Mediteranean Sunset

by Yvette Canoura

  “I missed you so much,” he whispered in my ear.

  “I missed you more, my love,” I replied.

  As the water drained, I stood up and he gently dried every inch of my body. I excused myself to slip into a soft, silky nightgown that made me feel like royalty for the few seconds it was on my body.

  This prelude to the inevitable had just made our desires uncontrollable. Yet, we showed restraint and played out the fantasy as Brahim kissed my body from my little toe to the tip of my forehead. I eventually lost control, flipped him over and started making love to him until we both climaxed.

  “You were incredible,” he said as I put my head over his chest while I listened to his heartbeat.

  “Well, you did say this was going to be an unforgettable day.”

  “That was an understatement. You were on fire, and I just love to feel that uninhibited passion.”

  “You are the only one who can unleash these feelings that I never knew I had,” I said kissing his chest.

  “Those feelings are love. When we come together, we become one. You complete me in every way. I love you, Fatme,” he said as he lifted my head and brought our lips together in a kiss. “Tonight, I want you to look radiant. I have a surprise for you.”

  “Give me a clue.”

  “Be patient.”

  That afternoon, Brahim told me we would be going out. After our Mediterranean sunset ritual, we went back to the house where he surprised me with a beautiful outfit. I got dressed and concealed my

  identity before stepping out. Twenty minutes later, we arrived to a house.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “You are safe here,” he said.

  An older lady opened the door.

  “Habeebee Brahim,” she said kissing him.

  “Mama, this is Fatima,” he said.

  “Ajala usajala, welcome.”

  She greeted me with kisses and walked me into a house full of family.

  “She is even more beautiful than you described.”

  “Fatima, this is my family,” he said.

  I was truly overwhelmed. There were at least 20 people, all strangers to me but I felt at home. They were all so attentive, so nice. The women immediately pulled me to the side to sing Brahim’s praises. Minutes later, his mother took me by the hand and into the kitchen where we sat down.

  “Fatme, thanks for making my son’s eyes sparkle again and for putting a smile back on his face. You have given him a reason for living,” she said with tears in her eyes.

  “No tears, Mama,” Brahim said as he walked in and wiped her face. “Today is a happy day,” he said, kissing her forehead.

  “My wonderful son, thank you for sharing this sweet girl with us,” she said looking at me.

  While his mother put the final touches to a home cooked feast, I spoke to Brahim.

  “What have you told them?” I asked.

  “Only what they need to know,” he replied. “That I’m in love, that you are the love of my life...”

  “How about the part about me being married?” I asked whispering as we moved outside.

  “I didn’t want to burden them with the unpleasant details but I think my parents suspect.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “They haven’t asked many questions.”

  “I really don’t know what to say. I’m thrilled and honored to be with your family, but I don’t know if I could stand their rejection when they find out the truth. I don’t want to be judged, but I would understand if they did. You deserve so much better. I have so much baggage...” I said as he softly kissed my lips.

  “I brought you here because I love you. I’m proud of you and I want to share you with the ones closest to me. I know they will accept you with open arms. Let all your insecurities go and live for the moment. They already love you,” he said holding my hand and leading me into the dining room with a table full of Arabic delights.

  “Masha Allah,” I said.

  His mother grabbed me by the arm and handed me a plate so I could serve myself.

  “Don’t be shy. Eat as much as you want. This is your home,” his mom insisted.

  Brahim then followed and the rest of the family joined in on the banquet.

  “It is delicious. You are an excellent cook,” I said.

  “I can’t take all of the credit. Abu Jamal, Brahim’s father, also helped,” his mom said.

  “Like father like son,” I replied. “Brahim gets his love for cooking from both sides of the family.”

  “As a child, Abu Hasan always came to help us in the kitchen. He would gather all the ingredients and help me assemble the dishes,” his father added.

  “Abu Hasan,” I thought to myself.

  Abu Hasan, father of Hasan, which meant Brahim’s father’s name was Hasan. Traditionally his sons would call their first-born son Hasan. Hence, Brahim and his male brothers are nicknamed Abu Hasan in anticipation of that son.

  It was only logical to drift off and imagine that I would bear Brahim’s first-born son, Hasan, which means handsome, beautiful. My ideal future flashed before my eyes: the birth of Hasan, the happiness of our family, watching our son and our love grow...

  “Where were you just now?” Brahim asked as he snapped me out of it.

  “I was envisioning our future,” I replied.

  “How was it?” he asked.

  “Full of joy, hope and more love than I ever imagined possible,” I said.

  After dinner, Brahim’s mom brought out his first aspeh and insisted that he play. Everyone sat outside in the courtyard to listen to the melancholic sound of this native instrument. It was as if the sad melody narrated the story of our forbidden love; a love eager to grow yet destined to wither.

  Tears rolled down his mother’s eyes as she proudly listened to her son display one of his many talents. I remembered my mother and the way she looked at me. I couldn’t help being deeply touched by the moment.

  After a few songs, Brahim’s father put an end to the gloomy mood and broke out a more cheerful instrument to play dancing music. The party really livened up. Brahim’s brothers and sisters jumped out of their seats and started dancing while the others clapped. Brahim insisted I get up and join in the dancing. We had many laughs. The evening was a total success. I seemed to fit right in. I felt very comfortable with all of them.

  When we said our goodbyes, Brahim’s mom insisted that I come back soon, with or without her son, adding that I was always welcome at their home. I sensed Brahim was very pleased with the way his family embraced me.

  “That wasn’t so bad was it?” he asked.

  “I really had a great time, thank you,” I said. “I haven’t felt that family closeness since my D.C. days.”

  When we got back to the chalet, we changed into something comfy and walked on the beach. We exchanged family stories; we spoke about our parents and everything they had done and sacrificed for us. We pondered about our lives and where we were headed. I even shared my dreams about baby Hasan. This really warmed Brahim’s heart.

  “If it’s a girl we will call her Iman, in memory of your mother,” he said.

  “That’s so sweet, I’d like that very much,” I said.

  We sat on the damp sand for countless hours, talking and holding each other until the sun rose. It was a glorious beginning to a new day. The only dark cloud in the horizon was Fouad’s existence; an inevitable reality that would put a damper on our ability to live out our dreams.

  That afternoon, I told Brahim that I wanted to go back to his parents’ house. I felt he had been neglecting his family ever since we started seeing each other, and it was important for both of us to spend time with them. Brahim was delighted that I wanted to share our special time with his family.

  “Tell your mom just for a cup of tea; nothing fancy. They d
id enough yesterday,” I shouted as he walked toward the phone.

  When we arrived to his parents’ house, they had a table full of fruit, salad, and trays of Arabic pastries. The simple set up was a meal in itself. From the moment we got there till the moment we left, his parents and siblings kept trying to feed us and we loved every bite.

  “We were so happy when Brahim called saying you were on your way,” his mom said.

  “I’m touched by your hospitality,” I said.

  “Brahim has told us about all the wonderful projects you have developed as a team,” his father added.

  “We’ve been very fortunate to obtain the funding for the clinics,” I replied.

  “You are doing such great work especially for the children. God will bless you for this labor of love,” his mom said.

  “I couldn’t have done it without Brahim’s support. He involved all his colleagues in the project and that was an integral part of its success.”

  “We are proud of both of you,” his father said.

  At the end of the evening, I insisted on helping with the dishes.

  “I feel so at home with your family,” I told his mom.

  “We feel like you are part of our family,” she said.

  “After my father died, I thought I would never feel this sense of belonging, but you’ve changed all that. Thank you,” I said as tears rolled down my face.

  “Don’t cry Fatme, you are like a daughter to me,” she said.

  “And you are like a mother to me,” I said as we hugged.

  The kitchen door swung open. “Am I interrupting?” Brahim asked.

  “Just girl talk,” I said.

  I was glad Brahim’s mom and I had that time to bond. I felt so comfortable around his family. I now had two reasons to anxiously await my days off: being with Brahim and spending time with his family.

  The following weeks were very special. Once a week, Brahim and I got to volunteer at some of the clinics we had helped establish. It was wonderful seeing how our project had taken a life of its own. It was rewarding to see how the neighborhoods embraced our work and how the people seemed more aware of their health. Parents were bringing their children for their scheduled shots and taking preventive measures for their well being. On a personal level, it was also rewarding; this day gave us an excuse to spend an extra night away from home and together.

  “Fouad’s absence is becoming. You look amazing,” Dalal said.

  “A stress free life is rejuvenating,” I said.

  “By the way, how are you managing working so closely with Dr. Ibrahim once a week?” Dalal asked.

  “Just fine. We are so proud of the work that is being done at the

  clinics.”

  “How about your unresolved feelings?”

  “That’s a thing of the past.”

  “How about his feelings? I see how he looks at you.”

  “He’s just a flirt. Everything is under control. We are just colleagues nothing more.”

  “Good for you. I would hate to see you get hurt.”

  I hated lying to her. I was often tempted to tell her how much we loved each other, but I couldn’t do it. I missed having a girlfriend to chat with, but Dalal and Jamila could not be involved.

  The next couple of months were so rewarding. I had grown close to Brahim’s family and missed them almost as much as I missed him. They had become my surrogate family, and I really felt like a part of their clan. I was especially close to his mother. I was ashamed that our situation wasn’t what a mother would want for her son, but she never rejected or judged me. She loved me unconditionally.

  One particular afternoon, I told Brahim to drop me off at his mom’s while he ran some errands. When I saw her, I gave her a big hug and kissed her on each cheek.

  “I feel so at peace in this house. You have given me so much love and warmth,” I said.

  “Fatme, we love you like our own,” she said.

  “I care for your son so much. He has taught me the meaning of love and I have you to thank for that; for giving life to the most wonderful human being I’ve ever known,” I said with tears in my eyes.

  Minutes later, I took off my mother’s bracelet with the locket. I had put a picture of Brahim’s face over the one of my father and me.

  “I want you to have this. My mother gave it to me before she died. Now, it is yours because you are the closest I have to a mother. Brahim has told me of all the sacrifices you have made for your children and all the love you’ve always had for everyone. I would be honored if you accept my gift. This heart has witnessed true love and you are a giver of pure love.”

  “Habeebtee,” she said as tears came out. “You don’t have to give me anything. Knowing Brahim is happy, is enough.”

  She opened the locket and saw the picture. She then kissed it and kissed me.

  “This is the loveliest gift anyone has ever given me. You are truly a gem.”

  I hugged her tight. Our bond was stronger than ever. It was probably a mistake to build this perfect world around me that was never going to last. I needed so much to belong and feel loved that I was falling in my own trap.

  Things between Brahim and I were so good. I had almost forgotten I was married to Fouad and that he would be coming home soon. Sometimes, I worried we were getting too comfortable with each other and taking unnecessary risks.

  One afternoon, we left together from the hospital and had lunch at an outdoor cafe. We weren’t being affectionate in public but our body language spoke for itself. I had the uneasy feeling that someone was watching us.

  “Just relax and enjoy the food,” Brahim said. “To any observer, we are just two people having lunch.”

  Still, I knew that despite the distance, Fouad could not be trusted. I hadn’t heard from him in a while which made me even more suspicious. I never attempted to contact him or send him any messages with Rauf, which was probably a mistake. Fouad thrived on the idea of controlling me and my lack of communication could only mean that I was enjoying my independence; we were growing apart.

  Miles away at a remote military operations facility...

  “Esmaa, how are things going?” Fouad said.

  “Hello, love! It feels great to be home. Guess who I saw?” Esmaa asked.

  “Fatima? Please, tell me she didn’t see you.”

  “Relax, she didn’t. I guess while the cat’s away…”

  “What are you trying to say? Was she with someone?”

  “Don’t get agitated, we don’t want your blood pressure going up.”

  “Don’t play games Esmaa, I know you.”

  “Don’t tell me you are jealous, my dear Fouad? Well, maybe you should be. She was having lunch with a very handsome man. They looked pretty cozy.”

  “Maybe it was a business lunch.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Were they touching, kissing? Sharmuta, whore!” Fouad shouted in anger.

  “If I didn’t know you any better I would think you are jealous.”

  “I’m not going to have her ruining my reputation and playing me for a fool in public.”

  “I guess your perfect princess isn’t that perfect after all. I know your pride is hurt darling but get over it. Don’t forget that we have an arrangement. No one, not even your precious Fatima, is going to come between us. But, for your own peace of mind, I’ll do some more meddling.”

  “It is imperative for Fatima not to suspect she is being followed especially by you. Don’t let anyone know you are back. I need you to break in the house, when she is not around, and find any documents pertaining to her father’s will. Call me as soon as you find something out and Esmaa, I already miss you.”

  “I’ll make my absence worth your while,” Esmaa said before hanging up the phone.

  After my lunch with Brahim, I headed to the office t
o wrap up some unfinished business. When I got home, I ate a light dinner and got ready for bed. That evening, as I was lying in bed thinking about my love, the phone rang.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Good evening, dear,” he said.

  “Fouad.”

  “Surprised to hear from me?”

  “A little, I guess.”

  “Have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you?”

  “Probably more,” I said as I rolled my eyes.

  “Are you in bed?” he asked. “What are you wearing? Do you remember when we made love in my study?”

  He kept going on with all these explicit details of one of our sexual encounters.

  “Are you getting aroused?” he asked.

  “How can I not?” I had to play along.

  I could hear his heavy breathing and in return, I pretended the whole thing was turning me on. In reality, I just wanted to hang up and dream about Brahim. When he finally climaxed, I faked a few moans and assured him I couldn’t wait for us to be together again. Although nothing had happened between us physically, I felt dirty.

  “It’s been too long, baby. When are you coming home?” I asked.

  “Sooner than you think.”

  Distance Between Lovers

  My days of bliss were coming to an end. I wasn’t prepared to have Fouad in my bed. The thought of it disgusted me. How was I going to avoid my husband’s advances? How was I going to make time for Brahim? I wasn’t able to sleep at night, thinking about what I had gotten myself into. The next morning, I went to Brahim’s office.

  “We have to talk,” I said.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Fouad, that’s what’s wrong. He called last night and implied that he was coming home sooner than expected. What’s going to happen to us?” I asked as I walked into his arms and held him tight.