(LYRIC PROSE)
IN THE HOTEL POOL ON THE DEAD SEA ROAD; JORDAN, 2008
ANDREA MARCUSA
IN THE HOTEL POOL ON THE DEAD SEA ROAD; JORDAN, 2008
ANDREA MARCUSA
August, in Jordan on the shores of the Dead Sea, the lowest point in the world.
The afternoon sky hums above the cobalt Sea and a searing sun lights up the pool, the navy deck chairs, the bleached canvas umbrellas. Across the Sea stand the conflicted peaks of the West Bank – Jerusalem, Hebron, Bethlehem. To my East, a mere nine hours’ drive away, lies a scarred and combatant Baghdad, in a still-warring Iraq. But here, floating on the soothing surface of a hotel pool, the view of the peaceful Sea, the lively light of the sun skidding across the water, the refreshing wetness, distort my landscape.
A seductive place, I think, so perfect yet so illusory.
I glide breaststroke, past gentle sprays of fountains, the bubbling slide, a waterfall that cascades endlessly, gracefully, and arrive at the “Infinity Pool,” where if I look out a certain way, I can see water 360 degrees around me. Behind are the soft sounds of children playing in the shallow end. Above a dry, neutral blue sky. Beyond, the barren, jagged peaks of Moses’ Nebo. And in front of me unfurls the azure Dead Sea waters to the mustard, battle-weary hills of the Palestinian Territories.
I hear throaty male voices, turn and spot two men in the pool corner. They stand neck high in water and conversation, their bearing an intoxicating mix of testosterone and money commingling. One man bluish-black and foreign accented, the other sun screened and white speaks in flat American. Their language is universal. The commerce of war, the dollars and cents of conflict complete with the whitewashed terms of contracts, agreements.
This kingdom is a look-the-other-way place, the home of the Iraq War furlough, the military contractor, a staging ground for other countries’ battles.
I lean my chin onto my forearms and absorb the utter complexity of it all. How life always seems to be like this. In the midst of so much magnificence, a darker reality is always lurking somewhere near.
On the edge of extremes, beauty is always so heightened.
Andrea Marcusa is a fiction and essay writer. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in New South, Christian Science Monitor, The New York Times and other publications. A four-time Pushcart Prize nominee, she was a finalist in the New Letters essay and Ruminate’s fiction competitions. Learn more about Andrea Marcusa’s work at andreamarcusa.com.
Author's Note: Someone had told me that a lot of military contractors passed through Jordan and then there I was in this luxurious hotel pool, looking out over the Dead Sea to Israel, thinking that the conflict in Iraq wasn’t really that far away, and I felt moved to capture the moment in words.
Author's Note: Someone had told me that a lot of military contractors passed through Jordan and then there I was in this luxurious hotel pool, looking out over the Dead Sea to Israel, thinking that the conflict in Iraq wasn’t really that far away, and I felt moved to capture the moment in words.
