City of Jasmine by Olga Grjasnowa & Katy Derbyshire

Author:Olga Grjasnowa & Katy Derbyshire [Grjasnowa, Olga & Derbyshire, Katy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07F9T4FJ2
Publisher: Oneworld Publications
Published: 2019-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

Amal’s brother comes early in the morning to say goodbye. He’s in a better mood than he has been for a long time. The sky too is cloudless and blue, oblivious. Ali has brought her a little gift, which he enjoys presenting. A tiny box that she doesn’t open.

‘It’s a necklace, not necessarily beautiful but it’s heavy and it’s gold, so you can sell it whenever you feel like,’ Ali says, and Amal thanks him and is surprised that her departure seems realer to him than to her.

‘Where’s your luggage?’

Amal points at two wheeled cases, a black travel bag and a plastic carrier bag filled to the brim.

Ali helps her to carry everything downstairs and stow it in the boot of the taxi. Their goodbye is tense, especially as Ali’s face is so blithe and bright. Amal hugs him and tells him to look after himself and to come and visit her. Ali assures her he’ll come soon, and then the two of them stand silently facing each other, not knowing what to do next.

It’s hot outside, the air flickering. The taxi, an old 1970s Mercedes, has a squeak. The faded leather seats are torn, yellow foam spilling out of them. The driver, stocky with an impressive dark moustache, has agreed to take Amal to Beirut for a hundred dollars. They don’t say a word to each other on the way. The roads are narrow, winding and bare. Their sides are strewn with plastic bags and empty chocolate- and crisp packets, blown about by the wind. Amal is still thinking of Ali’s carefree face.

The radio plays Fairuz’s songs, again; for the first time, Amal can’t stand the sound of her voice. She’s about to ask the driver to turn off the radio when he brakes abruptly. There’s a military convoy ahead of them. Trucks, tanks and rocket launchers are crawling along the road. Soldiers’ heads stick out of the sides of the trucks. They have earnest faces, none of them smiling. Tons of steel that will soon be deployed against human bodies.

The driver switches off the radio of his own accord. Amal puts on her sunglasses so he doesn’t see her tears. They’re not allowed to overtake the convoy so they drive behind it for an hour until they reach the turn-off for Zabadani.

At some point, a text pops up on Amal’s phone: Welcome to Lebanon. She has heard nothing more from her father.

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