Syria - Damascus
Ângelo Fontana
Arriving in the city of Damascus in Syria, one of the cheapest cities in the world to live in, I put on the country's traditional clothing, a kandura, a long black garment, with a headscarf called a ghutra, tied with a small black cord. Underneath, men usually wear a kind of cloth wrapped around the waist to avoid transparency. Here, men can't even walk with their arms bare; if it's tough for us, imagine for the women who wear hijabs all the time—the more religious, the more fabric.
As a tourist, it was easy to enter the country; the bigger challenge now was to pass as one of the city's inhabitants, and I would do that. I don't intend to stay in this country for more than a week. I came for information, and I won't leave without it.
Being a natural-born killer, my job has allowed me to travel the entire world and also to study. At the height of my 29 years, I already spoke many foreign languages, and Arabic was one of them, so I could easily communicate with the people and uncover Lavínia's true story. Something I had never done before with any of my victims, but I needed to understand a lot of things that felt wrong.
As soon as I got dressed, I left the house of an acquaintance where I'd be staying and headed to the neighborhood where she lived. Since her damn father had hired me through this acquaintance, I had him find out where the old man lived. With her father being a well-known bookie in the city, and that's where the money he paid me came from, it wasn't hard to find out where he was, but to my bad luck, when I arrived at the house, there was no one there.
— Sir, no one lives in that house anymore, and you could get lynched if they see you there.
I hear this and turn to a young woman coming out of the gate.
— Why? _I ask.
— The daughter of the house's owner dishonored her father. And you know what that means; here, we all must forget those people, or we'll face consequences too.
— Do you know where they are? _I want to know.
— No. They left days after Lavínia ran away. _She revealed in a low tone, glancing side to side to check if anyone was watching, and I realized she knew more than I could gauge.
— Ran away? Why, do you know? _I step closer to her, keeping my distance to avoid causing her trouble or being seen poorly by the neighbors. Not that I gave a damn, but I couldn't draw attention.
— Many in the neighborhood say it was because her father killed the man she loved; others say it was because her father promised her to a fat old man.
— And what's the truth?
— Who are you? _She stared at me.
— Someone with a wounded soul. I was the devil himself to that girl and wanted to ask for her and her family's forgiveness. _I hide the truth, trying to be convincing.
— I'm very sorry, but you've hit a dead end. I don't know about Lavínia, her little brother Faruk, or her father.
I grimace.
— Faruk?
— Yes, the brother she took with her when she fled.
— Lavínia fled with a brother? _I'm in explicit confusion and stare at the ground.
Where is this boy?
— Yes, Lavínia and I studied together, and she spoke of Faruk with so much love, saying he was the only person who reminded her of her late mother. She would never leave her brother with her father; she was afraid he'd sell him like he did with her by promising her to a man.
I'm speechless.
— Do you know if Lavínia had libertine behaviors? _I ask, trying to understand her choice to turn to prostitution.
The girl immediately shook her head.
— Lavínia was the purest girl in this place. She wasn't to blame for the men constantly surrounding her; unfortunately, her punishment was being born so beautiful—everyone wanted to take advantage of her beauty. When there was a war in the city between rival bookies, her cowardly father, afraid of being hunted, handed her over on a silver platter to the other bookie, the one she was promised to.
I'm incredulous.
She fled with a brother.
Her father killed the man she loved.
He handed her over to a bookie from another city.
And now he wants her dead if that man doesn't want her back.
This is starting to look like a horror movie.
— Did Lavínia ever talk about or show fascination with debauchery?
— She gave herself to the man she loved, believing she would marry him, unaware that her father had already promised her to another man. If her debauchery was loving, then she got lost in it. I don't think she should be judged for that. She just wanted peace with her brother and left, escaping a place where she was so unhappy. _She looked at me intently. — What did you do to her?
— I gave her more unhappiness than she could bear. _I extend my hand to her.
Seeing my gesture, her eyes widen.
— You're not from here. _She realized.
— Please, lower your hand, or they'll notice you're a foreigner.
I quickly do so and glance around.
— How did you know? _I question, as if I hadn't planned the gesture.
— We don't greet like that here. Foreigners do that. _I smile and touch my chest, showing her I know how to greet. — You knew. Why are you dressed like us?
— Because I needed answers.
— Is Lavínia with you?
— No.
— Do you know where she is?
— I do.
Immediately, the girl covered her mouth with her hands.
— Could you take a letter from me to her?
I nod, and the girl ran to get it.
When she returned, she handed me a sealed envelope and thanked me, touching her chest with uncontained joy in her eyes.
— Thank you. _I say.
— Tell her never to come back here with her brother. Say we found out her father hired a man to kill her. I didn't write this in the letter because they invaded our homes to see if we knew about her or kept in touch.
Showing no reaction, I just nodded and turned, leaving.
I would never tell her that.
Not when I'm the man her father hired to find and kill her.
Suddenly, I stopped in my tracks and looked around at the place where I was.
Me, a hired killer, what the hell am I doing in this place?
It's like I have nothing better to do.
I shook my head, indignant at my impulsive behavior. Lavínia was just a job, and I was being paid for it.
Why am I investigating her life?
When I say this man is unpredictable, this is why.
But the truth is, he's feeling guilty. That's it.