Sara’s mother had always said it was the best ice cream in Beirut. The parlor had survived the war, but her mom didn’t. Just after the warring militias had decided a truce, Sara’s mom, deeming it safe to walk home from her shift at the hospital, was hit by a stray bullet; apparently some fighters hadn’t accepted that their illustrious careers were over. The country had experienced three years of cold peace, pulling itself back together piece by fractured piece; it seemed as though things had gotten better, but the war left stains on people’s lives.
Sara ordered a double cone, chocolate with pistachio; Abu Khalil added a scoop of vanilla. He’d been extra generous with his ice cream scoop since her mother died. Sara sat contentedly at the small wooden table next to the window. As she was half-way through a chocolate dream she felt her chair rattle. Is it an earthquake? Then an explosion rang out from somewhere in the city. She froze; chocolate melted down her thumb onto her shirt. Then a louder explosion shook the ground. Sara threw away her ice cream and crouched under the table. She stayed in the fetal position, and closed her eyes.
When she opened her eyes she noticed a hand reaching out to her. Abu Khalil helped her to her feet. “Thank goodness you’re okay.”
Sara looked out into the street at a scene of fear and destruction; neighbors were screaming and their children were crying, a man with a bloodied forehead staggered past. She felt a stinging sensation in her left arm. There were small pieces of shattered glass in her skin.
“I need a doctor.”
“Nah, don’t worry about that,” Abu Khalil said. “Im Khalil will fix you up. Go through that little door, walk down the hallway until you reach the stairs, and then just go on up the stairs. I’ll stay down here and see what I can do to clean this place up.”
Sara couldn’t find her voice to ask Abu Khalil which floor their apartment was on.
“Just go on up until you reach the purple door.”
Beyond the little door, she entered a hallway with a light blue ceiling.
It’s like staring at the sky. That’s strange; there are no windows or doors, not even a purple one.
The room was illuminated with what seemed to be natural light. As she walked along the hallway it appeared to grow taller and wider.
I’m like Alice in Wonderland.
At the end of the hallway was a stairwell which she climbed until she reached the purple door. She rapped timidly with her right hand. Her left arm had gone numb. Looking at the glass bits stuck in her skin reminded Sara of the pain. She winced. The purple door slowly opened.
“Hello, may I come in?” She waited but there was no answer. “Excuse me…”
She slipped through the opened door which closed slowly behind her. There was a magnificent golden contraption that towered up to the light blue ceiling, churning, turning and whirling. Then she noticed the doors; doors all the colors. She opened an orange one. The fragrance of rose and orange blossom hit her. Sara was looking at a vast landscape of orange orchards and flower beds. Curious to see what was behind the other doors she shut the orange one. Behind the red door were berry bushes and a strawberry field. She opened and closed all the doors, discovering other impossible landscapes with curious aromas. The last door she opened was a boring brown door, but behind that one was her favorite flavor of all, chocolate. It looked like a chocolate boutique. Sara really wanted to taste one but she caught herself.
It would be rude to take without asking especially since Abu Khalil had given me an extra scoop of vanilla, but…
“Excuse me, miss! Don’t go playing around when you’ve got an injury like that!”
Sara heard an old woman’s shrill voice. She recoiled and shut the door. She looked around and saw no one.
“Up here,” Im Khalil called. “The elevator is broken because of the explosion; you’ll have to ride in this.”
Sara looked up and saw Abu Khalil’s wife standing on the balcony; then a basket large enough to fit two people descended instead of an elevator. “Get in; it’s perfectly safe. It carries loads much heavier than you.”
Again, Sara couldn’t find her voice. She climbed into the basket and was whisked up past the golden contraption which, she realized, was churning velvety liquid the same color as the walls.
Sara looked around in awe as she stumbled out of the basket. This is heavenly. “Calm down, dear; you’ve had a bit of an accident but I’ll take care of you. Sit down and I’ll make you some anise tea to calm your nerves.”
“I…it…here…your home looks like a normal apartment,” stuttered Sara. It was the first thing she’d uttered since the explosion.
Im Khalil laughed, “What did you expect it to look like, an ice cream parlor?”
Sara tried to drink her tea as Im Khalil pulled out the shards of glass with tweezers. Once the operation was over the old woman applied some strange paste then bandaged up her arm.
“Keep this on for 24 hours. Let it heal, and don’t touch it,” she said. Sara tried to convince herself that what she had just seen was a dream and she shook her head in disbelief.
“No, it’s all very real, my dear,” she said. “But you must promise not to tell anyone.”
“I promise. Doesn’t anyone else know?” It seemed hard to cover up such an extensive production she thought.
“Apart from our son and his wife, only your mother, god rest her soul, knew about our little operation here, and now you do too. ”
Little operation! What’s so little about orange orchards?
“Now I think you better get going. You’ll be safer with your family; your father must be worried about you,” she said. “I think the electricity has come back on. I’ll show you to the elevator.”
It was a normal looking elevator that stopped at the ground floor, opening at the back of the normal looking ice cream parlor.
“Aha, your back!” cried Abu Khalil, who was sweeping up some broken jars, “And all fixed up too.”
Sara nodded and smiled.
“Don’t be a stranger. Come visit us soon.”
“Thank you.”
Sara turned her back to Abu Khalil and stepped into a world of destruction. She felt as though she had just emerged from a dream. The chocolate and blood stained shirt and bandaged arm were evidence that it had been real. She thought about her mother, and the secret she took to her grave. It’s my secret too, she thought, and smiled.
