Mediteranean Sunset

by Yvette Canoura

  “Your ideas are great, but how are we going to get the money to implement these programs?” he asked.

  “We use the opportunities life gives us. The president is indebted to my husband; my father is a good friend of the president. That will get us in the door. You and I will meet with President Saeed to pitch him a detailed proposal on the vans and clinics. We will also include the idea for a fundraiser that will attract Antarah’s elite. Between the government and community funds, we should be able to begin our projects. Each year, we could hold the fundraiser to upgrade our facilities. What do you think?”

  “I think you are not only a beautiful woman, but also a brilliant one. Count me in.”

  “Can you put together a list of the towns that are in most need of a clinic and a list of doctors and nurses willing to volunteer at these clinics? Also, the number of vans we need to get the job done.”

  “I’ll work with Dalal to get you all this information. I’m sure many of my colleagues will contribute good ideas to shape our proposal and will gladly volunteer some of their time for the less fortunate.”

  I was so excited that I jumped out of my chair and, spontaneously, hugged Dr. Ibrahim.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I saw the surprise in his face and quickly pulled away embarrassed by my actions.

  When I got home that afternoon, I was tempted to tell Fouad about my plans but I was afraid he would discourage them. This was something I was very passionate about and wanted to accomplish on my own. Fouad was leaving town in a few weeks and that would give me enough time to get everything together. Still, I wanted to share my ideas with someone, so I called my father who offered his help and support if needed. While Fouad was recuperating, I surprised him by bringing Ramee to stay with us for a few days. I felt some distance between us. Maybe we were so caught up in our work that we forgot to make time for each other. Ramee’s presence made us slow down and spend some time together. Fouad was thrilled with the baby. It was so nice to imagine him as a father and me as a mother. We were happy, yet I could not pin-point what was different between us.

  Exactly three weeks after the shooting, we were invited to the Presidential Palace for an official ceremony. Fouad was still using a sling on his left arm. All the heads of government were there. All members of Fouad’s department were also in attendance including Esmaa. At this event, Fouad was presented with a Medal of Honor. He listened as the president praised his skills and bravery.

  “Antarah is a better place because of Colonel Mustafa. The Colonel exemplifies all the virtues of a great soldier. I am honored to present him with this medal,” the president said.

  I was very proud of his accomplishments. This was not only a distinction, but also most likely a promotion in rank that would put him a step closer to his goal. Fouad was the center of attention surrounded by the president and the rest of the V.I.P’s. It would be a while so, I excused myself from the activity and rushed home. I then told Samira to go spend a few days with Jamila so I could have the house all to myself and prepare a special evening for my husband. I wanted to put an end to the strain between us. The way to do it was cooking some of his favorite dishes and filling our bedroom with candles and incense. Some new, sexy lingerie would also dazzle him. Now, I waited patiently for his arrival.

  Fouad was finally home. I lured him with a note to our bedroom. It was dark. The candles and the incense were lit. There was soft, Arabic music playing.

  “Fatima, where are you? What’s all this?”

  ”Do you like it?”

  “Very much.”

  “I thought we could start with dessert.”

  I proceeded to unbutton his shirt and take it off slowly. When I uncovered his left shoulder, I could see the fresh scar where the bullet had penetrated. I kissed it softly.

  “Does it hurt? I asked concerned.

  “No,” he whispered as he turned to kiss me.

  Then, he took me in his arms, bit my lips forcefully, and stroked every inch of my body. He was rough, like an animal in heat. We hadn’t been intimate since before his accident, which explained his desperation to make me his. It wasn’t as romantic as I envisioned it to be, but he was pleased and hopefully we were back on track.

  “I’m famished,” he said, when we were finished.

  “I made all your favorites,” I replied. “We are celebrating today’s distinction and your promising future. How did it feel to be honored by the president with all of Antarah’s cream of the crop present?”

  “It was as great as what just happened between us,” he said, caressing my hair.

  “Well, well, don’t hold back,” I said jokingly. Then I paused and got serious. “Fouad, I want to give us a second chance.”

  “I’d like that sweetheart,” he said as he kissed my neck forgetting about food and engaging my attention elsewhere.

  The next day I woke up bright and early. Fouad and I had breakfast together. I was energized, ready to take on the world.

  “Are you sure you have to go?” Fouad said.

  “Yes, my love. But I’ll be back soon.”

  We kissed and I headed to the hospital. When I got to the office, I realized I had left the outline for my proposal at home. I had to go back to get it. I thought I would surprise Fouad and maybe distract him for a couple of hours.

  Ultimate Betrayal

  I got home and was very quiet. I wanted to surprise him. The door to Fouad’s study was half way open. I could hear his voice. He was probably on the phone. I also recognized a familiar scent, a mixture of sandalwood and vanilla.

  “I wanted you to be the first to know. I just hung up with the president. I’ve been promoted to Major General,” Fouad said.

  “Mabruk, congratulations!”

  As I discretely looked in, I saw Esmaa. She was sitting on Fouad’s lap as he unbuttoned her shirt.

  “Oh baby, I’ve missed you. These weeks without you have been torture,” he said.

  “I’ve missed you too, Major General. When are you expecting that twit to come home?” Esmaa asked.

  “Fatima?”

  “Who else?”

  “I don’t expect her till this afternoon.”

  “That gives us more than enough time to burn up some calories and build up an appetite,” she laughed. “Fouad, why do you stay with her? She’s not enough woman for a man like you,” Esmaa said in a more serious tone.

  “You know you have always been my one and only. That hasn’t changed. I wanted to marry you but I had promises to keep,” Fouad said.

  “Since when did they know each other? How long had this been going on?” I asked myself as I watched.

  By now, Esmaa was down to her bra and a lacy thong. I couldn’t believe my eyes. This could not be happening. I was numb. I wanted to tear myself away from that door but I had to know how Fouad truly felt. Unfortunately, I got more answers than I bargained for and I had many new unanswered questions.

  “Well, at least I took advantage of my time in the U.S.,” Esmaa asserted. “It was just so tough being without you all those years and then knowing you were in her arms.”

  “Don’t obsess over that nonsense. You know I don’t love her. I never have. You are the only woman for me. Fatima was a challenge, a game, a score I had to settle from my past. Now, I finally have her where I want her: at my feet, madly in love,” he assured her.

  “She’s pathetic,” Esmaa said. “Does this end in divorce or will I have the pleasure of making her regret she ever met me?”

  “Let’s not talk about her now. I want to ravish you. Just thinking about being inside you is making me hard. Feel it,” he said leading her hand.

  “How did I ever live without you? I was crazy to let you go. Now you’re mine forever. She’ll be dead before I have to share you again. I just put up with it because I knew that in the end, we would have it all. When are you go
ing to tell me the whole story behind your marriage?”

  “Patience, my dear. One day I’ll tell you the sordid details. For now, the only thing that I can reveal is that the game is not over. I will determine its conclusion in time.”

  At this point, Fouad had undone her bra and was fondling her breasts.

  “Just tell me one thing. Will I have you all to myself soon?” Esmaa said as she turned and started kissing his naked chest.

  “In time you will. Remember that I’m already under your spell, my sweet Esmaa. Together, we will do great things; we will conquer the world,” Fouad said as he grabbed her by the waist and carried her naked body up to kiss her lips, “Show me how much you love me.”

  As I quietly exited the house, I could hear the moans from their lovemaking. I had the taxi driver take me back to the hospital. I locked myself in the office and started to sob.

  A flood of emotions had invaded my body. I was angry, crushed, devastated, hurt and disgusted. I felt like my soul had been sucked right out of my body. I felt used and humiliated not only by Fouad but also by Esmaa. I squeezed a glass that was on my desk so hard that it shattered in my hand. The pain of the tiny pieces of glass slashing my skin was no comparison to the ache I felt inside.

  As I tried to stop the bleeding, I was consumed by my thoughts of Fouad and what he meant by settling a score from the past and everything being a game. I went through the typical motions. First, I wondered if he ever loved me. Something he had clearly indicated otherwise. Then, I speculated what made Esmaa better than me. Finally, I realized it was a moot point. Everything was clear; Fouad had been in love with Esmaa even before we met. He had no respect for our love or for me. I was just a fool who played into his game; an object he used to satisfy his uncontrolled sexual appetite while his heart belonged to someone else.

  This answered the question of why Fouad was distant. Looking back, he began to change around the time Esmaa arrived in Antarah. Why marry me if Esmaa was the love of his life? I needed explanations but I couldn’t face this situation right now. A mixture of fear and cofussion controlled every fiber of my being. I asked myself was Esmaa truly capable of killing me? Was my life in danger as long as I was married to Fouad?

  Luckly, Fouad was leaving the country in two days. He was going on a six- month top secret, no communication, training session. With my husband away, I was not a threat to Esmaa, and I was certain she would be part of the team accompanying him. I was determined not to let on what I had uncovered. The time apart would give me a chance to figure out what to do.

  I was suddenly startled by a knock at my door.

  “Fatima, can we talk?”

  It was just what the doctor ordered, Ibrahim.

  “Just a minute,” I shouted as I tried to cover my bloody hand with a towel and open the door.

  “Are you Ok? Have you been crying? Is your husband all right?” he asked.

  “Yes to all your questions,” I replied flustered trying to conceal my hand.

  “How’s the proposal coming along?” he asked.

  “It’s shaping up nicely,” I said.

  “Anything you can share?” he asked when suddenly he realized the bloody towel. “Your hand,” he said alarmed as he unwrapped the towel without hesitation and quickly grabbed some gauze and alcohol.

  At that moment, I just broke down.

  “Am I hurting you? How did this happen?” he asked concerned wiping the tears from my cheeks. I looked up and lost myself in his eyes.

  “I need some tweezers to remove the glass.”

  Suddenly, I moved in close and he kissed me. It was just a soft peck on the lips, but I felt a jolt of electricity from head to toe. I wanted to give in to the moment but I wasn’t prepared for the consequences of actions taken on the rebound. So, I kept my composure.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking. Please forgive me,” he said. “I need to get my bag and take care of your hand.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I said as I put my finger vertically over his lips.

  He opened the door and came back to mend my hand. As he removed each sliver of glass I couldn’t help thinking about the kiss.

  “I’ll let you know when the proposal is ready,” I stated to distract him from what had just happened.

  “By the way, when are we going for the next round of immunizations?” I continued.

  “Next week, Insha Allah, God willing.”

  That afternoon I knew I wasn’t ready to face Fouad. I didn’t want to stay with Jamila because her husband worked with Fouad and I didn’t want to put them in an awkward position. Instead, I asked Dalal if I could crash at her place. Her husband was out of town for a few days and I felt I could trust her because of the bad blood between her and Esmaa. I called Samira and asked her to return to the house to take care of the meals for Fouad. I also asked her to tell Fouad that I had tried to get in touch with him unsuccessfully while at the office. I explained that Dalal wasn’t feeling well, her husband was out of town and in her condition I felt she shouldn’t be alone. I told her that she didn’t have a phone at home, which wasn’t uncommon, so just to tell Fouad that I would be spending the night and would see him in the morning.

  “Tell him that I love him and I’ll miss him tonight,” were my last words to Samira.

  I had bought myself some time to heal my hand and my heart. I was in pain. That night at Dalal’s, I vented. It felt good to talk to someone who knew first hand about Esmaa’s cruel intentions. Unfortunately,

  Dalal had no answers. She didn’t know about Fouad and Esmaa’s past relationship yet it didn’t surprise her.

  “My husband always told me she was not a typical Muslim girl. She was rebellious since childhood. She used to take off for days without a trace. She was the youngest and only girl of seven children. Her father spoiled her rotten. When she decided to go to the U.S. to study, she broke his heart and his wallet. He gave her most of his lifetime savings to fulfill her dream. She never takes “no” for an answer and never enjoys seeing other people happy. I’m very disappointed with Fouad, though. I thought he would see right through her,” Dalal said. “Don’t shed another tear. They deserve each other. You are too good for that pompous Fouad anyway. Divorce him on the grounds of adultery.”

  “I wish it were that easy. He’s not going to admit to his illicit affairs. With his high rank and connections, he will squirm his way out of it. Most importantly, he is determined to keep me by his side until he carries out his plan. The frightening thing about all of this is that I don’t know who this man is and why he hates me so much,” I said agitated.

  I cried. I cried a lot. I don’t know if I ever truly loved Fouad, but, I tried hard to be the woman I thought he wanted me to be. I overlooked his infidelities and worked things out because I felt that we had something special that could grow into love. How could I have been so wrong, so naive? I guess I never had a chance. I felt as empty and frustrated as the evening my father told me I was going to marry a man I didn’t know. Why did I think this story would turn out any differently than the way it began? Maybe my father could clear up all my doubts.

  The next morning I waited for Fouad to leave the house. It was the day before his trip and I knew he had to head to the base to take care of any loose ends and make sure things would be running smoothly during his absence.

  Samira greeted me when I came in. She informed me that Fouad had been out late and wasn’t too happy that I had stayed at Dalal’s without his permission. I told her to let me know if she heard Fouad’s car pull up because I had to make a phone call from the study and I didn’t want him to find me there.

  I was frantically going through his drawers, file cabinets, anything that would give me answers. I found nothing. Then I called my father. He was in New York at a conference. At least for today, I wouldn’t get the information I anxiously needed to uncover Fouad’s secrets.

 
I took a long bath. I scrubbed myself as hard as I had the first time we made love. I felt so dirty and used. After a few hours, I headed to work. When I got there, Fouad was waiting in my office.

  “Don’t you ever spend the night away from home without my permission,” he said as he slapped my face. “You should be grateful that I even let you work. Don’t abuse your privileges or I’ll have you locked up in the house. You know I’ll do it.”

  “Don’t you dare lay a hand on me again,” I said as I slapped him back. It felt good to hear that popping sound as I released some of my anger. “What happened to the gentle Fouad that wanted to make our marriage work?” I asked enraged.

  He grabbed my arm and noticed my bandaged hand.

  “What’s this?”

  “The reason I didn’t go home last night,” I said pulling away, “I was in pain, medicated and didn’t want to worry you.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “You always know how to push my buttons Fatima,” he said grabbing my waist and licking my neck working his way down to my breasts.”

  “Why does everything with you have to be about sex?”

  I tried to push away.

  “Don’t make me slap you again. You are my wife and I demand respect.”

  He walked toward the door. I thought he was heading out. Instead, he locked it and came close to me.

  “How about if we do it on this desk? I’m leaving tomorrow for six months. You kept me waiting last night. Let’s make up for lost time,” he said as he put his hand on my thigh.

  “Don’t touch me,” I hissed, removing his hands from my body.

  “Are you turning me down?” he said with an agitated voice while sliding his hands up my skirt.