Mariyah's Blog

by Abufares

You look perfect together
Good luck

I read Farid’s short message on my mobile phone and simpered quietly. He was probably having fun with the guys in Lattakia but thoughtful enough to send his words of support. He and May, his wife,  have tried to hook me up with an interesting friend or a pretty relative a million times over the years. I always appreciated their concern but also felt awkward. There was nothing inherently wrong with me. For all practical purposes I “am” a decent man, a little distant perhaps but not out of hauteur. I was rather coy with genuine modesty, weary with the burden of broken promises and despaired of ever finding a woman; the woman who would change my outlook on life and give me meaning and purpose. I often dreamed of an Amar illuminating the dark of night in search of me. And, having found what she was yearning for my moon would spawn silver rays of light turning the invariant gray into a rainbow of bliss. No longer would I fear the treacherous shallow waters, jagged with knives of coral and ragged with spears of rock. She would show me the way, a lighthouse beckoning at me, be safe my Youssef, I’m here for you… forever.

We reached the entrance to the little garden surrounding the quaint building where she was staying. The landlord, Walid, lived with his family on the ground floor. Up the flight of stairs, Amar told me, two little apartments shared the western veranda with a magnificent view of the sea. I was not gawky at all when I took her little hand in mine and kissed it softly. I had a long way ahead to reach then to hold on to her and I had no intention whatsoever to be careless. My mind was perfectly clear, my heart calmly set.

“Goodnight Amar”, I spoke softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning and bring you the stuff you need from the bookstore.”

She hesitated then, “Are you sure I’m not monopolizing your time. I mean really Youssef. You must have responsibilities, some sort of obligations…”

“Please stop it Amar.” I interrupted. “I’m on summer break. Sure I drive a couple of times per week to the university in Lattakia but not out of necessity. I mainly go to have an espresso at a corner cafe in the Amerkan area. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing than spending my time with you. Besides I’m truly and genuinely in love with castles and fortresses. I plan to show them all to you. As lovely as Sea Breeze and this village are you still need to see the rest of the coast.”

It was her turn to interrupt me. “And there’s no one else I want to have as my guide. But, …” She hesitated again, “you know that I would be leaving Syria back to Canada in a month, and…”

“I’ll be here at nine. I’ll bring breakfast, Msabha and Fool from the old town. I’ll also bring the hot Mashrouh bread from the bakery. Pickles, fresh green mint, I think I’ll skip the onions though.” I laughed for her.

“I like onions”, she said, “and I have no reason why I shouldn’t eat them. Do you?” She had that lovely mal’ouneh look on her gorgeous face again.

“Not at all. I’ll bring onions and lots of garlic just for you.” I laughed, earnestly this time. “Get the table set and tea ready on the veranda so that we eat then leave. The Marqab Castle is not far but if we were to see it all we should give ourselves ample time.” I grinned, the very same way she told me less than an hour ago over by the sea that she really liked before she, for no reason at all, changed the subject.

—–

I was getting in my car near the front entrance of the cafe when I noticed a solitary man waiting by the highway for a micro-bus to take to Tartous or some small village along the way. I have seen him before. He was staring at me from the kitchen’s door when I had my little talk with Yasmina yesterday.

“I’m going to Tartous,” I said, “and if you’re on my way you’re welcome to hop along.”

He dithered for a passing instant then opened the front passenger’s door and climbed in without uttering a word. He stared through the windshield as if he was driving and didn’t give me a second look.

“I’m Youssef Khalil.” I introduced myself. “Can you please fasten your seat belt?”

He rolled his eyes in disbelief. He wanted me to realize that my request was too nerdy for his big and silent type persona. I could care less. He complied though but remained uninterested in pursuing any further conversation. For five complete minutes, I drove in silence and totally ignored him.

“I’m Yazan,” he proclaimed all of a sudden. It was dark and I couldn’t see his face clearly. He kept, however, looking ahead while he talked. “So you are a doctor, I hear! A gynecologist perhaps?”

“You know Yazan”, I replied without taking my eyes off of the road, “A friend of mine, a physician, once told me that the best specialty in medicine for the purpose of pursuing and picking up women is pediatrics. The mothers are fit and young. Besides, when a perfectly healthy woman comes alone to the doctor’s office with her child, dressed up, smelling nice and looking pretty that’s the best any doctor could ever dream of examining, with his eyes if not with his hands at least. Gynecology is too messy and way over-rated in my opinion.”

He burst out laughing and finally thought that I deserved being talked to. “I’m sorry. I knew you were an English professor. Yasmina already told me. I’m Yazan Moussa. I’m the cook at that dump.”

“So you are responsible for that most delicious Mezza and the sea food delicacies. By the way, the Sea Breeze is not a dump at all. I honestly think it’s the best little restaurant I’ve ever been to.”

He softened up quite noticeably. I could see that he was not a talkative man but when we both faced each other in the car I felt an authentic goodness emanating from him despite his effort to conceal it.

“So where did you learn how to cook,” I asked truthfully interested.

“Oh, I traveled the sea for many years. I worked as a chef on large general cargo ships and been all over the world. I learned a trick or two about cooking but look where I am now.” He painted his face with a sarcastic smirk, not at all convincing.

I don’t know what got into me but it was the first thing that came to mind. “Perhaps you are there because there is something you can’t stay away from.” I obviously meant someone in particular and we both knew it.

“You can drop me anywhere you like and thank you for the ride.” He said quickly as we barely entered the city from the north. I was not sure whether my incursion further irritated him or not. He was a difficult man to read.

I insisted on driving him all the way to his apartment. He lived in one of the newer neighborhoods of Tartous, the Sixth Project as it was called. I knew it by name but rarely went there, if hardly at all. We shook hands and an ephemeral trace of a smile appeared on his facial furrows and lines rather than on his mouth. I was far from gifted when it came to possessing omniscient faculties but I had an overpowering feeling that Yazan and I would meet again. Not casually for I might see him every time I go to the cafe. It was more arcane than that. Something told me that our fates converged for a purpose tonight. For a person like me, who could be described as agnostic at best, the feeling was very unsettling.

—–

I drove along Mar Elias Avenue toward the Corniche. At the second fountain, where Cinema El-Nejmeh once proudly stood and brought the magic of the movies to my doorstep, I made a right turn down Al-Mina St. The theater, like everything else I loved about my city had disappeared and only survived as an engraved memory in my head.

“I was born in Kingston, Ontario.” Amar told me as we walked earlier on the beach. “I would love to be able to show you around some day, especially in the fall.” Like a little child she spoke excitedly, looking back and forth at me then toward the distance West. “On a sunny day, when the trees are bright with color and back-dropped with the gray limestone of the buildings, it can almost feel as though you’re walking in a dream. It’s hard to explain really. But whenever someone mentions Kingston, this and the bright blue waters of the lake come to mind.”

I never wanted to be anywhere else. Even in London where the whole world was at my feet, I missed Tartous. When I returned, however, I realized that I was missing her in a different time, a time which had ceased to exist all together. I stood on my balcony, a generous glass of Scotch in hand, captivated by a late evening fog descending on the harbor and thick enough to obscure all view of the sea. I downed my drink with a consuming thirst and instantly felt the amber tendrils caressing my being. The mist dissipated and vanished like magic in thin air. Beyond the black silhouettes of shore cranes and the dancing lights of moored ships I saw the colored trees, the limestone buildings and the bright blue waters of a lake. I was yearning for a place I had often visited in my dreams. I opened my eyes and swallowed hard, my longing inevitable. At long last, I was homesick.

© 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.