They met next to that famous theater in Beirut . It was in May of 1976 , when bombs rained down from the sky , and people lit many of their nights with candles . Camille sang in the theater . Tareq worked in his father 's café across the street . He had never wished for more than the quiet life he lived . When he walked , his head was always bent , and his shoulders hunched , avoiding the stare of those who passed by . His life had become the café , and he had welcomed it willingly . He had finished school seven years ago , and had decided to help his father . He did everything he could to please him . His sister , Jana , was very unlike him . She spent her days dreaming about the bright future , where there would be no war , no bombing , but the smallest chance for life . His mother was all too interested in the rumor around town to notice anything else . His father was a hard man , who scarcely ever let on what he thought . He , too , worked in the café , taking care of the business and the family . Tareq spent most of his time hovering around his clients . He loved the vivacious atmosphere that reeked of cigarette smoke and coffee . Old and young came to the café to unwind , engaging each other in endless conversations about this leader or that one ; about this strategy or that one , trying to convince one another that war would not last long anyway . Tareq enjoyed those moments , for he liked his customers to bring light to the place with their talk , smiles , and loud laughter . Yet it seemed that whenever that happened , the mood changed for the worse , and all that could be heard were the hushed whispers and the silent prayers . Camille , a singer from the theater , was a regular at the café . She came everyday , smelling of fresh jasmine . She always sat on the same round table by the large glass window , and ordered hot tea with a spoonful of honey . Her gaze wandered outside , to the streets , and it seemed as though sadness surrounded her like a lion stalking its prey . Tareq never dared talk to her , so every time she asked for her tea , he nodded his head courtly , then stumbled back into the kitchen to prepare it . He was ready to serve her without concern for the others . Everybody knew that her father was from Palestine . And that he had become a fighter . They knew that he spent more hours loading a gun than taking care of his wife and daughter . They feared him , and directed this fear at his daughter . So they all drifted as far away from her as possible . Others who pitied her often tended to ignore her . But Camille never reacted . Tareq saw her walk with pride , never giving anyone the satisfaction of replying to their comments . One evening , the bombings got so close that Tareq could see the smoke a few meters from the café . His father sat at the back , in his office , going over paperwork . It was one of those days where there hardly were any clients , because they almost foresaw that something bad was bound to happen . But Camille was there , sitting at a table by the wall . Tareq was cleaning another table . He hoped that no one else would come , so that he could close the place . But like in a dream , everything went still , and , for exactly three seconds , all he heard was the squeaking of the rag towel that he was wiping the table with . Then a bomb landed . Glass shattered . His heart made a quick thud when he saw Camille jerk away from her seat with a scream . He threw down the towel in his hand and ran towards her . " I - I 'm fine , I 'm fine , I guess , " she answered , checking her arms and legs for any wounds . " But your window isn 't . " She stepped over the shards of broken glass with care , and started walking towards the now - non - existent door . " But I can 't stay ! The bombs might not stop for days ! What if I 'm trapped ? My parents are going to be so worried ! " " Tareq ! " he heard his father yell . " Tareq , are you hurt ? Are any clients hurt ? " Tareq saw him running towards them . " No father , I 'm fine - we 're fine . " " Then let 's all go to the shelter . " Tareq was used to his father 's composed reactions . Whatever the situation , his father retained his calm , which somehow comforted Tareq . The first bomb was soon followed by another and another , and another . The last three did not appear to be as close as the first . Tareq turned back to Camille . She just could not leave . " Please , don 't go . You can go home when the bombing is over . " Tareq grasped her hand and they both went outside the café . He covered her head with his hand as they ran into the entrance of his building He did not really know what to do . He was surprised at his own confidence , but he was not about to let it go . They went down the stairs in complete silence . It was only one floor below . His father walked behind them , followed by a customer , who was too dumbfounded to know what to do . The underground served as a parking lot for the few lucky car owners . There were four cars in total , one of which was a white Peugeot 204 . That one was his parents ' . It was parked in the corner . The shelter was the only room on the left . The door was closed . Tareq knocked on it , then screamed : " Mama , it 's us . Please open up ! " The door opened to reveal his mother 's frightened eyes . She muttered an " Oh , thank God " before she held his father . The room behind her was too small to be occupied by that many people . The residents of all six apartments were sitting on mattresses spread across the floor . There were plastic bags , canned food , batteries for light , and covers everywhere . Tareq stepped inside , with Camille following behind him . Jana sat in the corner , hugging a pillow tight to her breasts . When she saw her father coming inside with Tareq , she breathed a sigh of relief . " Father , Tareq ! Oh , you 're both safe ! We thought - " She got up to hold them both . Tareq 's father settled down next to his wife , leaned his head against the wall , and started murmuring prayers . The man who followed his father inside the shelter was eying Camille with disdain . Tareq noticed , but did not want to provoke him , so he asked Camille to sit before the man could mutter anything . " What about the café ? " Jana asked . " There 's been some damage . " Tareq gave Camille his covers . It was not so cold outside , but he thought that the covers might help her feel safer . " Oh . " Jana 's eyes widened . " So is it all gone ? All broken ? All burnt down ? " his mother whispered . " No , Mama . It 's not all gone . " Sadness filled him . Everything was blurred now . Everything . Except for the fact that Camille was sitting next to him . So he made sure that she was comfortable . For three hours , it seemed they could only hear the buzzing of the radio , and the sound of bombs . Everyone else in the room was still . Camille stared at the floor , her arms around her legs . Tareq stole glances her way every now and then . He felt guilty that she came with him . What if the bombings really never did stop for days ? No , there was no point in thinking that way . She was safe and sound , sitting next to him . And wasn 't that what he had always wanted ? Just one chance to talk to her ? A small voice inside his head was nagging , " Ask her , ask her , ask her , " over and over again . But ask her what ? He knew her name ; was there really anything else to ask ? " It 's Camille , right ? I , um , know you from the theater … and the café , of course . I hear so much about you . They say that you 're extremely talented . Is anyone in your family a singer ? " He did not mention her father . She looked at him for a while , as if she was examining him for the first time . But she did not answer . She looked down at her shoes . " Camille ? Are you all right ? I promise , the attacks won 't last , and you 'll go home before you know it . I just wanted to bring you here out of precaution , really . " " No , I 'm fine , don 't worry , " she said . " I 'm not angry at you , Tareq . " That startled him . " Everybody knows Tareq from the café . " This is when she looked at him and smiled . He turned his head away , and then looked back at her . " Yes , I do . It 's my only chance to get away from the sounds of the war . See , my father always said that there was no chance to walk away from war . That no matter where we hid , or what we covered our ears with , it would cut through the walls begging for us to be a part of it . Begging for us to bring the freedom and justice that we sought . But music builds walls around me . Strong walls that never allow war to come near me . " Tareq nodded his head . She started playing with the edge of her dress . Tareq 's mother was talking to his father . The latter was nodding intently . Jana was reading a magazine . But whenever she heard a sound , she fidgeted in her place , and hugged her pillow closer . The others were having side conversations . Sometimes they looked at Tareq , then at Camille , but it didn 't matter to him . He was not one to care for people 's gossip . When he noticed that she tensed , he decided to speak again . " I - I love my job , too . I mean I love the business , and I love the customers . And I can never think of anything that I might do other than run the café . Once , of course , my father decides to give it to me . " " Well , yes . There isn 't anything else to do anyway . I guess maybe if I had gone to college , things would have been different . " " I would have loved to get out of the country , sing elsewhere , " she said . " I know that no one truly appreciates what I do here . But I could never leave . My mother would never let me . Oh , she must be going crazy now ! " Tareq could not help but feel guilty . " We 'll go back as soon as this is over . I 'll take you to your house myself , " he promised . " What are you talking about ? " Jana interrupted , looking up from her magazine . " Nothing , Jana ; nothing that has to do with you anyway , " Tareq said , annoyed . Camille gave her half a smile . " We 're talking about life , and the future , and all that stuff … " " Oh … Thank you . But to tell you the truth , nobody sings better than my mother . You know , she used to sing in her village before she got married . " Camille 's voice was filled with love . Her mother was French , which gave the neighbors yet another reason to snub her daughter . " But she used to sing for me . When I was younger , and we were alone , she sang for me . " Tareq and Jana looked at each other , aware of the shift of mood . They did not want to interrupt Camille 's faraway thoughts . But then she turned back to them . " She taught me all of the songs I know , all of the songs I sing . She always made me sing Léo Ferré songs . He 's her favorite singer . Now , I end each one of my performances with one of his songs . " Camille turned quiet . Jana attempted to lighten the atmosphere : " I 've been trying to convince my brother here to go with me one day , you know , to one of your shows . But he keeps pretending that he has a load of work . The thing is , I always knew that he liked - " Three hours went by , and the bombings stopped . Everybody went home . Tareq stepped out of the door of his building . He stood on the sidewalk , and faced the café . The façade was torn down . And the building had some holes in it . Camille was standing by his side , and Jana was right behind her . Neither one of them said a word . The roads were almost empty , the debris of broken glass , metal , and stone were everywhere . Smoke lingered in the air for a while . Tareq took a moment to examine his surroundings before he dared walk inside his café . It was not entirely destroyed , and he thanked God for that . The bombings had been really vicious this time , he thought . He did not want to imagine just how many people had died that night , but he thanked God that he was still alive . Looking at the pitiful state the café was in made his eyes ache . Camille and Jana walked inside , their feet crunching the glass . Some of the chairs and tables were broken . Tareq walked inside to check the rest , and saw that what had remained inside had not been as damaged . Cups and plates had fallen to the floor and were all broken . Jana took her brother 's hand and lead him away . She reminded him that he still had to take Camille to her house . He heard his mother scream , once she saw the condition of the café , but was too weary to turn back and comfort her . Camille walked next to him as they crossed the street and headed toward her house . At the entrance of her building , she turned to him and said : " Thank you very much for today . " " Just stay safe … And I 'll expect to see you in the café soon . I know it 's in real bad shape now , but I 'll fix it up . " Tareq stood there for a few moments , looking at the entrance of her building , smiling . He had finally talked to her . But his joy died as soon as he walked back to the mess that was his own building . He wanted to start cleaning right away , but he could not . There was no electricity ; and he was tired , so he went back home instead . Tareq went to the theater the next Saturday . That night , the air was warm , and the people were many on the streets . There were no sounds , no bombs . Tareq considered this a good sign . He walked straight to the theater , his hands dug inside his pockets . He bought a ticket and waited outside . He had come early . The air inside smelled of cigars and cologne . When he saw people entering , he followed them inside . He sat down and kept his eyes fixed on the stage . The lights dimmed . And there she was , walking toward her audience in her simple blue dress . He told himself that he got used to her smile , but the truth was , he could never tire from looking at it . It beamed , even when her heart did not . People started clapping , and he joined them . He could not wait for her to start singing . Camille welcomed her audience , and introduced the set of songs that she was about to sing . She thanked everyone for coming , and thanked the band . Tareq 's eyes were on hers , unwavering . She waved a hand in the air , and the projector lit the place where she stood , while all other lights turned off . Music pierced through the silence in soft waves , and Camille 's voice filled the air a few seconds later . She was glowing . How was it that such a powerful voice hid beneath the veil of frailty that she wore ? He did not know . He could only stare at her with his heart beating so loud inside his chest . She gave her voice with generosity , and her hands occasionally let go of the microphone to swirl and dance on their own . And so , the time flew by quickly . One moment they were clapping for her to start singing , and the next she was announcing her final song , Avec le Temps , by Léo Ferré . Tareq watched as she sang about time that takes love away and blows it in the wind , and felt his heart sore . She kept her eyes closed , and did not move her hands away from the microphone . When the song ended , Tareq stood up with the rest of the audience , clapping his hands . Camille thanked her audience , before running backstage . He wanted to go to her , but instead , he sat there in his place . All the other spectators got up and left the theater . Soon , Camille returned and approached Tareq . Ever since he went to see her at the theater , Tareq spoke to Camille everyday in the café . Gone was the shy attitude , and the quiet confused manners . She was happy every time she saw him , and he was even happier when he could see her smile from across the street . When she sang , she was lively with joy . And he went to watch her whenever he could , watching others consume her with hungry eyes . Tareq realized that though they had hatred for her father , many still came to her performances . He did not know what to think of their attitude ; which is why sometimes he felt as though he needed to protect her from them . Jana mentioned Camille to him with mocking dreamy eyes , but he knew that she was happy for him . His mother , on the other hand , never missed a chance to pester him about distancing himself from Camille . She refused to talk to her , and invited home girls he had never seen before , hoping to turn his attention away from her . " She 's no good for you , Tareq ! Her father is a fighter . Her mother is a stranger . I can 't have my son marry the daughter of a stranger ! What will people say ? " " I know her family well enough to judge her , Tareq . I hear what people say about them . You may not know that , but her mother has done vile things to bring money into the house . Her husband , of course , knows nothing of that , because he 's too busy with other matters . Even Camille isn 't innocent ! God knows what she does after she finishes those shows . People talk all the time , Tareq . And I know the truth when I hear it . " Jana witnessed their disagreements , but did not interfere . Tareq was stubborn , and his mother much more prejudiced than she knew . Their fights would come to an end , Tareq thought . Maybe by the time the war ended , he would have been able to convince her and his father that they could not force anyone on him . Days passed , and the more Tareq saw Camille , the more he was assured that she was his future ; that his entire being depended on her comfort . He knew about her father from the stories told by others . But she had yet to say anything to him about that subject . Many times he wished he could destroy all of those barriers that stood between them . Many times he wished that she trust him with her story , because he knew that she was nothing like the person his mother thought she was . He was comforted by the fact that he supplied her with this strength . Despite the instability of the country , he knew that Camille and his job at the café made him happy . He sometimes dreamed of asking her to marry him . But he knew that he would never do that . Not until his parents consented on his choice . And judging by the amount of girls that his mother brought home to make introductions , hoping for a happy match , he knew that his dream was unlikely to happen now . And then one day , Tareq and Camille were in his father 's Peugeot , taking a trip outside Beirut , when they saw armed soldiers approach them . The expression on Camille 's face had been indescribable . The soldiers were just checking for Tareq 's papers , and then they let them go . But Camille was shaken . He pulled the car over to the side of the road and took her hand in his . " Camille . Please don 't cry , " Tareq said . But he felt that her tears would not stop . He had waited for her to open up about her father for a long time , because he could not bring up the subject on his own . For with all of the gossip that people indulged in , he was afraid of dismaying her without intending to . " My father is a fighter , you know that , of course . He - He was forced to leave Palestine in 1948 . So he came to Lebanon . Now my mother still begs him to take her back to France , to her home , to her family . But she loves him so much that she doesn 't want to leave without him , and he refuses to go with her . " Camille paused to stare at the empty road ahead of her , at the two soldiers that stood on the other side of the road , under the heat of the sun . " Many days he doesn 't come home . He 's very tough , my father . And when he 's not home with us , I sit in the dark crying , thinking that maybe he has reached his end . And when I sleep at night , I pray for him to come back alive . To come back to us . " Tareq exhaled a long breath . He wanted to say that it was all right . But he knew that this was not all right , so he merely kept his hand in hers , and waited for her to continue . " I don 't really like to talk about it , " she said , " because whenever I do , the image of my father keeps coming back to me . He 's hurt . He 's dead . " She nodded . " I 'm scared of seeing them . I 'm scared that they might recognize my father . That they might blame me for things that he has done . Sometimes I 'm scared that they might give me news about his death . " She looked away from Tareq . He pulled a tissue from his pocket and gave it to her . " The thing is , he 's convinced that by fighting , he 'll be able return back to his home . " she said . June , July , and August went by , and the summer birds flew away to places where their melodies could be heard . The winds of September and October cooled the air , but nothing was cold enough to remove the heat of the fire that played in the skies of Beirut . Tareq and Camille 's attachment to one another grew stronger by the day . And then one night , Tareq was staying up late in the café , finishing his tasks . The night before had been catastrophic . He heard that many people had been hurt . His parents had gone to the apartment , two floors above the café . He had almost finished cleaning the cups and dishes , and drying them , when someone knocked on the door . The café was obviously closed . Who was knocking at two ? Unless it was … But no , it could not be . She would never come at this late an hour . But then who was it ? He set down the towel and cup he was drying and walked swiftly to the door . The wooden tables around him were clean , and he had carefully set the chairs on top of them . The building was thirty years old , and his father had vowed to keep it well preserved " for your own kids , Tareq . " So Tareq had cleaned and wiped the place everyday without objection . And when his dear café had been hit , he had worked hard to restore it . He was grateful that no other attack had ever come close to it so far . He walked to the door , peering from afar through the glassed façade . The lights on the streets were still on , and sometimes he heard the faraway sound of cars . The street was devoid of any movement . Tareq could not decipher a single silhouette against the backdrop of the night . He slowly opened the door , and the chilly November wind rushed to cool his face . There was no one . Tareq was not surprised . People were still afraid of going out at night ; beggars often hid in the entrances of some buildings . They were even scared of going out in plain daylight . Suddenly , a shadow shifted through the haze of the dim lights . " Camille ? Is that you ? What are you doing here ? " Tareq said . Camille 's silhouette then appeared to him . Her face was pallid , and her eyes filled with tears . " Camille ! What 's wrong ? What happened ? " he murmured before embracing her . She remained silent for a few minutes , and then she started sobbing . " Your father ? What happened to him ? " But he already knew the answer . " Oh , my sweet Camille , I 'm sorry . Come , let 's go inside . It 's too cold out here . " He lifted two chairs from a table and placed them on the floor . They sat down . Her hand remained clasped around his for a long while . Finally , she spoke . " It 's okay , dear , it 's okay ! Don 't weep , I 'm right here . " Tareq gently let go of her hand before going to the kitchen to pour a glass of water for her . " Here , drink this … " She took the cup with trembling hands . " Oh Tareq , he never went back home ! All that he fought for crumbled to his feet , like a sand castle ! " " Oh but my mother , she knew better . She constantly told me that nothing good would ever come out of this . She saw this happening . She imagined the day in which they would knock on her door bringing her husband 's dead body to her … And that day has come . " Camille fell silent . She fixated on the mustard - yellow pattern of the floor . " Yesterday , Tareq , remember ? You gave me my tea , and I went to the theater . I sang , like any other day . And while I was busy entertaining my spectators with music , he was preparing to fight . And at night , when I closed my eyes and my ears , to push away the sound of the bombs that still pierced through the covers of my bed , some bullet pierced through his chest , and he surrendered to death . " Tareq kept repeating , " It 's going to be okay " over and over again to his beloved . Yet he was not sure that he believed things were going to be okay after all . He was weaker than he had ever been , and she was the ephemeral rose at the end of spring , shedding her petals one by one . He held her close for so long , rocking her back and forth , wishing he could steal the sadness from her eyes and her heart , and throw it far , far away . She let go of him , and decided that now was the time . " I 'm leaving , Tareq … " Tareq froze , then looked at her . " My mother wants to go back . And I have to go with her , " she said . " I want to go with her . " " Come with me , Tareq . Come with me to Grasse ; it 's beautiful there . Maybe we can forget about the past , maybe we can even have a future . This war will not do us any good . It 's killed so many , and God knows how many more it will kill . " " But my future is here . Camille , I can 't go anywhere , this is my home ! I love you so much , but I can 't leave my life here , I just can 't … " Tareq was choking on his words . Camille stared at him . " At least I tried , " she said , smiling uneasily , " I 'm leaving the day after tomorrow . The ship leaves at noon , just in case you change your mind . " Her eyes lingered on his for a few seconds . He saw it there , the fierce determination that was not about to falter . He realized that nothing would ever make her change her mind . " Do you have a ride to the port ? At - at least let me take you there . " " I 'll tell her then . " She rose from her chair and walked to the door . Her face was serene , her eyes still wet , her shoulders straight . This time , he did not run after her , and try to stop her . Instead , he covered his face with his hands , and wept . Afterwards , he stood up and went to finish his work like an automaton . He went outside , closed the door behind him and went to his bed . His head landed like ten pounds of lead onto his pillow , and for a full hour , he was unable to sleep . In the morning , he woke up early , having hardy slept at all , and went down to work . He saw the people pass by the streets like they did every day . He saw his sister sit on one of the tables with her friends , and write down all of the things they would do when war would end . He saw the regulars of the café , discussing the newspapers over the coffee that he had brewed earlier . But he did not see Camille . She was still in Beirut , yet she did not come to the café . He walked outside , onto the pavement , wondering if he would feel the way her smile warmed him . The next day , he woke up engulfed with thoughts of Camille . He went down to the parking lot , turned on the engine of the Peugeot , and drove to her house . It was seven o ' clock . He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door . Her mother opened . " Hello Tareq . How are you doing ? Camille told me you were going to take us in your car . Come on in . " Although she had spent many years outside of France , Tareq noticed that her Arabic accent was still not perfect . Camille , he remembered , spoke both Arabic and French really well . Camille came out of her room , and when she saw him , she ran towards him . He held her hands in his . She hesitated to throw her arms around him in front of her mother . But that was the very last time she was going to see him , so she did not stop herself . He held her tight , smelling the scent of jasmine on her skin . " Our boat is set to leave at nine , " Camille 's mother said . " If you could only take the heavy bags down , Tareq , Camille and I 'll manage to carry the light ones . " She had interrupted their embrace . " Thank you , Tareq . " Camille and her mother soon followed , and after he settled their luggage inside the trunk of his car , they left to the port . He drove in silence , while Camille looked outside the window of her seat in the back . He wished he could watch her sing just one more time . At the port , he helped unload their luggage and then he was looking at her for the very last time . " Jana says she 's going to miss you . I 'm going to miss you , too , Camille . " " Tell Jana I said hi . And thank you again . " He held her hand , like he had done a thousand times before . Then he let her go , just like that , and watched her as she walked to the ship with her mother . She waved once , from the dock , before turning her back to him . He waited for the boat to leave , before he walked back to his car , to his café , to his life . LaylaFebruary 4 , 2013 at 11 : 36 AMbeautifully written ! ReplyDeleteRepliesSarah OweidaFebruary 23 , 2013 at 1 : 11 AMthank you for reading the whole thing ! It means so much to me . DeleteReplyAdd commentLoad more . . . Sometimes I can write with music playing in my ears . Sometimes I can 't . The music would then be playing in my eyes . So I can 't see , therefore can 't write . Visit profile