out laughing then and I found myself giggling in return.
‘Cheeky thing,’ he said, reaching out to pat me on the head.
We became fast friends after that, though he only ever muttered a greeting when I arrived at the marina to meet him on Saturday mornings, and when we did make conversation it was always brief and to the point. I asked him about his nightly fishing trips on the dark, rolling sea and about what it felt like to be out there on his own and whether he would take me out with him on his excursions. The water at night is as thick and as smooth as blood and anyone who fell into it would be swallowed up in no time, he replied with a mischievous grin. I shuddered at the thought but still did not give up the notion that anything was possible, even for me, if only I were brave enough to attempt it.
It is late afternoon and the Corniche is bathed in soft light.
‘I grew up one street away from here,’ I say, pointing away from the main road. ‘I used to come to the Corniche with my friends to play. There was an old fisherman I made friends with, at that small marina just under the bridge there. I wonder what’s happened to him.’
Margo stops to look in the direction I am pointing, then she makes her way to one of the concrete benches that line the pavement and sits down.
I motion to a vendor on a bicycle to stop and I buy two pieces of kaak from him.
I sit down next to Margo, make a hole in each of the layered pieces of bread and fill them with the thyme and sesame seed mixture that comes with them.
‘Here you go, Margo,’ I say, handing her the kaak.
By dusk parents with strollers are walking leisurely up and down the pavement. Looking around me, I am once again struck by the mix of people, elderly men in fold-out chairs, veiled women alongside others in body-hugging jeans and tight T-shirts, young children on their bicycles, joggers with their iPods blotting out the world and, out on the rocks, fishermen with their rods and tackle. There are vendors also, either carrying their wares on their backs or standing next to large wooden carts from which they sell green almonds dipped in salt, boiled corn on the cob, pumpkin seeds and peanuts in the shell and Beirut’s version of brioche and other pastries.
‘This is the one place everyone can enjoy,’ Margo says as if reading my mind. ‘That’s one of the reasons I chose to live in this part of the city when I decided to settle here.
‘At first, I stayed with friends who have an old house up in the mountains with a beautiful garden. I’ve told you about them, haven’t I? Fouad and his wife May. I loved it up there and stayed for several months before eventually coming down to Beirut.’
I nod. I have heard this story before, although Margot seems to have forgotten that I have met her friend Fouad before.
‘That first walk on the Corniche was something,’ Margo smiles. ‘Like being in the south of France again, although it’s a lot less polished here, of course.’
We look to the right, to the hills and mountains in the distance. It is a clear spring day and except for a small area of white on the highest summit, most of the winter snow is gone.
‘This is beautiful but I love the mountains too,’ I sigh. ‘I dream of having a small house there one day, somewhere I can go to breathe fresh air and quiet.’
‘Do you imagine a solitary life for yourself then, sweetheart?’
I turn to her.
‘What choice do I have? I’ve never been successful at relationships, you know that, Margo. Besides, as I get older it seems even less likely that I’ll meet a man I can really be with.’
Margo looks down and brushes some crumbs off her lap.
‘I don’t like to think of you always being on your own,’ she says quietly.
‘What kind of life do you wish for me then?’ I smile.
‘You will have a man to love you and children of your own too. It will all come when the time is right, I’m sure of that.’
Two young boys run past the bench, one of them tripping and falling down. Before I can stand up to help, he quickly picks himself up again and walks away with a slight limp. When I turn to Margo again, I realize that she looks very fragile today and feel my heart skip a beat.
‘What about you, Margo? Is this the kind of life that you wished for yourself?’
‘What makes you ask me that now, sweetheart?’
I hesitate and reach out to touch her arm.
‘Have you really been happy here, after all? Sometimes I think that maybe it’s not about place but just you, Margo. So many people come to you to be comforted, but do you have anyone to listen to you when you need solace?’
The myriad sounds of the Corniche continue around us, the sea a deep, even blue with almost no sign of waves in it.
Margo sighs.
‘You’re right, Layla, it’s not about place,’ she says, her voice trembling a little. ‘It never is about where you are or even the people you happen to be with. But somehow I don’t think I’ve really managed to help you understand that.’
‘I know wherever I choose to live will have advantages and disadvantages, Margo,’ I say a little impatiently. ‘I’m not that unperceptive, you know.’
‘No, of course you’re not.’
I clear my throat, hoping I have not offended Margo with my retort, and pick up the piece of kaak in my lap. I take a large bite from it, the sharp scent of the thyme inside it filling my nostrils. I am surprised to feel tears in my eyes and blink them back hurriedly so that she will not see them.
‘So what is it then, Margo?’ I try to smile as I ask the question. ‘What is it that I need to know to be really happy?’
She opens her hands out in front of her as if she were preparing to say a prayer.
‘More and more these days,’ she begins slowly, ‘when I look back on all the things I have done with my time, I understand that regret is, after all, futile.’
She places her hands in her lap once again.
‘What matters, sweetheart, is not what you do but how you do it, whether or not you give life the passion and seriousness it deserves and whether you have the courage and honesty to do this, not just every now and then, but every moment, right until the very end.’
She pauses.
‘It’s as hard as that?’ I finally ask.
Margo laughs.
‘Or as simple as taking pleasure in all of this,’ she says, gesturing at the scene around us. ‘As easy as finally letting go.’
