Azra would never get used to the casual, complacent way Yusef reported disturbing news even if it was benign. At the click on the other end of the line she looked at the receiver as if it had an animate life, one she could blame so she wouldn’t have to warn her son as she had so many times in the past. Sometimes she wondered if he wasn’t better off at the madrassa, safer there knowing his prospects, more secure about the future no matter how short lived.
She pushed back her chair and grabbed her purse. Maybe a little fresh air would lift her spirits so she left the campus to have lunch at a Lebanese café. Citrusy tabouli, spicy falafel and rich baba ganoush were always satisfying but she wished she would be more adventurous. As she wiped away a speck of bulgur from the side of her mouth, Abi, the owner, insisted on dessert. “Today,” he said, as he handed her the plate, “you have for your enjoyment Namoura. My wife, she makes a mean Namoura.” She indulged in his offering, the flavors of coconut, almonds and tahini blending like velvet. “So delicious, Abi. Your wife. She is very talented, no?”
“Aaah…yes, but baking is not her only skill,” he replied with a wink.
PARADISE AT H/ER FEET
All rights reserved. Copyright by Melanie Mitzner © 1995 - 2015