Mediteranean Sunset

by Yvette Canoura

  As the days passed, we listened to a shortwave band radio to get news from Antarah. The family comforted me as I listened to the devastating reports that only helped me grow hopeless.

  Fouad and his supporters had taken over several small towns and were threatening to use chemical weapons on the people if the president did not surrender. Bombs were going off everywhere from government administration offices and buses to public markets and museums. He was destroying anything in his path to achieve his goal.

  Pictures in the Jordanian newspapers portrayed incredible destruction. A once beautiful Antarah was now surrounded by ruins. Over one hundred thousand casualties, civilian and military, had been reported. Among them were Lieutenant Janoudi and his family. I was devastated by the news. The lieutenant was a family man, a man of principles. He had risked his life for us and now, he was gone. He was also my only lifeline to Brahim. How would I ever know if he was dead or alive? I was tormented by this thought, by the uncertainty in my life, by the cruelty of my fate.

  Janoudi’s death was followed by some encouraging news; Fouad’s days were counted. His well thought out plan had backfired. Some of his followers were infiltrators. These men were loyal to President Saeed and had a mission: to find out all the intricate details of his operation and put an end to it. Fouad and his accomplices were brought to justice and paid the ultimate price for their betrayal. Everyone involved in the coup was hung in the public plaza.

  I was relieved to know that Fouad was dead and completely out of my life. It was hard to believe that I once had feelings for a man capable of such evil.

  Now that the war was over, I waited patiently for Brahim. The country was still in chaos. Small anti-establishment groups had emerged, the people were looting, and the atmosphere was very unstable.

  By now, my pregnancy was starting to show, so I settled in a small apartment in the village. There, with the help of a midwife, I gave birth to my precious Hasan, named after Brahim’s father. I was so excited with his arrival. He was my little piece of heaven; my daily reminder of the love Brahim and I shared.

  I counted the minutes, hours, days, weeks and months. There was no word from Brahim. I assumed the worst, but kept praying. I needed to believe that I would have a second chance at happiness; that my son would know his father, that I would have a family of my own.

  After a year had passed, I decided to leave Jordan. I had become restless with all the coverage of the turmoil in Antarah. I needed some distance between my past and me.

  I took Hasan and went to my father’s Tuscan villa in Maremma. It was a magical city. The landscapes reminded me of Antarah. I understood why my father had picked this as a place to retire.

  It overlooked the sea and it had an old-world feel to it. The air was fresh and the mountains were a bright green.

  The view was breathtaking.

  The villa wasn’t our chalet in Antarah, but it shared my fondest memory: a Mediterranean sunset. As I stared into the horizon and watched the sun disappear, I dreamed that Brahim and I would once again share that moment together. I hoped that somehow we were both looking at our sunset wishing we would see it together once again.

  Every day, I prayed for Brahim’s safe return. Hasan would imitate my every move and repeat what I was saying. It was my obligation to educate our son with the teachings of the Qur’an and encourage prayer as an important aspect of Islam. Prayer was one of the most valuable things Brahim brought into my life.

  I had brought with me the only memento I had of my father, the camel statuette. As I put it on the table, it slipped from my hands and cracked in half. While trying to glue it back together, I realized there was something in it. It was the missing piece of the puzzle, the filling in of the blanks that would bring closure to such a horrible chapter in my life.

  “...the next day, I went with some high-ranking officers, who were involved in the deal, to the house of the man who masterminded this and all other past operations, Hussein Mustafa, Fouad’s father.

  We were demanding our cut of the pie. We were not responsible for the mishap. We did our part and we wanted our money.

  Mr. Mustafa excused himself to go use the bathroom. A few minutes later, we heard a shot. He had committed suicide because he didn’t have the money to pay us. He knew we would arrest him and let him rot in jail, maybe even kill him.

  Now, we had a dead body and we had to come up with a credible story as to why we were in the man’s house. So we explained that we got a tip about his possible connection to the drug bust and followed up with a routine inquiry visit.

  The story had many holes, but no one was going to challenge my authority.

  I wanted to distance myself from scandal, so I requested a new assignment. The timing was perfect. The president was ready to appoint an ambassador to the U.S. I was a trusted friend, an excellent choice.

  Hussein Mustafa was survived by a wife, a son and three young daughters. Fouad’s mother died shortly after his dad. His aunts and uncles helped with the household, but it wasn’t enough. One day, Fouad found a letter. In it, his father gave his account of the story and mentioned my name. Fouad had the perfect weapon to blackmail me.

  I sent him money on a monthly basis to help his family, I financed his military education, and even spoke to the president on his behalf.

  I never suspected he was keeping close tabs on my life, especially on you. Then, that night he called me; he demanded your hand in marriage. He threatened to blow open the secrets of the past if I didn’t agree.

  I accepted. I admit I was a coward. I was so afraid that I would tarnish my impeccable reputation. I was a disgrace to my country, but I refused to go down after all the respect I had gained from the president and my peers. I didn’t want to embarrass my family. I couldn’t bare the thought of you being ashamed of me. I guess I was more of a politician than a father.

  Please, never doubt my love for you. I truly thought Fouad would make you happy after all I had done for him. I rushed to so many decisions. I regret so many things. I hope you will find it in you heart to forgive me. I love you more than life itself. I wish I had sacrificed myself for your happiness. This is a mistake I will have to live with for the rest of my life.”

  After reading this, I had the whole story. For a few days, I was angry. Then, I realized that I couldn’t change the past. I had to accept that my father wasn’t perfect. Then again, who is? I paid for many of his mistakes. That was my destiny. Now, I had to let go of my hatred, forgive my father and start to heal.

  I started to think of the upside of marrying Fouad which was meeting Brahim, the only man who made my life worth living. Without him, I wouldn’t have my beautiful Hasan and the incomparable joy of motherhood. Everything happens for a reason, reasons we might not comprehend, reasons we might disagree with, but knowing that Allah had already written my fate, I accepted my path and hoped I could make my Creator proud of my remaining life.

  Now that I was a mother, I realized we all make mistakes. I had made my share of them. As parents, we want and hope for the best for our children but sometimes it’s impossible. Unintentionally, I had deprived my child of a father, of a normal life. Sometimes we don’t measure the consequences of our actions.

  Return To Antarah

  Two years had passed since the day my future was shattered. I returned to a devastated Antarah. I had contributed 15 million dollars to a fund set to help rebuild a country that had been left in ruins. It was my moral obligation to assist the people of a country that I had grown to love. It was an opportunity to begin to cleanse my father’s mistakes. Now was the time to face my demons and my angels.

  I visited Jamila and Dalal. Ramee was already a little man and Amar, Jamila’s second little boy, was a few months older than Hasan. Dalal was expecting her second child. Her daughter, Sarah, looked just like her. It was a relief to know that they were all doing fine. In the midst of chaos, there was always
a glimmer of hope.

  I asked Dalal about Brahim. She knew nothing. It was as if the Earth had swallowed him. I was headed for answers to Brahim’s family home. I was nervous about their reaction, considering that I had put their son in harm’s way, but I needed to know if they were aware of his whereabouts. First, I needed to go somewhere.

  It was Friday, my last day in Antarah; a day of prayer and meditation throughout the Middle East. I remembered how Brahim and I spent Fridays at the chalet. I didn’t know if I was ready to face the past, but I went anyway. I was surprised to see that the area hadn’t been affected by the war. In fact, the chalet looked the same. It was there where I spoke to Hasan about his father and about how happy we were.

  “Mama, why you crying?” he asked.

  “I was remembering your Baba and how he loved this place. I wish you could have met him. He would have loved you so much,” I said hugging and kissing him.

  “Mama, mama, beach!”

  We walked towards the ocean. Hasan played on the shore delighting in getting his feet wet. As I watched him splashing, I realized how much Hasan was like his father. Minutes later, I saw his sleepy eyes and I spread a blanket on the sand and put him down for a nap. He looked so peaceful. That calm just made my mind drift to the days when Brahim and I shared true happiness. I looked forward to our sunset with nostalgia.

  As the sky started to display an array of vibrant colors, I heard a voice that brought me back to reality.

  “Habeebtee.”

  I turned in disbelief.

  “I prayed for this moment for the past few years,” the voice continued.

  “Brahim, ayunnee,” I said as I tried to contain my emotions.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was him. We ran into each other’s arms as the Mediterranean sunset once again witnessed our undying love for one another. We hugged and kissed. I touched his face a million times making sure he wasn’t a mirage. It was, indeed, a true miracle. Allah had not forgotten us. We didn’t speak; we just lost ourselves in each other’s eyes like the very first time we met. Suddenly, I felt a pull at my dress.

  “Mama, who’s that?” Hasan asked.

  “Hasan, it’s your Baba, Brahim,” I replied.

  “I have a son?” Brahim asked as the news brought tears to his eyes and a glow to his face with a priceless smile.

  “Yes, this is Allah’s blessing. Our little piece of heaven,” I said.

  He picked Hasan up and gave him a hug and a kiss. He looked at him with such tenderness and love.

  “Mama said you love me very much,” Hasan said.

  “I love you more than life itself,” Brahim said. “Fatme, you have made me the happiest man alive,” he said as he kissed Hasan and put him down. “I wanted to do this since the day I met you. I know it seemed impossible then, but things have changed. I no longer have to hide my true feelings from the world. Believe it or not, every day I’ve been coming here at this time with this in my pocket hoping it would be the day I would see you again. Allah has answered my prayers.”

  At this moment he revealed an antique, platinum ring.

  “It was my grandmother’s. Before she died, she told my mother to save it for me, so that one day I could give it to my future wife. I was her favorite grandson, and I loved her with all my heart. Years later, my mom told me that the ring was lost. Right after my release from prison, my mother inexplicably came across the ring. I believed it to be a sign from Allah. You can’t imagine how much hope this brought me. Here, in front of our son and this majestic sunset, I am professing my eternal love to you.”

  He got on one knee.

  “Fatima Aziz, will you marry me?” he asked.

  “Yes, ayunnee, yes,” I said as I kissed his lips. “Of course, I will marry you. I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life,” I responded with tears rolling down my cheeks while Brahim placed the ring on my finger.

  “Time has passed, but my feelings for you have only deepened. I love you more than ever,” he said.

  As we embraced, Hasan started to clap. It was a fairy tale beginning after our tumultuous love affair.

  “Mama, time to pray,” Hasan said.

  The three of us prayed together. We were thankful to be the family we had always dreamed of. I could tell Brahim was proud of the way I was rearing our son.

  Afterwards, as I caressed Brahim’s hair, I began to tell him what had happened that unfortunate day.

  “As I was crossing the border, I heard the gunshot and saw you collapse. I was determined to go back for you, but Lieutenant Janoudi insisted that it would put both our lives in danger and he couldn’t take that risk. I was tormented by the idea that you might be hurt, captured, tortured… and days later, when you didn’t come to meet me, I feared the worst. What happened to you?”

  “I was shot and left for dead. Some farmers found me and nursed me back to health. Then, I was captured and thrown in jail until the country was stabilized. One day, unexpectedly, I was released. They said it was a presidential pardon.”

  “I called the president to make sure he had received the letter and had cleared our names of any wrongdoing. I also inquired about your whereabouts. I explained to him that after you had helped me escape, you disappeared without a trace. I made sure he knew you had no involvement in Fouad’s plot. I didn’t put it past that evil man to try to frame you for his crimes,” I said.

  “I was nearly executed with the rest, but I guess your phone call ultimately saved me. I thought of giving up so many times, but your love was what kept me alive.”

  “Ayunnee, I put you through so much.”

  “I’d do it all over again for you, habeebtee. I came to the chalet every Friday hoping that one day I would see you again. I didn’t know what to do, where to start. I thought I had lost you forever.”

  “You didn’t. I’m not going anywhere. Our love prevailed over all the obstacles that came our way. I love you Brahim.”

  At that moment, we embraced and kissed each other passionately, still wondering whether it was all a dream.

  After a few days, Brahim and I went to the courthouse and made our union legal. Now we were husband and wife. The following morning, the sheik came to the chalet to give us Allah’s blessings.

  That afternoon, we held a gathering for our friends and family to join in the celebration of our union.

  Brahim wore a gilabeeah, a long tunic in white that was collarless with long sleeves and delicate white embroidery on each side.

  I wore a similar white tunic with silver embroidery on the sleeve cuffs, collar, and hem. My hair was down with a simple, thin braid in the back to hold a strand of jasmine flowers.

  We stood barefoot on the sand over a bed of red and white rose petals. Hasan was by our side dressed exactly like his father. It was a glorious day with a light breeze that caressed our glowing faces.

  We exchanged rings just as the sun started to set. Although it wasn’t customary to exchange vows, we broke tradition that day, and in front of all our guests, we expressed our deepest thoughts about one another.

  “Fatme, my love, you’ve never looked as beautiful as you do today. It’s been a long, painful journey to get here, but it has all been worth it. Seeing you here, before me, knowing that in Allah’s eyes we are one, is the biggest joy of my life. To have our beautiful Hasan witnessing this day is a true gift. I thank Allah every day for bringing you and our son into my life and allowing me to love the way I love you.”

  “Brahim, today is the happiest day of my life. You taught me the meaning of true love. You showed me how beautiful life is when shared with someone as special as you. When Hasan was born, he filled my empty heart because I knew I had a part of you forever. Now that we’ve found each other again, you’ve made my life complete. All the sadness disappeared. I finally have the family I always dreamed of. I love you.”

  It was then that
our guests emitted a traditional sound, zalgoota. It was similar to an American Indian war call. However, in this case, it was a joyous noise followed by well wishers’ phrases for the newlyweds.

  “May Allah bless your union today and forever.”

  “May Allah keep you healthy.”

  “May Allah bless you with many children.”

  “May Allah give you a long life and bless your lovely son.”

  Once again, this place had become magical. This was where we had made so many plans and promises, where we had loved each other so much. This was the place where we had found each other again and had sworn to one another eternal love, where we had looked into each others eyes and got lost in the moment; the moment when the sun and the sky become one. This was the site of our Mediterranean sunset.

  It felt so right. I only wished Baba and Mama would have been there to share the happiest day of our lives. I knew someway, somehow, they were able to see the realization of what they had always wanted for me.

  After an evening of food, dancing and rejoicing, Brahim’s parents took Hasan to spend the night at their home. Brahim and I were alone for the first time since we reunited.

  It was our first night together as husband and wife. I told Brahim I wanted to go to the guest room to prepare a surprise.

  “I left you a little something on the bed,” I said.

  I soaked in the tub while Brahim took a shower in our room.

  As I got into a red, sheer and satin gown, I could hear our Sinatra music in the background softly playing “Fly Me to the Moon.” I could smell Brahim’s aftershave. I felt the same excitement and anticipation as I did the first time we made love. I looked forward to seeing him in the red, satin boxers that matched my gown.

  As I walked out of the room, the moonlight allowed my silhouette to be seen through my delicate gown. When I gazed at his strong, muscular body I couldn’t help but thinking how handsome he looked just standing there with his radiant, flawless smile. I could tell that he was also admiring my body as I walked up to him.