From Beirut II

"A mysterious and omniscient security-intelligence officer named Stuart told me to pack my bags. He picked me up from the Sheraton Four Points - the sleekwall fountain in the front had been shut down. I had brought some orange sweets with me from Mama Hiam's to offer him, but he declined. He reminded me of those French guys in Munich who hoard confidential information and sell it to dueling governments. As we drove, I noticed how Beirut had never been so cloudy. He said that the gloom was largely due to all the explosions: two layers of grey hung above us. We picked up some Yalies from the American University of Beirutand drove North to Dbayeh.We arrived at Le Royal and met Zado, Zohair, and Yousra, who would cater to our every need in the days to come. The suite was two stories, complete with two bathrooms, two-story window, kitchen, and balcony. The asking price for this suite is $1,300 per night according to the website. I spent the afternoons looking blankly at outdated issues of Time Out Beirut in the health club's Jacuzzi overlooking the Mediterranean, now full of helicopters and war ships. I could turn my head to the south to see Beirut. On the first night, I sat outside on the veranda of the lobby and looked at the city in the distance. I saw three explosions, falling like decaying fireworks. Day by day, the cloud of smoke thickened over Beirut. Day by day, I became accustomed to eating a $33 lunch at Le Jardin Royal and to sitting comatose in the mezzanine of the Opera Garnier. We moved back to Beirut to catch the AUB evacuation. It felt good to be back in the city. I wanted to see and feel its paraplegia. In the afternoon, I went down to the Corniche to the Manara lighthouse, whose crown had been blown to shambles. Then, I walked the 2.5 km to Talet El Khayat and took the elevator to the third floor. When I knocked on the door, Emily asked, "Who is it?" Quietly, I said,"Hassan Nasrallah." Clueless, she opened the door, smiled with soft ignorance, and returned to folding wareq 3anib. I snuck down the hallway and saw Mama Hiam snoring on her couch with the TV on LBC. I found some Sayadiyeh in the fridge, grabbed some Saudi dates, and had lunch on the balcony...now in the orchestra. I returned to the living room and sat on the chair opposite big Heo, waiting for her to wake up. Her arms flabbed open like an overweight Fantasia dragon. "Inteh houn?" she screamed. She had no clue how I had arrived or what I was doing there, so we ate mangoes and drank Turkish coffee. I took a four hour nap and showered forever. Whenever anyone called, Hiam would tell them how I materialized out of nowhere in her living room. How I had left a five-star hotel-evacuation package to sleep on her couch. I looked in the drawers full of crap I had left behind and pulled out my "bahebek ya philistine" t-shirt, which I had accidentally left in the laundry. Come sunset, I kissed her goodbye. We stood in line for eight hours with hundreds of Arab-Americans holding babies and baggage. The marines - who look like people from White Water and Six Flags- handed out MREs, calorie packed portable meals with magical water-activated heaters inside (bite-size Tabasco and moist towlette included). Stuart stood with us and told us about his compound in Sanaa and how he trained militaries around the world to purge mine fields. The hours of waiting melted together.The rusty Egyptian cruise-ferry boat (followed by an American destroyer or two) zigzagged back and forth between Turkey and Cyprus for twenty hours. I woke up from a nap on the top deck of the ship. Hoary Lebanese grandpas and their grandchildren in Fubu and Chanel were joined in a dabke line, stomping and singing across the width of the deck. When the song changed, a grandpa would break off the line and belly dance with a baby in the middle of the circle as we all sang/clapped along. They were a good pair since neither could handle the shifting equilibrium. After hours of Eurotrash debauchery in Ayia Nappa, a first-class ticket to London, and a bus to Porte Maillot, Beirut has become an internet news package on bbcnews.com with hyperlinks titled "What is Hizbullah?" I am not there anymore (was I ever?). People here ask me if I was frightened. I shake my head. The augmenting emotional distance, however, has become unbearable."