Butterflies in a shop window, St. Denis
My father-in-law has been very sad lately. "It's the news," he tells me. "The news is terrible; the world has gone crazy." We talk.
"Is it Lebanon?" I ask.
"Yes and no. It's awful, but problems in the Middle East I can somehow accept better than what's happened to America. The America I came to, the America I wanted my children to grow up in - it's gone." He continues lamenting, and I am surprised; Beirut was where he was sent for his education, as one of the brightest boys in Damascus. It is where he became a man, a teacher, a philospher; where he fell in love for the first time; where he met his wife; where his first son was born. Even though I know he is an incurable romantic, often going into raptures about sitting in a particular spot outside Beirut overlooking the sea, "breathing the scent of jasmine and tasting the honey of fresh figs," I also know that the Beirut he remembers is a real place, well-described by others as the Paris of the Mediterranean: the mixing place of Europe and the Islamic world; classical history and the Enlightenment; languages, foods, religions. Much of his romanticism comes from the fact that he lived there during a time when this mixture was vibrant and even valued. What he explains now is that Beirut and Damascus are precious to him as the stuff of memories; but America was his dream.
I have little to say in the way of comfort, so I listen and try to learn. He brightens up a little and tells me he is in the kitchen making Arabic food: little ground-lamb pizzas spread with a mixture of tomatoes, onions, pine nuts. He asks about my book with great interest; writing is what he cares about the most, perhaps. We wish each other a good night, and hang up.
Yesterday we talk again, and I say we'll see him soon. He's laughing again and tells me he walked all the way down to the post box and back using his walker, not his motorized cart. "I need to live three more years," he says. "The work I want to do"- he's writing a long poem in Arabic about the origins of religion - "will take me that long at this rate, and I'm getting slower!" We both laugh at that. "My eyes are failing, my ears are no good, my legs won't take me. It's all falling apart. So I figured I'd try to use my legs and it was a struggle, but it didn't kill me!" I ask how the work is going,a nd he says he can only do a little bit at a time. "And it's coming to me in Arabic," he says, with wonderment in his voice, "so I have to pay close attention!"
It's time to say goodbye, so I tell him we'll see him on Friday noon.
"Insh'allah," he says, automatically. "Don't forget to add it," he instructs. "Otherwise He gets insulted." We both laugh, but I know he's close to serious. The insh'allahs and mash'allahs are frequent now; when he starts saying allhomdolehlah I'll know he's truly reverted to his roots, or else that this old agnostic has decided, finally, to cover all his bases. "See you Friday for lunch, insh'allah," I say. "Good night."
Oh, what a sad and beautiful insight into your father-in-law's head and heart. Thank you.
Posted by: Rachel | August 03, 2006 at 03:27 PM
Bittersweet.
Posted by: Marja-Leena Rathje | August 03, 2006 at 05:10 PM
Wonderful. Thanks.
Posted by: language hat | August 04, 2006 at 09:39 AM
Beth, this is incredibly moving.
Posted by: MB | August 05, 2006 at 12:46 PM
I stumbled across your blog while I was doing some online research. I truly feel for your father-in-law. There are so many people today living in pain and fear because of the terribly instability in so many regions of the globe!
Posted by: thebizofknowledge | August 05, 2006 at 04:32 PM
Yes, vivid & moving. I guess it's inevitable that agnosticism will be under the greatest pressure in age when intimations of mortality are close at hand.
However, I had a brief discussion with my father shortly before his death in 1999. An agnostic with Buddhist leanings all his adult life - albeit a tactful one in the face of my mother's claims to strict Baptist belief whenever the subject arose - he viewed the inevitable with some curiosity. I asked him if he would be asking questions right up to the very end. Relishing puns, he smiled & said, "Oh, without a doubt".
Posted by: Dick Jones | August 06, 2006 at 10:18 AM
That's a great story, Dick! It's good to see you here, and I appreciate the comment.
Posted by: Beth | August 06, 2006 at 11:47 AM
Nice blog which I stumbled upon because you had recently updated it and it showed up on my page. As an American, I sometimes wonder where our country is going as well. I blame most of it on George W. Bush and his administration and I'm ashamed that our country could elect him twice. I hope this fall's elections gets rid of some of the Republicans we have in office.
Posted by: Atul | August 06, 2006 at 03:38 PM
Welcome, Atul, glad to have you visit and comment, and I hope you'll come back! You and I share the same hopes for this fall's elections.
Posted by: Beth | August 06, 2006 at 03:58 PM
I feel the same as your father-in-law in many, many ways. Ever since I moved to the Middle East 18 years ago, I never say anything about future plans without a voiced or a silent "God Willing." And for the same reason. In America I wouldn't say it out loud, because I know it would sound weird there. Poor America!
Posted by: savtadotty | September 03, 2006 at 11:23 PM