hadnât visited since he left Lebanon in 1958. He remembered people from Shemlan whom my father also knew.
My father was always relaxed and less worried when Chris visited. Chris would go over to my father and pat his shoulder like an affectionate father. A relationship sprang up between them, and quickly it seemed as though theyâd been friends for a long time. My father never seemed as sick when Chris was there telling him stories that happened in Lebanon a long time ago, before I was born. Chris would visit frequently to check on his health and play backgammon with him, a game which Salama had practically abandoned after my brother Bahaââs death. I imagined that having Chris with us might heal the wounds of our family, stricken with death and loss. This was how a relationship developed between us, between Chris and me. I didnât want it to be anything more than a friendship; with time it transformed into a comforting habit, with no passion or desire. I remember the first meeting of our bodiesâhe asked me if he could take off his clothes. I found this strange and amusing. We got married four years after I arrived in Adelaide, after Iâd lost any hope of seeing Georges ever again. My marriage to Chris is like a compensation for the care and concern that he gives my father, whose madness itâs become difficult for me to bear on my own. And I want to have a child to fill the place of the baby Iâd lost in Beirutâthe fetus I had to abort to avoid the scandal.
My marriage emerged less out of love than conviction. Eva says itâs the kind of marriage that âclears up unresolved life issues,â like companies managing the clearance of imported cargo shipments. Eva also considers my marriage to be linked to the past more than the future. I tell her that perhaps sheâs right. What I feel for Chris isnât love, being with him instead gives me more of a fabricated feeling of serenity. Iâve discovered that this serenity does not come from Chris himselfâhis personality or characteristicsâbut from the terrible circumstances all around me. These circumstances have changed the course of my life and transformed me from a woman who dreamed about the future to a woman who simply tries to repair a present thatâs distorted by the past.
The two of us, Chris and I, exist in different worlds. When I tell Eva this, I add that Iâd reckoned that after our marriage Iâd sleep better and my fears would leave me. But instead Iâm still anxiousâwhen Iâm near him, when he isnât around, when heâs away. Our lack of understanding, my loneliness, how far I am from my friends in Beirutâ all of this makes me anxious. Eva is making bread with candied fruit in it and stops, turning off the noisy electric mixer so she can tell me that Iâm too philosophical. With the back of her damp, dough-covered hand, she pushes strands of blonde hair from her forehead. She adds that Iâm surely mad. This is her response to what Iâve said about how I canât understand why Chris loves me and how strange it is that I can never understand his way of loving me. I tell her whenever I think about Chris I feel as if Iâm an exotic fruit; he desires it when he finds it within his reach, but can forget it just as quickly when it isnât there. I always have to be this exotic fruit, despite myself. I have to be that Oriental woman, coming from the other side of the sea, who is nothing like the women in his family. I discovered this game quickly, though, and I withdrew. I withdrew and said nothing to him. Perhaps what surprises him is that Iâm not at all like the women of 1,001 Nights . I donât tell him tales so that he can sleep and I can save myself. I rely on silence to rescue me. Perhaps this is what spoils the tacit agreement weâve had in place since we married. I think that when I travel to Beirut heâll write me many
My father was always relaxed and less worried when Chris visited. Chris would go over to my father and pat his shoulder like an affectionate father. A relationship sprang up between them, and quickly it seemed as though theyâd been friends for a long time. My father never seemed as sick when Chris was there telling him stories that happened in Lebanon a long time ago, before I was born. Chris would visit frequently to check on his health and play backgammon with him, a game which Salama had practically abandoned after my brother Bahaââs death. I imagined that having Chris with us might heal the wounds of our family, stricken with death and loss. This was how a relationship developed between us, between Chris and me. I didnât want it to be anything more than a friendship; with time it transformed into a comforting habit, with no passion or desire. I remember the first meeting of our bodiesâhe asked me if he could take off his clothes. I found this strange and amusing. We got married four years after I arrived in Adelaide, after Iâd lost any hope of seeing Georges ever again. My marriage to Chris is like a compensation for the care and concern that he gives my father, whose madness itâs become difficult for me to bear on my own. And I want to have a child to fill the place of the baby Iâd lost in Beirutâthe fetus I had to abort to avoid the scandal.
My marriage emerged less out of love than conviction. Eva says itâs the kind of marriage that âclears up unresolved life issues,â like companies managing the clearance of imported cargo shipments. Eva also considers my marriage to be linked to the past more than the future. I tell her that perhaps sheâs right. What I feel for Chris isnât love, being with him instead gives me more of a fabricated feeling of serenity. Iâve discovered that this serenity does not come from Chris himselfâhis personality or characteristicsâbut from the terrible circumstances all around me. These circumstances have changed the course of my life and transformed me from a woman who dreamed about the future to a woman who simply tries to repair a present thatâs distorted by the past.
The two of us, Chris and I, exist in different worlds. When I tell Eva this, I add that Iâd reckoned that after our marriage Iâd sleep better and my fears would leave me. But instead Iâm still anxiousâwhen Iâm near him, when he isnât around, when heâs away. Our lack of understanding, my loneliness, how far I am from my friends in Beirutâ all of this makes me anxious. Eva is making bread with candied fruit in it and stops, turning off the noisy electric mixer so she can tell me that Iâm too philosophical. With the back of her damp, dough-covered hand, she pushes strands of blonde hair from her forehead. She adds that Iâm surely mad. This is her response to what Iâve said about how I canât understand why Chris loves me and how strange it is that I can never understand his way of loving me. I tell her whenever I think about Chris I feel as if Iâm an exotic fruit; he desires it when he finds it within his reach, but can forget it just as quickly when it isnât there. I always have to be this exotic fruit, despite myself. I have to be that Oriental woman, coming from the other side of the sea, who is nothing like the women in his family. I discovered this game quickly, though, and I withdrew. I withdrew and said nothing to him. Perhaps what surprises him is that Iâm not at all like the women of 1,001 Nights . I donât tell him tales so that he can sleep and I can save myself. I rely on silence to rescue me. Perhaps this is what spoils the tacit agreement weâve had in place since we married. I think that when I travel to Beirut heâll write me many
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