Mariyah's Blog

by Abufares

I cruised along the Corniche instead of going home on this late afternoon. I left my car toward the end of the lane, not far from the wharf, then walked briskly to the waterfront. The massive rocks outlining the pier may look alike to wandering inlanders but to lovers in need of concealment and to me, a sea dweller in search of his soul, each one has taken a distinctive personality. My rock was at the far edge and extended further west into the water beyond all the rest. I had named her after my grandmother, a Phoenician Princess from Tyre(1), who was abducted by Zeus 3,400 years ago. In return for her freedom, my ancestors gave the Greeks the alphabet of Ugarit(2). Today, on the other side of my sea, they call their land Europa(3), oblivious to the fact that it is the name of the rock I was sitting on at my day’s end.

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

_____

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_____

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

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

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

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

(Click image below to listen with Amar)

Midnight Song: Youssef to Amar

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

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