--Debi Cates
It took a series of many
little miracles, a timely tax refund, more than a nudge from Sarmad, plus
24 years of dreams to once again put my feet down on a paradise I remembered,
Lebanon.
In a fog of anticipation, I got through customs, visa, and getting my luggage. When I started walking down the long corridor, I could hear my own heart, beating fast.
I walked through the double doors of the international exit. The full glory of the bright new Beirut airport opened up before me, with a line of people waiting for arrivals. I looked at every face hoping I'd recognize my old friend Linda who I hadn't seen since 1979 (not even a picture) or Sarmad who I had at least seen a recent picture.
While looking closely at faces, smiling silly at everyone, I saw a man holding up a sign, printed in multi-colors, "Debi BHS 7475." I walked up to him, grinned, "I'm Debi." He handed me a note.
I unfolded the note, and immediately recognized Linda’s handwriting. Can you imagine? All these years and it was still familiar to me.
She wrote that she was sorry she couldn't meet me. She explained that her husband Rashid had taken the car to Syria and wasn't back yet. But she had arranged for this taxi driver to take me up to her village, Dhour Chouier, and I should be there in 45 minutes. She couldn't wait to see me. The last thing she wrote was “Yalla! Love, Linda”
The taxi driver grabbed my luggage and signaled for me to follow him. He had the nicest silver hair, blue eyes, and that very dignified Lebanese nose. I thought to myself, I must thank Linda for sending me such a good-looking driver.
Stepping out into the Beirut night, trying to keep up with him and my bags, I asked if he could speak English. He made that little Lebanese clicking noise, and then "La." I was disappointed but still determined to make conversation. It was hot and muggy outside, so I tried to remember what is "hot" in Arabic. All that came to mind was "mi sookneh” from my teenage days requesting the landlord turn on the hot water.
I was about to embarrass myself and try to make something out of that snippette of a phrase anyway, when in the dark parking lot, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed some figures walking beside us. I looked over, and quickly back so as not to lose my driver. Then it hit my mind. One of those figures following us was LINDA!
I stopped dead in my tracks and began a combination laugh and scream. "Lindaaaaaa!" She and Sarmad, the other shadowy figure, began laughing too. I let out another shriek and for a second was paralyzed with surprise and joy. The next second my legs started moving and we ran to each other. Soon we were tangled in a long embrace, laughing, crying, and laughing more.
In a rush, Linda and Sarmad began telling me how they pulled the joke off, how they hid from me, and at what points they thought for sure I would see them.
Linda accused, "It was all Rashid's idea!" I looked over at the taxi driver and asked "Rashid?"
That handsome devil was having a hearty laugh too. He couldn't wait to tell them how he told me he didn't speak English and if they would have just hidden a little longer, he was sure I would have tipped him. (I would have too.)
Sarmad introduced me to his wife Sandra. In the airport, I had noticed a woman with a video camera and wondered why she had it on me. She laughed telling how I looked straight at the camera. She confirmed with a beaming smile that she had gotten the whole joke on video!
We piled my luggage into the trunk and ourselves into the car: Rashid, Sarmad, and Sandra snug in the back, Linda in the driver's seat and me beside her. Rashid passed me up a cold Lebanese beer and we were on our way, windows rolled down and everyone talking loud and fast.
The various landmarks were pointed out to me, but I swear between the tears and the laughing, I didn’t recognize much. Every two seconds one of us cracked a funny comment that sent us all howling.
We began winding our wild way up the mountains. The scenery of pines and limestone villas, the cool sweet air passed by me with complete familiarity. But my eyes kept looking at Linda's profile. She looked so great. Her voice was the same, her mannerisms were the same, her laugh. The only real new thing I could see was now she could drive!
And drive she could, driving her BMW through the insane Lebanese traffic like a hot knife through butter. I asked her, "So, Linda. You finally got your license?" She tossed her head back, let loose some expletives (see, some things never change) and gave a throaty chuckle, “Debi, I've grown up!"
Every now and then, when traffic would get slow, Rashid would hang his head out the window and tell a stranger, “Guess what? Deeebi is here!” Like me, they couldn’t resist his charm and would smile and wave back even though they had no idea who the heck he or Deeebi were.
When I saw the sign for the village Jouret El Ballout my jaw dropped. Linda asked me, “Now do you recognize anything?” Linda drove us to right up to my old house. My mom would have been impressed how she downshifted and climbed that steep hill, without even an engine sputter. There were new houses all around it, but our house, the Deeb Abu Joudeh place, was just like I remembered. I was tempted to walk in and say “Hi Mom! I’m home.”
We made the quick trek from Jouret to Brummana (much quicker in a car than when I used to walk it to go to meet Linda to go swimming or play flippers or eat Italian ices). We drove down the main road of Brummana where I got very excited as I recognized the old Aida Cinema, Printania Hotel, King’s Amusement Center, Scand’s and more. When we approached the school, Linda stopped at the gate. And for the first time, our noisy car fell silent. I looked through the iron gate, down the quiet drive. It was exactly as I remembered it.
Then we were off again. Next stop: Linda’s Mom’s house in Brummana. I got hugs from Mrs. Naimy Nagem, Linda’s sisters Lori and Nancy, and their husbands Simon and David, and the new batch of Nagem kids that were running around. We sat on Mrs. Nagem’s beautiful patio, toasted each other, and filled the night air with our stories about the old days as well as the new days – the joke they had played on me at the airport was already turning into a story we would be retelling for years to come.
It must have been 1 or so in the morning before we called it a night and headed for Linda and Rashid’s home in Dhour Chouier. Riding in the day’s last car ride, in the back seat I got to know an adorable little orange blossom that I immediately fell in love with. Karina, Linda’s 9 year old daughter, was sleepy and sweet, but quick as a whip. When I would ask her questions her dimples would flash. She already called me Auntie.
At home, everyone headed straight for bed. After getting in our pajamas, Linda and I stayed up and talked. We talked and talked. We talked until the sun came in her bedroom window. We kept saying we should sleep, but found that the words wouldn’t stop tumbling out. We talked about love, dreams, and hopes. The same things we always talked about.
As sleep was finally overtaking me, I listened to the crowing roosters, the sound of the village vendors opening shop, and my last thoughts were that some dreams come true. And, sometimes, better than the dream.
“Good night, Debi.”
“Good night, Linda."
