by Gus Leodas
There wasn’t a light shining in her life.
Alise Helena Diab, a child of poverty and hunger. Born and raised in the streets of fabled Damascus. A rebellious daughter refusing to marry men her father selected from the time she reached fourteen until graduating high school.
Then a tragic car accident happened that wiped out her family: parents and two younger sisters. A widowed aunt accepted Alise in her home, temporarily. Her aunt tried hard to arrange a marriage but Alise resisted.
Alise had required military training in high school; wore a brown military uniform and learned drill, discipline, nursing, and weapons handling; fifteen to eighteen-year-old girls in Syria train for home front preparedness.
The Syrian Arab Republic was born in l946. For almost all of its years of existence as a nation, Syria had been at war. War and defense are a dominant aspect of Syrian life. Almost all the national budget goes for defense.
In its first twenty-four years, the nation saw twenty-three changes of government, fifteen by military coups. With war a continuing part of life, the military grows ever more powerful.
Alise hated her surroundings, her economic strata, and absence of having something nice to wear and had no intentions becoming a simple, submissive housewife.
There’s more in life than keeping a house, feeding a husband, and remaining anonymous in his shadow.
Her father made a simple living selling straw brooms and reed baskets in the teeming bazaar Suq al-Hamidiyah. Little money remained for her aunt to raise her, why she pushed Alise to marry – to rid the burden.
Alise dreamed of distant places, spending hours perusing then studying pictures of the world’s glamorous places. To her, Damascus missed her list – the rich Damascus, yes, but unreachable.
Alise reached the crossroads when school ended. She lacked the money to attend the University of Damascus. Her future reduced to marriage or work. She chose work and realized after three months that the paltry salary as a clerk in an exporting firm served as mere subsistence to keep her trapped in poverty. Then her aunt died.
An uncle showed her the way to a financial future. When her uncle visited the house with other mourners, he conversed with Alise about her future. He wanted her impressions of what her tomorrows held. She had no idea but needed to defer marriage. They walked around the area park and he suggested she should hear specific advice and not be offended by the subject. She agreed.
He advised her to become a high class prostitute.
After the shock wore off, he explained the lifestyle and economic potential plus the benefits of mingling with the prominent and visiting foreign corporate executives. A beautiful young woman would attract big money.
“Think about it. It’s very good advice. If you want to talk more on the subject, call me. I can help you.”
The conversation with her uncle clung for weeks, alone in her dismal world without sexual experience. How does one begin that career? She called her uncle. He told her to come to his apartment to talk further.
“Uncle Hafez, I have thought much about what you said. How do I begin to meet better people?”
“If you are sure then you must train. You must learn your profession, to think and function as a love object, and know how to please the men who pay you for their pleasure whatever their desires. I can help you to begin. I have influential friends. I will tell them you are a beginner. Are you sure?”
“Yes. That is what I want.”
“You are a virgin?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must not be to begin or inexperienced. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Then I will pay to train you. Whenever I give a lesson, I will pay you. That way you will learn and have money at the same time and feel productive that it is your business, an entrepreneur. Think of me as your teacher.”
She surprised herself that she accepted her uncle’s advances and proposal. If prostitution meant escaping poverty…that shone as the way out.
“This week we’ll train your body and discuss and practice the various methods of health and protection. Then I will teach you how to act to pretend enjoyment and to react the way a client expects. It’s your profession. Think of men as clients. Avoid emotional involvement with them, very important. Stay professional. Concentrate on repeat business as a foundation for your growth. You studied nursing in school. Pretend you’re the doctor, they patients, consider the encounter a clinical procedure. You must become an actor with the bedroom as your stage. Emote, emote, emote.”
A patient teacher, Uncle Hafez eased her into excitement stage by stage by assuring her comfort at each stage – soft, tender, and clinical. When the first experience ended, he paid her the equivalent of forty American dollars, almost as much as she made working at the export firm for a week. With each lesson, he increased the fee.
Several years later, she met Ali Fuad Kahil.
Ali turned out to be her pillar of weakness, not strength. Love weakened Alise making her dependent; to be with Ali as often as possible; to stifle any personal ambitions; to yearn for him; to live as his wife; to have his children; to become what she fought. Love neutralized her life, wanting to belong to Ali. Love debilitated her career.
They met at a bachelor party. He had called her madam, who Alise channeled through periodically, for six girls. On seeing Alise, Ali kept her to himself the entire evening refusing to allow her to participate in the ongoing orgy. Instead, he brought her to his apartment, made love to her, and paid the predetermined agency price plus five hundred dollars as her tip.
In the next few months, Alise became exclusively his. He called repeatedly until finally asking her to move in with him. She did, abandoned her profession, and worked for Ali in his international law office for two years. There, she studied and learned English to communicate with British corporate clients.
Appointed as ambassador last year, he insisted Alise join him in New York, and she knew the language. She held hopes of going as his wife, but he never asked. New York was a travel fantasy, a magic carpet ride, and an opportunity to live there with the man she loved.
Alise agreed.
Shaba was right about Ali. The future with him looked bleak.
Alise refused to believe or fathom the thought. Was it possible he could live with her for all this time and lack love feelings for her? Alise believed Ali loved her and tried to make him marry her, and now the pregnancy. Maybe he never cared – once a prostitute, always a prostitute. She refused to believe he would think that way. Their baby would keep them together.
Hope and delusional optimism kept Alise going.
Loneliness that first evening without Shaba encouraged depression to keep Alise awake until three o’clock. She slept and awakened at the usual hour for work.
Alise decided to stay home and avoid Ali today to collect her thoughts. Their next meeting must be unemotional and positive. She needed a balanced mind to discuss the baby in a calm and logical manner. Today wasn’t the day.
By eleven o’clock, she finished eight cigarettes.
Damn it! I have a problem and have to confront it.
As she headed for the phone to call Ali, the phone rang.
“Good morning, Alise, Ali. Are you all right?”
“I don’t feel good. Now that I hear your voice, I feel better.”
His voice erased many insecure barriers she erected.
“What’s wrong? Unlike you not to call. I worried when you didn’t show up.”
See. He does care.
“I feel down today. Depressed.”
“Shall I come over? Maybe I can cheer you up a bit.”
“Now?”
“Sure.”
Alise lacked tolerance to cope with his wheeling and dealing to get her into bed. She wanted to talk to him this evening away from the apartment. Chances improved having better communications in a public place like a restaurant, a captive audience and his mind unconcerned with only sex.
“On the other hand, ma
ybe later. I should feel better by then. How about dinner somewhere?”
“Why go out? Much more comfortable there and with Shaba gone I can stay later.”
“I’ll be cooped up here all day. I prefer to go out.”
“Shall I pick you up at eight then?”
“No. I’ll meet you at the restaurant.” Once he came up, going out ended.
“How about Chinese?” he offered. “The Flower Song on Second and Forty-sixth. I’ll be in that area.”
“I’d like that.”
“Bye.”
“Oh, Ali. Ali.”
She caught him in time. She had a weak moment that needed assurance.
“Do you miss me?”
“Of course I do.”
She wished she could believe him.
What did Alise have in life? Her family died and she never wanted to see her uncle again. Ali? Without Ali, she had no future. She made him her life. Ali could give her all she yearned. Without her baby and without Ali where would she be? If only Ali wanted to marry her, she pined.
Then there was Shaba – closest to Alise, and Laura, who she wanted to know better. She loved Pilar but Pilar remained aloof a long time. She loved the other women of the Achilles Heart. With them at meetings, parties or lunch made closer attachments. Their common union, their Achilles Hearts, provided Alise with belonging, common cause and purpose, and devotion to their association.
To Alise, Laura represented the symbol of individualism and self-sustaining surviving without men to depend on.
(Note – Laura’s situation differed for I pled, and begged her to marry me. Alise wished she were more like Laura and Ali more like me.)
The rest of the day morphed to a ‘downer day’. Alise wrestled with her future all day, and losing.
The phone rang again at four o’clock. She had no desire to talk to Ali before tonight. It had to be him to cancel the restaurant for the apartment. Was the call for Shaba? Was it Shaba? She answered after the fourth ring. Her voice lacked enthusiasm, guarded. The voice on the other end was vibrant.
“Hi, this is Laura.”
Alise elated. “You must have ESP. I was thinking about you.”
“I called your office and they said you were home ill.”
“No, only tired.”
“Did Shaba get off okay?”
“I went to the airport with her. How’s Adam?”
“He’s furious at me. I missed seeing him this past weekend because I had company from out of town. Pilar left already, right?”
“Yes, I spoke to her before she left. She was supposed to leave this week but changed her mind and left earlier. It had to do with better weather in Buenos Aires.”
“I don’t know if Shaba mentioned but she told me about your situation. I’m concerned and want you to know I’m your friend for anything you need.”
“You’re a doll, Laura. I appreciate it.”
“What are you doing later? Shall we have dinner? Or I can come up and whip up something for you. It may help if we talk.”
“Tonight, I’m having dinner with Ali. Can we get together tomorrow night?”
“Fine. How are you two doing?”
“I’ll know tonight.”
“If it doesn’t turn out your way know that I’ll be there for you. If abortion, I will go with you. Maybe we can stay together during the week. I don’t dare miss another weekend with Adam. I can’t get over his reaction.”
“Adam loves you. I wish Ali loved me that way.”
“Men have different ways of expressing their love. I’m sure Ali loves you.”
“I’ll know for sure tonight.”
“Do you think Pilar and Shaba will succeed in their countries?”
“They should. I haven’t even begun to do anything with my country yet.”
“With your problems and condition that’s understandable, and no need to rush, nobody’s on a timetable. I just started to scratch the surface, a small lead to something. You won’t be alone in getting started. Kim, Asmir, and Jasmine have talked to their ambassadors. They already planted seeds. I’ll plant seeds at the Mission this week.”
“I haven’t mentioned it to Ali. I will tonight after we beat the other subject to death.”
“As I said, don’t rush. Timing is important, no sense bringing up a new subject if it’s unreceptive. Maybe you should wait.”
“Good advice.”
“If your evening doesn’t go positive call me. I’ll be up if you want company.”
“I’m glad you called, Laura. I feel better already. The world doesn’t seem as lonely.”
Alise cradled the phone with a melancholy aura. Laura’s call turned into an ally helping to strengthen her defenses against her future’s lurking shadows.
City lights were turning on blunting stars. A fading dark blue horizon changed to shades of orange. The spring evening was cool and air quality, healthy. Day had been cloudless; a rare Montana sky over New York. Second Avenue was bright and alive as Alise headed south along its east side to the restaurant. The ‘moment of truth’ neared and being objective was Alise’s mindset. Unsure about Ali, an abortion, and her future she wished her inner glow was as bright as the city. There still wasn’t a light shining in her life.
Conversation tonight should be awkward, redundant. They trampled the subject before. Replays never change anything. What could she say to change his decision’s direction? What could he say – nothing new, leftovers from hours arguing – no sense being morbid? If he loved her, he’d overcome his self-inflicted barriers regarding her past. She was unable to grasp his thinking. So what if she had numerous men as opposed to his taking the attitude of her married several times before? Was it a crime she wasn’t a virgin when they met? If she were, they wouldn’t have met. And that was long ago. Her whole life, her mind and body, her sexual system functioned for him. Why was he demeaning, backward, and impersonal? All along, she thought she understood him; felt safe and secure; never saw the ending. What could she say? She would lose. Default by pregnancy. What made sense anymore? She had to act impersonal, objective tonight, otherwise she would cry.
Alise reached the restaurant five minutes early. Ali stood, with a martini, at the crowded bar. Seeing Alise, he smiled, approached her and then kissed her lips. He stepped back and gifted an admiring look.
“You look beautiful. I came early because I couldn’t wait to see you.”
A good beginning she thought. Maybe the evening will be civil.
Ali tipped twenty dollars to the headwaiter for a table in the private alcoves. As the waiter held the chair for her to sit, she asked for tomato juice with a celery stick. He ordered another vodka martini.
Positive. Positive. Positive. Be objective.
They sat opposite, silent in awkwardness. He was about to speak when Alise said, “I’m sorry for missing work today, but I couldn’t get myself together. How was your day? Anything exciting happen? What did I miss?” She appeared cheerful, alert.
“First, the office was dull, isn’t the same without you. Second, I spent all day preparing Defense Minister Kabani’s itinerary for the month for here and Washington. Like to hear it?”
She nodded and he reviewed the schedule, a good start.
“That should keep you busy,” Alise said.
“Busy is the word,” he smiled. “For us.”
“The first thing to do is make a toast when my drink gets here. And here it comes.” The drink arrived.
He looked suspicious. “What’s the occasion?” Ali asked.
“I want to toast you and your future.” She lifted the glass. “May you become the leader of the Baath Party and president of Syria.”
“Quite an ambitious future.”
“You can do it. I have confidence in you. I also have good news. Let’s drink to your future first.”
They clinked glasses and sipped. He looked at her curious unbelieving there could be good news between them from her.
He said, “That was to my future.” Lo
oking skeptical, he added, “Now let’s drink to your good news.”
Alise opened her purse and pulled out his unsealed envelope. “I won’t need this.” His arms froze. She extended the envelope to encourage his reception. “Take it.” She placed the envelope in front of him. His silence accompanied a fallow expression.
“Come on, Ali. Ease up. When was the last time anyone gave you five hundred dollars?”
“What’s going on? What’s the game?”
“No game. I don’t need your money.”
“Why not? I thought we agreed.”
“We didn’t agree on anything. You agreed. You gave me this money and to you settled the matter. Let’s set the record straight. Let me pacify your fear. I’m having the abortion sometime this week – if in the mood, maybe tomorrow. I have time to pick a day. In my second month, abortions are legal. I’m starting my second month. The right frame of mind is important. It will be done.”
“I’m delighted at your conclusion.”
“I didn’t arrive at that conclusion. You did. I’ll do so because that’s what you want. If I were capable to support our child, I would never agree. Pregnancy is inconvenient to you and personal to me. I’m returning your conscience money because I’m going to a public clinic and can do without it.”
“Avoid being emotional for a change.”
“I love you, Ali without reservations. I know that means nothing to you, it does to me. I’ve devoted years to you.” She lost control, turned weak, deviating from initial strategy. “I’m sorry.” Silence. “I’m…not sure of anything anymore. Please talk to me.”
“It’s the wrong time to have children, as I told you repeatedly. I never made a lifetime commitment to you; you might have to me, I never did to you. What am I supposed to do, stop my life to marry you because you got pregnant? I want to marry you, but later. Why make a big issue over nothing?”
Over nothing? “I want to have this baby.”
“Have one next year or the year after. The baby is a mistake. And since it’s a mistake, correct it.”
Their conversation turned negative and she plotted all day to have a controlled conversation.
