Behind You Is the Sea

by Susan Muaddi Darraj

Americans like to talk about everything, I know. They like to share their feelings, like purging old clothing or dumping clutter. But when you’re like us, you purge nothing. You recycle or repurpose every damn thing. Nothing is clutter.

There suddenly didn’t seem to be any pleasure in packing his opinions into a bullet and firing it into his listener. He believed, so strongly right now, that he would rather hurt himself than insult this woman.

“Behind you is the sea. Before you, the enemy.” I glance at him then continue. “You have left now only the hope of your courage and your constancy.”

Spain and the famous speech by Tariq ibn Ziyad. He burned his men’s ships at the harbor so they couldn’t sail home; he’d known they were scared, so he made fighting their only option.

Arabs are ridiculous; even if they live a dream life, they want to star in some tragedy. If there is no tragedy, they imagine one.

“Look,” she says, “sometimes people just have to take your word for it. It’s like someone stepping on your toes and not moving off. Do you really have to explain how the pressure is causing you pain?”

The Arabs were a people that knew life could be horrifically unjust and unfair—and yet they cherished it.