The Allspice Bath

by Sonia Saikaley

  “Don’t be scared,” Elias said warmly. “I won’t let you fall.”

  With that assurance, Adele followed him into the cave. He pulled out a small flashlight from the back pocket of his jeans and the light that emanated led the way as they walked deeper inside. A spray of spring water splattered on their faces and the coolness felt good on Adele’s cheeks. She could smell the freshness of the springs and feel a cool breeze blowing from the entrance through the cramped area. She couldn’t believe how happy she was in the presence of such natural beauty and a man she suddenly cared about. Elias led her to a flat stone embankment where he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

  She pulled away and murmured, “What are you doing?”

  He dropped his arm to his side, then sat cross-legged on the stone. “I’m sorry but I couldn’t help it.”

  She sat down beside him and stared at him for a long time. “It’s okay,” she said. “You’re my fiancé, after all.” They burst into laughter, their voices echoing off the rocky walls.

  A few minutes later, Elias said, “Speaking about our wedding….” He laughed again. “I have the perfect plan. Let’s pretend we eloped. No one will ever suspect we were never married. I’ll be able to leave my past and start fresh somewhere else and you’ll be able to return to Canada, a supposedly married woman! You can run away and no one will know otherwise. They’ll think you’re with me. They’ll never suspect we aren’t married. It’s perfect. You’ll get your freedom in the ‘proper way’ and I’ll escape the pity the villagers feel for me…” He stopped abruptly, then looked intensely at Adele and continued. “It’s not easy having everyone know that you can’t have sex with a woman.”

  Elias’s words stirred her own grief. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Elias? It’s a big sacrifice for you. You’ll be leaving the only home you’ve ever known.”

  He raised his eyebrows and looked directly into Adele’s tear-filled eyes. “I want to reinvent myself. Go somewhere where no one knows about my accident. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even meet a woman who can love me despite my problem. But mostly, like yourself, it’s my ticket to freedom.”

  She smiled weakly and nodded. She understood completely.

  That evening, she played along with his plan. Preparations began for their forthcoming wedding. Relatives baked several pastries, chopped bushels of parsley, crushed chickpeas, mixed garlic cloves, kneaded dough into pita bread, carefully placing several dishes of maza in various refrigerators. Unlike her sisters’ gigantic weddings, it was to be a simple celebration. Pretending she was exhausted and needed her sleep for the big day, Adele excused herself to the guest room and undressed slowly. She planned to meet Elias in the early morning hours before the rooster at her uncle’s house had a chance to awaken the entire household. She lay in bed quietly until she fell asleep.

  A few hours later, she opened her eyes, lifted her arm and stared at her wristwatch, waiting for three o’clock. She listened to the soft breaths escaping from her sisters’ mouths. She had only fifteen minutes to go and she dared not close her eyes again, worried she would fall into a deep sleep and miss Elias. She crept out of the bed, slipped off her pajamas, and hastily dressed. She tiptoed across the room and opened the door slowly. She turned to look at her sisters, their bodies curled under thin sheets. In the moonlit room, she could make out their figures: Mona’s long, thin legs, Katrina’s rounded breasts, and Rima’s curved hips. She remained at the doorway for a while. Then she looked down at her watch. It was time to go. She glanced at her sisters once more time and repressed the urge to whisper a farewell. With her lips clamped together tightly, she slipped out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and out the house.

  The early morning was cold. Adele stood shivering by the side of the road where she had agreed to meet Elias. The darkness of the early hours had not yet vanished. She heard rustling in the fields and she jumped as a lone goat ambled out of the bushes and came up to her. She laughed at herself for being startled by the creature. Then her laughter stopped and her heart began to pound until her breathing had gotten so loud that she didn’t hear Elias coming. He put his hand on her shoulder and she jumped again.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  She turned to face him. He looked pale in the dark, as if he had been the one frightened, not Adele.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded. Crossing the field, they silently walked to Elias’s car. Adele swallowed and nervously entered the tan Mercedes. She watched as Elias slid into the driver’s side. His hands trembled as he clutched the steering wheel.

  Before letting him start the ignition, Adele rested her hand on Elias’s arm. He looked down at her fingers, then into her face. Silence prevailed. Bending her head toward him, she finally said, “Shukran.” Thank you.

  He smiled and nodded, then directed his eyes to the road.

  The car sped on its way. Still somewhat uncertain about her decision to leave her family, Adele huddled next to the passenger door, staring out into the darkness.

  As they approached Beirut, the sun began to rise, spreading yellowish-orange streaks through the dark blue skies. Adele yawned and peered out the car window. The dirt roads they had travelled on through the villages and small towns, stopping at various checkpoints, had now manifested into paved streets and sidewalks, lined with several fast-food chains and fashion boutiques. Neon signs flickered off with the approaching daylight. Adele sat up and gazed at the sea, the waves crashing against the rocky shore that curved around the city. The shoreline was no longer the lush green of the riverbed in the village, but man-made slabs of concrete holding the sea back. They drove on. Adele leaned her back to the door so she could face Elias. He was fully awake despite the two-hour drive it had taken them to reach Beirut; he hadn’t taken a break, except for the time it took them to show identification papers to the military troops at the roadblocks. Adele reached across and stroked his handsome face, his stubble tickling her palm and, for a brief moment, he glanced at her, his full lips breaking into a smile.

  She dropped her hand onto her lap and cleared her throat. “We should take a break. You’ve been driving for hours. Let’s get some breakfast.”

  Elias arched his eyebrow and Adele noticed a small scar on his dark eyelid. She lifted her hand again and traced the brown line. “A remnant of my accident,” he said. “My body tells that story over and over. Sometimes I forget, or try to, but my body reminds me again and again. That’s my hayat, my life, I suppose. Scars and memories of my experience constantly remind me of things I’d rather forget…” He stopped suddenly, then changed the subject. “What about breakfast? Do you want to eat at McDonald’s? This is what Americans eat, no?”

  Adele laughed, resting her head on the car seat. She rolled her face to the side, looked at Elias. “But habibi, you have it all wrong. I’m not American. I’m Canadian.”

  “American, Canadian, what’s the difference? Aren’t they the same?” he grinned mischievously.

  She laughed again. “Depends on whom you ask.”

  “True, true. So, it’s McDonald’s? Or would you prefer a Lebanese breakfast of warm zahter fresh from a stone oven or labaneh and zeitoun rolled up in homemade pita bread with a cup of ahweh?”

  “I don’t care much for coffee,” she said, pretending to be difficult.

  “Okay, okay, habibti, a cool glass of halib for you. Sounds good?” Elias said, smiling.

  “You’re paying, right?”

  “You’re the American, remember? You have all the money.”

  Adele raised her head from the seat. Gazing into Elias’s eyes, she snorted and said, “Canadian.”

  “Ah, Canadian.”

  “Since you’ve been driving, I’ll treat you this time. It’s the least I can do. Us ‘Americans’ are rich, after all.”

  They burst into laug
hter once more as the vehicle sped along the busy morning streets.

  Elias turned the car into a small alley, barely wide enough for two vehicles. He parked the old Mercedes around the corner. Adele stepped out of the passenger’s side and followed Elias through the cobblestone street, and down a flight of stairs that led to the entrance of a small café. When Elias pulled the door open, the smell of sumac and thyme enveloped Adele along with the warmth of a large stone oven that was radiating heat at the far end of the establishment. Six small tables covered with flower-print tablecloths filled the room. A water pipe was positioned behind the cramped counter where an old man sat on a wooden stool, his eyes half-closed. He looked to be in his mid-eighties; his cheeks drooped and deep wrinkles lined his forehead. Beyond him, two windows were open wide, allowing a gentle breeze to enter the softly-lit, tiny restaurant that was empty but for the old man and one other customer. The old man was dressed in what appeared to be a woman’s polo shirt and baggy trousers common to older Middle Eastern men. He greeted them with a broken smile and a large space between his two front teeth flashed when he opened his mouth. “Marhaba. It’s a beautiful morning,” he said, wiping his hands on the grease-stained apron around his protruding belly.

  “It sure is,” Adele answered in Arabic.

  “You’re not from here. I can tell by your accent.”

  She smiled timidly; she was surprised the old man could tell immediately that she had an accent. She spoke hesitantly and now wondered in the warm heat of the café how she had lost this language that had been her first as she looked at her reflection in the mirrored walls behind the cash register. Her curly hair dropped over her shoulders and her face was unusually pale compared to Elias’s and the old man’s equally dark complexion. Yet, unmistakably, she looked like them.

  “Come on,” Elias said, waking her from her thoughts. He placed his hand on the small of her back. She didn’t move away and let his hand ease into her spine. He guided her to one of the small tables, pulled out a chair for her to sit on, and then dropped his hand to his side. Immediately, she missed its warmth. She sat down and she sighed loudly as she followed Elias’s movements, his long legs striding elegantly across the restaurant back to the old man, who handed him a plate filled with zahter and two cups of steaming ahweh.

  When Elias returned, she smiled up at him. He stood beside the table and began to serve her as if she were his guest. The aroma of the flat bread powdered with dried thyme, sumac, and sesame seeds caressed her nose. As he placed the dish and coffee cups down, he smiled then smacked his large hand on his forehead. “Oh, I forgot! You’re not a coffee drinker. Back in one moment with your halib.”

  Affection filled her heart for this thoughtful man. She touched his wrist and said, “It’s okay, Elias. Sit down. You’ve done so much for me already. Sit and share this wonderful meal with me.”

  “Our last breakfast?” he said, slipping onto the chair opposite her.

  “I suppose. But does that mean there will be a resurrection of sorts?”

  A smile lifted his mouth. “Most definitely. Resurrected from family obligations…”

  “And guilt,” Adele added quietly. They ate in silence until the old man came to their table and placed a round bowl of zeitouns in front of them, the oil glistening on the green olives.

  “These come from tree in yard at home,” he said in broken English. He also handed them a basket of pita bread. “I make bread too. Well, not right. Wife make bread,” he said, kneading his knuckles on the tabletop. “She make on ground. Hard on knees. She yell every time she do bread. Allah, she say, why you curse me to be woman?”

  Adele raised her eyebrows and frowned. She didn’t like this last comment because it seemed that being born a woman was indeed a curse, the worst possible fate. She looked away from the old man and out the window. A few feet away a young man dressed in military garbs with a finely-trimmed beard and crew-cut was standing with a rifle flung over his left shoulder. His slender body bent forward as he questioned people in their cars. She imagined his voice resonant with forced authority. He looked boyish. She guessed he was only a few years older than herself. Twenty-two at the most. Adele sensed the old man’s eyes on her. She turned her attention back to him.

  “I say something bad? You mad?”

  Adele asked quietly, “Why does your wife think it’s a curse to be a woman?”

  “Life not easy for woman. They cook, clean, take care of child, husband. They work hard and for what?” He slapped his hands together. “Nothing. No respect, only grief. A woman lose lots. Husband boss, child make body fat then break it in birth. Not easy to be woman, that why curse. Man have easy life.”

  She stared at the man. There was neither coldness nor meanness in his eyes. He wiped his hands on his apron and smiled.

  “Now eat. Enough about man, woman. Can’t live with woman. Can’t live with no woman, right? This American phrase?”

  She nodded and popped an olive in her mouth.

  CHAPTER 15

  AS THEY RETURNED TO THE CAR, a sudden rumbling and tremor under their feet caused Adele to stumble awkwardly into Elias’s shoulder. Adele caught herself from falling, but she was alarmed. “What’s happening?” she mumbled. Elias didn’t reply. Instead, he grabbed Adele’s arm and pulled her into the safety of his body, hurriedly leading her into the entranceway of another shop, past several toppled over vendor stalls, figs crushed, cloth torn, and gold bangles bent in the chaos of people running. Adele watched a vendor kneel and stuff precious stones into the deep pockets of his apron as he hurled Arabic curse words that assaulted Adele’s ears. But it was the wailing from the injured people that made her shake uncontrollably. Elias held her close so the smell of his skin permeated her nostrils—a mixture of sweat and soap.

  Adele asked again, “What’s happening?”

  “A street bomb.”

  His answer silenced her. She twisted her head that he had clasped to his chest and stared at the burning building across from them. Through black patches of smoke, she could see bodies sprawled in the corner, limbs dismembered, and shattered windows all over the asphalt. Everything was in an uproar. She began to shake more violently. There was a distinct and sharp stench and she realized it was the smell of blood. She closed her eyes for a moment then opened them to Elias placing the warmth of his hand against her face. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us out of here.” She swallowed and watched the fire dying down with the tide of water spurting from the emergency crews’ hoses, embers burning on the streets. She had never experienced any of the violence in the Middle East firsthand, though she had witnessed it many times on Canadian broadcasts, and read about it over and over in the world information section of newspapers.

  The noon sun rose above the haze and cries. She suddenly became aware of how hot it was. Beads of sweat trickled down her ribcage. The intense sunlight made her raise her hands to her eyes, protecting her pupils from the brightness.

  Some distance away, she saw a woman on her knees clutching a child. The boy jerked a few times, then remained still in his mother’s arms. Blood was on the woman’s hands and on her son’s face. She pulled him tight to her chest, her wails drowning out the sirens. Adele hated the light that now hit these victims. She saw the torn look on the woman’s face—her eyelids swollen, cheeks disfigured by shards of flying glass—and Adele cried out at the stranger’s grief, and her loss. She turned away, stepped back from the noise, the sun. Burying her face in Elias’s hard chest, she felt him stroking her head as she wept.

  They hurried down several streets, away from the burning debris and rubble. Thick dust swirled in the air. Adele let go of Elias’s hand, rubbed her eyes, then reached for him again, afraid of losing him in the rush of people, bumping their shoulders against hers, breaking her free from Elias’s hold. She searched for his fingers as if not reconnecting would be the end of her existence. She needed him and this frightened her because she had ne
ver had this feeling of complete reliance on another person, had actually felt suffocated when her family depended on her for handling everyday things. She held onto his hand tighter and liked the way his fingers entwined with hers. All of a sudden, she felt a longing for the person she was supposed to marry, one as broken as herself.

  She squeezed Elias’s hand then felt sick and stopped him. The taste of vomit surged through her throat. She had to stop running. Bent over, she felt Elias’s fingers pull back her hair while she threw up at the side of the road. He stood in front of her and reached out to wipe her cheeks with a handkerchief. Then he took her face tenderly in his hands and at this moment her eyes filled with tears because she felt what it was like to be loved. Yet a feeling of sadness overwhelmed her when she looked around and realized they had stopped running, not because of her sudden illness, but because they had reached their destination. And worry filled her mind as she thought about her family and the danger taking place in the country. Could she leave them? “Elias, maybe I shouldn’t go? What if my family is hurt by a bomb?” she asked, her eyes opened wide in concern.

  “No, things are fine in Kfarmichki. Your family will be safe.” With that reassurance, Adele stepped through the sliding doors of the Beirut International Airport.

  Adele sat in the departure lounge with her clothes sticking to her, making the worn leather seat squeak. She nervously tapped her left foot on the tiled floor. Elias rested his hand on her knee to calm her. After a while, she stopped shaking and placed her hand on top of Elias’s. She looked down at their joined hands, perfectly still, resting on her knee. Though they were surrounded by several people, saying goodbyes, talking about what journey awaited them, flipping through agendas, scribbling down addresses and phone numbers, she felt as if they were the only two people in the busy airport. She didn’t hear the voice on the intercom announcing flights nor the sirens outside, a reminder of the crumbling capital and chaos they had just fled. If it weren’t for Elias, she’d probably be awakening to the sound of her family preparing for her wedding day. The loud voices would have drowned out the rooster crowing, the donkeys braying. Realistically, she knew her family would be waking up to the note she had left them. Elias had written it in Arabic, stating their decision to elope and to move to another country. She knew her sisters would be heartbroken at her sudden departure. At this moment, she breathed deeply and wondered whether she really should leave. Suddenly she viewed everything around her with sadness and confusion. She felt an urge to return to the village and go on with her life no matter how difficult it had been for her. Casting a glance at Elias, she said in a quavering voice, “Maybe I shouldn’t go.”