Fatal Convictions

63

Alex drew considerably more stares in the Hezbollah district than he had in downtown Beirut. There were not many blond American males walking the streets with pretty Lebanese women. The old men sitting in front of the shops leered at Nara as she walked by. Occasionally, some would call out, “Yalla habibi.”

The first time, Alex glared at them, and Nara chuckled. The men were smiling, too.

“What does that mean?” Alex asked.

“‘Come on, baby’ or ‘let’s go, baby’-that type of thing.”

“Smooth,” Alex said.

The signs in downtown Beirut had been in both Arabic and English, but in the Hezbollah district there were few English signs. Large billboards contained gigantic faces of men Alex assumed were Hezbollah leaders. Most of the women they encountered were totally covered and averted their eyes when Alex looked at them.

Buildings still showed the lingering effects of the 2006 war with Israel. As Nara had explained during the serviz ride, the Hezbollah leaders made their headquarters in the middle of civilian neighborhoods, and the Israelis had destroyed entire city blocks with their bombs. Several years later, the rebuilding still had a long way to go.

“The Lebanese government is corrupt and slow,” Nara explained. “One of Hezbollah’s greatest strengths is disaster relief and the rehabilitation funds it deploys.”

They eventually found a cramped little restaurant that reminded Alex of a New York deli. There was a counter for ordering food and just enough room on the opposite wall for a line of small tables. Nara talked in rapid Arabic to the proprietor and introduced the man to Alex. Alex didn’t catch his name, but the big man reached over the counter and shook Alex’s hand with the strength of a vise grip.

“I’m going to order for both of us,” Nara said in English.

“Great,” Alex answered. “I’ll take a Big Mac.”

“Ugly Americans,” Nara said.

The dish that Nara actually ordered was like nothing Alex had ever tasted. It featured chickpeas, olives, and radishes mixed with a creamy substance that had the texture of yogurt. All of this was wrapped inside some kind of dough. Alex ate the food with a smile and a few approving grunts. Truthfully, it didn’t compare to last night’s dinner, but Alex wasn’t about to complain at a restaurant in the Hezbollah district.

He chatted with Nara as they ate, and at least twice the owner came over to see how the guests were enjoying their meal. Alex lied about how great everything tasted, and Nara translated his compliments.

Just before they left, the man came back one last time and talked to Nara. When they finished chatting, she stood and gave him a hug. Alex also stood and shook the man’s hand. He gave Alex a good-natured slap on the shoulder.

When Nara tried to pay for the meal, another animated discussion ensued, and it was obvious that the man wasn’t going to let her. Alex smiled and nodded in appreciation. “Thanks,” he said. The proprietor smiled back.

After they left the restaurant, Nara looked for a serviz.

“What’s the deal?” Alex asked.

She unfolded a piece of paper that the man had apparently slipped into her hand. The writing was in Arabic.

“Hamza Walid is going to meet us tonight,” Nara said in a whisper.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. It just says where his driver is going to pick us up.”