Story 9 part 3A

Story 9 Part 3A A short story

by Wanchain

Preface When I talked to my Yemeni friend, after Story 9 part 2, I again became compelled to continue Story 9. I wanted to further explore the dynamics of our friendship.

This story came into existence because of a picture (see Appendix) that my Yemeni friend sent me. Something about that picture intrigued me, perhaps it was the emptiness, and I decided to put a story into that emptiness.

The vegetarian episode was also inspired by this friend, when he told me about his meal arrangement, on which I commented, “That’s interesting,” and to which he replied, “I don’t think that is interesting.” Then we laughed. Then a little episode began to grow in my mind and eventually appeared in this story.

Story 9 part 3A is yet again another product of the essence of my friendship with Abbas.

Wanchain February 2016

Abbas dropped off the fish filet at a friend’s house, in the middle of the night. He messaged the friend repeatedly until his friend agreed to accept the homeless fish. His friend could not comprehend what occasioned the urgency of the delivery, at such odd hour, his only reply was: “It’s a long story. I will tell you later.” Having been disturbed from his sweet dream, his friend grumpily took the fish filet from him, and immediately fell back to his dreamland.

By the time Abbas returned home, it was about 1am. He went to bed right away. When he got to his bedroom, he was shocked to find the new bedsheet and pillow cases that his mother had changed for him. His bed was covered with gold fish. There were perhaps more than a hundred gold fish printed on the coverings.

It was the first time in his life that he was bombarded by fish of every kind from every direction, all at the same time. He could not stand the bombardment anymore, so he immediately prayed to Allah to cancel his order. Furthermore, he told Allah not to let any fish come near him for the next month.

Yawning and gaping, he spent the next day at work half awake and hardly working. Not only did he sleep later than usual, he also had a distressing dream. In his dream, he saw many fish swimming toward his home, but was stopped at the gate. Gradually, his front gate was surrounded by fish waiting to enter his home. He was not able to leave his home because as soon as he opened his gate, the fish would sneak in. So he shouted at the fish, “Go away!

Fish is banned from this house for the next month.” At first, some of the fish argued that they were technically not a fish; these were the dolphins, the whales, the porpoises, the manatees, and so on. Frustrated, Abbas revised his announcement: “All guests who arrived with their fins and tails, must depart immediately, and shall not return for the next month.”

Reluctantly, they did, one by one, until all the fish swam back to the Persian Gulf.

At lunch, his friend thanked him for the fish and phoned the cafeteria on campus to pay for his lunch. On the lunch menu was a note that said all fish dishes would be unavailable for the next month. Abbas was surprised but happy to find that all fish, dead or alive, imaginary or real, were temporarily removed from his vicinity.

He ate alone, in the cafeteria that he usually spent the lunch hour in, half dozing and half chewing. Suddenly, he noticed a stranger sitting on the opposite end of the cafeteria. An old stranger in a neatly ironed suit. His lunch was in front of him, but he hardly ate. Instead, he sat as still as a Buddha for the entire duration of Abbas’ lunch, lost in thought. A fly came to visit him temporarily, but was probably bored by his indifference, and hence flew away dissatisfied.

Abbas grew more and more curious of this old statue the more he watched him. As he was watching and wondering about this statue, the phone on the statue’s table rang. He answered it. Abbas managed to catch a few words here and there. “… a Dutch female

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professor … psychiatry …” Then the statue stood up and left. Abbas wondered what that phone call was about. He did not mean to eavesdrop, but it just so happened that the cafeteria was very quiet and he was able to hear what the statue said. One detail that piqued Abbas’ curiosity was the sudden departure of the statue, especially immediately after the phone call.

Abbas normally saw the same familiar faces in the cafeteria. Occasionally he would see a new face, but they would actually be eating at the cafeteria, unlike this statue who appeared to be fasting in front of a plate of food.

After lunch, Abbas went back to work. This time, he yawned less. Perhaps he was still too preoccupied by the mysterious old statue to yawn. Instead, his mind kept searching for possible reasons to the statue’s appearance. Was he waiting for someone? Who was he seeing? Moreover, what kind of a person was he trying to see who did not bother to come meet him? Abbas recalled the statue mentioning a Dutch professor. Abbas heard of the recent arrival of a British female professor in his department, but he was not aware of any Dutch female professor. He wondered if he would have missed the latest news in his department. He asked his colleagues. They did not know of any Dutch professors.

Abbas decided to find out more about the British female professor, who was the only professor in his department whom he had not met. He tried to recall her name. He vaguely remembered that her name started with the letter D. The more he thought about her, the more he was curious about her, because he remembered that her name was quite unusual.

Specifically, her name did not sound English. He checked the department directory and found her name and office. He decided to pay her a visit, and hopefully ask her a little bit about her name and background.

He didn’t want to appear nosy, although that was the true motive of his visit. In order to conceal his nosiness, he tried to think of an excuse to approach her. Then he thought of Zaliya, his Chinese Canadian friend who always had some unusual ideas, although half of them were useless. Nonetheless, he decided to message her to see what kind of ideas she would come up with.

“Hey Zaliya.”

“Hey Baba, what’s up?”

“Nothing. Just want to see if you have any suggestions on how I should approach a colleague whom I haven’t met, and whom I don’t have to work with.”

“Then why do you want to meet this person?”

“Because I am curious about her.”

“Hmm … all of a sudden? For no reason?”

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“Well, I saw a strange old man today.”

“How’s that old man related to this colleague you’re trying to meet?”

Abbas described the cafeteria scene to her. Their wild imagination began to create a story.

Zaliya’s speculation was that the statue had a long lost lover whom he was trying to find, and somehow he caught wind that she was connected to someone at the faculty, so he went to the cafeteria in hope of getting some clues from that someone to further his search.

After the speculation, Zaliya left the conversation and Abbas was left to marvel on their newly invented story. If indeed the statue was searching for a lost lover during his sunsetting years, then it must mean that he had very fond memory of her or that he had some irreversible regret that he wished to rectify. The more he thought about it, the more curious he became about the statue.

Abbas believed that old age ought to be a time when one enjoyed the fruits of one’s labour performed during one’s youth. Whenever he saw old people who were poor and sick and lonely, he felt sad. He wished that the statue could soon find who he was looking for.

Being so engrossed by the circumstances of the statue, they had momentarily forgotten to brainstorm on how to approach the new British female professor. He tapped his forehead, a little gesture that Zaliya had once suggested for him to try to encourage blood circulation to his brain. Unfortunately, no idea came to his mind. Instead, sleep came to his mind. He missed his bed, although not his new bedsheet and pillow cases.

When he arrived home after work, he discovered neighbors and friends crowding around his living room. He wondered what the occasion was. After standing in his front door for a while, he discovered that the guests were attracted to his house by the fish cake and every other kind of seafood cakes his mother made. Although there were many people in his house, not many of them actually bought the cakes. Most of them were there out of curiosity, or to socialize. His mother asked them to help her sell the cakes. Eventually, after much negotiation, like the usual haggling scene in a fish market, all her cakes were sold.

Abbas was amazed that the fish would depart from his house so rapidly.

After successfully liquidating all her inventory, his mother made an announcement to the household: “Now, all I want to see is vegetable, for the rest of this month.” As the chef of the household, she had authority over the kitchen as well as over the meals of every member of the family. Some members resigned themselves to being an herbivore for the brief future.

However, a couple of the members immediately conspired to an alternate meal arrangement and invited Abbas to join them. Abbas declined. He said he would much prefer to arrange his own meals. Thus that marked the end of the household meeting.

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He headed to his bedroom, hoping to catch a shuteye before the vegetarian dinner. Upon entering his bedroom, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the bedsheet and pillow cases were replaced with a set of solid colored bedsheet and pillow cases. He wondered where the gold fish swam to. That was the first time that his mother changed the sheets so diligently. He hoped that she would not change them back the next day. He went to the kitchen to inquire the whereabouts of the gold fish. His mother said, “Oh, this afternoon when one of the neighbors came to buy fish cake, she brought her nine-year-old son with her, and he came to your bedroom while we were chatting. He said he really liked the gold fish on your bed, and asked his mother to buy the exact coverings for him. So I told them no need, I could just give the sheets to them. That’s why I removed the gold fish from your bed.

The son was so thrilled and the mother was even happier, so she paid me 30 riyals for the coverings, and bought extra fish cake from me too.” She beamed as she retold the story to Abbas.

The next day, Abbas again saw the statue sitting motionlessly in front of his lunch in the cafeteria. For a brief nanosecond, Abbas wanted to take a hammer to pound the statue’s head, just to see if he would move or not. Fortunately, that idea came suddenly and left Abbas just as suddenly. For the next few minutes, Abbas became much more observant of the statue, trying to detect the minutest motion produced from his body. He did not notice any movement. Instead, he noticed a fly who briefly visited the statue. He was completely impervious to the little flying creature and its friendly greeting. Abbas noticed that the statue sat facing the entrance, staring at it constantly, as if anticipating the next person who came in to be the person he wanted to see. Abbas wondered if he was very anxious and tense, thus appearing like a statue. Perhaps whomever he was expecting was a very important person. Abbas wondered who that person could be.

Just then, Abbas recalled that he intended to acquaint himself with the new British female professor. He felt that it would be a bit awkward to just appear in front of her. What was he going to say? If he asked Zaliya, she would probably tell him to tell her straight up that he was curious about her. But he did not like to be so bold, although that was the honest reason.

Over the next few minutes, he invented a friendly excuse. He momentarily brightened up, like a retired light bulb suddenly being switched on after years of disuse. He marveled at his own ingenuity, when unexpectedly, the statue’s phone rang which brought his attention back to the statue. The statute answered the phone upon the first ring, and murmured, “… at 12 o’clock …tomorrow … same time … same place.” He ended the call, stood up, and left, again, without finishing his lunch.

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At this point, two things became clear to Abbas. First, he was not here to eat but to meet someone. Second, the phone call was related to the person he was trying to meet. Perhaps that was the reason he left the premise as soon as he ended the call, on both occasions.

Now, Abbas wondered about the few words that he managed to eavesdrop. Tomorrow?

Same time? Abbas looked at his watch. It said 12.35pm. The statue must have arrived around 12pm. He probably would be there again at noon tomorrow. Would the person he wanted to meet show up tomorrow? The prospect sounded promising. Abbas made a mental note to make sure that he lunched at the cafeteria tomorrow, as he sometimes would go elsewhere, depending on his appetite.

After lunch, Abbas grabbed a psychiatry magazine from his office, and went to the office of the British female professor. The door of her office was closed. He stared at the name tag on her door. It said Dirkje van Dijk. He thought it looked quite strange, although he couldn’t quite point out what was so strange about it.

He knocked on the door. No answer. He wanted to ask her neighbor what her usual hours were. As he was about to find someone to ask, a tall Caucasian woman appeared in the hallway. He was very excited to see her. Although he did not know how she looked like, he was quite certain that this woman was the person he intended to meet, because he knew most of the academic staff members, and because there were not that many foreign staff members in his faculty. He stood by her office, waiting for her to approach him. She appeared rather surprised to find someone standing by her office, especially someone who was not her student.

She politely greeted him. He introduced himself. She wondered why he was at her door.

“Nice to meet you. Is there anything I can help you with?” She was holding a cup in one hand while opening the door with the other.

“Oh, I have a monthly magazine that I subscribe to that I normally bring to work and share it with my colleagues. I am just wondering if you would also be interested in reading it. So I came by to show you my magazine.” He presented the magazine to her.

She was surprised by his thoughtfulness. She invited him into her office to have a seat. She wasn’t in the mood for reading then, but she did have a habit of reading magazines, so she took the magazine from him and browsed through it briefly, checking the publication details and some of the articles in it.

Watching her scan through the magazine, he told her that there were usually one or two very interesting articles in each issue of the magazine. He directed her attention to a couple of the articles that he enjoyed most in that issue. She commented on them. They started to discuss about the articles. Then he broached the question that had been plaguing his mind.

“I notice that you are British with an English name, but …”

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“It’s not an English name.” She interrupted him. “It’s Dutch. I am Dutch by heritage, but I was born in London.”

“Oh I see.” He was temporary distracted from what he was most curious about her. He rarely met foreigners. As such, he always found it amazing how someone could be born in one place but belonged to a race from another place. He was not aware that ethnicity and birthplace were two distinct concepts. He stared at her, almost as if she was a member of an exotic species, and asked, “So you’re a Dutch from London?”

“Exactly.” She was formally introduced as a British perhaps because of her UK citizenship.

She had lived most of her life in the UK, and so had lost her Dutch nationality. She had worked for a few short years in The Netherlands because she knew the language and because her UK citizenship allowed her the convenience to work in the EU without a work permit, but she never felt a need to acquire the Dutch citizenship.

“That’s very interesting. I have never met a Dutch before.” He was very curious about her cultural background. “So your parents are Dutch and they moved to London?”

“Yes.” She was deliberately reticent about the topic, as she did not understand what he was trying to know.

“Oh okay.” He had many questions in his head, but he wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to ask her.

“How about you? Were you born here?”

“Yes.” “So you are a Saudi?” She was not curious about him, but rather, she simply wanted to imitate him.

“No, but not many people know that.” He was hesitant to disclose much of himself, as it was not beneficial to him to be known as a Yemeni, who was considered as a second class citizen in Saudi Arabia. Thus most of the time, he pretended to be a Saudi.

“Oh, that’s very interesting. Why not?” At this point she became curious about him.

“This is a country that discriminates certain nationalities. For you, this is not a concern, because Westerners are typically respected in this country. But there are other nationalities which are regarded as second class citizens. So they try to avoid discrimination as much as possible, sometimes by concealing their true identity.”

“Oh … That is a very foreign concept to me.” She commented slowly while mulling over his words. She wanted to know more about his background and his experience of living in a country that didn’t respect his nationality.

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For the next little while, they discussed this topic in greater depth. They started to know each other on a more personal level. After a friendly exchange, Abbas left her office, feeling quite pleased at making her acquaintance.

The next day, Abbas attended a meeting in the morning. It was yet again another similarly boring meeting in which people who knew nothing talked non-stop as if they knew everything, and expected others to agree with them. As usual, the meeting dragged on for an unnecessarily long time. He almost dozed off a few times during the meeting, and had to draw random sketches in his notebook to keep himself awake. When the meeting finally ended, his supervisor instructed him to revise a document before going to lunch, as it was needed immediately after lunch. Abbas checked his watch. It said 12pm. He wanted to go to the cafeteria. He wanted to see the statue, and the person whom the statue was trying to meet. Yet, he had no choice but to perform what was required of him. Luckily, it was not a complicated exercise. The only problem was that he had forgotten how to do some of the revision, which had delayed the completion of it unnecessarily. When he finally did finish, his watch said 12.45pm. He immediately dashed out of his office toward the cafeteria. On the way, he realized that he did not bring his phone nor wallet. But he continued to head toward the cafeteria anyway.

Arriving at the cafeteria, he found the statue still sitting there, by himself. This time, one detail was different from the past two days. Across from his seat laid another plate of food, half-finished, and another cup of beverage. However, Abbas did not see another person in the cafeteria. There was nothing left on the chair across from the statue. The person who sat across from the statue must have left already. He was disappointed. He looked at the statue, still as motionless as before, but this time, his expression was different. For one thing, he was no longer looking at the entrance. He shifted his gaze to some neutral object in the distance, in fact, in a mentally distant place. His eyes were watery. He appeared to be going through some emotional upheaval, albeit gracefully and silently.

Abbas wanted to approach the statue to ask if he was alright. But he had to go back to his office first, to retrieve his wallet, otherwise he would have to skip lunch, which was not an option, considering the vegetarian menu at home.

A few minutes later, Abbas returned to the cafeteria with his wallet and phone, and to his relief, found that the statue was still there, although he hadn’t touched his food since Abbas first arrived at the cafeteria. This time, Abbas decided to accost him.

“Hello, do you mind if I sit next to you?” He did not realize that his question sounded a bit silly, considering the rest of the tables were free.

“No, go ahead.” The statue said, without really looking at Abbas.

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Abbas sat across from the statue. He moved the half-finished plate of food and the cup of tea to the next table. He introduced himself, and then asked about the statue, rather straightforwardly, “I saw you here the last two days by yourself. Is there anything that I can help you with?”

The statue sighed and started to tell a story that happened in 1976. Abbas was surprised at how the statue began his reply. Abbas only had about 40 minutes left for lunch. If the statue began from year 1976, then when was he going to arrive at year 2016? Abbas had the impulse to press a fast-forward button, but he had not invented the remote control yet. So he had no choice but to let the statue pour out his story starting from 40 years ago.

While Abbas was listening to the statue’s story, the same fly from the past two days flew over to their table. This time, it did not leave right away. Instead, it stood quietly on the salt shaker in between the two men, listening attentively to the statue’s story. Without realizing it, 40 minutes had gone by, during which Abbas had finished a big lunch with rice and chicken while the statue hardly ate nor drank anything, but instead was immersed in retelling his own story. Occasionally he would sigh and pause, the silence of which only intensified the suspense for Abbas, at which time he again wished that he could press the fast-forward button that had not yet been invented. At such times, the fly would fly in front of Abbas’ nose, in an attempt to tell him to be patient.

When Abbas lunch break was over, the statue said, quite opportunely, “Well, I have to go now. Sorry I took up so much of your lunch time. Thank you for listening to my story. You are the second person to have heard my story. I am really glad that I could share this special episode of my life with you.” He stood up and prepared to leave.

Abbas politely thanked him for his story and wished him good health and said all other pleasantries as was customary in their culture. As the statue was about to step out of the cafeteria, Abbas wondered, would he see him again? He still had many questions about the statue’s story. Almost on impulse, Abbas turned around and chased the statue. He handed his business card to the statue, saying, “If there is anything that I can help you with, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

The statue took his card, looked at it for a moment, and said, “That’s very kind of you. I hope that I will not have to bother you again. But I will keep your card.” He smiled warmly. It was the first time that Abbas had seen the statue smiled. Abbas was glad that he could make the statue happy, if only for a brief moment. The statue turned around and left, with the fly sitting on his shoulder.

Days passed. Abbas had not seen the statue again. However, he had not forgotten the statue’s story. In fact, the story seemed to have rooted itself quite firmly in his mind, and had

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started to grow in a rather mysterious way. He decided to share it with someone. The first person that came to his mind was Zaliya.

“Hey Zaliya, I have a story to tell you.” He messaged her on Skype.

“Oh my god Baba, I am so busy these days!”

“Huh? Busy? With what?”

“I have a new job, remember? And I am volunteering as well.”

“Oh yeah, how’s your new job?”

“Oh gosh, how should I say it? Hmm … Remember my Story 8 which I wrote about Kosovo?”

“Uh … yes, I remember. How’s that related to your job? Are you in Kosovo?”

“No, but it’s so similar! I mean my experience in Kosovo is so similar to my experience in my new workplace, that I feel that my visit to Kosovo was to prepare me for this job.”

“Uh …speak English please.”

She clarified that the essence of the two were the same, although the contexts were different. She further told him that she was extremely thankful for her experience in Kosovo, which was an invaluable lesson that adequately equipped her for her new job, to rise to the new set of challenges, and to be highly regarded in the company by upper management.

He did not fully comprehend what she was saying, but it sounded to him that she would do well and would love her new job, despite an indescribable set of difficulties. Somehow he felt that she would receive a promotion and a raise. He could sense from her that a wave of good news was about to come to her, and he almost wanted to congratulate her prematurely, but he decided to keep it to himself until she spread the good news to him.

Then he asked her about her volunteer activities. She excitedly told him about helping a few Syrian refugees to adjust to their new Canadian home. He wanted to know more, so she told him a few stories about the refugees whom she had come into contact with. She was most interested in assisting the LGBT Syrian refugees, as they were often marginalized by society.

They were not accepted in their homeland, and they were also not likely to be accepted in the Syrian or Islamic community abroad. Hence they relied on the kindness of strangers, usually those with dissimilar cultural or religious roots. She had stated her preference to help LGBT refugees to the charity organizations, and they had agreed to connect her with those refugees. Thus far, they had given her the name and contact information of one lesbian.

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Abbas was quite fascinated by her story, mainly because he had never met anyone who had an interest in volunteering nor in helping the LGBT group. He lived in a society that did not accept LGBT, and thus he also tended to distance himself from them, not out of discrimination, but for fear that he would be mistaken as one of them, which could cause some unnecessary trouble.

“Hey, didn’t you say you wanted to tell me a story?” She suddenly switched topic.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot!” He scratched his head foolishly.

Abbas began to tell her the story of the statue which happened in October 1976, in London, when he was 25 years old. The statue was a teaching assistant in King Saud University, in the Department of Mathematics. One day, he was given the chance to participate in a one-week conference in a university in London. He registered for the conference.

A couple weeks later, he arrived in London, with a couple of his colleagues. They met many other Mathematics professors from various parts of Europe. During the day, he would attend the conference. In the evenings, he would either spend the time alone exploring the city, or with his Saudi colleagues, but rarely with the other European professors mainly because they tended to drink and smoke, and he was also afraid that the food that they ate would contain pork or any other meat that was not halal. Thus in order to avoid such clumsy circumstances, he had opted to dine separately from his European counterparts. However, he would join them for lunch, and usually ordered something light and vegetarian. Breakfast was usually eaten with his Saudi colleagues at the hotel, before going to the conference.

One evening, when he was alone and strolling around the campus after a light dinner at a little kebab restaurant operated by a Turk family, he saw a Chinese woman, perhaps in her late twenties, walking across a building in front of him, carrying a big stack of textbooks. The books appeared to be a bit too heavy for her thin body. He wondered if he should offer her a hand, since he had nothing to do, and he thought it was his natural duty as a man to carry heavy loads for a woman. He was about 175cm tall and quite muscular, and she appeared to be about 170cm and quite frail.

He observed her a little while longer, at a close distance. Just as he was about to accost her, a bird appeared from nowhere and flew across her rather brashly and abruptly, startling her, and made her temporarily lost her balance. One of the books on the top of the stack slid and almost fell, and she wobbled the stack a little in an attempt to rebalance it. He ran up to her, hollering in his Arabic accented English that gave the illusion that his voice was travelling from the other side of the globe, instead of from a few feet away, “Don’t move, I am coming.”

She didn’t move any more than was necessary. He quickly grabbed the top half of her stack of books from her. He saw her face, more clearly, now that he had removed half of the books and was standing a couple feet in front of her. He felt a sense of gentleness and

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perhaps even a tinge of shyness from her. She was surprised to find an extra pair of hands coming to her rescue, and discovered to her pleasant amazement that the face that shared the same body as the hands bore a genuinely warm smile, a smile that sparkled gentleness from the heart.

“Thanks very much for your help.”

“You’re welcome. I can carry these for you.”

“Oh that’s very kind of you. My office is straight ahead, on the top floor of this building.” She tilted her head a little bit to indicate the building standing about 50 meters in front of her. “If you don’t mind, please come with me.” She cocked her head to the side a little, as a sign of invitation as well as request, and smiled at him.

“Of course I don’t mind. Please go ahead. I will follow you.” He was glad to be of service.

He was even gladder to have someone to talk to. He had not met anyone outside of the mathematics department, and had felt that he had not seen enough of the city.

They walked in silence into the building, into the elevator, to the fifth floor, to her office. All along, neither spoke. She felt a bit embarrassed that she had to trouble a stranger to help her carry so many textbooks from the library to her office. He didn’t know what was appropriate to say to a female stranger in a foreign country, as he typically would not speak to unrelated women in his own country, except for official reasons.

They arrived at her office. They placed the books on her desk. She didn’t know how to thank him, and felt that it would be impolite to immediately shoo him away now that she no longer needed any assistance. So she said, “Thank you very much for carrying the books to my office. Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” “Oh no, thank you. I am fine.” He waved his hand, as if telling her not to trouble herself. “I was just worried that you would drop your books on the ground, and the books looked heavy, so I rushed over to help you. I hope you don’t mind.” He said shyly.

“Oh not at all. That was very kind of you. I really appreciate it. I hope I was not taking you away from whatever you had to do.”

“Oh no no, not at all. I have nothing to do actually.” He chortled foolishly. “I am just strolling around the campus, trying to enjoy my time here in London before I leave on Saturday.”

“Today is Thursday, so you’re leaving the city in two days?”

“Yes.” “Where to?”

“Saudi Arabia.”

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“Do you live there?”

“Yes, I am a Saudi national.”

“Oh welcome to London! What brought you here?”

“I am attending a one-week conference.” He introduced her to the conference that he was participating in.

“Oh I see. I am a professor in philosophy.”

“What do you do in philosophy?” He had never met anyone who studied philosophy, because in his country, philosophy was rarely taught in its education system. The only philosophy that was taught was the Islamic philosophy.

Being a subject that she was madly in love with since her first exposure to it in high school, she immediately introduced him to philosophy. She shared her story about her fascination with different ways of thinking, her constant pursuit of wisdom, and her naturally inclination toward higher ideals. She told him that philosophy was a subject that encouraged people to think independently. He became quite curious about the concept of learning how to think, so she continued to elaborate on her area of interest and expertise.

After about 15 minutes of monologue, she became self-conscious, and paused. She asked, “I hope I am not boring you. Sorry, I keep talking about my profession. Would you like something to drink?” It was at that point when she realized that she should shift her attention to her audience than to her interest. She looked intently at him. She noticed that she talked more openly to him than to most other people, who usually found philosophy to be rather dull, and preferred more entertaining topics such as movies and sports.

“Oh no, you are not boring me. Not at all. I hope you don’t mind telling me about the subject, because this is the first time I hear about it, and I am quite happy to discover a new subject from you today. No, no, don’t trouble yourself. I don’t need anything. Thank you.”

He felt that he was troubling her. He enjoyed listening to her, especially when he observed how her face lit up with enthusiasm, like a child about to play with her favorite toy. He found her passion for philosophy to be extremely attractive. He had never met anyone who was so passionate about their career.

“Okay, that’s good. I don’t usually talk to people about my profession. My friends have no interest in philosophy. They are more interested in getting married and raising kids.”

“Oh, are you married?”

“No. Are you?”

“No. But my parents had tried to arrange a marriage for me. At that time, I felt that I was not quite ready to assume the responsibility of being the head of a household. It is a huge

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burden, you know. I think I should establish a good foundation for my career first. So my parents said they will wait until I am a bit more successful, then they will find me a wife.”

“I see. You don’t want to find your own wife?”

“Well, that’s not the traditional practice in my culture.”

“I understand that. But what I mean is, your wife is part of your life. You don’t want to choose what to do with your life?”

“Hmm …” He pondered on her question for a while. He was not used to the concept of freedom. “I have to listen to my parents.”

“I see.” She nodded silently. She was not unfamiliar with the concept of arranged marriages, as she was a Chinese, but that practice had already phased out of the Chinese society a generation ago, especially the urbanites who had adopted a more modernized lifestyle.

“Can you choose who you want to marry?”

“Yes.” “Your parents don’t have any preference?”

“Hmm … They never said who I should or should not marry. They just wish that I would marry soon.” Although she had the freedom to choose who to spend her life with, she still experienced quite a bit of social and parental pressure, as the Chinese community still held some very traditional mentality. The older generation of Chinese considered a woman of marriageable age yet unmarried to be a leftover, and therefore a pitiable misfortune.

“I see. How old are you?”

“I’m 35.”

“Oh, you look like you’re in your late twenties.” He marveled. Instead of feeling a gap in their age, his first reaction to her age was one of strange attraction, which naturally drew him closer to her. His preconception of a woman in her mid thirties was that of an average housewife who made it her primary occupation to gossip with her neighbors about frivolous affairs and to haggle with the shop owners over a few pennies. Needless to say, she did not give him the slightest hint of that image. Instead, he found her to be a refreshingly charming woman with a young heart; young in terms of enthusiasm and passion.

“Thanks. I will take that as a compliment.” She grinned.

They continued their conversation for another half an hour, at which point she politely excused herself saying that she had to go home now, as it was already 9pm, and she still had not eaten yet. He didn’t realize that she had been starving all the while as they were talking, Story 9 part 3A

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and apologetically offered to buy her dinner, but she declined, saying that she normally ate late anyway.

They left the campus together. His hotel was close to the campus, and her apartment was also along the way to his hotel. They walked together. Walking under the street lights in the autumnal night, they talked about their families, their cultures, their professions, their interests, their dreams, etc. At the end of their walk, they felt as if they were old friends who had known each other for a long time. Right before they parted for the evening, he invited her to dinner the next day, as a little gesture for being his first friend outside of his home country. She politely accepted his invitation. They agreed on a time and place to meet. Just before she turned around to enter her apartment building, she extended her hand and said, “By the way, my name is Julienne.”

He grinned childishly and shook her hand, saying, “My name is Khaled.”

After the conference the next day, Khaled went back to his hotel to freshen up and get dressed. He still had a little bit of time before meeting Julienne. He decided to walk around to see what gift he could find for her.

He took the Tube, and arrived at London Bridge station, south of River Thames. He wandered around the shops near the Middle Eastern restaurant where they had agreed to meet. He wasn’t sure what she would like, nor had he ever bought a gift for someone of the opposite sex, as it was not a very common practice in his culture, but he understood that in the western world, men and women were treated as equals, and thus what he would normally do for a male friend, he could similarly do for her, now that he was outside of the Kingdom. Yet, he hesitated on what to buy for her. In the end, when it was about time to meet her, he settled for a gift that he was quite sure would suit her. He bought it, and then immediately headed toward the restaurant.

She was standing by the entrance of the restaurant. He arrived and apologized, “Oh, I am sorry to make you wait.” He opened the door to let her in.

“No no, I came early.”

It was a few minutes past 6.30pm, the time that they agreed to meet. They were seated by the window. They looked at the menu. As she was not very familiar with Middle Eastern dishes, she asked him for suggestions. He asked her if he could order for her, and she said, “Yes, please do.” She was glad that someone could do the thinking for him, as she typically found that making decisions for small and mundane things to be too demanding for her brain. She preferred to reserve her mental faculty for more philosophical discussions.

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After he placed their order with the waiter, he presented her with the gift he bought. She immediately brightened up. Like a little girl receiving a toy, she was very excited to receive his present. She thanked him, and said, “I am sorry, I didn’t buy you anything.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I thought it would be nice to give you something, to remember our friendship, before I leave tomorrow.” He had grown quite fond of her, perhaps he had never had the freedom to interact with an unrelated woman, or perhaps he had never met someone like her. He wasn’t sure which. Nonetheless, he felt very comfortable chatting with her, and they could talk about anything and everything openly. She was very accepting of his culture and religion, and regarded differences as an exotic attraction rather than a discriminating separator, which encouraged him to open up to her easily.

They continued to talk about all kinds of topics. Sometimes they exchanged opinions about some philosophical topics. Sometimes they shared funny stories. On the surface, they did not have anything in common. They were different in ethnicity, in culture, in tradition, in religion, in language, in geography, in profession, in age, etc. Yet, none of these differences mattered when fostering a friendship. There was only one thing that bonded them: their desire to connect.

After dinner, they strolled along River Thames, which afforded a lovely ambience. The city was beautiful and the lights from the Tower Bridge looked spectacular in the night. The evening ended very joyfully. They took the Tube together. He offered to walk her back to her apartment. All the while, there was one unspoken question in their heads: would they see each other again?

Neither was brave enough to broach the question. Near the end of their walk, they both felt melancholic. They both knew that they were from two different parts of the world. It was not easy to meet, and it was even harder to stay in touch. But reality did not give them much of a choice. They each had their own lives. They each felt the pull to their own lives.

They arrived at the front of her apartment building. They stood still for a moment, hesitating to bid each other good night and goodbye, maybe forever. They were both unwilling to part.

Instead, they stared at each other. They did not say anything. There were too many things to say, but not enough time to say, and more importantly, none of that seemed to matter.

The only thing that really mattered was that they wanted to see each other again. But how?

They exchanged mailing addresses, and promised to write to each other. At the end, he extended his hand to her, to give her a goodbye handshake. Then he walked away. She watched him fade away into the darkness. She felt a sense of loss. She continued to stand at the front of the apartment building until an old lady suddenly walked past her, interrupting her thoughts, and brought her back to the present moment. She followed the old lady into the building.

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Khaled walked slowly, as if trying to resist the passage of time. He dreaded the return to his hotel, because that meant he would be further away from her. However, he could not be lingering out in the streets for too long at night. Finally and reluctantly, he arrived back at his hotel, which symbolically meant an acceptance of the fate of his separation from her. Along the way, one question persistently followed him: would he ever see her again? He did not know why life was so full of unanswerable questions. What was the point of encyclopedia and books when none of them could even attempt to answer a simple question?

Back at his hotel, his colleagues waited impatiently for his return, as they needed him to help prepare a short document as part of the conclusion of the conference. He immediately parked aside his thought of her, and joined his colleagues.

After Khaled returned to Saudi Arabia, he wrote her letters. After sending her three letters, he still had not received any replies from her. He began to wonder if she would have forgotten about him, or perhaps, she never had the urge to maintain the long-distance friendship. Without hearing from her, he drifted into a state of melancholy, for a very long time.

In December 1976, Khaled’s parents arranged a marriage for him. He refused, saying he was not ready, even though he had already established a stable income, and was able to start his own family any time. The fact was, although he was financially ready, he was not emotionally ready. At the back of his mind, he still wished that he could see Julienne again. The longer they were separated, the more he wanted to see her. He had a few times wondered if she would like to share her life with him. He wished that he could be given the chance to ask.

But no, he couldn’t ask, even if he had the courage to, because there was no way to contact her other than by mail. She did not leave him her phone number. He wasn’t sure if she had already forgotten him or was too busy to reply. He didn’t know why she didn’t reply. Could it be that she was no longer interested in hearing from him? He wasn’t sure if he should try to contact her through the university or not. There were too many questions in his head. He wished he knew the answers. He spent all his days waiting and hoping to hear from her.

Although upset, his parents agreed to cancel the marriage.

“Did he ever get married?” Zaliya asked, after hearing the story from Abbas.

“He didn’t say.” Abbas replied.

“Then who was he trying to meet at the cafeteria?”

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“He didn’t say. He was telling me what happened after coming back from London, and then suddenly he looked at his watch and said he had to leave. So I don’t know what happened after.”

“Ah? This story doesn’t have an ending?”

“Hmm … I guess not.”

“Oh my god, Baba! You should give me a story with an ending, and it has to be a happy ending!”

“Sorry Zaliya. I thought of you when I thought about his story.”

“Why?” “Because it reminded me of your story with Hussein.”

“Hmm … that I don’t know when I will meet him again?”

“Not just that, but your story is very similar to his story. Him and Julienne were from two different worlds, yet they had so much to talk about, and they felt comfortable in each other’s presence. Actually, I should say, they enjoyed each other’s presence. They could be friends, despite all their differences. That reminds me very much of your friendship with Hussein.”

“Hmm … yes, I agree with you. When you were telling me the story, I had thought that it sounded quite familiar. But there is one fundamental difference between my relationship with Hussein, and Khaled’s relationship with Julienne.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Between Khaled and Julienne, their feelings were mutual. Between me and Hussein, he pushed me away.”

“Hmm …sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“I also thought about Zoleikha when I thought about their relationship.”

“But your friendship with Zoleikha is different. She doesn’t seem to be very interested in you.”

Their minds temporarily drifted to a faraway land. A land that was far away from love and joy. A land where only gloom and disappointment existed. In that land, they both yearned for a forbidden relationship. But the more they longed for it, the more they got disappointed.

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“Do you miss Hussein?” Abbas snapped back to reality. He couldn’t bear to think of the separation between him and Zoleikha, because he refused to accept the departure of a friend.

“Yes.” “Do you still wish to see him again, even though he pushed you away?”

“Yes.” “Why?” “What do you mean why?”

“Aren’t you supposed to hate him?”

“That’s what the ego would do, but that’s not what the heart would do.”

“Why don’t you pray for him to see you again?”

“Hmm … good idea. Would you pray for me too?”

“Hmm … then would you pray for me too?”

“What do you want me to pray for? A wife? Or Zoleikha?”

“Both.”

“Sigh …” Zaliya shook her head. “You see, that’s why God didn’t give you a wife.”

“Okay, a wife please.” Abbas prioritized his wishes.

“Alright, I will. And you pray for Hussein to come see me, okay?”

“Deal.” Abbas went to a quiet corner of his bedroom, where he usually prayed. He told Allah to send Hussein to Zaliya as soon as possible. Also, he prayed that Hussein would stay with Zaliya. Finally, he emphasized that this was a very important request, that if Allah didn’t send Hussein to Zaliya, she would send flying elephants to him every night, so Allah must make it his utmost priority to answer to Abbas’ prayer, to prevent Abbas from having future nightmares. After the prayer, Abbas thought about the elephants, and revised his prayer: “Actually, Allah, if you see flying elephants, please redirect them back to their sender. Thank you!” Two seconds later, he said to Allah, “But please still treat the rest of my request with utmost priority. Thank you.”

On the other side of the globe, Zaliya sent a request to the universe, to deliver a wife to Abbas. She asked for express delivery. She had forgotten to ask Abbas what kind of a wife he wanted, but knowing that he liked Asian girls, she asked the universe to ship an Asian wife to him. Specifically, she said, it didn’t matter how the wife looked like, as long as she looked Story 9 part 3A

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Asian. She then envisioned a two-hundred pound roly-poly Filipino maid randomly showing up at his doorstep one day, pounding and kicking his door, yelling, “I want my husband!” She quickly appended a subclause to her original request, telling the universe to add some fireworks into his marital relationship, like adding spices and seasonings to a bowl of plain salad, in hope of fostering a vibrant and jovial conjugal relationship. She was very happy with the order that she placed for Abbas, and was certain that he would not be disappointed. If he for any reason did not appreciate her order, he still had the liberty to cancel it or return the shipment himself. Content with her request, she thanked the universe profusely for expediting the shipment.

As each of the two friends sent their thoughts to a higher power, something began to shift, although ever so subtly, at a higher octave, unbeknownst to man.

One day, in late February, Abbas bumped into Dirkje in the cafeteria. They sat together for lunch. He asked her how long she would stay in the university.

“I am only here for one semester.”

“Oh, so you will go back to the UK next month?”

“Yes, that’s the plan. I might spend the summer holiday writing a story for an old man who used to be a friend of my stepmother. I am not quite sure yet.”

“An old man? A memoir?”

“Yes, apparently my stepmother knows of someone here, although she had lost touch with him many years ago.” She said while chewing on her tabouleh.

“Your stepmother knows a Saudi?”

“Yes. They met in London 40 years ago.”

Abbas thought of the statue’s story, which was from 40 years ago. He asked, “Is your stepmother a Chinese?”

“Yes, how did you know that?” Dirkje was very surprised. She never told anyone about her stepmother.

“And the name of her Saudi friend was Khaled?”

“Yes, how did you know that?” Dirkje was even more surprised this time.

“Your mother’s name is Julienne. She was a philosophy professor in London, and she met Khaled 40 years ago when he went to her university to attend a conference.”

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“Yes, oh my god! How did you know all that? Are you related to Khaled?” She was in disbelief. She dropped her fork and stared at him, with her eyes wide opened.

“No, not really. I just saw him about a week ago, sitting here, waiting for someone. I guess he must have been waiting for you.”

“Yes, he had been trying to meet me, but I didn’t get his messages. One of the ladies at the administration office relayed the messages to me, but they were not clear. She only said that someone wanted to meet me, and I thought he was one of my students, so I said, ‘Tell him to come to my office.’ I don’t know what the lady did, but I know that she did not bring him into my office, so then when the message came to me again, I said, ‘Okay, where is he?’ So that’s how I ended up meeting him here, at the cafeteria.”

“Oh okay. Maybe the lady at the administration office did not give him your message or did not give him the right direction to your office.”

“Maybe, I don’t know what happened. I didn’t ask Khaled.” She shrugged.

“So what did Khaled say to you?” Abbas was curious about the ending to the story. He felt sorry that he told Zaliya a story with no ending.

“When I first met him, I didn’t know who he was. So he introduced himself. He then said he knew of a woman named Julienne Chan. He asked me if I knew of that name. I said yes. So then he started to tell me about how he and my stepmother met. Then he told me the purpose of his visit.”

“Oh, what was the reason of his visit?”

“He wanted me to find out from my stepmother if she still remembers him, and moreover, if she has any feelings for him. He has never forgotten her all these years. In fact, he had postponed his marriage for ten years, until the point when he could no longer avoid the parental pressure, and took a wife. But he was never happy with his marriage. A few short years after the marriage, he was divorced and childless. Poor man! He wanted to know if he could see Julienne again. He was hesitant, because he thought, if she had long forgotten him, then it would be quite embarrassing for him to make the trip to see her again. He would only be even more heartbroken.”

“So did you ask your stepmother?”

“Yes. She said she remembered. She said she had written to him several times. She had received three of his letters, but none of them was a reply to any of her letters. It was as if he did not read her letters.”

“That’s strange. Maybe her letters got lost in the mail?” Abbas said, recalling that Zaliya’s postcard took three months to travel from Canada to his mailbox.

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“I don’t know. But she said she was quite sad that she had lost touch of him all these years.

She sounded as if she was quite fond of him.”

“Oh that’s great. So how did Khaled find out that you are related to Julienne?”

“That was the uncanny part. He told me that one day, quite unexpectedly, his colleague mentioned an acquaintance named John that I used to work with in London. John told his colleague that I had just arrived in this university a couple months ago, and told him to take care of me, in case I need anything, you know, because this country is quite different from the UK, and John was afraid that I would not be able to cope with the sudden change. So John told Khaled’s colleague about me, and Khaled asked if I knew anything about Saudi culture, and his colleague said yes, because my mother told me about it. Then Khaled was curious about my mother, because he knew that I was Dutch, so he thought my mother was Dutch too, so he wondered how a Dutch woman would know much about Saudi culture.

Then when he heard that my mother was a Chinese who once knew of a Saudi many years ago, he immediately thought of Julienne. That’s how he wondered if I was related to Julienne.” She never bothered to clarify to John that Julienne was her stepmother instead of her mother.

“Wow, such a complicated connection! And yet, after so many years and through so many people, Khaled was able to find you. My god, I can’t believe it!”

“Yeah, when I told him that I knew of Julienne, he was almost in tears. He was so happy but at the same time, inside him was so much heartache and longing which finally was allowed release that it was like water gushing forth from a broken dam. He struggled to hold himself in. I didn’t understand his feelings then but after talking to my stepmother, I understood the emotional intensity that he was experiencing, because I was also in tears when I heard the story from my stepmother.”

“I am so glad that he found you!” Abbas could not contain his joy. He wanted to tell Zaliya about it immediately.

“Yes, I am glad that he found me. I knew that my stepmother had a Saudi friend, but I never knew about her relationship with this Saudi friend. She only told me about their custom, and what I had to do when I am here. So I only found out about this friendship recently. And I wish that they could meet.”

“So is he going to meet her?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him after I met him that day.”

“Oh? He didn’t ask you to call him back or something?”

“He did. But my stepmother said, she would contact him directly instead.”

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“So you gave Khaled’s number to Julienne?”

“Email address.”

“Oh okay, same difference.” Abbas became more and more excited about the development of this story. He wanted to know what would happen next. He felt as if he was watching a romantic movie, except this one was played by real life actors, and he had no way to fastforward to the ending.

“I haven’t asked my stepmother about it yet. I hope they do get to meet up.”

They finished their lunch upon the good news. They both wished that Khaled and Julienne could meet again soon.

A few days later, Abbas told Zaliya about the news he heard from Dirkje, and she too wished that the two could meet.

About three weeks later, on a sunny day in March, Abbas was sitting in the cafeteria for lunch. He saw an elderly Chinese woman sitting with Dirkje at a table a few feet away from his. He was surprised at that spectacle. He calculated Julienne to be 75 years old, yet she looked quite young and healthy. But the puzzling question was, why would she be here, of all places? To visit her stepdaughter?

A minute later, Khaled walked in, holding a paper bag. It was such a historical moment that when his sight finally landed on Julienne, his heart skipped a beat. He stood motionless, at the entrance. His lips curled slightly into a smile. Julienne stood up from her seat. She looked at him. Her eyes sparkled. He walked toward her. It was an emotionally charged scene. Neither of them spoke. They gazed at each other. Everything became still. It was as if the planet had momentarily stopped revolving for them. Silence. They surveyed each other carefully. They looked at each other’s face, expression, posture. Every detail of their face was perfect. She was no longer the clumsy young woman he first met on a university campus in London, instead, the Julienne standing before him now was composed and genteel. He was no longer the energetic young man who rescued her from dropping a pile of heavy textbooks, instead, the Khaled standing before her was calm and dignified. He smiled.

It was a smile so warm that it could melt away all disappointment and sorrow. She wept. It really touched her to know that not only had he not forgotten about her, after 40 years, he had actually remembered her quite fondly.

Khaled gave her the bag, and said, “This is a gift for you.”

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“Oh, I am so sorry, I didn’t buy you anything. Again.” She still remembered the present she received from him 40 years ago. She regretted not buying any gift for him then. She had often wondered if he would still remember her, since she left him nothing to remind him of her. She had nursed her regret for many years until one day, she wrote about her regret in a poem with the intention of submitting it to a writing contest. Upon submitting the poem, she envisioned all her regret being delivered to an imaginary garburator, to make room for her heart to receive joy from an imaginary mailbox.

“You don’t have to. You are my gift.” He whispered the last four words to her. The words travelled to her like gentle wind caressing her ears. She was so inebriated by his words that her whole body almost melted away, and she had to brace herself by placing her palm on the table. But her body could no longer hold up. She collapsed into her chair.

He sat down next to her. He gazed at her. She was suddenly shy, and she blushed. She looked away from his eyes. His presence was like a bright light that shone directly at her, so bright that she could not return his gaze. Yet, she wanted to look at him. Her gaze landed on his neck. He wore a navy blue tie. They continued to gaze at each other in silence. At that moment, Dirkje realized that she had become invisible and redundant to the two old friends.

She quietly left their table and went to Abbas’ table.

“Can I sit with you?”

“Sure.” Abbas couldn’t wait to find out what happened. “I didn’t realize that they were going to meet here, of all places!”

“Well, I couldn’t think of a better place, since they could not be seen together in public.”

“How did she get here?”

“You mean how did she get a visa?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he invited her to come. But she managed to not let him know the exact date of arrival. I offered to do most of the paperwork for him, so all he had to do was to supply some vital personal information and to sign the invitation.” She revealed mischievously. “So between Julienne and me, we arranged her arrival secretly yesterday, while on the other hand, I told him that she would arrive today. He was about to go to the airport to fetch her, so I had to tell him to come here to meet me first.”

“You told him to go to the airport with you?”

“Yeah. But then he kept on asking about the flight information and the arrival time, and he checked the flight schedule on the internet. He said there was no flight coming in this afternoon from London. So I couldn’t lie to him anymore. But then Julienne wanted me to

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keep it a secret. So I just told him to come here today and he would understand. I guess at that point he figured out that there was a surprise awaiting him.”

“Interesting. So this is why they are meeting here?”

“Yeah. Not every restaurant in Riyadh allowed men and women to mingle. This cafeteria is good because men and women could sit together and the women did not have to cover their faces here. Also, because both Khaled and I work on campus, it is a bit more convenient to arrange Julienne to come here. We could take care of her. It is much better than having her out by herself in the streets.”

“I see.” Abbas stole a glance in Khaled and Julienne’s direction. They both exuded a subtle joy. A kind of joy that was so deep and so strong that nothing could conceal the vibrancy and brightness of it. They spoke very softly, and giggled like children half of the time. Khaled looked very different from the first three times Abbas saw him. His expression was almost childlike.

Abbas could hardly contain the exuberance that he picked up from the two old friends. As soon as he returned to his office, he messaged Zaliya the good news. They were both overjoyed at the meeting, and talked excitedly about every detail. When the two friends finally reunited after a long separation, it felt as if the sky had lit up and the whole world was lighting fireworks, cheering and celebrating their reunion. Unbeknownst to all of them, the same fly who previously visited Khaled was also present at the reunion, this time resting not on Khaled’s shoulder but on Julienne’s shoulder.

A few days later, Dirkje appeared in front of Abbas’ office. She knocked on his opened door.

“Hey Dirkje, nice to see you!” Abbas was surprised to see her standing in front of him, as their work did not overlap, so she had never approached him during office hours.

“Hi Abbas, I just want you to listen to a radio talk show. Not now, but in a couple of hours.

You can tune in to it online, if you have the app.” She said excitedly.

“A radio show? What’s it about?” He was puzzled.

“You will know when you hear it. Here’s the name of the radio station. It’s at 11am. Make sure you don’t miss it, okay? I will phone you before then.” She handed a small piece of paper to him.

“I am not sure if I can or not. I am busy.” In fact, he was not sure if it would be a good use of his time to listen to some random radio talk show, as those topics of discussion usually appealed primarily to housewives.

“No, you’re not. I know you’re playing Angry Birds again.” She grinned as she teased him.

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“No, I am not playing any games right now. I don’t have time for games. I have to work.”

He denied innocently.

“Oh come on, just for ten minutes.”

“The show is only for ten minutes?”

“I mean, just listen to the first ten minutes. If you want, I can volunteer to help you do your work for ten minutes.” She was still grinning as she tried to convince him.

“Alright. I will.” He couldn’t understand her sudden and unusual excitement.

“I am going to phone you okay?”

“Sure.” He gave a lukewarm response.

A couple hours later, Dirkje appeared in front of Abbas’ office again, beaming.

“Knock knock,” she knocked lightly on his opened door.

“Hey, I thought you were going to phone me.” He was again surprised to see her, twice in one day, and right in front of his office.

“I wasn’t sure if you would tune in to the radio station if I were to phone you from my office, so I thought I would come over, and listened to the talk show with you instead.”

“Oh …” Abbas sounded a bit disappointed, as he had indeed considered lying to her that he had listened to the first ten minutes of the talk show.

“Okay, hurry, tune in to the station. It’s already 11.01am!”

“Okay, okay.” He fumbled on his mobile phone.

Seeing his sluggish and absentminded motion, she grabbed his phone from him and found the station to tune in to. The host who had a slight Indian accent had just begun introducing the show, in English: Today we have two special guests from two separate continents who have recently reunited, after 40 years of silence and separation.

Abbas gaped when he heard the introduction. His eyes widened and he looked at Dirkje in disbelief. She grinned and raised her eyebrows, as if saying, “See, I told you!” They sat next to each other quietly, and listened to the show intently.

The host asked the guests to introduce themselves, to talk about how they met in London, and how they met again in Riyadh. Everyone was surprised by one detail that Khaled had not previously disclosed. He said, “I think Allah did have mercy on me.”

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“Why do you say that?” The host asked.

“Well, about half a year ago, I prayed to Allah, saying that before I leave this life, I would like to see Julienne again. And I think everything that happened these few months was an indication of Allah’s answer to my prayer.”

“Oh, that’s very reassuring. But didn’t you pray to Allah 40 years ago?” The host was intrigued by the mysterious power of prayer.

“Hmm … I think I forgot to say that I wanted to see her immediately.” Khaled chuckled.

“Didn’t you pray that you would like to marry her?”

“Hmm … No. I would not wish to marry her unless she agreed to marry me. I mean, I would not pray for something that she did not want. That’s why I wanted to see her, so that I could ask the question myself, and let her decide for herself.” Khaled paused. “Unfortunately, Allah never gave me the opportunity to ask.” He heaved a sigh.

“Wow, that’s very considerate of you. But perhaps Allah wanted you to ask now.” The host hinted. There was a moment of silence. The host decided to break the silence, by asking, “So tell me, what happened to you during the time that you were waiting for Julienne, or should I say, praying to see Julienne? I understand that you eventually took a wife?”

“After I left London, I was sad for a very long time. My parents pressured me to get married.

At first I did not want to get married. Then after a few years, I started to lose hope. I asked my parents to let me choose my own wife. They hesitated but then after some consideration, they agreed, perhaps thinking that it was better than me not getting married at all. So I went to look for a wife. I talked to a few women that my friends introduced to me. I found that I had no interest in any of the Saudi women I met. Then I thought perhaps I should find a Chinese wife. I didn’t find any Chinese women, but I found some Filipino women. I also had no interest in them. So after a year, I gave up looking, because it wasn’t easy for me to meet an unrelated woman to begin with. My parents continued to nag me.

So I let them pick a wife for me. But I did not like any of the ones they picked. I simply could not imagine myself spending my entire life with any of them. One day, my parents finally got fed up with me, and just told me to marry a girl. They did not allow me to refuse. They said I would eventually get used to the girl. So finally I agreed to the marriage, but I did not marry her right away. I told my parents that I would like to spend a year to get to know the girl first. They were not too happy with that idea, but they eventually agreed to it. So I tried to get to know that girl, by going to her house to talk to her, in front of her parents. But I never developed any special feelings toward her. Then one day, she cancelled the marriage, and married someone else instead. So my parents got upset with me for delaying the marriage and making the girl wait. I thought it was strange that they would think that way, because in my mind, if a girl wanted to run away, I would rather that she run away before the marriage than after the marriage. Anyway, for the next two years, I lived away from my parents. They

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still occasionally asked me to get married. Every time I would tell them later. So that’s how I managed to postpone my marriage. It wasn’t that I refused to marry someone other than Julienne, it was that I refused to marry someone whom I had no feelings of. Having met Julienne was a huge eye-opener for me. Before meeting her, I did not know that there was such a thing as having a connection and having a feeling for someone. It was only after meeting her that I came to appreciate that a marriage was a lifelong commitment, and so I should choose very carefully with whom I would like to share that commitment.”

“Absolutely true.” The host commented. “So how did you end up marrying someone? Did you finally find someone you thought you could spend the rest of your life with? But then you got divorced not long after. So tell us a little about what happened there.”

“As I kept postponing my marriage, my parents kept looking for a wife for me. One day, they met a girl who had a good education. They were so thrilled. They liked the girl a lot. And they thought I would like her too, because she was well educated. I guess they thought that would help us we get along easier. So they said this time I had to get married, no matter what, and I could not postpone the marriage. That’s how I ended up getting married.”

“Interesting development!” The host said, and turned his attention to Julienne. “How about you Julienne? I understand that you got married a few years after. Did you experience parental pressure? Or you found someone, so you got married? Because I understand that you married quite late too. Could you tell us a little bit about that?”

“Sure. You are right that I got married quite late, when I was close to 40 actually. I didn’t think it made sense to get married just for the sake of getting married. It just didn’t feel right to grab someone from somewhere, and marry him. It had to be the right person.”

“When you first met Khaled, did you feel that he was the right person?” The host asked.

“Hmm … We only spent two days together. I can only say that I have very fond memory of him. I wish that I would have more time and chance to get to know him. I think he’s a great person and I really enjoy his company.”

“Okay, both of you wished that you could spend more time with each other and get to know each other more, but regrettably, that didn’t happen. Now, 40 years later, you two have the chance to meet again. What’s your plan?”

“Well, I don’t know. We haven’t discussed much about that yet.” Julienne said hesitantly. “I think Dirkje asked you if you had any plans for us right?” She turned to Khaled.

“Yes, she did. On the first day when I met her in the campus cafeteria, I was worried that she would object to our friendship because of her father, but surprisingly, she was quite supportive of us meeting again. That’s when she told me that your husband or her father had passed away recently.”

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“That’s right.” She said.

“Sorry to hear of your loss Julienne.” The host said.

“Actually, Dirkje encouraged me to invite you to come stay with me in London, for the summer, or for how ever long you like. And I know that my late husband would encourage me to cherish the people around me too. It’s just that we have so much to talk about that I never got around to asking you that question.” She said and smiled at Khaled.

“Oh wow, sounds like Allah had a plan for you Khaled!” The host said. “Perhaps God waited until after Julienne was widowed to let you see her again.”

Upon that comment, everyone was silent, considering the meaning and timing of their meeting.

“Well, I have seen and talked to many couples. Sometimes I can almost feel that they are meant for each other. There’s always something special between them. Something that makes them inseparable. And you know what, our most valuable asset in life is our human relationship, not just with our spouses, but with our families, friends, colleagues, and everyone else. So I hope you cherish your relationship with each other while you still can.”

The host encouraged them to cherish the opportunity that they were denied 40 years ago.

“Yes, I agree. At this point in my life, nothing else matters. Cultural differences, religious differences, age difference, and everything else are just intentionally maintained ideological differences. It’s all in our head. If we don’t think it’s a problem, then it is not a problem. At this stage in our life, it would be foolish to be stubborn about things that don’t matter.”

Khaled said. Over the years, he had become more and more liberated from the conservative and religious background that he came from. He believed that the purpose of his life was to understand that separation within humanity was fundamentally caused by intentionally maintained ideological differences. He could remove those differences by abandoning the underlying ideologies.

“Very well said. I wish the best for you two. I am sure all our audience would wish the best for you two as well. Thank you for coming in today to share your wonderful story with us.”

“Thank you.” Khaled and Julienne said synchronistically. The same fly which appeared in the cafeteria buzzed and circled around them, as if congratulating their upcoming new life together.

Dirkje and Abbas looked at each other. The word joy was written all over their face. They both sent their best wishes to the two old friends.

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Later in the evening, Abbas shared his thoughts with Zaliya. They both wished the best for Khaled and Julienne. Abbas said, “Zaliya, I don’t want us to be like them.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t wish to wait until we are that old to meet.”

“You want us to meet as soon as possible?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“Well, I don’t think I will travel abroad this year.”

“I can come see you.” Abbas said. He looked at his vacation calendar. He could go to Canada for a couple of weeks in the summer.

“Okay. When would you like to come?”

“Hmm … When do you suggest I should come?”

“Summer time.”

“June?”

“Between June and September.”

“I will have to apply for a visa first. How about we target to meet in the first two weeks of July?”

She looked at her calendar, and said okay. Her relatives would also be coming to Canada, but in late June. She planned to take them around the country. If Abbas came after her relatives left, then she would have time to spend with him.

Abbas started to plan for his trip. He submitted a vacation request form to his supervisor.

Then he prepared for his visa application. In order to apply for a tourist visa, he had to supply his flight information, hotel information, and so on. In the next few days, he shopped for hotels and flights. He waited for his supervisor to approve of his vacation request, then he would book the flight and accommodation.

A few days later, his supervisor called Abbas into his office to discuss about his vacation request. It could not be approved because the period he requested happened to coincide with another event that his supervisor had scheduled for the department. Thus he was asked to pick a different time period for his vacation. His supervisor suggested the last two weeks in June. He pondered upon the suggestion. He was quite tempted to agree to that time period, in which case his supervisor would approve his request on the spot, but he was also cautious as to whether to discuss it with Zaliya first.

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His supervisor said he could take his time to consider it. Abbas was still hesitating. During that conversation, the only thought that Abbas had on his mind was to see Zaliya. He didn’t want to wait 40 years.

Abbas inquired about the possibility of other dates. His supervisor gave him many options.

However, none of the dates had any meaning to him. He had no preference on when to meet Zaliya. He just wanted to meet her. Thus he stood in the office, undecided. How was his supervisor, an outsider, able to help him to decide?

A few minutes later, Abbas walked out of his supervisor’s office, with an insuppressible sense of joy radiating from his face.

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Appendix

This is a cafeteria in the university hospital where my friend works. Men and women are not segregated.

Postface The Swiss film director Jean-Luc Godard said, “A story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end, but not necessarily in that order.” It was only after I wrote this story that I realized the story within the story was not told in a chronological order.

It was also after the story was drafted that I realized I did not highlight the middle, where all the anguish of separation took place. Rather, I presented the middle from the perspective of someone who had gone past, instead of going through, it. In other words, I was more interested in exploring someone’s reflection of their experience, rather than their actual experience. I am quite fascinated to see the change in flavor and intensity of that anguish, after one has gone through it. The 25th rule of love from the Persian scholar Shams of Tabriz explains this quite well: There are four levels of insight. The first level is the outer meaning and it is the one that the majority of the people are content with. Next is the inner level. Third is the inner of the inner. And the fourth level is so deep it cannot be put into words and is therefore bound to remain indescribable.

The actual experience is the first layer. The reflection of the experience is the second layer.

There are many layers of insight to a person, event, or relationship. The purpose of most of my stories is to explore the deeper hidden layers. Each story is a mini transformative journey for me, as I uncover the inner layers of life experiences.

After this story was substantially complete, a fly came into the story. Initially, I thought it was just a small comical detail. But it has grown into something bigger, and I plan to explore it more in part 3B of Story 9.

Wanchain February 2016