Foodie
I saw a sign of a store called Foodie recently. As I read it, it made me rush back in my memories to the time when I was a young mother and I thought that nothing was impossible. I had a friend called Foudie. Foudie was a gentle person. He was kind.
We were in our mid-twenties to early thirties in those years. Foudie was always there for everyone. He never let anyone down. If you asked him for a favor, Foudie happily obliged. He was a gentle, soft-spoken soul. Foudie liked to have fun. He loved parties. He loved sports. He swam. He skied. He danced. He was a free-spirited guy. His dream was to learn to fly a plane and perhaps own one someday.
I remember once a friend decided to have a party. She did not know how to go about organizing it. Foudie helped her, and what a terrific party it turned out to be! It was still going strong in the wee hours of the morning. He was so fun-loving. There was no one that did not love him.
One winter day Foudie and a few of his buddies set off for a day of skiing. They had planned this days in advance, and they were all looking forward to it. Foudie woke up that morning with a bit of temperature. As was our custom, children lived in the parental home until they got married. Such was the case with Foudie. His widowed mother touched his forehead and stated, “My son, ibni, your face is a bit flushed, and you seem to have a bit of temperature. Perhaps you should not go skiing today.” He was the youngest of her four children. The rest were all married out of the house.
Foudi gave her a reassuring smile and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Mama, I’ll be fine,” he said as he rushed off to meet his friends. Well, he was not fine. By the end of that day, he had fallen into a coma on the ski slopes. I can only imagine how helpless and shocked his friends felt. I can not even care to imagine the pain and despair that poor mother and those siblings felt. The poor mother must have rued that day and blamed herself for not having been firmer in insisting that he not go skiing. All I know is that they quickly arranged for him to be flown to Israel to a hospital there. Tehran was not known for its great hospitals nor its excellent doctors. He was under treatment in Israel for quite a while.
In the meantime, President Carter came to our country on a state visit and created havoc there. He should have stuck to growing his peanuts. He stated there was a lack of human rights in our country. With that statement, he gave the dissenters of the Shah laissez faire to run amok! The clerics demonstrated. There were blackouts every night just as the news was to come on. In the dark one could hear the eerie sound of rhythmic thumping, designed to make everyone nervous. From the rooftops every night you could hear chanting. “Allahu Akbar!” Thump! Thump! “Allahu Akbar!” Thump! Thump! In the pitch dark, eyes would be wide with horror and fear. Parents would hold their children closer to themselves, protectively. There was a scarcity of food, fuel safety. Panic took over the country. The Khomeini people arrested people left, right, and center. You’re wealthy? Off to jail you go. You are sympathetic to the Shah? There is a great risk that you will be done away with, like Amir Abbas Hoveyda, the prime minister under the shah. He was executed. If you were Israeli or promoted Israeli companies, the same thing. You left your house in the morning and were at risk of being arrested, never to be heard from again. People began to rush to leave the country. Carter had opened Pandora’s box. Islamist and its cruel policies took over. Because of this ‘lover if human rights,’ the world is still suffering because of his statement.
We fled. In less than a week we packed what we could and left. I did not see Foudi again until perhaps a year or so later. We now lived in New York. After Israel, they brought Foudie to the Mayo Clinic. One day there was a ladies’ luncheon for our community in New York. My mother and I went. Suddenly I spotted Foudi. His sister had brought him in a wheelchair. He had suffered a stroke. His speech was slurred. One half of his body was paralyzed.
“Foudi!” I cried out in delight! “Foudi! It’s so nice to see you!” I rushed to his side and hugged and kissed him warmly. He gave me a huge lopsided grin. His sister left him with me. As we talked I noticed one of his hands was clenched. It was quite paralyzed. He had no control on it. He told me he was working on that. I pulled his fingers open. They curled around my finger and asked him to squeeze hard. We were busy working on that exercise when a busybody sidled up to my mother and asked her, “Who is that man Stella is holding hands with, her lover?” She had a silly smirk upon her face.
Foudi looked mortified. I tried to ignore her. But my mother? My mother? Her eyes flashed daggers and glinted in anger. She was usually very calm. Not then. She did not stop until the woman began to back away, stuttering her apologies. Foudi had a little smile on his poor mouth. I wore a huge grin. I was never more proud of my mother.
After that, his brother would bring him to our house occasionally. Foudi loved the crème caramel I used to make. I offered him that dish. He could not have it yet, he told me. I promised to make it for him as soon as he was ready to have it. When he came, we would discuss books. Sometimes I would lend him books. I would light a fire in the fireplace, and we would have cozy chats. Sometimes his brother would stay. Sometimes my children and ex-husband would be around. I made sure the food I cooked was okay for him to eat. He was like a brother to me.
He was getting better and better. One afternoon he and his brother came. As I opened the door, I noticed that they both had huge grins on their faces. I knew they had good news to tell me. I returned their smiles with one as big as theirs.
“Well, are you going to tell me or not?” I asked, as we sat down.
“The doctors said that I can drive a specially equipped car! It will be ready for me very soon! And Stella, next time I come, you can make me crème caramel! I have been looking forward to that for such a long time!” he said happily.
I was delighted. I smiled to myself as I imagined the expression on his face as he took the first spoonful of that long-anticipated dessert. Alas, it was not to be. The next week, Foudie once more slipped back into a coma. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Why? Why I asked myself. He was doing so well! He had tried so hard. The family went to the hospital every day. They spoke to him in the hope that he would be able to react. A month passed, two, three, four. Six months passed. One day after breakfast, I was in the kitchen baking a cake. I was thinking of Foudie.
“Foudie, get up. I am baking a cake. I want to make you crème caramel. Wake up! It’s enough already!” I was speaking to him within my head.
In the same manner, he answered me. “Don’t worry Stella. I am up. I am free. I am skiing. I am flying. I am soaring across the skies,” he answered me. ‘’I’m free! I’m free!’’
Just then the phone rang. It was my ex-husband. “Foudie just passed away,” he told me sadly.
“Oh no! Oh no!” I cried.
A few minutes later, my sister called. She told me the same thing. I started shaking.
I could not help but wonder if Foodie had come to bid me goodbye that morning. There are those who believe there is a big void after death. There is nothing. I believe in the soul. The soul does not die. I believe it comes back to comfort those left behind, the ones left behind after death. I like to think that Foudie’s sufferings were over. His soul was able to sail free and do all the things he wanted to do before his life was so cruelly short. He was a free happy spirit now…