say to him? What if he was angry that she didn’t call? What if he refused to speak to her? All of a sudden she was aware of his voice as he began an exchange with the merchant. Its deep, silky tones coupled with the mysterious accent enchanted her once again. His courteous manner with the elderly woman – he was so kind and respectful – alleviated some Alexandra’s fears. She took a deep breath and emerged from behind the flowers. Ghassan had his back to her as he spoke to the merchant which enabled her to move to his side unnoticed. Slowly, she placed a shaking hand on his arm to get his attention.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call, Ghassan.” Alexandra wasn’t sure that the words had actually left her mouth. Ghassan turned with a look of bewilderment but when he recognized her, a gentle smile crossed his face. He looked up to the skies, as if to heaven, briefly before looking at her again. In the sunshine his eyes glowed like pools of smoky quartz and, at that moment, Alexandra felt as though she could drown in them.

“You’re here now.” He said kindly and placed his hand upon hers. “You must have known these flowers were for you.”

Ghassan reached for the flowers being held by the merchant and presented them to Alexandra. It was a lively bouquet with a glorious scent. Alexandra blushed as Ghassan placed them in her arms. She wasn’t sure she deserved such a lovely gift.

“Thank you, Ghassan.” She said shyly.

“You are very welcome. Shall we walk together?”

Alexandra had been on her way to the library earlier but now the thought of studying – being hunched over a carrel with her books – seemed like the last thing she should be doing today. In fact, if Ghassan had suggested they leave town and he whisked her off to some distant land, Alexandra would not have resisted.

“A walk would be nice.” She replied quietly.

Ghassan indicated that she should lead and he would follow. They walked in silence from the busy marketplace and entered the neighbourhoods. To Alexandra it was like walking in a dream. The sun bounced off of every surface of the street illuminating the grey stone houses that had seemed pale and dreary in winter. She watched as women swept their front entrances and washed their windows. She spotted a man delicately unearthing some tender shoots in his garden from under the withered growth of the previous year. All the while she was completely aware of Ghassan’s presence. His shoes tapped the sidewalk rhythmically just behind her and the subtle, spicy scent of his aftershave hung around her like a blanket of masculinity. She found herself inhaling deeply.

“I wonder, Ghassan, if we are meant to bear the winter so days like today seem like heaven on earth?” Alexandra said dreamily.

“Today is a beautiful day for so many reasons.” He replied.

Alexandra turned to look at him and found his eyes looking intensely upon her. Her heart skipped a beat. She had never been in love before but she could certainly imagine that she was not far from being completely consumed by it. And yet, the illogical nature of it all – he being a complete stranger she knew nothing about – kept pecking at the comfortable lining that this strongest of emotions had woven around her heart. She felt so wonderful with Ghassan and yet so completely terrified.

“Where are you from Ghassan?” Alexandra surprised herself at the question that blurted from her mouth. “I mean…if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Why would I mind, Alexandra?” Ghassan asked simply. “I’m from Damascus.”

“Damascus.” Alexandra repeated. “I’m not familiar with that part of the world, I’m sorry to say.”

“Then let me show you my world.” He said softly and without waiting for her response hailed a nearby taxi. Before Alexandra could enter the taxi, Ghassan had quietly instructed the driver. Her head was spinning with excitement. Where could he be taking her? What did he want to show her? What in Stuttgart could explain his world to her? She slid into the backseat beside Ghassan. He smiled brightly at her like a child with a thrilling secret. As the taxi headed off Alexandra silently reminded herself to breathe.

4 Comments

« Older entries