GHOST

          GHOST

              By

        Sabine Shah

Have you ever been to the Beirut Manara Corniche on a sunny winter's afternoon? It is beautiful. The sky is rich blue with clouds dotting it here and there. The water is turquoise and the waves crash on the rocks lamenting a secret loss which no one else knows but it has to be expressed. The birds circle far away on high waves. The sea water pouring forth from absurdly shaped and sized rocks as if elaborately landscaped by an expert. Some people with their fishing poles some just walking casually on the sidewalks. Vendors of all sorts...Would you like to have your picture taken? Inquires one with an unbelievably worn down Polaroid camera. Other is bent upon showing you pictures of ladies in various stages of disrobing, coffee sellers, argheileh puffers etc etc.

Very entertaining at times I tell you, for anyone, really. And especially so for someone like me. Since I am a ghost or spirit or whatever you want to call me. In short I am not alive in the ordinary sense.  I have no body . I died, let me see, about thirty years ago in 1982 on a cold February night when life became a bit too much to take, I embraced death. It was the night of Valentine's, the fourteenth. God forgave me I think for taking my life because as yet I am not being punished. In fact he has granted me an unusual existence for till I do not how long. I am invisible to everyone but I can make myself visible to anyone I want to. Great isn't it? Not all the time. There are so many things I wish I had not seen even though I do not feel many emotions as deeply as a person who is alive. I have seen the best of people and worst. So is life or should I say so is death.

My name is Jamila, or was Jamila, and I was twenty years old when I committed suicide. I was born in a middle class Sunnah Muslim family in the suburbs of Beirut. I led a life which girls like me usually do. I had brothers and a sister. I went to school. I laughed and giggled with friends and cousins. I loved to shop and dance and sketch.
I fell in love when I was nineteen with Walid, a Shia from South. We met on this very corniche. I was waiting for a friend when I saw him. He was staring at the waves. I kept waiting and he kept staring. I was angry at my friend for not showing up and I had to vent my anger somewhere so I walked up to him.
"What are you looking at?" I asked.
"What?" he was taken aback.
"I said what are you looking at?"
"Nothing really", he looked away.
"Nothing? Nothing? You are staring at me for the last half an hour?"
"I was not. I was looking everywhere. And you just happened to be a part of everywhere. Please I am in a bad enough situation already. Don't bother me anymore."
"You are in a bad situation? Just listen to my problems."
Then I went on and on and on about how my friend wanted to ditch me all the time since she had found a boy friend and how my Dad always stopped me from doing everything which I even remotely enjoyed and how badly I wanted to buy a dress and how I did not have enough money. And on top of that I have no boyfriend while all my friends do! He kept on saying ok, and I see and oh and really quite patiently till I finished.
Then we were quiet for about three minutes.
Finally I asked
"So what is bothering you?"
He replied without looking at me
"My father died yesterday."
I was speechless. Every couple of minutes I opened my mouth with the intention of saying something but nothing came out. I kept on doing this flimsy imitation of a gold fish till he said,
"If it makes you feel any better, I am ready to be your boyfriend."
So on this note commenced our romance which was part desperation part friendship and fortunately in due time came love. We used to meet on the sea side most of the time. We were afraid to meet anywhere else. Those were turbulent times in our city and country. A civil war was raging and we were from heaven forbid, different sects of our religion. So if anyone from our respective families saw us it would mean, oh I don't know, maybe even death for both of us. It was Romeo and Juliet for the zillionth time since the human race was created.

Anyway, our romance "blossomed" to use a ragged cliché for want of a better verb. Romance always blossoms under the tree of friendship. I should know. I have seen near to a million young and old couples in life (or should I say death) as a ghost. When the basis of attraction is a certain shape of anatomy, the relationship is short lived since human anatomy has a history of altering itself rapidly. When the basis is emotional attraction it lasts for years and years and years because the soul does not age as swiftly as the body does.
_________________________________________________________________
Coming back to today, I am reminded of Walid again and again. Because he is here again. A boy I notice has come here for the fifteenth day in a row. His body language is like Walid. Not that they look alike. Walid was tall and dark haired and black eyed and this boy is short and blond with blue eyes but there is something similar between the two. So similar that I am compelled to make myself visible to him, to talk to him. So after six years a living soul is about to see me!
_________________________________________________________________________
She came out of nowhere. At least that is what it seemed like. Though she was quite attractive I was to tell the truth a bit scared at first. But then I relaxed as we talked. She asked me my name and I told her it is Joseph. Then she told me her name was Jamila. Pretty name! Though Jamila itself means pretty. She seemed a bit different from other girls her age. Her eyes were strangely penetrating and she did not blink once. I don’t know why but I felt comfortable in her presence. We talked about the Arab Spring. We talked about the winter rains. We talked about plastic surgery. We talked about the accident on the Saida Highway. I fell in love with her by the time the sun disappeared and the lights of Jounieh city became visible on our right. It was that simple and that quick. God almighty has made love the way it is. It takes a minute to fall in love and it takes a lifetime to express it. I asked if we could meet the next day. She agreed. I was ecstatic. Same time same place? OK! And she disappeared as mysteriously as she appeared. Already I had started waiting for tomorrow.


It was Walid all over again. So many a times I wanted to stop talking to him. I could see in his eyes widening, softening, melting...I should have stopped, disappeared...but I didn’t. He reminded me too much of Walid. Something inside me stirred. So something was still alive deep inside me.
The next day he came an hour earlier. I was of course there all the time. I had the temptation to appear, but that would give the reality away. So I waited as he paced and kept on checking his watch. Running his fingers through his hair to make sure they stayed in place. I so wanted to ruffle them up just like I did with Walid, but I could not, so I waited. Waited till it was time. And then I appeared. I cleared my throat. He turned around.
“Oh there you are. I was afraid I was late. I just got here.”
That sweet little liar!
“I just got here too.”
“So what do you want to do today? I was thinking we could go for a drive, have coffee, then maybe we....”
“Oh no no. I cannot go anywhere. I have to.... I mean we have to stay here.”
“Why?”
“Because....because if we go anywhere else...maybe someone from my family sees us...then there will be a problem.”
“Why? Why will there be a problem? We are not in the eighties you know.”
“Ummm! You know my family is very conservative. You don’t know them.”
“OK....if you say so.”
“We can talk...if you want.”
“Sure, sure. We can talk.”
So finally he overcame his disappointment. We talked again. He told me about his family, his friends, his dreams, his ambitions. I told him mine. Then he said something really funny and I laughed. Laughed for the first time in twenty five years. I laughed loud. I felt happy.


It was the most beautiful laugh I had ever seen or heard in my life. Her whole face lit up and her eyes laughed too. But that was the first time I suspected there was something I did not know. I noticed people staring at me suspiciously. As if I was crazy. I looked at us. We looked like any regular boy girl couple. Then why the strange looks? But after a while I forgot everything and we started chatting again.
For the next day we decided to meet on the rocks a bit far away where usually there were very few people.
Days passed. It was almost Christmas. We were sitting on our usual place and talking. I told her that we have now been meeting for almost two months. She smiled. It hit me just then. I had not touched her once. Not even held her hand let alone hug or kiss. So casually I tried to place my hands around her shoulders. She panicked.
“Don’t touch me Joseph.”
“Why?”
“Because...you cannot...just don’t...”
“Come on it’s just a friendly hug. That’s all.”
“No Jo! Please don’t”
I stopped. Maybe she doesn’t like me. Maybe it’s her upbringing. Maybe she thinks I am just a friend. Maybe....I don’t know.
“Jo! I want to tell you something.”
“What?”
Then she waited as if bracing herself for what seemed to me an eternity.
“Jo! I’m not alive. I am dead!”
“What? Are you crazy? What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. I...I am a ghost.”
“What? You expect me to believe that? Look if you want to get rid of me, just tell me the truth. You don’t have to invent lame lies to ditch me.”
“No no no habibi! It’s true. I am a ghost.”
“Come on....”
“Ok. Try to touch me. “
It was unbelievable. No matter how much I tried I could not touch her. My hands would pass right through her. Again and again. My heart was beating fast. It was not fear. It was sorrow. My heart broke into a million pieces as I tried to touch her. As I realized I could never touch my Jamila ever. Never hug her or love her like I had imagined so many times. As I realized she was telling the truth. I could not take it any more. I ran. I ran and did not look back. I nearly bumped into a car while trying to cross the road. I ran all the way home. I crashed opened the door and went into the salon. My mother was sitting on the sofa. I put my head in her lap and cried and cried and cried. The cross dangling around her neck caressing my hair as if giving comfort. She was shocked. What happened? Nothing Mama. I want to go to Sweden to work with my Uncle like you have always wanted me to. She could not believe this sudden change in me. But I could not stay there any longer. I had to leave Beirut. I had to leave Lebanon. I had to leave Jamila! And I did.


He did not even look back. Maybe he was scared. Maybe he was shocked. I don’t know. But he never came back. He did not ask me anything. He just left. I felt deep deep sorrow somewhere inside me. I don’t know where, since I do not have a body. Maybe souls can feel sorrow too. I felt as if a thousand years passed in a second. For me time means nothing. But it did for a few moments. Images went through me. My father. My brothers. Their guns wracking Walid’s body with bullets. Blood gushing out from his wounds. I trying to hold him screaming. Trying to stop them. I could not. They took his body to his father’s house and threw it on the road. On the Shia side of the city. I was locked in my room. At night, Walid’s family came. His father, Uncles, cousins. All were fully armed. They knocked down our door and came in. That gave me a chance. I ran out of my house. I could hear bullet shots and screaming from my apartment. But I did not stop. I ran and ran. Ran all the way to the corniche. It was lined by soldiers. The tried to stop me. I did not stop. I saw waves crashing on the rocks. Before anybody could reach me, I threw myself in the sea. Sorry God! Forgive me. I have no other choice. That was it. I died. Bus! Khalaas! It was Valentine’s day.


Have you ever been to the Beirut Manara Corniche on a sunny winter's afternoon? It is beautiful. The sky is a rich blue with clouds dotting it here and there . The water is turquoise and the waves crash on the rocks lamenting a secret loss which no one else knows but it has to be expressed. The birds circle far away on high waves. The sea water pouring forth from absurdly shaped and sized rocks as if elaborately landscaped by an expert.................................................!

THE END