CHAPTER 13

THE OLD SILVER MERCEDES SWERVED through the streets of Beirut, scarcely missing the cars on the opposite side of the road. It was a stifling July day. The sun pounded through the windshield, heating the crowded vehicle and its passengers: Adele, her sisters, and their parents. The driver was her cousin Rafic. His short curly hair was gelled back. The beginning of a goatee encased his full lips. Studying his face, Adele thought this must be the boy her father had always yearned for. Rafic looked very much like Youssef, only he had a darker complexion. Adele sat between the two men. “Thank you, nephew, for picking us up from the airport,” Youssef said, the smile on her father’s face one she had never seen before.

“No problem, Uncle,” Rafic answered.

Sweat rolled down Adele’s neck to her belly. A mild breeze swept the sand from the adjacent beach and entered the open windows of the Mercedes. She blinked, wiped the dust from her eyes, then looked out at the blue Mediterranean bordering the road. She stared at the bare-chested men and the women with brightly coloured sarongs wrapped around their hips, dangling earrings brushing against their suntanned cheeks, strolling along the shore. She clenched her jaw when she felt her father reach over her shoulders to touch her cousin.

“So, how’s my boy? Or should I say ‘man’? You’ve grown so much. I remember you when you were only this tall,” Youssef said, holding up his other hand in the air. “Now, you’re a grown man!” He lowered his hand and placed it back on his thigh, the smile on his face still radiating.

Rafic beamed and replied, “Well, Uncle, I’m twenty-four now and soon to be a father!” Rafic’s wife was expecting their first child.

Adele kneaded her hands on her lap, pressing her knuckles together. She turned to look at her father. His deep eyes widened when he spoke with Rafic. “You’ve made me so proud, Rafic,” Youssef said, his normally stern face relaxed and happy. “I hope you have a son to carry on the Azar name.”

“Enshallah,” Rafic replied, glancing at Adele and smiling.

But she turned away from him and stared at her sisters and mother through the rear-view mirror. Their eyes were pasted to the windows and on the shimmering waves of water.

Youssef breathed deeply. “The name dies with me in my immediate family because I don’t have sons, but I hope and pray you have a handful of handsome boys.”

Adele pretended not to hear, but her father went on.

“Having a boy is so important. Girls are okay, but sons are crucial to maintaining our bloodline.”

Rafic nodded politely, turning down a narrow street and swerving to avoid another vehicle that almost crashed into them. “Kis imak!” Rafic cursed. Adele’s body plunged forward. Her father gripped her and asked her if she were all right. She nodded, pressing herself into the tattered cushions of the front seat.

Two hours later, Rafic parked the car in front of a restaurant in Zahlé, a red-roofed town near the eastern foothills of Mount Sannine. Everyone quickly slid out and stretched their legs and arms. The riverside café was a flat red brick building with wide windows and a large patio filled with plastic tables and chairs. Adele stepped into the shade of a tree and immediately felt cooler.

Rafic now stood beside her and pointed, “Cousin, you see that river?”

She nodded.

“That’s the Bardouni River. It flows out of Mount Sannine, down through Zahlé. Very beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed, smiling.

Youssef walked towards them and genially slapped Rafic’s back. “Okay, enough with the tour guide. Let’s eat.” He then led Rafic into the restaurant, leaving Adele standing alone outside.

Adele stood open-mouthed, stung by the interruption, until Mona grabbed her by the arm and dragged her inside. The air smelled like the spices that Samira cooked with back home. “Come on, Monkey. Don’t get jealous. Babba hasn’t seen Rafic in ages. It’s only natural for him to feel affection for him.”

“Yeah, but what about us? Why doesn’t Babba act all happy when he’s with us?” Adele asked.

“We’re too close to him. We haven’t been absent long enough to let his heart grow fonder.” Mona poked Adele in the ribs and tried to get her to smile.

“You mean Babba has a heart?” Adele said sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Mona said, tapping Adele’s stomach, “but it’s hard to see because of his potbelly!”

The sisters laughed before joining the others on the patio and pulling out the plastic chairs from under the simple, white table. Adele sat down, briefly closed her eyes, and listened to the rushing cascade of the river.

After maza was served, Adele watched a man in baggy trousers with a fez on his head as he stood at their table and poured steaming ahweh into everyone’s cups. His curling moustache reminded her of her father. This place was so different from back home, she thought, where waiters and waitresses were always rushing to serve impatient customers and almost pushing them out the door to make room for others. This café was peaceful with the trees and water surrounding it.

She watched her father, who was in deep conversation with Rafic. In the glow of the diminishing sun, the lines around Youssef’s deep-set eyes had softened. Suddenly Adele sat up, leaned her elbows on the table and looked closely at her father—there was a widening grin on his face again! Sighing, she fell back in the chair and stared again at the man in the baggy trousers; he had moved to another table and provided the diners with a hookah. These customers were middle-aged men. They wore frayed sweaters over stained white shirts in spite of the evening heat. Some of them held turquoise worry beads in their dark hands, rolling each stone to the next, while others passed the hookah between them, taking short puffs on the pipe and drawing out a line of apple-scented smoke. A haze of tobacco clouded the patio. Adele covered her mouth as she coughed. Her sisters sat tensely in their chairs, listening to the conversation between Youssef and Rafic. Even Samira sat quietly with her head in her hands. She frowned when Youssef patted Rafic’s back and proclaimed, “You’re like the son Samira didn’t give me. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” he said, smiling timidly. He glanced across at Adele and her sisters, then lowered his eyes and stared at the small cup in his hands.

Adele looked away too, the colour in her face disappearing like the sun behind the cliffs of the Bardouni river.

It was after midnight when they arrived in her parents’ village. In Kfarmichki many of the lights of the stone houses were on and several people were gathered on balconies and flat roofs, playing cards and drinking ahweh or arak, empty plates of maza pushed aside. The houses they passed on their way to her father’s childhood home didn’t stand out from each other. They were small grey-stoned dwellings with diminutive windows and red roofs. Yet they seemed to accommodate a lot of people; dozens of men and women lounged in plastic chairs outside, slapping cards on a table.

The car coated these homes with orange dust as they drove by, even though Rafic had slowed the Mercedes down when he entered the village, easing it through the narrow dirt roads. By the time they reached Youssef’s home, the dust had lifted into the surrounding hills and olive trees. Samira, Rima, Katrina, and Mona jumped out of the Mercedes along with Rafic. Adele nudged her father on the arm; he had fallen asleep. Youssef woke with a start. He blinked a few times, frowning in confusion. She wasn’t sure whether to say, you’re home. Was this still his home? she wondered. He stumbled out of the car, Adele following. Light from the homes around them filled the surrounding darkness. He rubbed his eyes, then stared out into the yard where fig and olive trees abounded and a donkey lay asleep. The animal’s sudden snort made Adele jump. Youssef lightly touched her shoulder. “Don’t be afraid of the donkey. It won’t kick … as long as you don’t argue back with it like you do with your Babba!” He burst into laughter.

She didn’t smile.

“Let’s call a truce, okay?” he said suddenly, holding out his hand. “No arguments while we’re here.”

She stretched out her hand and firmly shook her father’s, their palms sticking together. She smiled and then helped her cousin carry their luggage up the steps; she slowly walked inside her father’s childhood home.

The smell of old musty walls floated into Adele’s nose. She dragged the suitcases inside, following her sisters and parents as they too carried their bags and headed down the hallway, but Adele stopped in the living room, which was crowded with four couches, a table and a couple of chairs. Deep violet and red vases engraved with gold flowers were set between the sofas.

A man emerged from the dark hallway into the softly-lit room. “Marhaba, Adele,” he said. “I’m your Uncle Issa.” He had striking similarities to her father: a receding hairline, though his hair was still black rather than grey, and a round belly. Adele’s frame towered over his as he leaned in and embraced her.

She patted his back while he held her tight in his arms. His smell— the scent of earth and sweat—filled her nostrils but she didn’t move away or let go. Her uncle came to life, a man she had only known in old black and white photographs, while he hugged her. She glanced at her father who stood a few feet away, his face blank. Youssef sat down on a torn brown sofa and looked around, not letting his gaze meet hers. She wondered if he felt envious. After the long embrace, Adele let go of her uncle and looked into his eyes, which were as sunken as Youssef’s, but not so lined; his skin was tanned from fieldwork.

“Uncle Issa, it’s so good to finally meet you. You’re as handsome as I imagined,” she teased, then quickly glanced at her father, who finally looked up.

“Shukran, Adele,” Issa said, grinning.

“What did you expect, Adele? He takes after his older handsome brother,” Youssef said, throwing his head back in laughter.

This was the first time she had seen her father so carefree and happy. She laughed, too, and slapped her forehead. “Of course, Babba, how could I forget?”

Smiling, Issa took the bags from Adele’s hands and followed Rafic into the adjacent room where Adele and her sisters would sleep during their visit. She could hear her mother and sisters chatting in the kitchen with her Aunt Frida. Then she followed her uncle and cousin into the living room and sat on the sofa beside her father, her eyes exploring the walls covered with photographs, a pendant of the Lebanese flag, and pictures of Jesus. Adele rose from the couch and stood in front of one of the old photographs, glancing from the portrait back to her father.

Youssef was also taking in the room. “The house still looks the same. It’s exactly as how I remember it. Not much has changed,” he said in low voice. Adele moved closer to the photograph. Three children sat on the back of a donkey; a woman and a man stood at either end of the animal. She stretched her neck to get a better look at the middle-aged man in the photo, presumably the father of the small clan. He certainly resembled Youssef. This was Jido Salim, her grandfather, Adele guessed. His lips were chapped and pursed in a tight line and furrows were engraved deeply on his sunburnt face. He had dark circles under his small eyes and deep wrinkles in his forehead. Adele looked at the woman whose hands rested protectively on the eldest child’s back. She had a slight hunch and Adele wondered if Sito, her grandmother, had had to fetch water from the well and river with a carrying pole over her shoulders, hoisting buckets on either end of the wooden stick. She had heard various stories over the years about Youssef’s mother, how she struggled raising the children and, at the same time, took care of the fieldwork alongside her husband. Adele remembered photos of her paternal grandmother, taken when she was old, her skin leathery by years of working in the sun. She was poor, always dressed in ragged clothes, and her toothless mouth hung half-open.

But in the photo on the wall, her grandmother was still a younger woman, still strong. Adele examined the children positioned on the back of the donkey. Mostly though, she stared at the oldest of the three, her father. He had a serious, almost sad expression. He wasn’t looking into the camera, but at Jido Salim, his Babba, who stood at the front of the donkey holding the rope, and Adele recognized his look and all its longing. Jido Salim, she realized now, looked angry. She thought how that very anger had influenced so much of her own life and she was thankful when her uncle rested his hand on her shoulder.

“So, Youssef tells me you’re the smart one in the family,” Issa said, dropping his arm and heading towards Youssef where he sank into the couch next to him, making the springs squeak loudly.

Adele’s jaw dropped at her uncle’s comment. The smart one in the family. She glanced at her father, waiting for a rebuttal or a denial. But Youssef only smiled proudly, pressing his back into the sofa and patting his brother’s knee.

“She wants to be a doctor,” Youssef said.

“A psychologist,” Adele corrected. She really wanted to be an artist but her father wouldn’t allow her to follow that road. She sighed and turned her attention back to her uncle and father.

“What’s that?” Issa asked, his thick eyebrows knitted together.

Adele explained, speaking in her broken Arabic. “Um … it’s a doctor who studies the mind.” She tapped her finger against her head, then continued. “Say you feel sad and you don’t know why, you’d go to see a psychologist and talk about your life, family, problems. You talk and talk until you have a better understanding of yourself.”

Issa shifted on the couch and faced Youssef. “Ayb. You’re letting your daughter do this? Talk with crazy people?”

“They charge about a hundred dollars an hour. Good money,” Youssef said.

“Even so. Why not be a regular doctor and fix broken bones, take care of colds … now that’s a respectable career, not some ‘doctor’ who speaks with crazy people,” Issa said. “Anyway, family problems should stay in the family. It’s ayb to discuss such matters with strangers.” He stopped, leaned close to Youssef’s ear and whispered, “I thought you said she was the smart one.”

Adele puckered her forehead; she heard every word. She turned away from her father and uncle and looked hard at the old donkey in the photograph. She would be, she vowed, as stubborn as that animal.

Lying in an unfamiliar bed that night, cramped between Mona and Katrina, Adele struggled to sleep, and failed. For a while she watched Rima in the small, metal cot across from the bed and listened to the soft breaths that escaped from her sisters’ mouths. She slowly raised her body with her forearms, then slid herself to the foot of the bed, taking the crumpled sheets with her. Once she was up, she covered her sisters, and tiptoed down the dark hallway and into the living room. She sat on the edge of the window. Staring into the horizon, she watched the shadows of the olive trees against the mountains as if moving with them in a mysterious dance under the bluish-white moonlight. She felt homesick; her stomach churned. She missed her friends, her bicycle, and mostly Mrs. Foster. She looked at the full moon, fearing that during this visit her neighbour would pass away. Before she could stop herself, she had begun to cry. Her shoulders shook until she felt the weight of someone’s hands on them, squeezing her tight and steadying her whimpering body.

“What’s wrong?” Youssef whispered, leaning close to her ear.

“Nothing, Babba,” Adele lied, wiping her eyes.

He stepped back, his hands still on her shoulders. “Why are you crying then?”

“I miss Mrs….” she caught herself, “I miss home.”

He dropped his arms to his sides. “You’ll be back soon enough and then I’ll be homesick.”

Youssef’s face appeared grey in the moonlit room. She wiped her eyes. “It must’ve been hard for you to leave Lebanon. Do you ever want to move back, make a life here, Babba?” she asked gently.

He snickered, slapping his right hand against his thigh. “With the goats and donkeys! That’s a life.”

“If that would’ve made you happy, yes.”

“You don’t understand, Adele. You talk too much and never listen.”

She sat up straight. “I’m listening now, Babba. I want to understand you.”

Youssef turned around and pointed at the photograph on the wall, the one with the donkey and children. “Your Jido wasn’t the easiest man to live with.”

Neither are you, she thought.

“I had to leave to a start a new life for myself.”

Too loudly, she replied, “Like I wanted to do when I got accepted to the University of Toronto?”

“No, this is different,” Youssef said, shaking his head and stepping away from her.

“How so?”

“A daughter must stay with her parents until she’s married, but a boy can leave if he likes. It’s just the way things are.”

“It’s so unfair!”

“Boys don’t have to worry about certain things.”

“What things?” she asked, the nerves around her mouth tensing.

“Female things.”

“Like what?” she pushed, interested in hearing what her father thought about these concerns. Their whispering voices filled the small living room. The moonlight softened the usual rigidity of her father’s face. She mustered a small smile, reached out to touch her father’s arm then, unsure, let her hand drop in her lap.

“If I have to tell you what they are, then you’re as dumb as that donkey!” he snapped, pointing to the animal in the front yard tied to the wooden fence.

Adele turned away from him.

“Boys have certain privileges, that’s all. If you had been a boy, I would’ve let you go to school outside of Ottawa but you were born a girl.”

Adele said nothing. What could she say to that? Youssef remained quiet too, then he walked out of the house and stood in the yard beside the donkey. His shoulders were slightly bent as he reached down and stroked the donkey’s folded ears. Adele stared at her father’s shadow as it blended into the night. She shrank back against the wall of the window frame.

She woke to the cry of a rooster. She lay with a stiff neck on the Persian rug in the living room then sat up quickly and rubbed her eyes, adjusting them to the morning light that filled the stone house. Adele got up from the floor and stretched her arms above her head, releasing the kinks from her restless sleep. She stepped quietly across the floor, attracted to the light in the kitchen. Standing in the shadow of the doorway, she listened to the whispers of her father and uncle. How similar they sounded, she thought, their voices both harsh and deep.

“It’s all been arranged, Youssef. No need to worry about anything. They’re very happy. Everyone knows about their son. They didn’t want people to know but it’s a village. Gossip travels. What can you expect?” Adele peered over the edge and saw Uncle Issa raising his hands in the air then slamming them on the kitchen table. “Everyone feels bad, of course. But at least now the boy has a chance of leaving this place, making money, and sending it back home to his family. He’s a good boy, too. Don’t worry about anything. Everything will work out, you’ll see,” Issa reassured.

“Enshallah,” Youssef sighed.

Adele’s fingers traced the rough, uneven wood of the doorway, pressing her head against the wall, and leaning closer to hear them better. She wondered what her father and uncle were discussing. A son for Youssef to take back to Canada? The son he always wanted? Her forehead furrowed.

“Everything will work out,” Issa repeated.

“Good, good,” Youssef said, more confident. Adele watched her father’s small hand clasp Uncle Issa’s. “It’s all settled then. When will we meet him?”

“Today.”

She stepped lightly back into the hallway when she heard the scraping of chairs on the kitchen floor. She scurried down the corridor and opened the door to the bedroom where her sisters lay asleep. As she closed the door behind her, another rooster in the yard began to crow. The high-pitched cry didn’t wake her sleeping sisters.

A stone wall, messily constructed, and countless olive trees surrounded Youssef’s childhood home. While crossing the yard, Adele recalled her father’s stories of how he had built this wall. She placed the last dishes of maza on the beige cloth-covered table before taking her seat. A flower design had been carefully embroidered into the beige tablecloth. It was a shame that the plates had to cover the pattern, she thought, as she touched one of the intricately crafted flowers with her fingertips. Her father’s voice brought her back to the conversation.

“I used to tend the trees until the olives were ready to be harvested and shipped to cousins in Canada. I’d help my mother and father make the olive oil, too. Now Uncle Issa does this for his Canadian brother,” Youssef said, his voice cracking.

“You Canadian, not Lebanese?” Issa laughed. “You’ve forgotten who you are?”

“No, no,” Youssef said quickly, his eyes squinting in the afternoon light. “I’ll always be Lebanese. And…” he added, “my children are too. I raised them to be good Lebanese daughters.”

Adele noticed her uncle staring at her, then felt her father’s eyes on her face, too.

“I won’t argue that point, Youssef. You’re a good father,” Issa said.

Adele cleared her throat and her sisters immediately turned to look at her, silently pleading her not to rebut their uncle’s last statement. Fortunately, she concentrated on the young man who stood quietly at the entrance of the gate with his hands in the pockets of his light brown tweed blazer. He was tall and lean with black wavy hair, falling to his chin, not cut short in the style that most men of their culture wore. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties. His jaw was square and covered with stubble. He was handsome in a dishevelled sort of way but it was his bluish-green eyes that made Adele turn away from the conversation and look across at him.

“Marhaba,” he said, moving closer to the table. He stretched out his right hand and shook Issa’s hand, then Youssef’s. He nodded at the women around the table and smiled timidly.

“Marhaba, Elias,” Issa said, pulling an empty chair out for the young man. “Sit down and join us.”

“Elias, this is my niece Adele and her sisters.” Issa didn’t bother to introduce the others by name. Elias sat back in the chair beside Adele and rested his hands on the arms of it.

“Do you speak Arabic?” Elias asked, turning to face Adele.

She nodded. “Not very good, but I’m getting better.”

“Well, Adele, I can teach you.” His cheeks turned pink as he said that and Adele couldn’t help but smile at the young man’s nervousness. There was something sweet about it. There was also something intriguing in the way Elias leaned close to her face and whispered in his accented English, “I’m very happy to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Adele answered. Now it was her turn to blush.

The next day, she sat in front of the house with her sketchpad on her lap, drawing the mountains in the distance, and she looked up and spotted Elias standing a few feet away from her. “Hello, Adele,” he said. Nodding at the empty chair across from her, he asked gently, “May I join you?”

“Sure,” Adele answered, placing the notebook on the plastic table.

Elias pulled the book closer to him and looked down at the picture. “You’re a very talented artist. How long have you been drawing?”

“Since I was a child.”

“Maybe one day, you can draw a portrait of me?” Elias smiled shyly. “And I can say, I knew her when.”

Adele laughed. “Well, I don’t know if I’ll ever become a famous artist or anything, but it’s one of my dreams.”

“I had a dream once too.” There was a sadness in his voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head and said, “Maybe another time.”

Adele didn’t push, moving the pencil between her fingers. “I think you can have more than one dream in lifetime. I think when one dies another can blossom.”

“I like that.”

“Do you have other dreams?”

“Not at this moment but I always wanted to be a model for a beautiful woman.”

Adele could feel her cheeks growing hot, which made her drop the pencil in her hand. It landed on the ground. As she bent down to pick it up, Elias’s head bumped into hers. He, too, was attempting to pick up the pencil.

“Sorry,” they said simultaneously then smiled at each other.

Elias had the pencil and he handed it to her with an exaggerated flourish of his arm. “Well, how about starting that sketch of me?” He got up quickly and posed, flexing his muscles in a macho way. “What do you think?”

“I’ll call it the ‘Essence of a Lebanese man!’” Adele laughed again.

“Unfortunately, the picture will be fake because I’m so very different from that machismo,” Elias said, sitting back down.

“So you’re not your typical male Leb?”

“No, I’m your typical bookworm. If I had the choice between bulging biceps or a set of books, I’d take the books any day.”

“I love books too.”

“Have you heard of Kahlil Gibran?”

“He’s one of my favourite writers.”

“Mine too.” There was a silence as Elias stared into Adele’s eyes, which made her quickly look away.

Elias cleared his throat. “Here, please,” he said, handing her the sketchpad.

And Adele began to draw his face.

A few days later, Adele slipped a package into Elias’s hands while they sat in the front yard of her uncle’s house. It was a warm afternoon and the smell of garlic and allspice filtered out the windows and open doors, along with the loud voices of Adele’s family members as they swallowed their meals down with small glasses of arak. Seeing Elias coming up the walkway, Adele had rushed outside to greet him and present him with a gift.

Her eyes followed his finger as he slowly unwrapped the rectangular parcel, revealing a drawing of Elias’s square-jaw and full lips, Adele watched the young man’s expression, how it seemed shy at first then radiant when he uncovered the picture she had captured of him with her strong lines and shading. “It’s beautiful, Adele,” he said, smiling. “I’ll always cherish it. Shukran.”

“You’re welcome, Elias. I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it.” Elias leaned in and kissed her on the cheeks. She leaned back against the doorframe, and motioned for him to come inside. “Let’s have lunch,” she said.

Over a plate of stuffed grape leaves and homemade yoghurt, Adele looked across at Elias. He sat between her father and uncle, turning his head to and fro, trying to keep up with the conversation going on at the table. “But Youssef, I don’t want to leave my country. I’ve told you many times that Canada can never be my home.”

“But what’s here for you? Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Issa asked. “There’s my family, the figs, the olives, the goats…”

“Fuck the goats! Look at this fool,” Youssef said to Elias while pointing at Issa. “He wants to stay in a country filled with uncertainty because of the goats! Now is that crazy or just plain stupidity?”

Elias didn’t reply, only stared across at Adele with his eyes wide.

Adele smiled and tried to change the subject, “You know, Uncle, Canada has a lot of great things too.”

“Like what? Snow and bloody cold temperatures.”

“Yes, but there are other things, too, like great health insurance, good jobs….”

“I’m healthy as an ox. I don’t need health insurance when I’ve got a good heart and bones. This comes from hard farm work, not some job where you sit on your behind all day, serving customers like your Babba,” Issa said, smiling and staring mockingly at Youssef.

“Ya sharmout! I work just as hard as you and more so. You can finish whenever you want but I stay open until ten every night. Now who’s the hard worker?” Youssef said with a mischievous grin.

“Okay, okay, you win but I’m not leaving my country, brother. This is my home. I’m Lebanese, not Canadian.”

Youssef grunted then scooped up some laban, pouring the yoghurt over the cigar-shaped grape leafs and stuffing one into his mouth. And Adele was glad that her father was silent for once.

When lunch was finally over, she and Elias headed outdoors. “Your father is a really funny character.”

“Yeah,” Adele mumbled though she really wanted to say, when he’s not being a bastard, but she kept her opinion to herself, following Elias down the dirt road towards the river. Once there, they sat at the edge of the riverbed.

Elias lay down on the grass, placed his hands behind his head and gazed up into the sky. It was a clear blue, peaceful in spite the ever-present chaos that was going on in Beirut, the possible bombs, the shelling and gun smoke, the unrest, and threat of another war.

“It’s so quiet out here,” Adele said. “It’s almost surreal. All we see at home on the news is a broken country, but if they showed the villages then we’d get a totally different perspective.”

“News is always where the action is. Peace and quiet do not make good stories.”

“I suppose. Have you ever been to Canada, Elias?”

“No. But I would like to go one day, perhaps live there permanently. I know I would miss my family though. And I would hate the cold.”

“You’d get used to it.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Would you ever consider leaving Canada, moving to another country?”

“You know, I never thought about that. It would be exciting to live abroad but my father would never allow it,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid question. Being a Lebanese girl, you’re expected to get married then move out with your husband, not on your own. I thought perhaps this rule didn’t apply to a Canadian-born woman.” He sat up cross-legged.

“My father’s very traditional.”

“And you’re not?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“A little.” Elias moved closer to her so their knees were touching. Without thinking, Adele rested her hand on his thigh, rubbed the material of his jeans. Getting up quickly, Elias wiped the dirt from his pants and said, “I better head back home. Would you like to go out tomorrow?”

“Sounds good,” Adele said, now standing.

“I want to take you to the town of Baalbeck. We can bring your sisters too.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Okay, then it’s a date.” Elias turned and waved as he sauntered off.

The next day, Adele strolled beside Elias, the tips of their fingers finding each other as he showed the Azar sisters the ancient ruins of Baalbeck. Elias and Adele walked along a path of dry orange sand lined with whitish-grey rocks. The air was hot and smelled of dust. Gigantic ruins towered around them, pillars of extraordinary height and width, making it seem unimaginable that ancient crews were able to construct them without the aid of modern technology. But there they stood, only somewhat battered by many centuries, wars, thrashing storms, and the burning sun. Adele had to shield her eyes with her hands as she tilted her head back and gazed at the vast ruins. Lichen found its way in some of the grooves, darkening the stone. Sunlight poured through open holes between the cracked surfaces. Elias pulled her forward, eager to show his favourite structure. As they walked together, her eyes stared ahead at her sisters’ backs and every now and then one of them would turn and smile at her. She felt like a young teenager who had developed her first crush. She glanced at Elias and thought how handsome he looked amongst the ancient ruins. With his dark features and broad shoulders, he could pass as a Roman soldier.

He let his arms swing so his fingers continually found their way to Adele’s hand. She had wanted to reach over and hold his hand, but that would have been too presumptuous, almost risky, because she barely knew this man by her side. Instead, she linked arms with him and let him describe the towering temples that surrounded them. She liked feeling him beside her. Elias turned his head and smiled as he looked down at their entwined arms. “Adele, see that temple,” he said, pointing to the six Corinthian columns jutting into the blue skyline. She liked the way he said her name, the way it rolled off his tongue. His voice was warm and deep. “That’s the Temple of Jupiter.” Adele was mesmerized by the vast structure. Then he gestured toward a circular monument a short distance away. “And that’s the Temple of Venus.” He guided Adele past a gate and up stone steps leading to the Temple of Bacchus. Breathing deeply, he stood still and said, smiling, “This is my favourite.”

Adele tilted her head back and admired the gigantic building surrounded by several pillars. He rested his hand on the wall of the temple and explained, “Some poppies and grapes were carved in the stone back in the days of the young god named Baalbeck. Several worshippers brought wine and food to honour the god. It’s very beautiful.” He ran his fingertips along the markings then reached over and guided Adele’s hand over the carvings, pressing his palm on her knuckles. She suddenly felt a warmth in her belly and before she knew it she leaned into Elias’s face and kissed him on the mouth. He froze and jerked back, digging his hands into his pockets. Clearing his throat, he said, “Let’s join your sisters.”

She looked down at the ground, twisting the toe of her ankle boot into the dry orange earth. “Okay,” she mumbled, sprinting ahead. Her sisters stood between the Corinthian columns, calling out to her to join them and complete a photograph. She hurried, not once turning to face Elias. He trailed behind her like a helpless pup.

“I’m sorry,” Elias said, holding a small cup of ahweh in his large hands. They sat on the terrace of his parents’ house while his family settled in the living room, the sound of the television set filtering into the evening air. His long fingers were wrapped around the saucer as he turned it before him, glancing up from it every few seconds and into Adele’s probing eyes.

“What happened back in Baalbeck? Didn’t you want me to kiss you?” she asked, not letting his eyes go. She glanced back at his family; they continued to watch the show, ignoring them.

“Yes … no … I don’t know. It’s happening so fast. I thought this is what I wanted, especially since this is what my parents want. I want to be a good son…a good husband but…I don’t know.” He paused, put the cup down on the small plastic table between them and rubbed his forehead in frustration. The voices of his family began to drift out to the terrace. He got up and slightly closed the door leading to the terrace, then sat back down across from Adele. “Jeez, this should be easy.”

The part about being a good child reminded her of all the things she had done to please her parents. She could understand his desire but the rest was making her squint and frown. “Husband? What are you talking about?” she finally asked, confused.

“Your father thought we’d make a good match given our circumstances…”

She held up a hand. “Wait a minute. What did you say? My father thought what?”

“Sort of like an arranged marriage but not in the traditional sense … what other option do I have? Since my accident, I haven’t been able to … you know…” he stuttered. Elias moved his hands as if he could describe what he needed to say in sign language. Only Adele didn’t understand; she stared at him dumbfounded.

“You’re not making sense, Elias. What circumstances? What accident?”

He rested his elbows on the edge of the table then cupped his chin in his hands. “I thought your father explained everything to you and this is the reason you came to Lebanon. I thought this is what you wanted.”

Speechless, she shook her head.

“Is this the first time you’ve heard of our arrangement?”

She nodded.

“Oh Christ,” Elias whispered. “I am sorry. I thought your father would have told you.” He leaned in closer to Adele and spoke in a low voice so his parents couldn’t hear them. Adele followed Elias’s eyes as they stared worriedly back at his family. They were still enthralled with the Arabic dancing on the TV. He turned back to her. “Let me start from the beginning.”

“About two years ago, I was in a serious car accident. A bomb exploded while I was driving on the streets of Beirut. So many people were hurt; it was horrible. So many children hurt, so many women … a bomb doesn’t discriminate. People were running all over the place with gashes and burns on their skin. I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off the road, but I couldn’t look away from the fear on people’s faces and by the time I saw the car racing towards me, I didn’t have a chance to brake or swerve. When my parents saw me in the hospital, they thought I was going to die but I didn’t. I pulled through. Sometimes I think it might have been better if Allah hadn’t spared my life. When days are bad, I think this way. The impact of the collision forced a metal plate between my legs….” After a long pause, he continued. “My testicles were severed. I was only twenty-two. A young man! I had a steady girlfriend and we had dreams of moving to France, where I would become a professor of Arabic literature and she’d be a journalist. But when she learned of my situation, she refused to see me again. She said it was too hard for her to face me, to know that I’d never be able to make her a mother.”

Adele took hold of his hand.

“When I recovered from my injuries, I learned the extent of my problem. I learned that I wouldn’t be able to function completely as a man. And, well, our parents thought we’d make a good match. You can’t have children. I can’t have children. It’s logical, right?” He shook his head. “I kept telling them that it wouldn’t be fair to you. You could at least still have a healthy … um, sex life while I can’t … I said it wouldn’t be fair. Didn’t anyone tell you this?”

She shook her head. After Elias finished talking, he slumped back in his chair and Adele rose from hers. Elias reached out to take her hand but she pushed him away and walked past his family, mumbling a hasty goodnight. She stumbled down the stone steps, pressing her hands into the walls, trying to balance herself. Her mind would not be still. She heard Elias’s words over and over again until she reached the dirt road and found she was light-headed. A short distance away, she looked up at Elias, who was still on the terrace, collapsed in the chair and resting his forehead on the table. He looked at her once more before dropping his head to his arms. She rushed down the dimly-lit road to her father’s old home. “Fuck! I can’t believe this bullshit,” she cursed and, at the same time, kicked at stones on the unpaved street.