Mariyah's Blog

“Youssef?” The name barely passed my lips.

It had been a long time since I had experienced a nightmare. They plagued me as a child but as an adult they rarely entered my head at night. It was the most unsettling sensation, especially since I awoke with a start in unfamiliar surroundings. As I sat up and pulled my legs into my chest, my breath was quick, my heartbeat quicker, and perspiration dotted my forehead. My eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness and at the same time darted to avoid the nightmare images that still fogged my view. An almost unbearable sense of sadness and foreboding gripped my soul and I wanted to call out to anyone; just someone to take my hand and soothe me back to a reasonable calm.

“Youssef.” The tears welled in my eyes and tumbled unreservedly down my cheeks. I could barely stifle my sobs by pulling the sheets to my face. As I closed my eyes again the water pipes in the small, main floor apartment began to rattle and jolted me back into my nightmare. They were at the door – the men with hidden faces. They had come for Yasmina’s husband. No. They had come for Youssef. He was Yasmina’s husband? The banging pounded in my head and I covered my ears. But still they persisted – louder and louder. They can’t take him away from her…from me!

“No!” My scream hung in the air and then dissipated into the still silence of the deep night. The nightmare evaporated before my eyes but still left me cold and confused. I hugged my knees tighter and searched my mind for the correct answers, to sort nightmare from reality. But even as I recalled that it had been Yasmina who had lost her husband, not I who had lost Youssef, I still couldn’t shake a feeling of dread. I knew many people who believed that their dreams foretold some future event but I had always dismissed it as nonsense. In fact, due to the intensity of my nightmares during my teenage years, I made a point of refusing absolutely that anything could be made of dreams. But now I worried urgently about Youssef and could not settle myself.

I turned on the bedside lamp. The dull light partially illuminated the room in a soft glow but left the far corners in shadow. I felt a sudden chill crawl over my exposed skin. The room, although lovely and modest in the daytime, seemed barren and stark now. I rose reluctantly from the bed and walked to my travel bag to search for the scrap of paper with Youssef’s phone number. The cold of the tile floor seeped up into my body through the soles of my feet. As I pulled the tiny note from the bag, I sighed deeply as if these few numbers were my only salvation, and quickly headed back to the warmth and humble protection of my bedsheets.

I stared at the phone on the night-table. I hadn’t any notion of what the hour was. The old clock that sat beside the phone was of the wind-up variety which I hadn’t bothered to wind the night before. I had figured, then, I would rise to enjoy the morning when the sun awoke me. I was on vacation after all and wasn’t expected at the cafe until after noon. Now I wished the clock would provide some comfort, with a constant, reassuring tic-toc.

I looked again at the tiny note with the carefully handwritten numbers. I envisioned Youssef slumbering peacefully and began to think of how foolish I would look if I called him now and disturbed him. He would have thought I was either a madwoman, or a silly girl with a crush. The very idea of either scenario threw me into a fit of giggles that blossomed and effectively rushed away the sense of dread I had felt only moments before. How could I be so ridiculous, allowing my dreams to affect me so? But deep inside, I knew that I would still feel better once I saw Youssef’s face at the cafe.

—–

All morning I wrote feverishly in my notebook. By noon the scorching sun was high in the sky and I had lost almost all traces of shade on the balcony where I now sat. Yasmina had invited me to use the balcony as it was an extension of her own apartment on the second floor. It overlooked the lower village with a perfect view of the cafe and the sea beyond. For most of the morning I had been very comfortable there. The quaintness of the village inspired my imagination and the words poured out of me onto the page. Now, however, the heat began to congeal the creative juices and I found myself staring wistfully at the sparkling waters.

Suddenly my eyes were distracted by activity at the cafe. Several cars had pulled up along the road and about half a dozen men emerged from them. I wondered if this might be the group whom Youssef had invited to join him, but I did not see Youssef. A pang of worry churned in my stomach and images of my nightmare flashed in my memory. I decided that I needed to go to the cafe now as well. I gathered my things and, as I was returning to the stairwell through Yasmina’s apartment, I stopped to see my refection in the mirror. My face was flushed from the heat, and my hair had coiled into ringlets in the humidity. Self consciously I swept them up onto my head with a clip and slipped out the door.

As I walked the short distance to the cafe, my eyes continued to sweep the area for a glimpse of Youssef. By the time I reached the patio, I still had not spotted him. My worry became agonizing even though I continually reminded myself that I was being ridiculous. It wasn’t long before I was greeted heartily by Walid, his eyes dancing with delight.

“Amar. Welcome back!” he nearly shouted and his huge hand reached across my back and ushered me forward. “Please, sit here. It is the best seat in the house!”

Walid’s smile was broad and warm. I couldn’t help but admire the pride he had for his little cafe.

“This is a perfect spot.” I agreed and returned as bright a smile as I could muster. “Thank you.”

I watched Walid’s eyes wander from me to the street. Although I hadn’t thought it possible, his smile grew.

“Ah, Dr. Youssef, you have arrived.” He bellowed. Walid went out to greet the professor who had just rounded the corner. I stood again quickly in my eagerness to see him, nearly craning my neck to see around the girth of Walid. As my eyes met with Youssef’s, I knew immediately from his expression that perhaps it would have been prudent of me to attempt to conceal my emotions, even if only by a fraction. Without stopping to greet his friends, he moved, instead, swiftly toward me. “Oh my god.” I thought to myself. “What am I going to tell him?”

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