<\/p>\n
Carcasses of goats or sheep hung from wooden stalls covered with jute sacking. I walked through the marketplace. There was a mix of smelly fish, fruits, vegetables, flatbreads, woven seat-covered chairs, antiques, trinkets, jewellery, clothes and electronics. Shouting vendors drew in customers. The entire place was loud\u2014 people bartering and laughing or chatting over a cup of coffee. The smell of sizzling meat and garlic drifted above the crowds. I passed stall after stall. A little boy sat on a curb and called out, \u201cMarhaba<\/em> Miss, you wanna buy some nuts or candy?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow much do you want?\u201d I asked in Arabic.<\/p>\n He thought for a second.<\/p>\n \u201cWhatever you can give.\u201d<\/p>\n I tossed some coins into his tin can. He handed me a red gumdrop and I popped it in my mouth.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you.\u201d \u201cYou have a different accent. You\u2019re not from Beirut, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n He shook his head and stated, \u201cI\u2019m from Damascus. You have an accent too. Where you from?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCanada.\u201d<\/p>\n I had been in Beirut for over a year, teaching English at an ESL college. My life in Ottawa had turned into shower, breakfast, work, lunch, dinner, mark papers, plan lessons, sleep, shower, breakfast, work, lunch, dinner, mark papers, plan lessons, sleep, repeat<\/em>. I needed a major change, so I applied for a teaching job abroad and got one in Lebanon.<\/p>\n Feigning shivers, he said in English, \u201cIt\u2019s cold there, no?\u201d<\/p>\n I smiled. \u201cYour English is good.\u201d<\/p>\n All of a sudden, the boy wailed at a crowd of passersby. I stepped aside. Some people hurried along while others bought the nuts and candy. When the crowd disappeared, I sat next to the boy. He stretched out his skinny legs. He wore shorts that were too long for him and I could tell they were made for men.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Katrina. What\u2019s your name?\u201d I laughed at his cleverness.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know Basil means \u2018brave\u2019?\u201d \u201cWhere did you learn English?\u201d \u201cHow old are you, Basil?\u201d<\/p>\n He lifted his sun-browned forehead and said.<\/p>\n \u201cTen.\u201d I had taught elementary school for eight years in Canada and lately had been missing teaching youngsters.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you want me to teach you some words?\u201d<\/p>\n He brought his knees up, huddled them close to his chest and nodded vigorously.<\/p>\n \u201cBut I can\u2019t pay.\u201d<\/p>\n A wall of silence fell between us. When I finally spoke, my voice shook.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t have to pay me. I used to read to my brother. Pierre loved reading with me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs he in Canada?\u201d<\/p>\n I took a deep breath.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, he\u2019s gone.\u201d Changing the topic, I said. \u201cI\u2019ll teach you how to read stories in English. Would you like that?\u201d<\/p>\n He looked at me.<\/p>\n \u201cYes!\u201d A brilliance overtook his momentarily grave face.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, it\u2019s settled then.\u201d We shook on it. \u201cSee you tomorrow!\u201d<\/p>\n Jumping up now, he waved goodbye. Then he ran to a man who looked to be in his late thirties. He had a mop of curly grey hair and his coffee cups clicked together with every step he took. \u201cBabba!\u201d Basil shouted, embracing the man. They walked hand-in-hand. Basil turned and waved at me again.<\/p>\n Overwhelmed by curiosity, I rose from the curb and followed Basil and his father. Swallows swept through the orange-purplish sky. I walked down a winding alley. They walked at a quick pace so I hurried my own, circling around more maze-like alleys until I reached the planks of a bay. Luxury yachts lined the glitzy seafront. Basil and his father went through an open wooden gate and entered a shanty town. I stopped, found a bench and rested on the dock. From this distance, I could see Basil swinging his arms and could still hear the click-clack of his father\u2019s coffee cups. A crowd of men were swimming in the sea. Basil and his father joined them. Later on, they disappeared somewhere under the tin roofs of the makeshift homes. After a while, I got up and left, but my thoughts were with Basil, wondering what he would eat tonight, if anything. I used to wonder what Pierre ate too.<\/p>\n The next day, I found him.<\/p>\n \u201cKatrina, you came!\u201d I pulled out Curious George Goes to the Beach<\/em>. Basil laughed at the little monkey.<\/p>\n \u201cI want to be like George \u2013 adventurous, brave!\u201d We mostly read picture books. When he learned all the words in those books, we tackled more difficult stories. After my workdays, Basil waited for me. Within months, his speech flourished and when he was calling out to customers, I sometimes watched him from across the street.<\/p>\n \u201cSpectacular sea salted caramel candy! Scrumptious hazelnuts and pine nuts! They are out of this <\/em>world! Sheikhs, princes and princesses would enjoy these with delightful cups of tea! Try for yourself and see!\u201d he said to passersby, who were mostly women. Some stopped and asked him his name.<\/p>\n \u201cBasil, not the spice.\u201d<\/p>\n One woman in the crowd said, \u201cAre you as sweet and pleasant as basil, Basil?\u201d<\/p>\n He flashed his dazzling, but stained, smile and said, \u201cI\u2019m sweeter and more pleasant and, of course, if you buy my nuts and candy, I\u2019ll be even sweeter and even more pleasant!\u201d<\/p>\n The women clapped, their gold rings tapping together, as if they were young schoolgirls. I smiled from across the road. Once the customers left, I went and sat next to him on the curb.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re quite the salesman!\u201d I opened a book and we read it together as the sunset painted the jute sacking. Memories of reading to Pierre flooded my mind. I missed him. After a few minutes, my colleague and friend Jim interrupted us.<\/p>\n \u201cHello there!\u201d<\/p>\n I introduced him to Basil.<\/p>\n \u201cSo you\u2019re the guy Katrina is seeing? Are you her boyfriend?\u201d asked Basil. He planted a quick kiss on my cheek. Then rushed off to meet his father before turning and waving goodbye.<\/p>\n \u201cHe reminds me so much of Pierre.\u201d<\/p>\n Jim hugged me.<\/p>\n \u201cThere isn\u2019t a day that goes by where I don\u2019t think about him,\u201d I said softly. <\/p>\n The following day, I went to the marketplace, but Basil wasn\u2019t around. I asked the vendors about him. \u201cHaven\u2019t seen him today,\u201d one said. \u201cSorry, no Basil. Maybe tomorrow,\u201d someone else said. I went back the next day and the next. Days turned to weeks. But Basil never showed up. I even wandered through the shanty town, but everyone I spoke to just lifted up their hands or shook their heads and went back to hanging wet clothes or fetching water from the sea. I walked away with my legs feeling heavy with sadness.<\/span><\/p>\n When I reached my workplace, Jim was in my classroom.<\/p>\n \u201cDid you find Basil?\u201d he asked. I gathered my bag, but then Jim gently grabbed my wrist and said, \u201cA class has to be taught, Kat.\u201d<\/p>\n His deep voice was calm and I smiled realizing he was right. The work had to be done. It was another normal day.<\/p>\n After class, I raced over to the boardwalk. It was shortly after three when I spotted the corn vendor. I approached him and asked, \u201cDoes Basil work with you?\u201d<\/p>\n A grunt came through the man\u2019s bushy mustache, \u201cWho?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBasil,\u201d I repeated, standing closer to him and eyeing the corn on the cob. My stomach growled and I bought one from him. It was warm in my hands.<\/p>\n \u201cButter?\u201d He held out a salt shaker and I let him sprinkle some on the corn. I stepped back and walked to an empty bench directly across from the sea. I looked at the horizon as I took quick bites. Maybe Jim was mistaken or maybe he was just trying to cheer me up. I longed to see Basil here selling corn, candy or nuts. Time passed. The sunset started fading behind the mountains. I glanced down at my watch and realized it was well past five. Just then, Jim sat next to me.<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t find Basil. He\u2019s gone missing like Pierre. You know my parents searched for him for months, years. Then they just stopped. They woke up every day, went to work, cooked meals, and took care of me. They went on with life. They even stopped talking about him.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEveryone deals with grief differently, Kat. Sometimes we have to stop holding on to keep going\u2026\u201d he paused and cleared his throat. \u201cSometimes we have to accept that someone is gone.\u201d <\/p>\n I looked at him with surprise. \u201cBut you told me that you saw Basil here.\u201d I said nothing.<\/p>\n \u201cI know how much you loved teaching him. Maybe you can find another child to help.\u201d I waved goodbye to Jim. Rain started to fall, whipping the calm blue Mediterranean. I ran along the boardwalk, my eyes darting around. A little boy stood across the wide street. I thought it was Basil. I tried to cross the road but a rush of cars blocked my way. When they passed, the boy was gone. Big drops of rain splashed on me. I stumbled blindly down the rain-lashed streets.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Basil, Not Spice<\/strong>
\n\u201cThank you,\u201d the boy repeated.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBasil, not the spice.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cReally? I\u2019m strong!\u201d He shouted and flexed his arms.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAt school in Syria. But no school anymore. Nothing but this.\u201d He shook his can. The coins rattled. <\/p>\n
\n\u201cCan you read?\u201d
\n\u201cSome Arabic, but no English.\u201d
\n\u201cWould you like to learn?\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhere?\u201d
\n\u201cIt\u2019s a long story.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWe made a deal.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWell, your name means \u2018brave\u2019, remember?\u201d I said gently.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t know the words without you, Katrina.\u201d He smiled. \u201cIt\u2019s reading time!\u201d<\/p>\n
\nJim winked at me.
\n\u201cWe\u2019re only friends, Basil,\u201d I said, smiling.
\n\u201cGood! When I grow up, I\u2019m going to marry you, Miss Katrina!\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI know.\u201d Jim brought me closer, then let me go. \u201cThere\u2019s a great shawarma place around the corner.\u201d I hooked my arm in his. We followed the scent of sizzling meat.
\n
\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo,\u201d I said, my voice filled with disappointment.
\n\u201cI\u2019m sure he\u2019s all right. I thought I spotted him today out on the boardwalk selling corn with one of the vendors.\u201d
\n\u201cWhen?\u201d I asked.
\n\u201cMaybe an hour ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo thanks. Do you know Basil?\u201d I asked.
\n\u201cSorry,\u201d he spoke more gently now. \u201cNo basil, only butter and salt.\u201d
\n\u201cBasil, not the spice,\u201d I whispered.
\n\u201cYou want a pinch of salt?\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt could have been him or it could have been another boy. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d
\n\u201cI should have helped him.\u201d
\n\u201cYou did help him. You taught him to read. You gave him the gift of words. Maybe his parents took him somewhere better or maybe he\u2019s still in Beirut but working elsewhere. That\u2019s a possibility.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBut they\u2019re not him. Basil, not the spice.\u201d I tried to smile at Basil\u2019s joke.
\n\u201cI know.\u201d Jim squeezed my arm then got up from the bench. \u201cI\u2019ll see you tomorrow at school, right?\u201d
\n\u201cYes,\u201d I said with uncertainty.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow much do you want?\u201d I asked in Arabic.
\nHe thought for a second. \u201cWhatever you can give.\u201d
\nI tossed some coins into his tin can. He handed me a red gumdrop and I popped it in my mouth. \u201cThank you.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThank you,\u201d the boy repeated.
\n\u201cYou have a different accent. You\u2019re not from Beirut, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":3119,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-322","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/322","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=322"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/322\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3120,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/322\/revisions\/3120"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3119"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=322"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=322"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue23\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=322"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}