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 eight 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.
Mariyah
abufares
hamdanism said,
February 5, 2010 at 11:41 am
Hey Mariya…I’m Abed…remember me ?? your blog is still as lovely as always have been !! Kudos to you !!! a great writer indeed !
Mariyah said,
February 6, 2010 at 12:03 am
Hi Abed. I do remember you! It’s so nice to have you drop by. Thank you for the comment and the compliment. I hope all is well with you.
Joseph said,
February 5, 2010 at 2:34 pm
Good morning Mariyah & Abufares. Although earliert today I managed to read SS 30 in full, on the train and without any interuption, I was only able to leave a comment just now. Your snorkling trip has stimulated my senses and awakened my sleepy head. The seated ladies, and those standing around on the train, all looked elegant; the beautiful ones and the not so fortunate. Have a great weekend.
abufares said,
February 6, 2010 at 2:25 pm
Sabeh el Nour to you Joseph
Only a man of your mental caliber reaches this state of mind, that all women are “beautiful” in their own way.
You reminded me of a late train ride I took from Amsterdam to Rotterdam earlier last month. I looked at the four women sitting in the cabin with me, none of them was exceptionally beautiful physically but they were all so “real” and my mind, despite the fatigue of an arduous voyage, weaved the story of each one. One hour later as I left the train I knew them all… and they were much more beautiful than when we first met.
Did they notice me? I think so
Do they remember me? I doubt it very much
But they certainly made the tapestry of my life richer.
Cheers to you my friend and to all the women who make life worth living.
Joseph said,
February 7, 2010 at 2:15 am
Thank you Abufares. My train trips are very amusing at times; for me it’s like traveling with a catalogue, filled with all kinds of people, illustrated in a gradient of colors, from the very vibrant to the bland and distant… or perhaps, a fragrance lab that stimulates the imagination. Every trip is a learning curve. My eyes, like a compass incessantly pointing to, or searching for a yummy mommy… lol
Be good.
abufares said,
February 7, 2010 at 1:02 pm
Yummy Mommy!!!
Gabriela said,
February 5, 2010 at 5:58 pm
That part describing the moment at the sea was so refreshing…
And that description of Youssef, about his ungodly paleness, made me think of myself: so pale for a summer in Lima, a city that lies besides the ocean. That made me laugh!
¡Saludos!
abufares said,
February 6, 2010 at 2:43 pm
Hola Gabriela!
I miss the sea. I mean I haven’t walked by the beach since over a week. Later this afternoon, hopefully, I get my chance.
I hate an artificial tan as much as my own paleness in winter. I’m afraid I’m more tolerable of women who intentionally sit in the sun seeking what is considered by many as a sexy tone (I don’t understand them but I accept their vanity as a feline characteristic). However, I cannot stand men who do that. Well, I’m really not very tolerant of men who are too self conscious about their appearance. I don’t really mind those who are obsessed with fashion. I don’t agree with them but I’m willing to ignore them if they don’t talk about it. But men who look in a mirror for something besides shaving or combing their hair in the morning tend to get on my nerves.
Oh, you just reminded me of something…
Everyday when I leave to work then come back I use the elevator on my way down then up to my apartment. There’s a mirror in the cabin and I … how shall I say it … always have a word or two to say to my reflection.
“Smile you bastard and don’t take yourself too seriously.” That’s what I told him this morning
Gabriela said,
February 6, 2010 at 10:15 pm
From a very wise man, a very wise way to face life: not taking ourselves too seriously.
Pearl said,
February 5, 2010 at 7:32 pm
Ya abufares, ya3teek el3afyeh – beautiful description of being in the sea. You reminded me of when we’d visit Lattakia when I was a child…the water was cold, so salty…and I remember when my father kept teasing me that I was afraid to go deeper into the water…so I called his bluff…and when I reached him I realized I couldn’t touch the sandfloor anymore! That’s how I found out how salty the water was
Another lovely read…my heart picked up speed when Salma informed Youssef about the ladies going to Beirut…oooooh and the plot thickens!!!
abufares said,
February 6, 2010 at 2:56 pm
Welcome back Pearl. Both Mariyah and I are happy to see you again:-)
One summer I camped for 2 months in Bseereh by the sea. I mean my tent was perhaps 5 meters from the waterline (we don’t have much of a tide in Syria) I don’t remember if I ever wore anything but the swimming trunks or showered that summer?
My body hair (uhhh we’re getting personal here) was so bleached by the sun it became really white. My tan was dark chocolate in color and I had a perpetual layer of salt covering my body. When the girl in the next tent needed some salt for her Labneh she would just …. Ahhh, forget it… You got the idea don’t you?
It’s all in the salt I guess!
Fantasia Lillith said,
February 5, 2010 at 7:49 pm
I am a diver – and I shudder at the thought of spear fishing – so I admit that was tough on me. IMHO it’s such a cowardly way to go about it. Spear fishers where I dive – mostly in the Caribbean – are often the ones going after protected wild life. So the entire image just sent shivers of horror. It was tough to think of our hero in that way.
I am going to have to wait two weeks to find out how the men react! Damn it!!
The way you describe the pain of the absence of the other was wonderful, painful and poetic.
abufares said,
February 6, 2010 at 3:18 pm
I’m so excited Fantasia that our Sea Side finally struck some controversy. I mean who would ever think that such a tenderly romantic work of fiction could ever “upset” anyone.
I know you’re not really upset
but I can understand your point of view although I don’t fully agree with it.
I don’t see how using a net is more humane than a spear when it comes to fishing. I also don’t differentiate much between a slaughter house and a rifle as a source for red meat. Until very recently I have been an avid hunter. I was always extremely conscientious of the environment and the protection of wildlife. I never killed more than what my family and I can consume and I feel no guilt whatsoever.
I think what many people might find disturbing in hunting/spear fishing is the fact that there is eye contact between predator and prey. It takes nerves if you are a nonviolent person by nature to end the life of an animal to eat it later. But in the grand scheme of things I don’t find it worse than consuming a can of tuna or a hamburger. The guilt lies somewhere else, that’s all.
The way I describe pain… sigh… Don’t you wish sometimes that you were not so good with words
Mariyah said,
February 5, 2010 at 9:53 pm
Beautifully written, Abufares, and you’ve left me with a gem! I can’t wait to tackle the next part.!
Gabriela said,
February 5, 2010 at 11:34 pm
We your readers, neither can wait to see what joyful reading you have for all of us.
¡Saludos!
Mariyah said,
February 6, 2010 at 12:04 am
Gabriela, you are so sweet. Thank you. If it weren’t for the readers like you, I wouldn’t have the inspiration to continue…so a double thanks, my friend, always.
abufares said,
February 6, 2010 at 3:30 pm
Hello Mariyah
so I might as well continue with you.
a most interesting view indeed.
You must’ve noticed by my replies above that I’m in a flirtatious mood today
In writing SS30 I felt more like a caddie than a golf player. This episode was meant to serve yours and I wrote it with that in mind. But that should not in any way imply that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy it.
I’m standing a step behind watching you swing
The two narrators, Amar and Youssef, have been juxtaposed in the same location since the beginning and the flow of the story has been relatively simple. Being apart for the time being imposes stylistic challenges on both of us and I had to adapt in this chapter to accommodate that fact. But I can tell you one thing, I’ve never been so excited about an upcoming episode as I am about SS31.
I love your writing Mariyah, so much in fact I don’t mind being your caddie for as long as it takes.
neetu said,
February 7, 2010 at 10:07 pm
Karin said,
February 9, 2010 at 5:43 pm
Holy moly what a DRAMA!!! I can hear the drums rolling … and the tension in the air is so thick it can be easily sliced with a butter knife!
So the two women silently and stealthily made their way to Beirut … I bet Youssef, the poor guy, got the shock of his life!
I can’t wait for the continuation … FANTASTIC Abufares, as always!!
BOTH of you are out of this world!!
abufares said,
February 10, 2010 at 3:09 pm
Hello Karin!
)
Drums rolling indeed
Poor Youssef can’t wait to get his hand on Silly Amar.
How would he react will be a surprise to us all (I haven’t given it much thought yet
For now, all eyes are turned to Mariyah. We want to find out what she’s been up to with her two crazy characters in Beirut.
Fantasia Lillith said,
February 21, 2010 at 12:26 am
No – never! never shall I give up being good with words! LOL
The real issue I have with it has little to do with the actual “hunting” part. The issue lies in the damage from missed shots. As a diver I am faced with the proof of the damage to reefs caused by these things. People don’t realise that it can take 10 years for just one inch of coral to grow back depending on the species.
If you miss that fish … the damage can often take 10-20 years to repair. That is where as a lover of the reefs I dive – I struggle. Nets are just as bad my friend – I never said the contrary. Not to mention the Dolphins and everythign else.
I am a firm believer that if we don’t give the oceans a break from what we do to them – they will continue to die. And when they do … we will.
abufares said,
February 22, 2010 at 3:23 pm
Oh Fantasia I knew you couldn’t let go.
Well just because I love arguing with you and not because in principle I don’t agree with the idealistic inspiration to preserve our seas and oceans, you should know that the anchors of the thousands upon thousands of ships, yachts and boats certainly cause more damage than all the spears ever shot.