Woman Who Fell From the Sky - Jennifer Steil [155]
I will try to hide my tear
I will try to give it a laug
You might leave Yemen,
But you’ll never move a bit
Out of our hearts and minds.
Zaid al-Alaya-a
your successor
Tue 3 A.M.
Al-Asaadi fulfills a promise he made ten months ago and brings me the Yemeni raisins he claims are the best in the country. This perhaps touches me the most.
Faris is late. When he does finally come, he sits in the middle of the table, ignoring me. Despite the odds, I’ve been hoping that finally Faris will offer me a tidbit of recognition, throw me some crumb of acknowledgment that will somehow validate my year here.
I wait in vain, as I circle the table trying to talk with everyone individually and run in and out of the room where my women are dining without their niqabs. Everyone waits. My staff also expects Faris to say something. At least a few parting words. At least good-bye and good luck. That would give me an opening to say a few words of thanks to my staff.
But he does nothing. He sits there, complaining that the main course is too slow to arrive, and then leaves before the end of the night with a hasty “Thanks for the invitation” before practically running for the door.
I stand there in the emptying restaurant, feeling stunned. Just a few of us are left, as some of my male reporters have gone back to work, the women have curfews, and the expats have scampered to have drinks at someone’s house. They’ve invited me, but I’ve never felt less like a drink. Shaima and her friend Huda come around the table to comfort me. “He can’t even manage a thank you?” I say. I am so hurt that I can hardly speak properly. Shaima tries to console me, telling me that everyone else appreciates me, and isn’t it my reporters who matter? She is right, of course. My reporters are why I came, and they are why I stayed.
“It isn’t Faris’s nature to be thankful,” says one of the women. “You can’t take it personally.”
I look at them, so kind and concerned. I try to inhale their patience. They smell of frankincense. They smell of Yemen.
“Thank you,” I say, squeezing their hands. “I’m sorry to be so emotional.”
They go, and I head home for almost the last time, alone.
THE SECOND FAREWELL PARTY is for people who drink. Phil Boyle from the British Embassy has generously consented to host and does a spectacular job of it. He places little bowls of nuts and chips on the tables and lines up bottles of wine in front of his liquor cabinet. “My farewell gift to you,” he says. He’s also filled an entire refrigerator with beer and sodas.
I wear a clingy fairy dress in sparkly green, in complete contrast to the modesty I’d demonstrated the night before. My hair is down, and I’m wearing lipstick the color of a stop sign. I’m heading back to the Western world, after all, so I must start to adjust!
Carolyn is the first to arrive, followed shortly by Tim, who comes without his wife. I perch on the arm of the sofa next to him, and we talk about my imminent trip to Jordan, as I have just gotten off the phone with a Jordanian friend who is helping me with arrangements. Tim asks me about my staff, but the second I start to talk about leaving, I am in tears.
“Sorry—we’ll change the subject,” he says kindly.
My oil worker friends arrive next, followed by a passel of other friends and neighbors, bearing food and drink. Just as the bulk of people begins arriving, Tim tells me he must leave early. He’s heading to Aden the next day. I’m sad to see him go. “But I’ll be back,” I tell him as I walk him to the door, where he kisses me chastely on each cheek. “I know I’ll be back.”
What happens next depends on whom you believe. I swear that Tim kisses me full on the lips before turning to go, but he is equally convinced that I am the one to kiss him.
“I was stunned all the way back to the house,” he says later. “I hadn’t thought you liked me like that. Like I liked you.”
I find it hard to focus on anything after that. Around eleven thirty, Phil taps on his glass to get everyone’s attention and gives a little speech, saying all the things I wished Faris had said, albeit