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Faryal Belmadi
Summer 1997112Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQWqQRa356x
Byblos, Lebanon
The pale blue Mediterranean swayed the family’s diving boat as it stopped in the middle of the clear sea. The Byblos fishing port was distant in the coastline and dwarfed by the rising hills of countryside behind it. Faryal Belmadi, 23, sat by the stern of the small boat reading a fantasy novel. Her eyes read through her tortoise sunglasses and her hair was fixed in a ponytail.
Faryal’s dad Ralph, who was in his mid-40s, spoke as he turned from the steering wheel, “Alright Faryal, you’re up.”
She stood up in her black wetsuit, putting down her book, and leaning back down to put on a diving mask. Faryal sat on the edge of the boat as her two younger sisters, Zahra and Fareeda, watched beside her. Both were middle-school age. Faryal put the fins on her feet as her dad helped attach the small oxygen tank on her back. She put the mouth piece to her mouth and gave a thumbs up.
Her dad gave one, too, and he was joined with her younger sisters in thumps up all around. And with her back to the calm sea, Faryal let her hands go from the boat’s rope – and her back crashed against the waters.
The sea swallowed her as she entered the last layer between the sea and the world. The sun’s rays seeped through the overhead waters. Faryal swam further down as the water blended into an azure blue. A school of small fish glided beside her in a large, meandering train that swirled and swirled further within themselves.
Faryal reached out to touch a large boulder, with its surface pocketed by thousands of years of underwater erosion. Faryal turned her body and descended where small, striped fish swam in disarray. Below them was a painting of colorful life. Dark pink, glowing pink, purple, dark green, olive green of submerged plants that danced alone and glowed in the darkened depths of their own, harsh ecosystem.
***
Belmadi Residence
The front yard of the Belmadi home basked in the sunset. A grass clearing was accented by manicured bushes, roses, and a tomato garden. Behind the grass, was the family’s two-story home of pale, white walls and dark brown, wood windows.
Faryal was setting the outdoor dining area, by the front of their home, that was shaded and supported by stone columns. The area was decorated with plants in large ceramic vases. Faryal set down plates as she put on her sunglasses in view of the setting sun. It was just overlooking the hills that spanned the horizon, clear fields of green grass and populated with darker green trees. Thin, meandering roads marked the view.
Her mother called from inside, “Faryal! Can you pick a dozen tomatoes?”
She finished setting the plates for a dozen. And Faryal walked over to the tomato garden that lined the road. Her closed toe espadrille heels stepped and crackedon the tan dirt road which stretched from the front of their home to the rest of the countryside. She picked up a wicker basket, pressed it to her navy-blue jumpsuit, and picked a dozen tomatoes off the shoulder-high plants beside her.
Her tan skin glowed in the light beside the garden. Cypress trees of tall, slim figures lined the sides of the road. Faryal took a moment to admire her dad’s Porsche Boxster, in racecar red, parked by the road.
After Faryal had helped her mother in the kitchen, she sat on a lawn chair by the side of their home. Plants lined the wall in a thick horizontal stroke which danced in the wind. She had her head buried in her latest fantasy book. The thin hairs on her arms were white in the sunlight that allowed her to read. She brushed her dark hair which favored the left side of her face, dangling over her dinner dress.
I hope we like each other. Her parents had arranged for Faryal to meet Naseem Hamed, who was also going to the same medical school as her – the American University of Beirut. His father worked for the embassy to Saudi Arabia and met her father at a school function. Faryal meant to read in order to distract herself, but her heart could not help but race. Faryal’s eyes kept reading the same sentence, only to never retain it nor be envisioned in her mind. She wiped her sweaty palm along her jumpsuit.
Faryal had only spoken to him once on the phone, she wanted to break the ice as much as possible. But her parents think this is their first time speaking to one another.
Mamma’s voice called, “Faryal! He’s here!”
Her heart sank and she put down her book. Faryal’s heart raced faster and she needed to keep her breath. She walked to the front yard, taking off her sunglasses, and clipped it on her dress. A BMW was parked along the dirt road as a handsome, young man introduced himself to her parents. Naseem was dressed in a navy-blue button shirt, open at the top of his chest, and trousers.
Naseem exchanged handshakes with her parents, “Bonjour, madame. Bonjour monsieur.”
The young man smiled at the sight of her, “Hello, Faryal. I’m Naseem.”
She smiled back and the two shared a gentle handshake, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”
“For me as well.”
He is beautiful. I hope he thinks I am as well. Faryal’s sisters ran out of the front door, laughing while being chased by their younger nephews. The four young children stopped at the sight of the stranger.
Mamma said, “Kids, say hello to Naseem.”
All the kids recited, “Hello, Naseem!”
Her nephew’s parents joined them, everyone including the children was dressed in suits and dresses.
Mamma asked, “I hope you found your way okay.”
“I did, I stopped at Old Town, and they helped point me in the right direction, oh – I brought some ice cream when I stopped there. Could I put it in the freezer for us to eat later?”
Naseem lifted a plastic bag carrying a 3-pint carton of ice cream.
“Of course!”
Naseem and Faryal locked eyes once more.
Pappa added, “Thank you, dessert looks delicious.”
Mamma spoke as she went back inside, “Alright, everybody sit! Let’s eat!”
The outdoor dining table was filled with the Belmadi family which included Faryal, her parents, her sisters, two uncles, two aunts, two of their children, and then Naseem. The table was filled with roses inside glasses. Pappa opened a bottle of sparkling cider and helped pour everyone’s drinks for them. Everyone helped to pass their drinks around.
Trees of palm leaves surrounded them. The dark-orange hue of the sun reflected off everyone’s glasses as they all dug in. Pappa was at the head of the table, with Naseem by the corner and beside Faryal.
Mamma asked, “Have you been to Byblos before?”
Naseem finished chewing, “First time.”
Pappa added, “Well, you should let Faryal show you the antiquity sites.”
The two smiled as Faryal nodded in agreement.
“That would be lovely.”
Faryal spoke, “So Byblos, was first settled in…” her right eye squinted, “five thousand B-C. Making it one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in human existence… King’s Spring, or Ain el-Malik,” Faryal spoke with her hands as she recalled memories of the site, “was a large opening in the ground with spiral stairs which led down. This was the people’s water supply.” Faryal took a pause and spoke with wonder in her eyes, “And according to Ancient Egyptian myth, the king of the city and his servants once met the goddess Isis on the stairs. These servants then take her to the king’s palace, where she discovers the body of her husband, Osiris.”
Pappa applauded with spoon and fork in hand, “Beautiful, darling. Well recalled. Everyone should always know the history of their home country.”
Faryal locked eyes with Naseem as she added with a smile, “Lebanon is an ancient, ancient place. Full of lost mysteries we will never completely know about.” She leaned by Naseem’s ear, “Pappa is an antiquities professor. So, I grew up around all this.”
Naseem replied, “Oh, I love learning about history. I actually wasn’t born here. I was born in Senegal.”
Heads turned with interest as mamma asked, “Really?”
Naseem nodded, “I learned French, Arabic, and English there. I went to an international private school.”
Mamma asked, “Were you in advanced classes?”
“Actually, no. I was a troublemaker when I was young, so I actually used to struggle in school. But it might also be because I couldn’t really see the board. My teacher talked to my mom and she finally took me to get glasses.”
Ralph leaned in his seat, “So, your father worked in the embassy there as well?”
Naseem nodded and mamma asked, “What about your mother? What did she do?”
He took a moment to take off his tortoise eyeglasses and began to wipe them clean, “My mom was a very popular person. Very eccentric. She helped run a non-profit for victims of domestic abuse.”
Mamma replied, “Your mother is a God-send.”
“Yeah, I know it was really tough on her, but I know it was also very rewarding for her.”
Pappa’s hand was on a fork as he lifted an index finger, “How’s your grade ranking in the school? I know we’d like for Faryal to get Valedictorian, otherwise this becomes a sabotage mission to –”
Pappa was chuckling as mamma playfully slapped him.
Naseem turned to pappa, “Mister Belmadi –”
“Ralph, please.”
Clinksof silverware and plates sounded as everyone ate and chewed. There was a glass pitcher full of orange juice and another of water.
Naseem continued, “I actually heard this saying once from my professor, so it goes –” he looks around the table, “What do you call a medical student that got average grades?”
Faryal asked “What?”
“A doctor.”
Everyone had puzzled looks.
“Because what you learn is that those who focus on getting straight A’s actually go on to do something other than medicine. Such as into pharmaceuticals or perhaps law school – because it’s better-paying. You see, it’s the people who genuinely care about helping others the most are not too concerned about helping themselves, such as earning more money. It’s the average students in medical school that actually become doctors. Because to them, the struggle is worth it. While for others, they would rather go into something better paying.”
Ralph slowly nodded in appreciation after having taken a pause from his meal, “Hmm… I like that.”
Faryal smiled as well, underneath the table as she brought her left espadrille to his right dress shoe. Their corners of their foots brushed up along each other, her heel lifted and danced above his. The two smiled in the corners of their lips.
In the corner of her eye, her aunts and uncles helped feed her nephews as they were lost in their own side conversation.
Pappa broke the moment, “That’s why I thought you two would be great. Faryal talks like that all the time about things we don’t even understand –”
Mamma tapped him once more and he continued, “What? They’re going to be a great match, am I wrong?”
Faryal and Mamma shared a glance and smile, a smile to let her know she, too, was aware.
Mamma answered, “No you’re not.”
Pappa turned to her sisters, “See, girls? I am one for one. The perfect matchmaker,” he turned back, “You see, the choices of young men and women like yourselves is that they’re rarely actually thought-out. But that’s not to blame you young people, you want to rebel, to do the opposite of your parents, I understand. But with an arrangement that decides the rest of your lives, I just believe, it’s up to experienced, grown parents like us.”
Mamma spoke to the two, “But it’s still always your choice. Just know that. And however, your lives turn out, just know – marriage can wait, your educations cannot.”
Pappa added, “Why listen to the old man? What do I know? Only forty-five years of life experience.”
Naseem and Faryal smiled, then shared a look, then quickly turned their heads back to eating. By this time, the sun had completely set and Ralph stood to light candles along the table.
Mamma rose from her seat, “Let’s have Naseem’s dessert, shall we?”
The kids cheered from the opposite end of the table, “Yay!”
Mamma left for the kitchen and came back with the ice cream as the kids ran up to her.
Faryal’s nephews lined up around her, “Me! Me!”
“No, me first!”
Mamma motioned to Naseem, “First, you all say thank you to Naseem.”
They all recited, “Thank you, Naseem!”
He smiled back at them, “You’re all welcome, enjoy!”
Mamma helped place scoops into bowls and then handed them out around the table. Pappa kept the three-pint box and just as he was about to take his first spoonful –
Mamma took the box, “No, no, you have to watch your sugar.”
She instead gave him her bowl of one scoop.
Faryal spoke, “We want to keep your heart healthy, Pappa.”
“No, no, your old man’s too strong.” Pappa turned to Naseem, “Israelis tried killing me and even they failed.”
Pappa held up his hand to show him scars along the palm of his hand, which continued around its edges. He must have caught Naseem glancing at it.
Pappa closed one eye trying to recall, “In… 89’, I was in Gaza during the First Intifada. Palestinians were peacefully protesting, the Israelis say riots, but I was there – they were protesting Israeli occupation. And, and I’m standing between cars on a market street, and this tear-gas canister hits a wall and bounces right in the middle of the street – and starts spewing. And there was a group of little kids nearby they were just playing, they were younger than these kiddos, and I run across, grab the cannister but these are the older tear gas, right? And then throw it back down this line of cops.” He motioned, “The gas burns the skin right off my hand – it was peeling off in minutes. I pulled it off like a glove –”
Rana put a hand on his arm.
“—Sorry, sorry. Not appropriate for dinner, I apologize.”
Naseem was in awe, “No, wow. That’s, that’s amazing.”
“And as medical students, are you two familiar with the Hippocratic Oath?”
They both nodded.
“Perhaps you don’t know its origins. Healers in classical Athenian society were known as Asclepiads and belonged to a guild, where its memberships were inherited. Hippocrates’ father and his father were members to the guild of Cos. These doctors were trained to set up surgeries from city to city all over Greece. So, oaths were sworn to those performing surgeries as part of a promise to obey the doctors in charge.”
Metal spoons glidedalong plates and cold, sweet dessert met teeth met metal spoon met tongues.
“The original oath was a promise to help patients, avoid harming them, for those involved to seek the help of other physicians when necessary, and to keep patient information confidential. When you think the Hippocratic Oath, your first thought is probably ‘Do No Harm’, correct?”
The two nodded once more.
“Well, it actually does not appear in medical texts whatsoever until the mid-nineteenth century. So, it was never in the original oath.”
Naseem pushed his glasses along his nose and replied, “Oh, that’s a bummer.”
Pappa nodded in agreement, “It is… The truth is often very disappointing. And so, stories such as mine – you will often hear as a doctor. They will help you get to the root cause of their problems. I’ve been asked, ‘Do you smoke?’ by countless doctors. I’ve never smoked a single cigarette in my life. Yet, I have heart and lung problems. Do not count on your first assumptions when you two are doctors. Because the truth is always buried underneath. And even the patient themselves may not know where.”
Pappa raised his hand to show the scars, “Me inhaling the tear gas when I threw it back caused scarring in my lungs. That was the buried cause. I always tell Faryal, you want to be a good doctor? Don’t be a robot. You see this?”
He reached to a small table afar and brought back a tape recorder, half-picking it up, “This is like a robot, it plays, rewinds – but it does not listen. If you want to be a good doctor, be a person. Be flawed, be you, be angry, happy, sad – whatever it is you feel…” his eyes went from Naseem to Faryal, “But don’t be a robot. The moment you stop caring, you stop being a good person. You two understand, yes?”
Naseem nodded with an appreciating smile.
Pappa leaned closer to Faryal, “Now honey, why don’t you practice being an obedient wife and – do the dishes.”
Pappa laughed as the table cracked smiles. Naseem turned to see Faryal bury a palm to her face.
Faryal softly exclaimed, “Pappa”
Mamma playfully slapped him once more as he defended himself, “What?”
*
Inside, the open front door allowed the cool night air to fill the light brown tiled living room. A space was cleared in the middle as the Belmadi family, along with Naseem, were dancing. “Quando, Quando, Quando” played through a speaker as the kids danced together, Faryal’s uncles with her aunts, pappa was with mamma, and Faryal with Naseem.
Wood tables surrounding them held antique figures in display, beside ceiling-high bookshelves filled with thick texts which were aged around its edges. The patient bossa novasonghad the dancers snapping, swaying hips, swinging arms, and the adults locked eyes with the ones in front of them. Then stopping in place along with the music’s periodic pauses. Heels and dress shoes clicked along the floor. And the moon and stars glowed through the open door behind them.
***
Beirut Equestrian Club
Tall, thin palm trees surrounded the main building of the equestrian club. Its white walls, clear, single-hung windows, and Spanish-tiled roofs were in contrast to the enclosing greenery of grass, shrubbery, and tree-filled hills behind it.
Pappa downshifted the Porsche Boxster and parked by the front of the main building.
“Alright love, I’ll be back here in two hours, okay?”
Faryal smiled with a nod, opened the door, and took out her purse.
“Love you, pappa.”
“Love you.”
Faryal made sure her sky-blue button shirt was tucked and comfortable in her white pants. She had her Wayfarer sunglasses and black riding boots on.
Faryal checked in with the front desk and walked towards the stables behind the main building. Rows and rows of oak horse stalls enforced with bars lined the inside.
She walked with one of the stable hands as she asked, “How is Ameerah today?”
“Brushed and fed her this morning. She should be good to go.”
The stable hand unlocked the door to Ameerah’s stable. He placed the saddle on Ameerah and helped Faryal climb on her. They went outside to the dirt track where several women were already riding around in the afternoon light.
Faryal strapped on her helmet and the stable hand let go of her reins. Faryal’s boots were pressed along the stirrups and her black gloved hands held onto her side of the reins. Ameerah began to run and had made it a couple yards before she started to slow down – Ameerah’s head turned towards her side where she snappedat it.
Faryal kept her hands in front of her and held onto her reins. But Ameerah then bent her knees and lied down on the track. Faryal struggled to keep her balance and hopped off the Arabian horse. Dust kicked up around them and softly blinded their area of the track. Faryal took a knee beside her and brushed her hair.
“What’s wrong, girl?”
Ameerah’s ears were turned towards her so she was hearing her. Faryal turned her head to see Ameerah’s stomach tense.
The stable hand helped to get Ameerah back in her stable, as Faryal accompanied them.
The stable hand explained, “This is likely a stomach thing for her. Horses don’t have the ability to vomit, and so if their stomach doesn’t agree with anything, their digestive system can get blocked for a number of reasons… I’ll call the doc over and see how best to care for her.”
Faryal petted her coffee brown skin, “Just hope she’s okay.”
*
Faryal walked back to the main building where, through the front windows, she spotted pappa’s Porsche parked in the building ahead. She walked outside and made her way across the meandering road where they were atop a hill. Across was the Pegasus Hotel, a small and modest accommodation of natural stone walls. Past the hotel, this hill overlooked the up-and-down valley on the edge of Beirut.
Faryal entered the hotel where the exterior stone pattern repeated in the inside walls. She turned to the man attending the front desk.
He welcomed her, “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
“Bonjour, monsieur. My dad, Ralph Belmadi, do you know which –”
The man nodded, “Yes, room eleven,” he motioned upwards, “upstairs and the first door on your right.”
“Merci.”
Faryal made her way upstairs and turned to the first door on her right. Eleven. She knocked on the door and heard a faint rustleof a bed.
She heard pappa speak through the door, “Emile must have our meal ready, love.”
The door opened and pappa was sweating through a tank top trying to catch his breath. Faryal’s brows burrowed as she turned her head to see a topless woman in the bed, who had to be in her 20s – she snagged the sheets to cover herself.
“Faryal,” her dad was in disbelief, “I –”
She quickly turned away and jogged down the stairs. Faryal lowered her head as she felt her eyes watering. Through her eyes were the steps of the stairs, followed by the first floor, and then the lower-half of a door which opened to reveal the pebble-filled ground outside. Faryal looked up, her mouth needed a big breath, and she just wished she could take it all back.
*
Faryal sat in the passenger seat of pappa’s Porsche as he drove through the thin, meandering roads downhill. Pappa had a left hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift.
Pappa’s head turned in the corner of her eye, “… Are you… Are you going to tell your mother?”
Faryal kept her gaze. Was she one of his students? It was a betrayal. A stab in the heart. A big lie.
“Things that matter… Are hard… And what matters right now is keeping us all together… I mean, you don’t want to separate us, do you, kiddo? Because that’s what will happen if you say something…”
The Porsche’s engine revvedinto a fading ambience in her ears.
“And telling her, it will only hurt her feelings. She doesn’t have to know about any of this… Just think about her, okay? You don’t want to break her heart, do you?” Pappa’s head turned back and forth from the road and her, “Faryal, say something.”
Metal barriers lining the edge-side of the hills were an endless sight through her window as she stared blankly. The road, sparse trees, tan dirt, and overlooking hills passed by without her eyes ever looking away.
***
Belmadi Residence
Faryal heard her name called from the front yard. She made her way down the house’s steps, passed the antiquity-decorated living room, and out their front door. Mamma, pappa, and her sisters all turned with smiles and their eyes were on her.
“Yes? Woah – “
A new Mercedes-Benz was parked in the dirt road beside the red Porsche. Faryal walked over to admire its stainless shine and revolutionary design. This was easily twice the price of the Porsche.
“New car?”
Pappa’s hands were on his hips and he threw Faryal a set of keys as its metal clinked. Faryal caught them with both hands to see it they were for –
“The Porsche is yours, sweetheart.”
Faryal’s jaw dropped.
Her mother saw the smile on Faryal’s face, “You deserve it, my love.”
Pappa put an arm around her and gave her a kiss, “You’ve grown into a beautiful, independent young woman, you should be able to go to school on your own from now on. Mamma will ride with me, which means you’ll have to get the kids ready in time for their bus in the mornings. That sound like a deal?”
Faryal nodded smilingly as she turned her head to admire the smooth red automobile.
Pappa gave her another kiss, “I’m so proud of you.”
Her smile disappeared.
And then suddenly it disgusted her.
***
Faryal showered in her freestanding bathtub, with a mounted shower, enclosed completely by a white curtain attached to a metal track above. Cold morning breeze met hot water as the birds chirpedoutside. She turned the knob to stop the water, pulled the curtain, and reached to put on her fluffy, white bathrobe. Faryal stepped out onto the black-and-white tiled floor of her bathroom.
Bright yellow light shown through the window along the tan walls. She dried her hair by the mirror as her blue, silk blouse hung on a lamp beside her. Faryal put on her blouse, its buttons open at the top to form a v-shaped cleavage, as she tucked it into her navy-blue silk trousers. She took a seat beside her bathroom window, put a cigarette to her mouth, covered it with her left hand and used her right to light it.
Faryal unfolded today’s newspaper, as the natural light allowed her to read. One of the stories was about how refugees from the Lebanese Civil War, which ended by 1990, were forced to sell their organs. And, in some cases, were just harvested out of them. For those that sold them only ended up with a few dollars in their hands, were dropped in front of a hospital, and were forced to crawl towards the ER doors.
She later opened her closet to put on her black heels, then went towards her bedroom drawer to get her purse of tan, genuine leather. Faryal went out into the hallway and knocked on her sister’s door across from her’s.
“Girls? Are you ready?”
The door opened to show Zahra and Fareeda neatly dressed in their navy-blue school uniforms. The three walked out to the front yard, as Faryal pressed the keys to unlock the Porsche. Her black heels kicked up soft dust from the tan, dirt road.
With her sunglasses on, Faryal helped the two buckle-in in the backseats. She closed the door of her driver’s side, put on her seatbelt, inserted the key. She set the sports car in neutral, teased the clutch with her foot – and turned the key. The German 6-cylinder engine roaredto life as it brought a bright smile in Faryal’s face. Right hand went into first gear, left foot was on clutch, right foot was increasing pressure on gas. Then her left let go of the clutch.
Her driving gloves were loose at the straps as she pulled on the wheel. The tires treaded on the dirt and they sped downwards. As Faryal downshifted, she slowed down and glanced in her rearview mirror.
Faryal could not help but smile.
*
American University of Beirut
Faryal sat in one of a hundred wooden student desks in the large lecture room of the Faculty of Medicine. Every desk was filled and all of her classmates were part of the MD program. Her school’s motto was “Ut vitam abundantius habeant,” Latin for “That they may have life and have it more abundantly.” And to this day, refugees of the war are still being treated by the school’s Medical Center.
Through the room’s windows was a view of the blue Mediterranean as the 61-acre school was situated atop a hill overlooking it. The professor continued to speak as everyone took notes.
Faryal was summarizing the professor’s lecture, there are three types of muscle tissue: skeletal, smooth, and cardiac…
She couldn’t stop smiling throughout the day. I finally have my own car. But then her mind drifted as she remembered pappa giving her his Porsche. Was it… a bribe? So that I wouldn’t tell mamma?
Faryal had stopped writing as the classmates surrounding her had not stopped. The professor continued to speak as Faryal remained motionless among the sea of students, who all had their postures leaned forward to write along note-filled papers. And she was the only one of still motion. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were lowered in place. She felt frozen in time.
*
Faryal had gotten a terrible call. She was driving through dark roads as the Porsche’s headlights spotlighted the wandering roads as she rounded a hill. And as she downshifted while navigating the declining roads, the dashes which passed by in the middle had become hypnotic. Like a treadmill that endlessly circulated, the metal barriers, the dirt countryside blended into an illusory dream.
For the past week, Faryal would stop and ask herself, what does my heart say? And it says to tell the truth. But then she would think of mamma, her sisters, their hearts being torn apart. And it kept her silent.
The constant, continuous, countless dashes of the road were infinite, interminable, limitless as Faryal imagined of just letting her hands go of the wheel. To let the car transcend the rules of the road, to send it on wherever fate shall have it. To let go of the responsibility and let something else beyond her decide her fate.
*
Belmadi Residence
Faryal opened the door to pappa’s home office. The front of his desk was embellished with small statues from ancient Middle Eastern cultures: Mesopotamian and Egyptian. Handwritten cursive filled soft brown papers and full bookshelves were backdrops behind the desk. Pappa looked up from one of his papers, his reading glasses fixed on the edge of his nose.
He was alarmed by her soaked eyelids and asked, “Faryal? What’s wrong?”
Her heart was racing and a lump in the middle of her throat fought for silence as she broke it, “The car, is it a bribe? Did you give it to me so that I wouldn’t tell mom?”
Pappa held out a hand as he rose from his chair, “Darling, no. You needed it.”
Pappa tried to get near her but she stepped away, “Well, I have to tell her. I can’t keep this lie up.”
He put a finger to his mouth and lowered his voice, “You have to stay quiet. She’ll hear us.”
Faryal brushed his hand away, turned to open the door, and rushed out. She found mamma watering on of the plants in the living room, beside their open front door. Mamma turned to see Faryal’s lost expression. Her jaw hung from her mouth and her lowered gaze never stayed in the same place.
“Faryal, what’s wrong?”
She looked at mamma and felt her heart strained by the push-and-pull urgencies. To tell the truth. Or to spare her pain. And her sisters’ pain.
The corners of her mouth stretched and tears spilled from Faryal’s eyes, “… They just shot Ameerah.”
Faryal stumbled towards the wall, her breaths were short and starved. Mamma reached out to put her arms around her, then helped walk her to the front steps of the door.
Faryal continued, “She had a gastric rupture a few hours ago. They couldn’t help her anymore… She...” her words stammered with a flinching eye, “she was only suffering…”
The two sat on the front steps and stared blankly at the night sky in between the Cyprus trees ahead. Mamma brought her head to her shoulder and softly stroked her hair.
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. I know you loved her so much… Now she doesn’t have to suffer anymore.”
She imagined her last moments, of the rupturing pain she was going through, with her handler, doctor, and club manager by her side in the stable. And when they realized there was nothing more they could do for her, all three acknowledged what had to be done. She imagined Ameerah’s head resting against her hay, being petted among every possible attempt at making her feel comfortable.
And her handler took out his revolver and shot her in the head. Even medicine has its limits. Despite the best available technologies, methods, and your best performances -- there’s nothing more you can do. And the only humane thing is to take their pain away.
The skin around her eyes had reddened. Faryal’s eyes stayed thin through tears. She felt the heartache which squeezed in the inside of her chest. And kept her head on mamma’s shoulders, feeling the continuous stroke of mamma’s hand on her hair, and let the heartache be an Ambien for her soul.112Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4XJwpo5nOs
Spring 1998112Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIfS2sLpmkd
Old Town, Beirut
Faryal sat alone in a small table of a seaside, outdoor restaurant. She was reading a fantasy novel when Naseem took the seat opposite her.
“Hello again, Miss Florence Nightingale. Founder of modern nursing.”
Faryal held her book to the side, with her head turned to him.
She smiled, “Pleasure to meet again, Mister Daniel Hale Williams. Performer of the world’s first open heart surgery.”
She briefly closed her fantasy novel and put a cigarette in her mouth. Naseem reached out his hand with a lit lighter and met the cigarette. She inhaled and relaxed in her seat.
“May I ask, why does the great Miss Nightingale find herself in Old Town Beirut?”
She held her cigarette out and exhaled, “She longs to give aid to those suffering under the brutal civil war.”
Naseem leaned closer on the table, “Is that everything she longs for in her life? Or does she yearn for a different, more… Intimate purpose?”
“Perhaps she fancies herself one who understands the perils of medicine,” she looked out into the sea, “a sidekick. She demands a bold, daring, steady-handed surgeon. A cowboy in a new frontier.”
Naseem smirked, “I must recommend myself there, Miss Nightingale.”
She raised a brow, smiled, and lifted her cigarette with widened eyes, “Oh, must you?”
“For it can only be a bold, daring cowboy who cuts open your chest, rips open your rib cage, and then digs inside to find your heart.”
Faryal kept her eyes fixed on his, “And will it be hard for the great Daniel H. Williams to find Miss Nightingale’s heart?”
“Oh, on the contrary. For this woman wears no armor, holds no secrets, fights for truth, and is the kindest soul one could ever meet.”
The soft waves splashed along the borderless edge of where they sat. The concrete met with eroding water as it drenched, dripped, and splashed again. Light yellow and tan buildings and homes sat atop hills and hills extending in the distance around them. In their view, one-half was Beirut, and the other half the Mediterranean.
Faryal swallowed a lump she felt and her eyes watered, “And when you hold her heart… What would it tell you?”
“That it means no harm… To anyone.”
The two held their gazes. To share a smile. A stare. A moment.
Small fishing boats sailed in the distance manned by two-men crews. The woosh and swish of the waters sounded beside them in a soft pendulum.
It was interrupted when the server brought over Faryal’s dish in front of her. It was tabbouleh, a crunchy and chewy salad of freshly fine chopped parsley leaves, bulgur wheat, chopped mint, and topped with olive oil. The dish was also added with lemon juice and minced onions.
The two finished their meals as the sun was setting into an orange hue from the horizon. Faryal and Naseem stepped off the restaurant and onto the combination of stone and dirt steps leading uphill. The path was paved through green shrubbery.
Faryal spoke with her head lowered to watch their steps, “Do you think maybe… Souls are randomly chosen for what type of species they will be? Like we consider animals to be conscious, so just before we are born, God chooses us to be a horse, a dog, or a human?”
“That’s interesting, like how rare is it to be a human? Out of all the species above ground, underwater, like we could just be some small fish in the bottom of the sea and never know what it’s like above the water… So, you believe we all have a soul?”
Faryal brushed her hair and looked at him, “I do. It’s just hard to believe we’re all a body of organs, and that’s it. There’s got to be more to it. A soul that transcends our physical selves that has its own energy. Our own signatures. In its own form that is separate.”
“What makes you think that?”
Faryal shrugged, “I just want to believe so.”
The two stepped onto a clean path of natural stone, which continued down in between two-story homes of tan stone and the occasional green trees. Faryal had on a floral dress of pink and navy-blue, along with her closed toe espadrille heels. Naseem had on a loose-fitting dress shirt and tan boat shoes.
Faryal and Naseem stopped at the sight of a wall covered by papers. Hand-written letters on binder paper, sticky notes, torn notepad pages. Their eyes scanned to read what was written. It had the names of two people and dates it was written; letters addressed to someone professing their love, hoping that one day fate would have it that they meet again.
Unflinching, open-hearted statements of a couple’s love or one’s love to a distant other. Hoping that their written words would somehow manifest into circumstance. And that they know, and that they too, share the same feelings.
Faryal asked, “You believe in the Law of Attraction?”
Naseem shook his head with unfamiliarity.
“So, it’s like, if we only ever met once. By chance we just ran into each other, we talk, have a lovely conversation. And then never see each other again for, say, six months.”
Naseem took a step forward to read the letters at the end of the collection.
“And after six months, I start thinking about you for the first time. Hoping that I see you again. And the next day, boom, we run into each other again. Do you think that happens? Like, we have these thoughts, and the universe just magically conspires to make it so.”
Naseem looked back at her with a smile, then softly shook his head.
“Yeah, I thought so…”
She looked back at the dozens and dozens of aged love letters on the wall.
“I wonder how many are still in love…”
The two continued down the path, passing by a small shop which had a rack outside full of postcards depicting Lebanon’s beaches.
Faryal resumed, “That’s why I think we’re all here for a reason… I think we’re all here to help each other,” she gazed among the sidewalk, “We’re all lost in our own way, we just need each other to be there for us. So that we don’t always feel alone. I mean, no one has answers, but we can all just be there.”
She thought about how Ameerah’s life had been cut short all of a sudden.
“Because all of a sudden your life can be over. And who knows if we ever live another life?”
Naseem added onto her thought, “Like if we’re chosen to be this particular human being, and then that’s it.”
The two stepped onto busy streets of pedestrians and heavy traffic. Cars were braked in between parked cars in between apartment buildings, grocery shops, cafes, restaurants, and office buildings. Faryal and Naseem looked around to admire the more modern setting of Beirut. Outdoor cooks flipped flatbread over grills and called out to them, “Pita bread! Pita bread!”
They flipped them and it sizzledover the flames.
Faryal spoke, “It’s funny. Often, international students that come from the west will say ‘You know, I was expecting war, conflict, and just plain violence.”
Naseem nodded and scoffed, “Yeah, I’ve lived in Senegal, here, and spent some time in Saudi where my dad is from. Yes, there are poor people in Africa. Africa’s known for that, but it’s not always poor people. You learn that rich people exist all over the world. And no matter where it is you go, there are people who are struggling and those who are well-off.”
Electric lines zig-zagged above them over the streets connecting buildings in a web of black wires. And below on the streets, it was the Wild West. As many cars as possible were packed into the road, not following the cars in front of them, but instead squeezed into any available space. Radios played through the open windows of some cars. Hands stuck out holding onto cigarettes with its ashes softly sprinkling onto the asphalt ground.
Naseem continued, “In class, I learned in the 70s, there was a committee on organ donation – and it was the first ever. So, a heart comes in, and the committee members have one hour to decide which one of a number of patients should receive it.” Naseem’s hands went back-and-forth, “Should they prioritize the young? The old? The one that ‘contributes more to society?”
Faryal’s eyes lowered, “… Yeah, I don’t know how I feel about that. Ideally, you want to think all lives are equal. And all lives worth the same when saving them.”
The two passed an alleyway filled with a group of kids playing football. And above them, families ate and talked on the balconies of their homes.
“No, I agree one hundred percent, it’s just that – the heart’s got to somebody or else it’s just a waste, you know? But think about it on the other end. Say, someone awful, like a child molester comes into an ER where you work. I mean, would you try as hard to save him as you would a child? I doubt it.”
“No, I would.”
Naseem stopped in his tracks to look at her with disbelief.
“I would,” Faryal continued walking and Naseem kept up, “Because we’re not vigilantes, or court judges. It’s not our job to judge who we treat. A life comes in – in need of help and we help them. Isn’t that ideal?”
Naseem shrugged with reluctance, more so to move on from the topic. The couple continued to walk uphill, where looking back in the distance, was the seaside Old Town they had started walking from. Faryal and Naseem approached a set of clean, white steps that led uphill towards a gated community. Behind the gates were glass-walled homes accented with white, dark-brown, and tan colors. Room lights shown through the homes and street lights flared over the ascending steps.
“Even though I love what I’m doing, applying techniques in live surgeries, there will come days that start to feel so familiar. So routine… And I wonder, is this all there is? Like, all of a sudden, I feel stuck. Stuck because it feels so familiar, it stops being exciting.”
The two were taking slow steps uphill, turning their heads to look at each other and periodically checking their steps.
Naseem spoke with orchestic hands, “And I wonder if, when I get older, if I’ll always feel this way? As if life is just truly stagnant, and that we never really go anywhere. Like, we’re all in med school now, but ten years from now, will we just be asking ‘Well, what’s next?”
Faryal’s lowered gaze was attempting to follow along with his thoughts.
“It’s as if I’m a car in a racetrack, days can change here and there, but like the whole journey is a routine. Not a journey up a mountain, where I can reach the top, and suddenly I achieve everything I’ve ever wanted in life… But like I cross a finish line, only to do it all over again…” he carefully scanned her eyes, “does that make sense?”
Faryal softly chuckled, “Hm… I guess… I’m always focused on like a couple meters ahead of me,” she stopped by the front gate to look at him, “I never really think about the big picture.”
At times, Faryal and Naseem saw the world in different ways. She hoped one day to be able and change that. The two navigated the gated community until they reached the home of their friend Salah. By this time, the sky had darkened and the moon and stars had begun to show.
They passed through the house’s front iron gates, which led into a clean, pebble path lined with thin, tall palm trees on both sides. Tiki torches were lit and paved the way to the wide, two-story home of white, marble walls and ornate balconies.
The couple entered the home to blaringdancemusic and crowds of university students in dresses, heels, suits, and dress shoes. It was a home of marble flooring and double staircases that converged in the middle of the living room and led up to the second floor which overlooked them.
Salah excused himself from one of the crowds at the sight of them, “Faryal, Naseem! You guys made it.”
Faryal hugged him and kissed both cheeks. He shook hands with Naseem.
Faryal asked, “Where did your parents go?”
“They went to Paris to celebrate their anniversary and said they would stay an extra couple of says. In truth, they actually had this big fight and they’re in separate hotel rooms right now. They told my nanna and told her not to tell us, but she doesn’t like to hide things – anyway, we have hookahs in that room.”
Another friend joined in, “If you guys want some drinks, Ali is out there with the cooler and has some,” he mimicked a joint, “hashish if you guys want some –” he turned to a man about to enter the hallway, “Nour! Nour! Go run and get us some ice, we’re running out!”
Salah added, “Oh, come midnight, we’ll be lighting fireworks.”
His friend patted his shoulder, “End of the school year celebration,” he turned back to Faryal and Naseem, “congratulations, guys and girls, and go down to the beach. You’ll get the best view.”
As the two began to make their way to the back of the home, they passed by the dining area where they saw decorative displays of cooked shrimp and falafel.
A friend of theirs motioned his plate to them, “Faryal! Let’s eat.”
She smiled, holding Naseem’s hand, as they headed to the open back doors, “Hey, Ahmad! Nas and I already ate, thanks. We’ll see you out there!”
The two walked out into the balcony overlooking the beach. Marble columns beside them supported the second-floor balcony above. Large, green trees and palm trees lined the hill that slanted downwards beside the property.
Salah’s parents were always either away on business or visiting family in France. Faryal wondered how many, among her affluent classmates, of their parents were actually home throughout the year. Like, they obviously had parents, but sometimes not consistently present parents.
They walked down a set of stone stairs which pressed along the cliff and led down to the sands of the beach.
Faryal reached her hand out for Naseem hold to on, “Come on, let’s make the most of tonight. Who knows when we’ll be here again? With such little care in the world?”
The two sat by the shore where the sand thinned out among the barrage of the salted water. Faryal lit a joint, inhaled with squinted eyes, pinched it away, and exhaled. Naseem opened a sealed amber rum with a crackingsound and drank from it. Crowds of their classmates surrounded them in the beach, dancing, drinking, and enjoying the night.
Faryal asked, “How old were you when you had your first drink?”
He turned with a smirk, “I was actually ten.”
Her eyes widened with disbelief, “Ten?”
“There was this bad are close to the city. There were these older kids who tried to rob me, yelling ‘Give us your money!’ And I ran, I ended up getting lost in this… Sprawl of alleyways…” his eyes drifted, “Anyway afterwards, I came across these orphan kids, also older than me. They were,” Naseem chuckled, “They were trying to hide from their social workers, so they had this spot where they would just hang out and drink…” he shrugged, “Guess I started hanging out with them.”
Faryal took another hit.
Naseem asked, “What made you go into med school?”
“I think I’m drawn to puzzles,” she exhales, “to me, people are puzzles. Their lives, their bodies, can show hints of a disease, a stress, a lifestyle. They give all these hints as to what their problems might be. And as a doctor, you try and put all these pieces together…” she looked longingly at the waves, “Like a detective in a crime scene, only you’re helping that person stay healthy, and stay alive… I think everyone’s got a good mystery, something to learn about them that even they don’t know about themselves. Cause you can go your whole life not knowing there’s something off about you – because you only know your own body and you never live in anyone else’s. So, if it weren’t obvious, you wouldn’t really know about it… I want to be the one to find that, whether physical or mental, ‘cause you never know when it can save their life… And all of a sudden they learn that’s what’s been hurting them all along.”
Naseem’s dress shirt was unbuttoned completely and Faryal brought the lower end of her skirt up. The sand had stuck to their feet and clothes.
She turned to him, “Alright, your turn. Why do you want to be a surgeon specifically?”
This time, he turned to look out into the sea as Faryal watched his eyes, “I think I’m drawn to it… Being on the edge. Like… Being in a fast car, and driving through heavy traffic flawlessly. As if you’re gliding… And you have to do everything right, because all it takes is one mistake and it’s all over… And I think, maybe that’s why I like it?” he looked back at her with curiosity of his own, “Being in control, when the stakes are high, it’s… Like a gambler’s high or something. You only get excited because it’s dangerous.”
Her eyebrows lifted, “Wow. I’ve never heard an answer like from anyone.”
“Does that scare you?”
She stared with firm eyes, “It makes me curious… Like you’re suddenly this enigma I want to crack. Maybe I want to figure you all out one day.”
Naseem smiled with a shrug, “Yeah, maybe.”
Faryal inhaled the brunt hashish and exhaled. Euphoria. Faryal’s ears began to hear the distant crowd’s conversations more clearly. Her eyes could see the full moon with clarity. Faryal turned her head as she focused on little pockets on the moon she had never seen before. She began to feel the beat of the music in her chest. And was oddly aware of her own heartbeat, the expanding of her lungs – softly swaying her hips to the music.
But what will we do when we’re sober?
Faryal turned to Naseem, “I think we live half of our lives in the non-present. Like we’re either thinking of past memories or we’re trying to predict our futures… A lot of times I worry that I’m not progressing quick enough in life. Like, I overhear what our classmates are doing,” she looked down at the sand as the bottom of her feet wrestled with it, “And I feel I’m not doing enough.”
“Would it surprise you to know that I feel that way sometimes, too?”
They looked at each other with an appreciating smile.
“And… If you were to ask our friends there, a lot would probably say the same thing.”
Faryal looked back at the crowd with cigarettes, joints, and drinks in hand – with smiles and laughs over their faces.
Naseem continued, “And here we are, a year into M-D completed, and a step closer to being the doctors that treat you and the surgeons that operate on you.”
Her eyes squinted as she inhaled once more and spoke with a held breath, “… Kinda fucking scary.”
The two shared a laugh as she coughed.
Naseem shrugged, “They’re human beings. Surgeons, doctors, uni students – we’re all just people, right?”
He leaned over to look at the crowd, “And for now, they’re just enjoying their youth for as long as it lasts… A lot of them, inattentive parents, uni stresses to succeed, and imposter syndrome like you mentioned… The recipe for tomorrow’s adults.”
Naseem took a drink from his rum bottle.
Her eyes looked out, “I wonder if our parents felt this way… And like, if every person in history has felt this way?”
Faryal looked up along the top hill to see tall palm trees, with one side lit bright in face of Salah’s home. The star-sprinkled sky was behind them, with swirling light-dark clouds that varied the dark sky.
Her head dropped to her chest, her eyes began to tear, and she wiped them.
Naseem brought himself closer, “Faryal, what’s wrong?”
She stared at the sand beneath her feet, “… I still can’t tell mamma…” then looked at him with damp eyes, “I can’t break her heart…”
He had an arm around her as he helped bring her closer to his chest.
“Whenever I see my sisters… I can’t break their hearts either. Mamma and pappa might separate, and I would be the one to ruin my sister’s lives…”
Faryal’s eyes were squinted, her breaths shallow, and her gaze soft. Her jaw relaxed and hung from the rest of her mouth.
A classmate shouted out, “Class of 2001, motherfuckers!”
Classmates around him cheered as they held their drinks up and toasted all around, “To the best fucking years of our lives!”
A few of the women ran from the crowd and towards the waves, laughing as they threw off their clothes, and running to dissolve themselves in the ocean water. They laughed as other women began to join them, spreading their arms out wide with bright smiles – as their breasts were bouncing in the moonlight.
For some, a lifetime of veils and an upbringing of religious conservatism had brought them to lash out for at least tonight. They twirled thigh-deep in the sea, widening their arms, wearing a face of surrender. And for them, it was liberating.
Some truths aren’t meant to be revealed. Some are just too damaging. Sometimes a lie is the safest path. A lie holds everything together. And keeps mamma and my sisters from suffering. But someone has to hold that burden for them. To keep that truth locked in, no matter how badly you want to scream it at the top of your lungs.
Instead, you carry all that weight for them. In silence.
Naseem and Faryal continued to sit on the sand, her head pressed along his chest, and his arms enveloping her. His heart beat in her ear. The sprawling night sky, full moon, and stars enclosed them from their far distance. And in Faryal’s mind, she had let everything fade into the distance.
And be lost in the sea.
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