Mediteranean Sunset

by Yvette Canoura

  The guests insisted that Fouad and I dance. I wasn’t too pleased with the idea but I had to act enthusiastic. Suddenly, the music went from lively to soft, from Arabic to English. They played “Endless Love.” It was ironic to dance to such a beautiful, passionate song with someone who meant nothing to me. He was proud, taking me by the hand and walking me towards the dance floor. He held me close and tight, then, whispered in my ear.

  “I requested this song for you. I wanted you to feel at home. Are you enjoying our evening?”

  “Very much,” I said politely.

  “I actually can’t wait to be alone with you.”

  The music ended and the band picked up the mood with Antarahn folk music. We probably danced for 5 minutes and then I told him I needed to sit because I was tired.

  Three hours into the celebration, we cut the cake and gave our guests nicely wrapped favors with a variety of typical sweets from the region. There were sugar-covered almonds, fine chocolates with nuts packed in bright colored foil and a gelatin-like textured candy filled with pistachios.

  As guests gathered on the huge terrace overlooking the Mediterranean, a fireworks display mesmerized all. It would have truly been an enchanting evening if I had married someone I actually loved.

  Many, including Fouad, stayed outdoors to smoke the bubble pipe and drink coffee. The smoking of the argheele or sheesha, was a Middle Eastern pastime. Men and women alike spent hours talking, smoking and sipping coffee or tea for diversion.

  An hour later, we said our goodbyes. I was saddened because I knew it was the last time I would see my father in Antarah. He was departing the next morning and I would be leaving on my honeymoon. I bowed and touched his hand with my forehead and then kissed it as a sign of respect. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

  “I’ll miss you, Baba,” I said.

  “I’ll miss you too, habeebtee Fatme but your life is here, by your husband’s side.”

  I gave him a big hug and a kiss on each cheek. He wiped my tears and gave me a kiss on the forehead.

  The caravan of cabs arrived just in time to escort us around town. We led the fleet in a white limousine decorated with flowers and streamers. The custom is for the caravan to go all over the city, late at night, honking the horns to let everyone know someone just got married. I was very anxious because this indicated that soon I would be alone with Fouad. I knew he was eager for this moment to arrive and that was a terrifying thought; the beginning of my nightmare.

  The Honeymoon

  I swam for hours to forget, until the sky started to show traces of the sun breaking through. As I walked back to the room, I could still feel the pain, the raw sensation inside. I kept trying to wipe the tears with my hands and erase the horrific images from my head. He had been an animal with no regard. I wondered if this feeling would ever go away or would it get worse. I put on some dry clothes and rocked myself to sleep hoping I would wake up to discover it was just a bad dream.

  When I woke up, it was so vivid. I was truly living what I wished to forget. The sound of his voice and his touch were the reminder that it was all very real.

  “Saba Al Khair, good morning my darling,” he said startling me then kissing my bruised neck. “I really did a number on you last night. Cover up those hickeys.”

  I saw a pantsuit and a matching scarf that had been laid out for me.

  “I expect for you to act and dress like a lady. Wear the hijab, and long sleeves. Also, tone down your makeup. You don’t need to look like a whore. You are a respectable married woman now. Beautiful just the way God made you.”

  “Is that supposed to be a compliment? Have I lost my entire identity to you?”

  “You lost your virginity to me. Now, you are damaged goods; my goods. You are under my roof and you will follow my rules. There will be no more discussion on this matter. Get dressed. We will be picked up shortly and I hate to be late. Don’t worry about packing. I’ve prepared a bag for you with everything you need. It is downstairs.”

  “Lovely,” I said as I slammed the door behind him.

  Our honeymoon was a guarded secret. The chauffeur picked us up and dropped us by the pier. We stepped on to a beautiful yacht and were greeted by its owner, a friendly face, Rauf. I was relieved he was going to accompany us to our final destination, which I learned, would be Cyprus Island. Both men went down to the cabin as I overheard them talk.

  “So, how was your wedding night?” Rauf asked.

  “It was great,” Fouad responded gloating. “She was a virgin after all. I guess you win the bet.” They laughed as Fouad continued “And you know these first timers can’t get enough. We were at it all night. She’s insatiable. What a body! She is truly a goddess.”

  “I insist, you are a lucky man,” Rauf said.

  I was furious that they were discussing my intimacies and that they had made a bet about me being a virgin. At least Rauf had faith in me. Fouad was a pig. He had no respect for me. I was truly one more medal on his jacket.

  “Are you going to meet up with your Greek hottie in Cyprus?” Fouad asked.

  “Melina, of course.”

  “I hope you told her not to bring a friend. I’m a married man now and I have to keep appearances. At least in the beginning” Fouad said as they laughed.

  I felt betrayed and disappointed even by Rauf. I suspected my marriage had no future but now, I was certain I would learn to hate him every day a little more. He was a known playboy and wasn’t prepared to settle down. I wasn’t about to fight over him either. Actually, this was probably for the best. Maybe he would leave me alone to go after new conquests.

  “How’s Rania?” Fouad asked.

  “Devastated.”

  “I’m sorry brother but I just couldn’t commit to her. I knew I wouldn’t make her happy and I couldn’t afford the eyes of the world on me. In addition, I couldn’t fulfill your father’s expectations in regards to his daughter.”

  “That’s all in the past my friend. She’ll get over it. It’s not as if she lacks admirers,” Rauf said as he walked off heading towards the stairs.

  This conversation explained Rania’s strange behavior around me. Yet, I was puzzled. Rania seemed like a perfect match for him and his blind ambition. This woman could put the world at his feet together with the power and control he obviously craved. So, why me? What could he possibly gain from me?

  “Eavesdropping, Fatima?” Rauf asked.

  “I got bored up there so I came to see what you gentlemen were doing,” I said startled as Fouad abruptly got up from his chair.

  “Nothing that concerns you, dear. We will be up shortly.”

  Up on deck, I started to see some land at a distance. It was a gorgeous day. I unraveled my veil and let my hair blow as my mind drifted. I thought about my father and how he would cope now that neither my mother nor I were there to keep him company. I thought about my mother and how I wish I would have had more time with her. I needed her advice, her wisdom and mostly her love.

  As I stared into the deep blue sea, I dared to think the unthinkable: giving up on life; just allowing myself to be swallowed slowly by the current into a peaceful abyss. Two things stopped me: fear of Allah and my father’s unbearable sadness.

  Suicide would be an unforgivable haram, sin, and my father could not survive another loss.

  My fate had been decided and I had to learn to live with it. As I wiped my eyes, the men came up on deck. I quickly wrapped the scarf around my neck to cover those awful marks.

  “Tears on a newlywed’s eyes?” Rauf asked.

  “No. My eyes are just sensitive to the sun and I forgot my sunglasses.”

  “Borrow mine,” Rauf insisted.

  “No need,” Fouad said. “Here are your sunglasses, sweetie.”

  He gently pulled my hair and whispered in my ear.

  “Cover your hair immediately. I thought I mad
e it clear that I am the only man who could see your hair.”

  I carefully covered my head with the scarf making sure not to expose any hair to avoid an embarrassing scene in front of Rauf.

  Seconds later, Fouad started acting very loving. I sensed Rauf was a little uncomfortable with this but he smiled.

  “Love is a beautiful thing,” Rauf said.

  We had finally arrived to Cyprus.

  The golden sand, the luxurious resorts, the fresh breeze and the clear water made this a true romantic paradise. I kept wondering what secrets would be revealed if these shores could talk. I wondered how many women Fouad had brought here and how many broken hearts he had left behind. I actually felt guilty knowing that Rania and probably others were suffering when I would gladly give him up for my old life.

  We checked into a lavish suite overlooking the ocean. Fouad was obsessed with keeping up with appearances. Status meant everything to him. I was more interested in a simple, quiet life away from bodyguards and fake people.

  When I started unpacking, I realized Fouad was making a point to buy me some extremely conservative outfits. Everything was black. Everything was long-sleeved, oversized blouses, long skirts, pants and an abaye, coat, for me to wear over the clothes. This sheer coat would guarantee I was concealing every inch of my body and of course, several black scarves to cover my hair. On the other hand, the pig managed to pack some very skimpy lingerie.

  “Is this what I’m supposed to wear to the beach?” I said holding up a thong.

  “Very funny” he replied.

  “Why do you want to dress me like an old lady?”

  “Correction: a married woman. This,” he said pointing at the clothes, “is what I want to see you wear. Starting tonight I also want you to stop, as you Americans say, the ‘chit-chat’ with Rauf. He is not your friend. A decent married woman has no business interacting with any other man but her husband. Unless the yacht is on fire or sinking, I prohibit you to speak to him.”

  “Fouad, you are being unreasonable. How are you going to justify me not talking to the man when I’ve been doing so up till now?”

  “Set the boundaries and he will follow your lead.”

  “Do I detect a tad bit of jealousy?”

  “There is nothing to be jealous of,” he said in a very arrogant tone. “You are used goods, my darling, and a man like Rauf wouldn’t lay his eyes on you. If he did, I would kill him before he put a hand on you. Are we clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Now, go change and model one of those sexy numbers for me.” There was a knock at the door. As he went to open it, I rushed to put on my scarf. It was Rauf. Both men spoke briefly.

  “Be ready for dinner. Rauf and I have some business to take care of.”

  I was relieved. I headed to the balcony to catch a glimpse of happiness while I watched couples that were truly in love. A few minutes later I saw Rauf and Fouad as they were greeted by two bikini bombshells that they escorted to the yacht.

  I wasn’t jealous, I just expected him to be discrete. After all, it was our honeymoon and he was with a high profile individual. I couldn’t believe he had no problem prancing around the resort with his sharmuta. I understood then why Fouad didn’t pursue Rania. The president of Antarah would never have tolerated any man making a mockery of his daughter. This would have spelled disaster for Fouad’s military career.

  Several hours passed and I finally went to bed. When he walked in, he tried to wake me up but I pretended to be sound asleep.

  I decided to allow Fouad to go on with his rendezvous. The more time he was tied up, the less time I had to deal with him. I prayed he’d be exhausted after his active escapades and would leave me alone. Unfortunately, the bastard had enough testosterone to go around. So, I played the sleeping beauty card and avoided intercourse for a couple of nights.

  It was day three and I had successfully kept my distance from Rauf and I guess he got the hint that our flirting days were over.

  The honeymoon that never started was coming to an end and now reality was about to sink in. We were headed home and I was about to officially start my role as a housewife.

  Married Life

  The first day Fouad returned to work, I took some time to acquaint myself with the house. The most fascinating room was my husband’s study because it was his sanctuary the same way it was for my father. It reflected his personality: strong, arrogant and disciplined. Everything had its place.

  The walls were filled with certificates, awards, commendations and his degree from the prestigious Cranfield University in England. He was top of his class at the royal military college of science. It was actually at Shrivenham campus were he met Rauf. They were both attending a 1 year advanced education war studies program.

  He claims he didn’t know who Rauf was in the beginning, but knowing Fouad, it was no coincidence. I believe he strategically placed himself where he knew he would meet the president’s son.

  Fouad got his Masters in Defense Administration & Management. This degree together with his presidential contacts helped him move along the military ranks. With Rauf’s support, he gained the president’s trust and respect. Colonel Mustafa was now the assistant chief executive of the Air Force. It would take several years to move up the military ladder and become Major General, the minimum rank needed to head the Air Force. Fouad was on the right track and nothing would stop him from achieving his objective.

  Rauf was being groomed to become the next president in the event of his father’s death or retirement due to illness. I was sure Fouad’s ultimate goal was for Rauf to appoint him his vice president. His ambition and determination could certainly earn him this position. Fouad was committed. He put in long hours, went through extensive training sessions and seminars that kept him away from home quite often. I admired his drive. Unfortunately, this wasn’t enough to win me over.

  It took a few weeks to settle into a routine. Jamila came to visit often and brought a splash of sunshine in to my otherwise dull days. She was starting to look very pregnant. Fouad had taken her husband Nabil under his wing in an effort to please me. In return, I started to be nicer. I used cooking as my therapy making my husband happy and my life easier.

  Little by little, I started meeting other military wives, Nur andMariam were my favorites, and I realized that most of them had pre-arranged marriages. It was a concept that I could never grasp but I had learned to accept. Some of them even admitted that they had a tough time adapting to their spouse’s demands and strict military ways but in the end had grown to love them. So, I joined the club. Day by day, I tried to make my life with Fouad agreeable. With my affection, I had tamed his controlling ways.

  We frequently had our friends over for dinner. He constantly flattered my cooking which made me feel accomplished. He even rewarded my efforts by adding more color to my wardrobe. I felt I was one step away from taking off my scarf for good. Wishful thinking! Things were looking up. Fouad’s attentiveness was starting to rub off on me. I was becoming more giving, which made even our sex life seem almost enjoyable.

  Before we married, I had made a conscious decision to get on birth control behind Fouad’s back. It was inconceivable to bring a child into a loveless marriage.

  For months, he insisted that I see a doctor to find out if there was a problem. I tried to blame it on our irregular sexual activity because of his extended periods of absence due to his military operations. I also used my mother’s problems in conceiving me as something that might be hereditary. I always insisted he be patient and put it in God’s hands.

  Now, I was reconsidering my position. I actually started to feel that a child would allow me to focus on something other than myself and bring meaning to my life. A child might even help me develop feelings for Fouad I never imagined possible. For the first time, I was planning a future.

  When Jamila had her baby, I was by her side assisti
ng the midwife as she pushed her bundle of joy into this world. Outside the room, an anxious Nabil awaited to hear the glorious words.

  “It’s a boy!” the midwife shouted.

  Nabil rushed in to see his beautiful offspring for the first time. His eyes watered as he thanked God for his tiny miracle. He then turned to his wife, held her hand and kissed her forehead. It was a very tender moment.

  When Jamila held her newborn in her arms, I really felt my maternal instincts kicking in. I guess Jamila saw how I melted in the presence of this adorable creature.

  “Here’s your nephew Ramee,” she said.

  As I took him in my arms, I cried. I thought about my mother and how it must have felt to have me in her arms after wanting me so much. I thought about my dad and how proud he was of me. I also remembered how his love made me conquer all my fears. Ramee was going to have a wonderful life. Two parents who loved each other and absolutely adored him and an aunt to spoil him rotten. What else could a boy need?

  Nabil was sitting by Jamila’s side as I walked toward him and put the baby in his arms.

  “Your son is beautiful, Abu Ramee and Em Ramee,” I said to the proud parents. “God bless him today and forever.”

  From now on, Jamila and Nabil would be known as abu, father of, and em, mother of, Ramee. Their first born son became their identity; their purpose. That’s what life was all about.

  They immediately discussed the traditional sacrificing of sheep; two sheep if it’s a boy; one if it’s a girl. It is customary to distribute the meat among the poor for Allah to bless the newborn child.