Rain over Baghdad: A Novel of Iraq (13 page)

“I said to Hilmi Amin, ‘I don’t understand why Iraq is taking its time to declare its position.’

“He said, ‘With intricate relations and long borders between the two countries, positions have to be cautious. This is similar to what happened in Egypt with the Libyan revolution in 1969 which toppled King Idris al-Senussi and his dynasty. Libya had diplomatic relations and an embassy in Egypt. Egypt could not support the revolution on the first day unless it had common interest with the revolutionaries. Iraq now has a well-respected treaty with Iran. And Iraq is now carrying out development plans that it can afford with the rise in oil prices after 1973. They certainly don’t want to embark on an adventure as Egypt did with Iran’s Mossadeq after 1951, then the Americans staged a coup soon after that. The situation in Iran is still unclear.’

“I said to him, ‘But the shah has actually left Iran, and the opposition parties, be they the communist Tudeh or the various Islamist factions, have all taken to the streets.’

“He said, ‘Don’t keep a closed mind and don’t just look at the picture from outside. These are relations among countries and not Nora’s relationships with her friends. Also don’t forget the sensitivities of the Iranian religious authorities and Khomeini who was
forced out of Iraq. All of these are factors that do not allow for quick congratulations on the part of Iraq. The Iraqi government must first understand what is happening in Iran, then declare its position.’

“I said, ‘That means we’ll have to wait and only report the ambiguous situation.’

“He said, ‘Leave all of that to me. We too have to take cautious steps, and be very precise in the way we write it. Luckily we have several days before they go to the press.’

“In the morning I learned that Khomeini had announced the fall of the shah while still en route from Paris to Tehran. We at the office expected Iraq to issue a statement in support of the revolution, but it took two whole days, then the government sent an official cable congratulating the people of Iran and hoping for neighborly relations.

“It was a surprise when a cable signed by Khomeini himself was received. It started with greetings to those who followed the right path, and then came the rest of the message. The cable, and its structure and content, left me only with the feeling that it was dry and reserved.”

Kamilia said, “No, it’s a cable with a very obvious meaning, but you missed it.”

Sarah Badr said, “I also didn’t understand.”

I said, “It was only much later that I found out that that formula was used only with a country in a state of war or about to pick a fight. It became obvious that Iran’s new regime was harboring ill will toward its neighbors. It seems people in the media among whom I moved were all aware of this without discussing it overtly.”

Salma said, “And Hilmi Amin, was he not aware of that? I can’t believe it.”

I said, “The whole situation was one of wait and see. We attributed the general mood to sensitivity between the Shia and the Sunnis, for the government was in the hands of the Sunnis and there was fear that the Iranian revolution would be exported to Iraq.”

Angel Rushti said, “Then what happened?”

I said, “I was happy with the revolution and I cried with tears of joy when Radio Tehran announced the expulsion of the Israeli embassy and gave the PLO its offices in the capital, Tehran. I followed the news with great interest since I was not sure how the Iranian Islamist parties would deal with the leftist parties that took to the streets, making it possible for the revolution to take hold. Would they get along? Or would there be waves of violence after that? Then Abu al-Hasan Bani Sadr became president, and he was not a man of religion, and the engineer Mahdi Bazirgan, who also was not a man of religion, even though he was an adherent of political Islam, became prime minister. Given these developments, I followed what was happening with bated breath.

“The streets of Iran were still in a general state of chaos, then the revolutionary trials began and we were full of apprehension about the direction of events, then you know the rest. Iraq demanded that it get back the territory it had previously ceded and the war began.”

Angel Rushti said, “We heard of explosions carried out by Iranian groups in Baghdad itself before you left Iraq. Tell us how you managed under those conditions.”

Mona Abed, again mimicking the Egyptian comedian, said, “Yes, keep us apprised of the situation, step-by-step, I beseech you. I mean, where were you? And how did you react?”

I said, “I was getting ready to return to Egypt for good. My personal circumstances were very difficult. I think it was July or August, which are so hot that Iraqis have proverbs based on them. I was doing my job and also taking care of shipping stuff, all by myself. I was also buying gifts for family and friends, then going home to look after Nagat, Hatim’s sister, who was staying with us together with her husband. She had had several miscarriages and the doctor ordered bedrest for her throughout the pregnancy, and also because Hatim could not leave the factory during working hours for any reason. That day I went to Mustansiriya University to cover the Arab Economic Conference.”

Mona cried out, “Really? You were at Mustansiriya University itself?”

I said, “Yes. I had followed the conference in previous years because I felt that I was very close to its guiding principles by championing the al-Khalsa experiment, which applied the desired model of Arab integration.

“I left before the end of the morning session to go home before rush hour. The car covered the distance at a speed I did not expect. I was surprised to see Nagat standing by the gate of the villa, waiting for me, with Yasir next to her, playing. Her face was very pale and I didn’t understand why she left her bed in spite of the doctor’s orders. I asked her, ‘Has Yasir been bothering you that much?’

“She said, ‘Where have you come from? Television has just announced an explosion at Mustansiriya University.’

“I ran toward the TV. I found the announcer rebroadcasting the news, saying, ‘A few minutes saved participants in the Arab Agricultural Economic Conference from certain disaster. But the real casualty was damage to the architecturally unique Mustansiriya University building.’

“Pictures of the university with its beautiful blue mosaic, both before and after the explosion, took up the screen. That segment directed most of its anger at the Organization of Islamic Action and al-Da‘wa Party for plotting explosions in Baghdad, Harun al-Rashid’s capital, and accused them of being lackeys. It threatened them, saying that the hand of the state would catch up with them wherever they were.”

Salma said, “There’s a lot of talk that those incidents were bogus.”

Mona said, “Tell us more, Nora.”

I said, “Hatim, Yasir, and I were once in al-Rashid Street buying gifts. We had walked for a long time and drunk a lot of juice. I had a sudden attack of diarrhea. Hatim showed me the way to public restrooms under the viaduct of Tahrir Square. We headed for them while I suffered excruciating pain, but found that they were closed. I couldn’t stand it any more, so we went to a nearby office of a tourist agency. I
said to the clerk, ‘I need to go to the toilet, please.’ The woman’s face turned white when she saw how desperate I was. She looked at her colleagues as she accompanied me to the bathroom. Hatim and Yasir stood waiting for me inside the tourist agency office. When I came out after a few minutes, I found that everyone in the office was outside. I saw a man hesitantly standing inside the office entrance and young frightened women standing outside. I didn’t understand what was happening, then I noticed that Hatim was putting back some papers in his pocket. I asked him what was happening and he told me, ‘Come, let’s go out first. They panicked so I showed them my ID and told them that I was an engineer and that my wife was a journalist. And even though some of them were somewhat reassured, some were still reluctant and fearful, as you can see.’

“He placed his hand on my shoulder and held Yasir’s hand with the other hand and started climbing the stairs to the street level.

“I turned around and looked behind me and I saw one of the young women go into the bathroom, then gesturing to her colleagues that it was safe. The workers went back inside and I saw their very pale faces give off mysterious smiles. Two months after the Mustansiriya University explosions the war started. No one knows how long it will go on or where it will lead, whether the Iraqi organizations or the Iranian government were behind the incidents leading up to it, or whether the Iraqi government fabricated them. The result is that there is a war between the two countries now.”

I took my leave to go to the bathroom to empty my breasts, fighting off my longing for Haytham whenever I saw the drops of milk disappear in the sink. I noticed that the hot water helped me finish my task quickly. I went back to my colleagues and sat in their midst. Siham Fathi said, “What kind of a trip is this? I want a cup of coffee.”

Kamilia Sabri said, “Coffee is not important. What is important is to find out when we are leaving this airport.”

Tahani Yusuf said, “I’ll go to the manager of the airport. We’re not asking for them to treat us, just to provide some coffee and light snacks and we’ll pay for them.”

Shahira al-Asi said, “Yeah, women’s power at work!”

We heard one of the employees saying, “Oh, what a beautiful bird you are!” We turned around when he repeated his exclamation. We realized he was talking to us. We laughed. He was a Jordanian young man, about thirty years old, trying to mimic the Egyptian dialect and to flirt with the actress Mahasin Tawfiq who was sitting with her friends complaining about directors. I looked up through the glass door separating us from the street. I saw some Egyptian peasants wearing gray and brown galabiyas and woolen skullcaps, covering themselves with colored shawls against the cold, standing like lifeless but sad ancient Egyptian statues. I remembered the peasants from al-Khalsa.

I had published a number of articles about al-Khalsa, whose inhabitants I loved and for whose experiment I was very enthusiastic. Hilmi Amin asked me after I had become a source of information for anyone who wanted to write about it, “Why don’t you turn these articles into a book? We could submit it as part of our project to the Ministry of Information.”

I said happily, “Yes. If I ask the peasants to tell me their life stories that would be good human-interest material. It could be a literary and a socioeconomic book also.”

The February sun helped me move around. It was beautiful sunshine, sometimes interrupted by short periods of rainfall that would soon give way to the light again. It was the most beautiful month of the year after November. Al-Khalsa was thirty-five kilometers from Baghdad. I went into the homes of the peasants, recording stories of their life in Egypt and how they ended up in Iraq and why. They were a diverse group of people representing life with all its contradictions. Some of them were able to withstand the shock of being away from home and stuck it out, cooperating with Iraqi engineers and thriving. Others could not cope and returned to Egypt in the first few months. As people gradually acclimatized, the numbers leaving the project dwindled until those who had stuck it out settled
down and sent for their relatives to join them and strengthen their family support. In time, the village reached its target number of one hundred families.

Abd al-Barr stuck close to me whenever I went to al-Khalsa. He chose which houses I should go to and sat with me until I was done, then he would take me to his house to eat. I got tired of his persistent company, but Hilmi Amin told me, “Don’t be alarmed. In the midst of peasants and workers, you will always find someone who dreams of being a writer or a journalist. He brings us news in the hope that I’ll help him be a writer. He has given me some writings that he composed about his life and about the village.”

I said, “Why didn’t you tell me before? I feel that he doesn’t let me enter certain homes and he embarrasses me in front of the other peasants as if he’s afraid I’ll speak with them without him being there.”

He said “I chose not to tell you so there’d be no clashing. In the end you are a professional writer and he’s an amateur.”

I visited Amm Wadie at home. I felt I was indeed in an authentic Egyptian village house. He was not an accidental peasant like some of those who had come to avail themselves of the benefits of the project. I kept working on the book and acquired more profound knowledge of the peasants. They began to tell me things that had been difficult for them to tell me in the early recording sessions. Abd al-Barr’s problems were endless. Every week he complained about the manager of the project for a different reason each time, and expected us to support his point of view. Or he would quarrel with his wife, Sharbat, or one of the other peasants. Abd al-Barr himself was quite a character with a strange story. He had narrow eyes that radiated cunning and slyness. He had a laugh permanently pasted on his face, but it was a suspicious laugh. He had big broken teeth that protruded from his lips and whenever he was about to say something he would hold on to the hem of his galabiya as though he was getting ready to run. He was obstinate and persuasive. One day I asked him about his story. He smiled as he shook his head conceitedly, saying, “Ustaz Hilmi knows my story and that’s what brought me closer to him, because he appreciates it and
understands everything I had to go through. I am the son of a poor village who failed in his studies and fell in love with a girl from his village. She finished her education and moved on to a different kind of life while he stumbled and couldn’t catch up with her.”

He added in sorrow, now shaking his head more slowly, “I had many jobs: I worked as a cook and a guard and as a farmer. Then I married Sharbat and tried to bring her up to my level.”

Then he bowed his head and said, “Please, don’t misunderstand me. I’ve tried to teach her how to read and write by all means. I’d tell her to study with her children their simple lessons, but she resisted.”

When Sharbat heard him mention her name she came over and said, “He beats me, Mrs. Nora, very hard and rough. Where can I go after leaving everyone and following him? He beats the children and doesn’t buy them clothes. Please help me.”