I, The Divine

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I wanted my mother to see her grandson, but she refused. My son, Kamal, was born in New York. When he was a baby, I took him everyday across the park, from the Upper West Side to the Upper East Side, to visit Janet. Once he left New York, she did not want to see him again. Kamal lived in Beirut with his father, but he came every summer to visit me.

One day, in July of 1993, I forced the issue. I walked Kamal over to her building. I told Jonathan, the doorman, to tell my mother Kamal and I were coming up. I did not have to do that since Jonathan knew me well, but I thought it would be better if she was prepared for us. Janet told him she could not receive us because she was leaving. I said I would wait for her downstairs and see her on her way out. Janet entered the lobby twenty minutes later, still beautiful as ever. Like a well-behaved boy, Kamal stood up to greet his grandmother. She shook his hand.

“You’re a big boy now,” she said.

“He’s twelve, Mother.”

“Well, I can’t stay here and chat. I’m late for an appointment. We can do this some other time. Okay? Have fun you two.”

She turned around and walked out, not allowing us to say anything more.

“Your mother is crazy,” Kamal said.

“She’s your grandmother.”

“Sitto Saniya is my grandmother, not Janet.”

“Saniya is your step-grandmother. Janet is your grandmother. She’s your blood and you can’t forget that.”

“I’m hungry.”

I took him to a Greek restaurant across the street. We sat outdoors because I wanted to watch. He ordered pizza, the only thing he ate those days. Within five minutes of sitting down, we saw Janet walk back into the apartment building.