CHAPTER 15

AS THEY RETURNED TO THE CAR, a sudden rumbling and tremor under their feet caused Adele to stumble awkwardly into Elias’s shoulder. Adele caught herself from falling, but she was alarmed. “What’s happening?” she mumbled. Elias didn’t reply. Instead, he grabbed Adele’s arm and pulled her into the safety of his body, hurriedly leading her into the entranceway of another shop, past several toppled over vendor stalls, figs crushed, cloth torn, and gold bangles bent in the chaos of people running. Adele watched a vendor kneel and stuff precious stones into the deep pockets of his apron as he hurled Arabic curse words that assaulted Adele’s ears. But it was the wailing from the injured people that made her shake uncontrollably. Elias held her close so the smell of his skin permeated her nostrils—a mixture of sweat and soap.

Adele asked again, “What’s happening?”

“A street bomb.”

His answer silenced her. She twisted her head that he had clasped to his chest and stared at the burning building across from them. Through black patches of smoke, she could see bodies sprawled in the corner, limbs dismembered, and shattered windows all over the asphalt. Everything was in an uproar. She began to shake more violently. There was a distinct and sharp stench and she realized it was the smell of blood. She closed her eyes for a moment then opened them to Elias placing the warmth of his hand against her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us out of here.” She swallowed and watched the fire dying down with the tide of water spurting from the emergency crews’ hoses, embers burning on the streets. She had never experienced any of the violence in the Middle East firsthand, though she had witnessed it many times on Canadian broadcasts, and read about it over and over in the world information section of newspapers.

The noon sun rose above the haze and cries. She suddenly became aware of how hot it was. Beads of sweat trickled down her ribcage. The intense sunlight made her raise her hands to her eyes, protecting her pupils from the brightness.

Some distance away, she saw a woman on her knees clutching a child. The boy jerked a few times, then remained still in his mother’s arms. Blood was on the woman’s hands and on her son’s face. She pulled him tight to her chest, her wails drowning out the sirens. Adele hated the light that now hit these victims. She saw the torn look on the woman’s face—her eyelids swollen, cheeks disfigured by shards of flying glass—and Adele cried out at the stranger’s grief, and her loss. She turned away, stepped back from the noise, the sun. Burying her face in Elias’s hard chest, she felt him stroking her head as she wept.

They hurried down several streets, away from the burning debris and rubble. Thick dust swirled in the air. Adele let go of Elias’s hand, rubbed her eyes, then reached for him again, afraid of losing him in the rush of people, bumping their shoulders against hers, breaking her free from Elias’s hold. She searched for his fingers as if not reconnecting would be the end of her existence. She needed him and this frightened her because she had never had this feeling of complete reliance on another person, had actually felt suffocated when her family depended on her for handling everyday things. She held onto his hand tighter and liked the way his fingers entwined with hers. All of a sudden, she felt a longing for the person she was supposed to marry, one as broken as herself.

She squeezed Elias’s hand then felt sick and stopped him. The taste of vomit surged through her throat. She had to stop running. Bent over, she felt Elias’s fingers pull back her hair while she threw up at the side of the road. He stood in front of her and reached out to wipe her cheeks with a handkerchief. Then he took her face tenderly in his hands and at this moment her eyes filled with tears because she felt what it was like to be loved. Yet a feeling of sadness overwhelmed her when she looked around and realized they had stopped running, not because of her sudden illness, but because they had reached their destination. And worry filled her mind as she thought about her family and the danger taking place in the country. Could she leave them? “Elias, maybe I shouldn’t go? What if my family is hurt by a bomb?” she asked, her eyes opened wide in concern.

“No, things are fine in Kfarmichki. Your family will be safe.” With that reassurance, Adele stepped through the sliding doors of the Beirut International Airport.

Adele sat in the departure lounge with her clothes sticking to her, making the worn leather seat squeak. She nervously tapped her left foot on the tiled floor. Elias rested his hand on her knee to calm her. After a while, she stopped shaking and placed her hand on top of Elias’s. She looked down at their joined hands, perfectly still, resting on her knee. Though they were surrounded by several people, saying goodbyes, talking about what journey awaited them, flipping through agendas, scribbling down addresses and phone numbers, she felt as if they were the only two people in the busy airport. She didn’t hear the voice on the intercom announcing flights nor the sirens outside, a reminder of the crumbling capital and chaos they had just fled. If it weren’t for Elias, she’d probably be awakening to the sound of her family preparing for her wedding day. The loud voices would have drowned out the rooster crowing, the donkeys braying. Realistically, she knew her family would be waking up to the note she had left them. Elias had written it in Arabic, stating their decision to elope and to move to another country. She knew her sisters would be heartbroken at her sudden departure. At this moment, she breathed deeply and wondered whether she really should leave. Suddenly she viewed everything around her with sadness and confusion. She felt an urge to return to the village and go on with her life no matter how difficult it had been for her. Casting a glance at Elias, she said in a quavering voice, “Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

His eyes opened in astonishment; he was taken aback. As though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he stared at Adele.

She braided her fingers with his, raised his hand up and shook it, breaking the stillness they had shared a brief moment ago. “Elias, did you hear me?”

He silently stared at her face.

Lowering her eyes, she let go of his hand and whispered, “Don’t look at me like that.”

He gave a nervous laugh then said in a low voice, “You must go. Why would you want to stay? You’ve told me everything about your father, your lack of freedom, the way you feel you’re living only half a life. This is your opportunity to break free and now you’re scared! Why are you so afraid?”

His comments hurt her because they were so honest. And she remembered how Rima had tried to escape years ago too but had returned because she was too afraid to disobey their father and bring shame to the family. Now Elias forced her to realize that she, too, was a terrified girl, like Rima had been, who said things but when it came to action, she couldn’t follow through. She whispered resentfully, “No, no. I’m not afraid.”

Elias said softly, “My words have angered you.”

She took a deep breath. “No. You’re right. I’m scared. I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive on my own. I’ve never done it before and, well, I’m scared shitless.”

“What’s this? Sheetless?”

“No, no,” Adele laughed in spite of herself. “Shit, not sheet.”

“Oh. You mean feces.” He patted her leg and assured her with a warm grin, “You’ll be fine.”

“How about yourself?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’ll manage somehow, especially now that I’ve left behind the gossip and pity. Pity is a terrible feeling.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pity is also contempt. I know people pity me and I hate it. So I can’t have an erection. It’s not the end of the world.”

She lowered her gaze so he wouldn’t detect signs of sympathy in them. Silence prevailed for a few moments then she said, “Where will you go?”

“England. I always wanted to see the Queen.”

She smiled. “Are you serious?”

“Not really. But I got you to smile.” He playfully nudged his shoulders with hers.

A few minutes later, a voice on the intercom announced Adele’s flight. She rose from her seat, her heart pounding. Elias got up too. She pressed her hand into his cheek. The prospect of never seeing him again saddened her more than she expected. She embraced him so tightly that it was almost painful. Her breasts were crushed against him for a long moment, but then seemed to ache for him when he pulled away. “Thank you, Elias,” she said, almost crying. “You’ll never know how much you’ve given me.”

He smiled shyly, stepped back, and waved goodbye.

When she handed her ticket to the clerk, Adele glanced at Elias now standing alone, leaning against the railing, his head bowed and his hands clasped together as if in prayer. She turned and faced the clerk again.

And when she boarded the airplane, her earlier fear evaporated and she experienced a feeling of great excitement.

It was a little after midnight when she arrived back to Ottawa. She emerged from the taxi and walked up the steps of her parents’ house. As she fumbled to put the key in the lock, she started to sweat. Had she really left Lebanon, her family? When she pushed open the door, the darkness enveloped her. There were no shouting voices, no heated arguments, no sobs, no scents of her mother’s cooking. Just silence. It was as if her family had never existed in this two-storey house. Nothing was visible except the moonlight that slipped through the lace curtains of the living room. Flipping on the light switch, she brought the house back to life. Her eyes glanced at the mahogany coffee table at the centre of the room, photographs decorating it. She crept across the hardwood floor to the table, knelt down and picked up one of the framed photographs, her fingers tracing the faces under the glass. The Azar sisters stood on the Fosters’ driveway in front of the green wooden fence that separated their father’s grocery store from the old white house. Now she looked at another photo of herself and her sisters. The young girls in knitted ponchos with wide grins on their faces. They were surrounded by piles of autumn leaves. In this photograph, she saw the young child she had once been. She wore the yellow and white poncho her Sito had knitted for her before she had returned to Lebanon, hating the winters in Canada and missing her bachelor shepherd son. Inhaling deeply, Adele remembered the smell of rosewater embedded in the yarn and how it floated up her small nose, making her reach up and pull at the collar, the tiny strings with balls at the ends hitting her chest. She couldn’t remember her grandmother. But she had heard the story of when she had stayed in Canada, how she had fed and bathed Adele because her mother was too ill to do so after her hysterectomy, and how she had cried at the airport when her grandmother had decided to return to Lebanon. According to Samira, weeks after her grandmother’s departure, Adele had been inconsolable. But Adele regretfully couldn’t remember crying out ‘Mama!’ to her grandmother as she boarded a plane back to Lebanon.

Now, in the softly-lit room, she remembered the scent of the handmade poncho. Her grandmother had died when Adele was in grade ten so she never had the opportunity to meet her again but Adele’s Sito still lived in her memories and in the ring she wore, one given to her by her grandmother. Adele looked at it on her finger now. Three tiny ruby stones ran along the raised top that also had a sketch of lines engraved on the sides. It had an antique appeal, not trendy like the more common silver stone rings. It was as if the soul of her grandmother shone in the rubies. After a while, she raised her head, rose from her knees and headed upstairs.

The next morning, she woke up late, alone. Usually she rose early but last night she couldn’t sleep, jolting awake every few hours from the settling of the house. She dreamt her father had found out about her running away and had burned all her belongings starting with the paintings she had created in her high school art classes. Her hand went to her mouth as she stood watching the flames engulf the oil and watercolour paintings, shrivelling the self-portraits she had spent countless hours sketching, then painting for her final year project. Afterwards, he threw in her clothes. She glanced across at her father; his face was rigid while he discarded every item that bespoke her history. He was erasing her existence, leaving no trace of her. Burying her face in her hands, she wept until the orange-red flames swallowed her too.

Now rubbing her weary eyes, she got out of bed, brushed her teeth and showered. She felt lonely suddenly standing in the bathtub with warm water falling on her head. She began to cry as the realization of what she had done pounded her in the gut. Wasn’t this what she always wanted? Why was she crying? For a while, she let the fear inside her come out in the weakness that surged in her shivering legs, but the soothing warmth from the water released the anxiety in her skin. A few minutes later, she turned off the shower, wiped her face with her towel, and quickly dried her body. She had a lot to do. Numbers to call, arrangements to make. She was free now and freedom required action.