signaled them to stop. Kelly panicked and slammed down hard on the brakes. Matt Richards smashed into the windshield, then ricocheted back against the passenger seat. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was the high-pitched squeal of Pirelli tires sliding sideways.
Chapter Four
Orly Airport, Paris, August, 1968
“There’s the sign: ‘AUB Junior Year Abroad Program,’ ” Matt barked. He and Todd Cummings, both from Harvard University, had traveled together from Boston to the meeting place at Orly Airport for the official beginning of their year-long adventure.
“Think the living conditions will be as good as Harvard?”
“Who cares, Toad? This is our year to live it up. See and do everything. Explore a new world. Live free.” Matt punched his friend playfully. While they were in the same dormitory, Toad, as Matt liked to call him, wasn’t one of Matt’s regular drinking and carousing buddies.
“Yeah. Well I’m here because you wanted a familiar face around. And my parents thought it would be good for me to see the world a little. But I’m still not sure this is a good idea. I mean, being away from Harvard for a whole year. What if we don’t learn anything?”
“Look, Toad. I know I talked you into coming along on this Junior Year Abroad program. But think of the things we can see and do. This is about as far away from Massachusetts as you can get. And I don’t just mean in miles. What kind of students do you think have signed up for this year?” Matt eagerly strained his neck to look at the students milling about ahead.
Both young men moved through the crowded waiting area. “I hope they’re not just a bunch of rich dope heads getting away from their parents for a year.”
Matt laughed. “Don’t be such a cynic, Toad. Not everyone in the world is as serious as you are, thank God. This is our year to experience, to experiment. ‘See all and do all,’ that’s my motto for this year. It would be a relief to talk to a few beery souls after spending four days in Paris with you. I’ve seen enough museums to last a lifetime.”
Matt slapped his traveling companion on the back good-naturedly. “Come on, Toad, let’s go meet the others.”
On the other side of the waiting area they could see a small group of students clustered around a banner. A short black man with horn-rim glasses and a pipe was at the center of the group.
“That must be Dr. Thomas.” Todd moved ahead, curious. “He’s a professor of genetics on sabbatical from Georgetown. He’s our faculty advisor for the year. His photo’s in the briefing packet.”
“I lost mine. Is he our official den mother or something?”
“Very funny. He’s a world-renowned geneticist.”
“Who’s the tall guy that looks like a banker?”
“That’s William Fisher. He recently graduated from Yale. Middle Eastern Affairs. He joined the State Department and now he’s moving to Beirut with his wife to be a cultural attache at the U.S. Embassy. He’ll be giving us several lectures on the Middle East during orientation week. The briefing packet says he speaks fluent Arabic. Think you’ll pick up any Arabic?”
“I’ll give it a try, Toad. But thank God my mother was French. I hear French is the official second language of Lebanon, after Arabic of course.”
Middle East Airways Flight No. 148 left Orly Airport at 3:25 P.M. for Beirut, with a brief stop in Athens to pick up passengers and refuel.
She came onboard in Athens. As she walked down the aisle, long red hair bounced and fiery green eyes radiated confidence. “Excuse me. I believe I have the window seat.” Matt and Todd stood up to let her slide in. They scrambled for the middle seat. Matt won.
A severe thunderstorm quickly took the spirit out of her. Amid flashes of lightning the plane rocked violently. Her olive skin paled as she shrank down in her seat, gripping the armrests.
Matt leaned over. “Are you all right? Why don’t you tighten your seat belt and close your eyes? It’s just a little electrical storm and these planes are extremely sturdy.” He reached over and pulled down the window shade. “There, that’s better. It’ll keep out the lightning flashes.”
The airplane shuddered. She gripped his arm. Her eyes shut tight. “Just make it go away, please.”
“I wish I could. But I’m not God, just an American. Why don’t we talk a little and try to distract ourselves?” He looked at her, absorbing her breathtaking beauty, only partially tarnished by her anxiety. Slowly she opened her eyes. He fell into the deep green pools. She spoke slowly at first. Matt was mesmerized by her accent and the soft power of her voice.
“My name is Maha Hammad. I’m Jordanian.”
“What a beautiful name. Maha. Does it mean something?”
“In Arabic it means laughing eyes.” She winced as lightening illuminated the cabin and the plane pitched.
“A fitting name for such eyes, and such a beautiful face.” He squeezed her hand with true care and concern.
She turned away.
“Sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.” Matt leaned back in his seat, feeling foolish.
“He often does that to people,” remarked Todd, leaning over to speak to her.
She looked directly at Matt. “I have been visiting friends in Athens,” she said, her confidence returning. “But now I am on my way back to Beirut for my third year in the School of Pharmacy at the American University. And what about you? Why are you traveling to Beirut?”
“I’m attending a junior year abroad program at AUB. I’ll be going there for the entire school year. Along with my friend here. Todd. We’re both from Harvard. It’s our first time out of the US.”
They talked long past the patch of turbulence until the jet touched down at Beirut International Airport five hours later. They agreed to meet in three days on the university tennis courts.
Matt Richards floated off the plane and thanks to serious-minded Todd was able to collect all his baggage and join up with the rest of the group near the taxi stand just outside the main airport doors. The warm humid night air assaulted him as he stepped through the doors.
“Wow,” Matt said.
“Wow, what?”
“Can’t your feel it? Marco Polo and Alexander the Great passed through this country. This exotic Lebanon. Take a deep breath, Toad. The air is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. The sea, the mountain trees, the desert sands, exotic spices, smoke from cooking fires. God, it’s an ancient recipe. This must have been what enticed great generals and early explorers to journey all the way to Lebanon. They were drawn here. Just like me.” Matt dropped his bags and stood still, exhilarated at his first experience of the Middle East.
“Smells like diesel fumes to me,” Todd said, “and open-air toilets. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
Before either of them could get their bearings, they were bundled into a battered Mercedes taxi with one other American student. After luggage had been precariously strapped into the open trunk and stuffed into the vacant passenger seat, the cab tore off.
“He’s driving well don’t you think?” Matt gripped the seat.
“They said in the briefing packet that traffic signs are more like suggestions than rules.” Todd winced as they came to their first roundabout.
Matt and Anne-Marie, a student from Boston College whose parents were first-generation Lebanese American, screamed with delight. Flying along at 120 kilometers per hour on the pothole-filled tarmac roads they survived the thirty-five minutes of exhilarating fear and screeched to a halt in front of the dormitory gates at the American University of Beirut.
Matt said an excited goodbye to Anne-Marie and Todd then lugged his suitcases up to the second floor. He found room 24 and knocked. After a few moments a light came on. Then the door opened abruptly. Samir Hussein, in boxer shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, smiled as he grabbed one of the suitcases.
