Dinarzad's Children: An Anthology of Contemporary Arab American Fiction

Distances

DISTANCES
HEDY HABRA Up and down the Lebanese mountain village’s most frequented promenade, summer vacationers linger, an invigorating breeze filtering through thick green layers of pine needles. A caravan of cars patiently wends its way upward, tired faces peering from windows, leaving behind deserted homes and offices, the stifling August air. They have driven around the mountain through curves and loops for half an hour, an hour, sometimes longer, longing for dry, cool sheets smelling of lavender and wildflowers. The girl and the boy walk side by side along the crowded, winding road, part of the ebb and flow of passersby who have just awakened from their afternoon siestas. Like all mountain dwellers, they have forgotten what it was like to wake up in Beirut and desperately try to wipe off the persistent dampness of sticky sheets under a cold shower. In the mountains for a couple of months, they have forgotten how boring they had thought it was to be there, despite their parents ’ eternal praise of the healthy, vivifying air and the peaceful, relaxing greenness. They have forgotten many things, how often they had pleaded each year to stay home and swim, water-ski or go to the movies and beach parties. And now they are unable to face the fact that their vacation is coming to an end. For generations, the boy’s parents have owned a house in Reyfoun—an old stone summer house with a red-tiled roof and an interior patio with a mosaic fountain in its midst—where he has spent his summers for as long as he can remember. The girl’s family has been coming to the Al Masyaf hotel for three years, finding the meals delicious—the chef knows what he is doing, her parents often repeat—and the prices reasonable. The real reasons, of course, 203 1KALDAS_pages:1KALDAS pages i-72.qxd 8/3/09 2:35 PM Page 203 are the bridge and poker groups her parents organize with friends and hotel regulars. Side by side, they walk on the hilly road, lined with hotel and café terraces. In one of the cafés two men play backgammon at a table next to flowering red geraniums. The gray-haired man sets an ashtray on the cement cornice and smokes, nonchalantly pointing his cigarette toward the street, oblivious of the walkers’ proximity. The younger one has striking features. Recognizing the boy’s father, the girl thinks he has his son’s stature, except for the dark eyes and a thin black mustache. He looks at the couple, nods in their direction , waves a hand ready to throw the dice, looks briefly at the girl, his eyes pausing on his son before throwing the dice. “Shesh besh!” he says loudly. “I win!” The boy does not speak, and seems preoccupied. “He saw us,” she says. “What will happen now?” “Nothing. My father already talked to me yesterday.” “What did he say?” “He was very calm about the whole matter. He said it was about time I take my future in hand. Listen. He said exactly these words: ‘Who is going to support the two of you? Her family?’” “That’s all he said?” “That’s all.” “I don’t understand,” she says, frowning. “My father never talked to me this way. I never thought of marriage before,” he says, recalling the worried look on his father’s face and the rest of his words: “I have absolutely nothing against this girl. Neither do I really object to the fact that she is Christian, provided, of course, that she embraces our faith. I respect your choice, but the problem is that, at nineteen, you have no job, no career, and you have to think about the girl’s reputation.” “Marriage?” she repeats. The sound of this word shakes her; her whole world shatters. Why should they make this decision? she thinks. The sixteen year-old girl imagines her dreams fast-forwarded, full speed on a public screen.
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HEDY HABRA 1KALDAS_pages:1KALDAS pages i-72.qxd 8/3/09 2:36 PM Page 204 The mother opens the oven door and bastes the roast for the third time. “I’ll be back before it is dry,” she thinks. She has to drive her fifteen-year-old son to soccer practice and then pick up the twins from their tennis lesson at the YMCA. “Let’s go, Mom, I...