“I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus
With tiger stripes, and a face on it
Round as the moon, to stare up.
I want to be looking at them when they come
Picking among the dumb minerals, the roots.
I see them already-the pale, star-distance faces. Now they are nothing, they are not even babies.
I imagine them without fathers or mothers, like the first
gods.
They will wonder if I was important.”
-Sylvia Plath
EPILOGUE
“The Obituary of Belle Masada, Our Mother”
We thought we’d left yesterday behind. The indigo-blue-dawn slipped sleight of hand into an amber autumn morning, the morning Belle Masada died. Rain from the evening before left a peppery tar suspended in the air from pines outside and the sachet filled the house. And, now, a crisp breeze has wafted in unannounced through an open window, by the honey-washed table where I write this and chills the elbow – a breeze that whispered, goodbye.
Another day has lifted up another sun. Lately, the sun sits low in the south and casts long shadows across still tall, yellow grass. A soft soughing of wind whispers through trees and bends branches – makes saffron leaves tumble to rest near a bank of rose bramble. The times speak of passing. The teapot whistles on the stove and takes us back to a moment, only a moment but to the memory of a wonderful life.
Someone is dancing the jitterbug – that swingy, three-quarter jig. I make out a fuzzy snapshot of me, or maybe it’s my sister, Enaya, standing on mother’s feet. She holds our delicate eight-year-old hands for balance. We face the same direction and pitch fro, heel back, and rock side-to- side with some imaginary partner. What is that song again? You Send Me? Yes, that’s it, by The Platters. Slow enough to learn the jitterbug.
Ascension into teenage years renders rash- ridden breakouts, screaming matches, The Beatles, and questioning authority.
“Promise me you’ll never have sex!” Through mother’s tears she makes us swear. “Promise!”
“Okay. We promise.” But as nature plays out, we let go of our promise.
Through coming years of doubt and contemplation, confusion and separation, we survive the loss of virginity and our parent’s divorce.
We marry. We divorce. We remarry. Yet, the same story repeats with millions of people, unoriginally and exponentially, over and over as if on the tide, as if part of the cosmos.
Belle Masada, artist, friend and mother, was born November 3, 1922. She had an amazing life. It’s well-documented on her website at www.bellemasada.com. Our family hopes you will visit this website, if you do it won’t surprise us if her story changes your life, it changed ours – mine, Euly Winger and my sister’s, Enaya Spadden – her daughters who survive her and who will miss her terribly.
Our last year, our best year, we all spend close together. We re-connect but a little too late and for too short of time. With her body weak and failing her, she didn’t want to die but she hung on until she could stand the loss of breath no longer and, then, she let go.
“We’ll see you again. We’ll always be together.”
“How do you know?” I see in her eyes she’s afraid.
“How?” I try to explain better. She deserves that. “Because, we’re family. We’re tied to one another by a string called family and we’ll always be together.”
We’re reeling in the moment of this snapshot from our past – our lips pressing hard to her forehead, our hands in hers, lying part on part off her hospital bed – and we whisper, “Mom, we’ll never let go.”
A LITTLE SOMETHING EXTRA – THE RECIPE FOR KAHWEH
Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death, and sweet as love. [Turkish proverb]
Coffee (kahweh) is a big deal in Lebanon. It's great coffee, black, strong, and takes some time getting used to it. Identical to coffee in neighboring countries and sometimes referred to Turkish coffee .It derived from the Arabica bean known as Brazilian bean.
Lebanese coffee is served throughout the day, at home, at work, in public cafes and restaurants. When guests arrive at one's home, they are invariably persuaded to stay for a coffee as a sign of welcome, no matter how short their visit.
A visit to Lebanon is not complete without drinking the Lebanese coffee, the Lebanese way.
Drinking coffee is so much a part of the culture that it is joked that a Lebanese who didn’t drink coffee could lose his nationality!
How to Make Lebanese Coffee
Ingredients
- 1 cup of water (the size of espresso cup)
- 1 tsp. ground coffee
- 1/2 tsp. powdered sugar
- A pinch of cardamom (optional)
1-Pour in cold water in the coffee pot (rakweh). You should use one cup of cold water for each cup you are making. Add a teaspoonful of the ground coffee per cup in the water while the water is cold and stir. The amount of coffee may be varied to taste, but do not forget. Don’t fill the pot too much. If you need to add sugar this is the time to do it.
2-Heat the pot as slowly as you can. The slower the heat the better it is. Make sure you watch it to prevent overflowing when the coffee boils.
3-When the coffee begins to rise up remove from heat. When foaming recedes return to heat and bring back to a boil. Repeat this procedure three times. The goal is to get maximum coffee flavor without over boiling. There should be a thick sediment on the bottom and a brown froth on the top.
Note: The amount of coffee and sugar may be decreased or increased according to taste.
Since there is no filtering of coffee at any time during this process, you should wait for a few minutes before drinking your delicious Lebanese coffee while the coffee grounds settle at the bottom of the cup.
How to serve Lebanese Coffee: The coffee is poured out in front of the guest from a long-handled coffee pot (rakweh) and served in proper cups, about the size of espresso cups, on a coffee tray and accompanied with a glass of cold water.
Usually guests are asked how they take their coffee: with or without sugar, since sugar is added during preparation, but nowadays coffee is prepared without sugar and the sugar came along.
It is quite an art to know-when to stop drinking your coffee as one sip more and you will end up with a mouthful of the coffee residue (tefl) left in the bottom of the cup.
So with a tiny little bit of coffee and lots of coffee grinds still left in your cup, put your coffee cup holder on top of your coffee cup, make three horizontal circles with your cup, and then with a quick movement turn the coffee cup with the cup holder upside down. This will slowly bring down the coffee grinds along the coffee cup down to the coffee holder, let the cup rest for about 2 minutes before give it to the cup reader.
A coffee cup reader, who is usually your host at home or in specialized coffee shop will read your future by interpreting the shapes and giving you advices about life decisions and problems.
Although we are far from being able to give anyone guidelines about how to read coffee grinds, as it seems to be driven by inspiration rather than science.
White Coffee: (kahweh baida or café blanc) is invented in Beirut, it means a cup of boiling water scented with orange blossom water and sugar (optional). “White coffee “is a sedative, and calms the nerves while stimulating digestion after a particularly rich or heavy meal.
Lebanese “white coffee” contains absolutely no coffee or caffeine.
Finally, whether you are drinking your coffee from a street vendor clinking cups to attract customers, a roadside van ,or a stylish coffee offering 10 different coffee blends, Lebanese coffee is an integral part of Lebanese life, and every newcomer to Lebanon should experience it and ENJOY IT.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amazon #1 bestseller and award-winning author, Susan Wingate was born in Phoenix, Arizona to James & Amie Ajamie (a writer and an artist, respectively). Susan Wingate tried to fly at age five off the roof of their family house using only newspape
r, wire hangers and scotch tape. She’s been dreaming of flying ever since. Oh, by the way, she never jumped. Her mother ran out in the nick of time to stop her from take-off.
Wingate stuck to dance lessons with solid ground beneath her feet. In high school, she became involved in acting and joined the drama club. At seventeen (saying she was eighteen) went on a two-month acting tour with The Robinhood Players.
In 1997, Susan moved from Phoenix to an island in Washington State. To support herself, she ran a bed & breakfast for three years and finally closed the doors soon after September 11, 2001.
She has made her living writing since 2004 and lives on her island with her husband, Bob, her dog, Robert, two other dogs (Missy and Daisy), eight cats and several birds.
Wingate’s highly-popular novel, THE DEER EFFECT won four book awards in 2015.
You can learn more about Susan Wingate by going to her website
http://www.susanwingate.com.
And, remember, if you enjoyed THE LAST MAHARAJAN please leave a review on AMAZON.COM.
The Last Maharajan (Romantic Thriller/Women's Fiction) Page 16
