The Blind Beggar: Part XXIV

As Jo March, Amal began posting her sunset descriptions.  She was happy when the first person read and liked her post.  She was elated when someone began following her.  Without thinking, Amal followed her back.  She had two followers: Madhura and the new person. 

After each entry, Amal checked the status after a few minutes to see if anyone read it.  She was puzzled by the randomness of how and when people read her work.  One day, there would be many page views and it made Amal very happy.  Then when she posted something she felt was the best yet, it seemed no one cared.  The whole process was thrilling and frustrating.  It was heaven and hell.  It made her crazy but she knew she could never stop.  She would blog the rest of her life. 

After blogging for some time, someone suggested she add a picture of the sunset for each description.  Amal pondered the thought for some time.  It seemed like an easy thing to do and, it appeared, would enamor some of her followers.  Still, Amal considered herself an old soul for her young age.  She felt people were losing the gift of description.  Yes, a picture says things mere words cannot.  But words speak life and emotions.  They can cut through to the soul of a human.  Poets understand this.  A poet says in a stanza what the novelist says in a page. 

Amal decided, unless she felt the occasion required it, she would not post pictures with her nightfall portrayals.  The world needed to learn again how to describe people, places and things.  We have gotten lazy in modern life.  Amal knew she could not change the course of evolution but she would be a rock in the river on this point. 

It was about this time, Rima began reading a new blog.  All the entries were dynamic renderings of various sunsets.  Since there was an option to follow the blog, Rima began doing so.  At first, she didn’t read every day or even with every notification of a new post.  Still, with each chapter, she found herself transported to a fantasy land. 

The world was perfect in the beauty of creation.  Each entry was about a mere point of the earth at a particular time of day but she felt drawn to it.  It was beauty.  It was simplicity.  It was nature itself.  It had a cleansing effect on her soul.  The author had a unique and fantastic way of capturing her imagination.  Rima felt she had observed some of the scenes.  Rima believed she shared some of the same experiences with the writer.  Of course, that was silly.

Little by little, Amal gained an ever growing following.  For the first time she felt she was a person again.  It seemed her life had been reduced to doing for others with no hint of appreciation from the receivers of her benevolence.  She understood keeping house and caring for her family were important and worthwhile things to do but Amal believed there had to be more.  Surely she was more than the cook, maid and nanny in her household.  She wanted to be more than the person her husband used to satisfy his desires. 

Perhaps, finally, Amal was beginning to recognize the buried desires of her heart.  She wanted to be seen and accepted as a person of worth who could contribute to the world.  Through Jo March, she was becoming that person. 

The Blind Beggar: Part XXIII

Amal now had a mission for her heart.  Whenever she had time, she hurriedly finished cleaning the kitchen and stepped outdoors.  At first, she simply stood on the balcony and observed.  She took in each sunset, soaking in the essence.  She used all her senses to absorb everything about it. 

She called back to descriptions she told Ali as he ate meals she brought.  He seemed to internalize her words.  In the moments on the balcony observing the setting sun, she felt closer to the love of her youth.  By now, she knew she couldn’t fantasize about being with Ali.  It couldn’t work.  She was married and had to move on but wanted to honor him in some small way.  Sunset was her remembrance.  It was her honor of Ali.  Sunsets were special to him and they became extraordinary to Amal as a result. 

After observing for a month or so, Amal felt the need to begin writing down her observances.  Like when she first began describing the nightfall skies to Ali, words were hard to find.  Over time, it became easier.  It was the same now.  She sometimes felt she grasped empty air as she reached for terms to describe God’s canvas.  She would simply do the best she could and trust He understood her deficiencies. 

In the beginning, she inscribed her perceptions in a simple notebook.  After a month of sunsets, Amal read over her observances.  For each one, she fought to again visualize the sight, to experience the image.  All in all, she was pleased with her ability to articulate the wonders of each sunset. 

A few weeks later while her husband was out of town on business, Amal and Madhura were discussing the progress of their herb gardens and other plants that were recently planted in the hours before sundown.  Amal paused as they stepped onto the balcony, looking at the sky.  Madhura took a moment to steal a glance toward the sea.  She remarked, “Oh, the sky is striking!”

Amal observed for a moment and responded, “Yes, the sea is like the blue-gray eyes of a great beast.  It is poised to rain torrents upon us tonight.”

Madhura looked at the young woman and remarked, “Wow!  That is poetic.  Do you write poetry?”

Embarrassed, Amal replied, “No, I have been closely observing sunsets lately.”

“Ok, but even people who watch sunsets aren’t so lyrical.  You should start writing poetry.  I think you would be good.”

“Oh no, no one would want to read it.”

“I would and I know other people who would like it too.  I’m in an online community to do book reviews and several of the people in our book club also write.  You could start putting what you write out there and see what people think.” 

“My husband would never allow it.”

“Who said he needs to know.  Everyone in our group uses fake names.  It keeps your identity safe.  He will never know. 

“What?  You?”

Madhura nodded her head.  “Daiwik was against the idea of me using anything other than Facebook to stay in touch with our children.  After a while, he met someone else whose wife regularly wrote stories under the name “Darla B.  She used the bare minimum of a personal description and she was going.  Then he warmed up to the idea.”  Madhura added with a laugh, “I was already in my book group by that time.”

The wheels were turning in Amal’s mind.  She felt she could do this.  It was nice to write her descriptions of the sunsets she saw.  Also, she believed what she wrote was good.  Only other people could validate that thought.  Did she dare try it?  What name would she use?

Jo March

The Blind Beggar: Part XXII

Across town, Amal wrestled with her emotions as her mind was pulled back to Ali’s touch when they were face to face for the first time in many years.  The trace of his fingers was still palpable.  She wanted to see him again but didn’t know how it could ever happen.  Since marrying before her sixteenth birthday, she suppressed her childhood dreams.  Now as an adult, she realized how few dreams she had.  She could reduce them all to one request.  She wanted to be happy. 

As a child, she was happy playing with her family, cousins and other friends.  She cherished memories of games, chasing one another and the simplicity of her life.  Her family wasn’t rich but they also weren’t poor.  Her father worked constantly to provide for his family.  He was a stern man.  He grew up in difficult circumstances and believed work, hard work, was the only way out of poverty.  He spent his life proving that belief.

Around time Amal began to understand her father’s regular absences were due to work that a young boy appeared while she and her cousins were playing.  Using her adult mind, she saw through her child’s eyes her first impressions of the boy.  She saw heartache but a strong hope for acceptance.  For about an hour, he sat on a low wall watching the chaotic actions of children at play.  How he must have wanted to be included.  How he must have wished someone would notice him sitting there.  Alone. 

She saw him.  She knew her cousins and family saw him but they continued playing.  After about thirty minutes, but children have little concept of time, there was a lull in the action.  Amal took that opportunity to walk up to the boy.  His eyes observed her movement toward him.  His eyes were hopeful and fearful at the same time.  He detected openness in her body language and not aggression.  Amal laughed at the moment now.  Children don’t care about protocol.  They go right to the point.  She walked up to him and asked, “You wanna play?”

The boy smiled, nodded and hopped down from the wall.  Amal grabbed his left hand and pulled him to the group.  She proudly called out to her family, “This is my new friend.”  Amal had forgotten it was more than a week before Ali felt comfortable arriving at the play area and joining in without being asked.  What had happened that he was so afraid to join in play with other children?  What had happened to Ali since then?

Like when they were children, Amal wanted to reach out to Boulos, her Ali, and protect him.  Was it a maternal instinct?  Though she felt free do that as a child, she knew to hide it from her parents.  She instinctively understood they would not approve.  She was certain her husband would never understand or accept.  Like her father, he worked hard to provide for his family and he sometimes had a temper.  

Per her nature, Amal lived her life trying to appease.  She always worked to alleviate potential problems before they happened.  Now she plainly saw two parts of her life colliding.  How could she stop this from happening?  She consigned herself to the belief she could never feel Ali’s touch but wanted to protect him as she once did.  If she tried, what would be the result of such a collision of worlds? 

Still, Amal wanted to be happy.  She could choose to keep her life the way it was.  She wasn’t overly happy but Amal loved her children.  They were the joy of her life.  She had grown comfortable in her circumstances and could be content if not happy.  However, if she chose to have contact with Ali, she could lose her only joy in life.   Amal, knew her path after seeing it all in plain terms. 

Again, she was resigned to do what was right.  Knowing it was right didn’t make acceptance any easier.  Part angry, part brokenhearted, Amal cried.  Again, she had no joy.  Again, she pushed down hopes and dreams.  It wasn’t fair but following her hopes and dreams, and accepting the consequences, wasn’t right.  Again, she would accept her lot in life and move forward. 

The Blind Beggar: Part XXI

When isolated, there is no limit to where the mind can go.  Many dark places can be visited and known well.  He knew what it was to be ignored and feel he didn’t matter.  Boulos spent much of his life alone where the only conversation he had was with himself.  Having the recent positive attention was sweet nectar but so foreign.

Boulos pondered his present state.  He was a blind man befriended by several strangers and they all collaborated to make his life better.  He appreciated the home and job he had.  It was good to have purpose in his life.  For once, he finally had the smallest sliver of hope that his life had some meaning. 

Nevertheless, it mattered little to him.  Over and over in his mind he had one question.  Why?  Why God would allow Amal to bump into my life if she cannot be part of my life?  Is this not the cruelest of jokes a deity can play on a human?  God dangles love in front of the mortal and keeps it just out of reach.  Like an itch that cannot be scratched, Boulos felt it sheer madness.  It was utter cruelty.  Daiwik once told him the gods smiled on him.  They smiled because they were laughing.  They had laughed at him the whole of his life.

Born with a soft heart, Boulos felt things more deeply than most.  Each setback in life hurt him deeply.  How he wished for human kindness when he became an orphan.  Amal was that touch his wounded heart craved.  As the ever darkening clouds of blindness settled on him, Amal remained the light of his life.  How he cried the evening Amal told him of the day she would marry.  The very words shattered his heart but in his love for her, he could not bear to put any burden upon her.  Therefore, he calmly spoke words of sense and assurance.  It was best for her to marry another.  He lied. 

He spoke truth in that it was good for Amal to have a man who would and could provide a life for her.  Boulos knew we could never do that.  His lie was in appearing to be ok with the thought.  Nothing could be farther from the truth.  How Boulos wanted to shower Amal with love.  How he wished he could hold her, touch her, kiss her.  With every fiber of his being he wished the universe had given him a different life. 

The questions he had then returned anew.  Why was he given this life?  Why must he be the one to suffer such anguish?  Sitting on the bed facing the window, he felt the breeze upon his skin.  He noted the cool streaks that ran from his eyes to his lips.  He tasted his tears.  He believed the salty taste to be a reminder he would forever be preserved in a life of brokenness.  Even when things got better, they remained the same.   

The Blind Beggar: Part XX

Later that night, Charles and Rima discussed the matter of Boulos’s request to get Amal’s contact information.  In the beginning, Charles expressed his desire to find a way to grant the wish of a man who had lived a difficult life.  In his heart, he believed there must be a way.  The couple had a long discussion about the issue.  Though he didn’t want to admit it, Charles knew the right thing to do.  He simply wanted to do something nice for Boulos.  Reality set in when Rima said, “We cannot be a part of this.  You must tell Boulos we will not help him.”

“That sounds rather harsh, don’t you think?”

“You must close the door to this.  If he thinks there is hope he may continue trying to reach Amal.  That must not happen.”

Charles was feeling anger rise in him as a defense mechanism but upon hearing his wife mention Boulos may continue trying to reach Amal, he understood her position.  The heat of his anger subsided and he was resigned to accept her wisdom.  He briefly considered the situation and said, “Then I’ll have to think of how to break the news to him.”

“Yes.”

“Good thing I brought you along.”

“Yes, you’d be lost.  Also, if you left me back in the states, my father would hunt you down.”  They both smiled. 

The next day after Boulos arrived at the apartment, Charles knocked on the door connecting his apartment to the office.  Boulos began to invite Charles into the apartment when Charles said, “Actually, would you sit with me here on our couch?  I have coffee for us to share.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Boulos believed Charles reached a decision and based on the formality of the invitation, was certain of the outcome.  After they each had the first sip of coffee, Charles began, “My wife and I had a long discussion about your request.”  He paused, not wanting to hurt his new friend’s feelings.

“Yes.”

“I hope you will understand that we cannot help you get information for you to contact Amal.  I’m very sorry.  I really wanted to help you but we can’t.”

The reality of the news hit Boulos harder than expected.  He felt his heart drop.  Maybe it broke, he was not sure.  Charles looked at his friend.  He could see the disappointment in his face.  He wanted to offer hope.  As a Christian, he believed all things were possible with God.  He considered saying, ‘I’ll pray for you’ but the words seemed so hollow. 

Finally, he said, “Boulos, I am so sorry.  I know this isn’t the news you wanted.  I feel like crap having to say it.  I wish I could say something that would make you feel better but I can’t give you false hope.  I believe in a Savior who is the hope for this fallen world.  So I hope you place your trust in God.  Meanwhile, I will be your friend if you will accept me as your friend.”

“It was not right for me to ask such a thing.  I am sorry for doing so.  It would not be right for Amal to speak with me.  I don’t believe she would if she had the chance.  A single man should not communicate with a married woman.”  The young man sighed.  His hope was gone.  Now what would he do?

The Blind Beggar: Part XIX

Charles Rayner was taken aback by the request.  When he earlier offered to contact someone for Boulos, he never imagined the request would be for a childhood love who is now married.  Charles had grown fond of Boulos in the two weeks he had lived in the old apartment.  While he wanted to help, there were other matters to consider.

First and foremost, there was the issue of how to get the information.   Charles knew it would not look good for him to knock on the front door and ask for someone’s personal information.  His wife Rima, whose family was Lebanese, might know a way to make it happen but he still saw that as a tall order. 

Then there was the concern of allowing a man to contact the wife of another man when there once was a romantic relationship.  As a Christian, this did not seem a good idea.  The final thought concerned him most.  That issue was the mere fact if Boulos contacted Amal and her husband found out, he might learn how Boulos got this information.  Even if their intentions were genuine, it would not be good for Christian missionaries to be meddling in the affairs of love.  He and Rima believed in God’s call for them to work in Lebanon.  They could not knowingly damage the work they hoped to accomplish in the name of Jesus. 

Even still, he wanted to help Boulos.  He also felt the need to be completely honest and explained his concerns.  Boulos agreed with Charles about the dangers.  Boulos took in this information and said, “Mr. Charles, thank you for your honesty.  My request puts you in a bad place.  I was not properly thinking and I am sorry.  I want you to know that, while it would make me very happy to speak with Amal whenever I want to, I never intended to break her marriage.”

Charles could feel Boulos wanted to say more.  He prompted, “Ok, but.”

“Mr. Charles, I am embarrassed to say but I miss seeing sunsets.  It is foolish.  I know it is but Amal used to describe them to me when we were young.  I have asked family members and even strangers before to describe them to me.  No one makes me see them like Amal.  She describes sunsets to me like an artist who paints them.  She cared about what she saw and how she described it.  I know this and it warmed my heart.”

Charles sighed.  “I take my vision for granted.  I never considered how a scene like a sunset would be so important but now I guess I can believe it would be.  I don’t know Boulos.  I’m sure you agree I can’t contact Amal directly and I sure can’t go to her husband.” 

“That is true, Mr. Charles.” 

“I honestly planned to keep this between you and me but I don’t think I can help you without enlisting someone else.  I’d like to ask my wife’s opinion.”

“Mrs. Rima is a good woman.  Women know how to get what they want when they really want it.”

Laughing, Charles replied, “Are you sure you haven’t been married before.” 

The Blind Beggar: Part XVIII

Boulos was surprised he didn’t detect Charles was back in the room.  Perhaps the explosion and shock wave affected his ears.  His ears were ringing.  Charles could sense Boulos was distraught and presumed it was due to the recent events.  He walked to the bed and asked, “Is there something I can do for you?  You are obviously troubled.”

Embarrassed, Boulos replied, “The explosion did scare me.  Stepping on the glass embarrasses me.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know.  I feel I should have known.  The whole thing is so unnormal.  My mind is scattered.”

“Who is Amal?  Is there someone I can call to see if she is ok?”

Would a Christian understand the story?  Still, it is a story Boulos shared with no one.  He tried to brush it aside.  “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing to me.”

“Really, it is nothing.”

“Boulos, its ok.  You can tell me.  No one else will ever know, not even my wife.”

Something in the tone of his voice told Boulos Charles sincerely cared.  He was trustworthy.  Only genuine trust and care would allow him to tell the story.  “Amal is a girl I knew when I was young.  My parents died and I lived wherever I could for many years.  Much of the time it was on the streets.  Amal and her family befriended me and we fell in love but her father had her marry another man.”

“I’m so sorry.  All of that must have been so hard.  How old were you when your parents died.”

“About 8, I guess.”

“Wow, I’m so sorry.  I can’t even imagine.  Tell me about Amal.”

Boulos considered the request.  Could he properly explain his joy if he ever regained his sight?  For some things, there are no words.  He began, “I was allowed to play with Amal and her family.  There was a separation between us, I knew that.  I mean, I knew I could never enter their home but Amal accepted me right away.  Her siblings and cousins also did soon after.  Amal cared enough to sneak food to me.  I don’t know.  I guess it was her care for me that made me fall in love with her.”

“Love triumphs over all.”

“Yes it does.  Because of her care for me, I’ve always tried to care for others.  I lived with my uncle for some years and I tried to care for him as Amal did for me.  It seemed the best way I could honor her love.”

Charles marveled at the thought and said, “You know, you’d make a good Christian.”

“What?” 

“Seriously!  Jesus said we are to love one another as He loved us.  Too many Christians don’t understand that and yet you live it without knowing the command.  I’d rather work with you than all those Christians who only think of themselves.”

Not knowing how to respond, Boulos simply said, “Thank you.”

“Have you ever seen Amal since?”

Boulos again hesitated.  It was one thing to talk of the past.  The present was another matter.  He briefly considered denying his recent contact with Amal.  Then he realized this could be the opportunity he hoped for.  “We briefly met a few weeks ago.  She lives in the same building as Mr. Daiwik.”

Disbelieving, Charles gasped, “What?”

“It is true.  Mrs. Madhura, Mr. Daiwik’s wife, allowed us a brief meeting.”

“After all these years?  That’s crazy.”

“Mr. Charles, I do not lie.  I speak the truth.”

“No, no, I believe you.  It is just incredible.”

“Yes, it is.”  Boulos considered the consequences of the question he wanted to ask.  He proceeded anyway.  “Mr. Charles, can you help me get Amal’s phone number or email so I may communicate with her with my iPad?”