Lately I keep thinking of Muhammed, who was my boss when I worked at a tiny sandwich shop on the Drag in Austin in 1986. He'd be counting out the register while I mopped the floor and maybe someone else wrapped stuff to put away.
Muhammed was a short, balding man, with heavy 5 o'clock shadow; to me he seemed old, but in retrospect he must have been in his 30s. He usually wore a polo shirt and khaki pants, and was sad but friendly. While we finished closing the store every night he'd stare off into space and start talking about his hometown of Beirut. How beautiful it was! How he wasn't rich and wasn't poor; he was just okay, he was doing fine. He had a restaurant with his brothers, and after work they'd go out.
His voice would crack as he'd say nearly the same thing every night. "Everything was so rich. The rich people, the tourists would come there and they were so beautiful. The women all dressed in glittering clothes, and the lights. The beautiful, beautiful discos. My city had the most beautiful discos. It will never be the same, never, never."
AH! You have me sad! I've always wondered what it would be like to be so far away from home and so longing for the past. Muhammed sounds like a really interesting guy. Like the start of a novel or something...
Posted by: Kris | September 28, 2005 at 06:38 PM
A friend of my father's also had to leave Beirut and also talked about it endlessly as the most beautiful, sophisticated place on earth. They would ski all day in the mountains and then swoop back to the city, where it was warm enough to spend the evenings drinking cocktails on jasmine scented terraces.
Posted by: Iris | September 29, 2005 at 03:03 PM