Rain over Baghdad: A Novel of Iraq (35 page)

Siham asked, “Problems?”

I said, “No. I like to speak to Egyptians here.”

I said, “Hello, Mahmoud. It doesn’t look like this is your first marriage.”

He said calmly, “Yes. I am married in Egypt and I have children. One of them is in college.”

I said, “Why did you marry an Iraqi woman? Is she a martyr’s widow?”

He said, “Ustaza, there are whole streets without a single man. They’re all women. An Egyptian young man now lives in lowerincome neighborhoods and mixes with people in a way that used to be unusual. I’ve been living here for five years, and I know Iraqis well.”

I said, “But you haven’t told me why you got married again.”

He said, “She’s a neighbor’s daughter, and here, I am a bachelor. Her mother-in-law is sick and she has children. Her grownup sons are in the army and one of them is the martyr. I used to help taking the mother-in-law to the hospital. I thought I should marry the daughter rather than have people talking.”

I said, “And you took the ten thousand dinars?”

He said, “Yes. I took the money and put it in the bank. I haven’t spent a single millieme on my children in Egypt. My new wife’s children have their martyred father’s pension. Her mother-in-law has accepted me because she knew I took care of them from the beginning and before the marriage.”

I said, “Frankly, don’t you intend to run off to Egypt after getting the money?”

Said smiled and said, “I tell you this is not possible. Mahmoud used to support the family before marrying the widow, and as I told you, he’s a good and generous man. But other men have taken the money and run. God will repay them.”

Mahmoud said, “Rest assured, Ma’am, my wife is pregnant and all the money in the world would not persuade me to abandon her.”

I said, “How about your wife and children in Egypt?”

He said, “Thank God, I have been providing for them. I send them money regularly, and I’ll visit them next summer, God willing. Going back and forth has become quite a burden after relations were cut.”

I said, “Yes.” I realized that Layla was signaling me to move to the conference hall. I took my leave and walked with the other delegates as I recalled the bitter moment when relations were cut.

Baghdad radio announced that relations between Iraq and Egypt had been severed. The embassy closed its doors the moment the announcement was made. I had the home telephone number of the ambassador’s wife Layla, and I called her before going to the office. I asked her what was happening. She said that the ambassador was in Egypt and that they would be evacuated according to the usual protocols.

I said, “You are used to this. Right?”

She said, “This has never happened to me. The minister plenipotentiary and the consul and other members of the embassy staff are with me and they know the procedures. I will leave as soon as we arrange a flight. I’ve actually started packing.”

I said, “I’ll come right after I go to the office first, since Ustaz Hilmi Amin might want to come with me.”

She said, “You’re both welcome.”

Egypt Air had cancelled all its flights from Baghdad to Cairo and the bookings were diverted either to Damascus on Syrian Airlines or Amman on Royal Jordanian Airlines or to Cyprus. Airlines immediately increased their scheduled flights to carry Egyptian workers from and to Baghdad, and fares doubled at the same time. Egyptian workers in Baghdad were apprehensive about a total breakdown in relations, which were getting worse every day, and there was an escalating war of words. Then Baghdad announced that Egyptian workers would stay in their positions as long as they wanted and that their currency transfers would continue according to the system in place.

During one of my usual book-buying outings with Hilmi Amin, I saw lines of Egyptians in front of the central post office, waiting to call their families in Egypt by telephone. We entered Orosdi Bak to buy some supplies for the office. I saw a porcelain tea set exquisitely painted. I loved it and paid for it, and when I went to the customer pick-up station to get it, the clerk told me, “Sorry. Please come in the evening. We’ve run out of the sets on hand, but we’ll get some more from the warehouse in a short while.” I also noticed some fine Czech crystal, and since Hatim and I had not gone shopping together recently, I called him at the factory and asked him to pick me up to spend the evening downtown. I went back to the office where Dalida, the Egyptian-born French singer’s, record about Egypt was playing. Anhar, whom I hadn’t seen in a while, came. I noticed that she was worried; it seemed that she caught Hilmi Amin’s anxiety about the uncertain future of the bureau, like a boat without a rudder in the midst of waves. She asked me as if she were a frightened child, “Will the bureau close down like the airlines?”

I said in the Iraqi dialect, trying to allay her anxiety, “What’s wrong with you? Your face is as yellow as a lemon!”

She smiled shyly. I patted her on the shoulder and said, “No, it won’t close down, Anhar. And even if it did, where would Hilmi go? He will not go back to Cairo under these circumstances and I am here with my husband until who knows when. The Iraqi government has said the Egyptians and their jobs here would not be affected. If worse came to worst we can always open a press agency or a private press office.”

She sounded resigned as she said with tears glistening in her eyes, “Dearest Nora, I don’t know where to go.”

I am puzzled by the sudden reversals in moods that I have noticed in many Iraqis: from total or near total self-confidence to withdrawal inside and fear, then a pleading tone that sends shivers to my body. And the opposite is also true: from calm docility to obstinate confrontation with no chance of reconsideration. I remembered
the Egyptian saying that once Sa‘idi scissors closed, they never reopened. I guess I was wrong; Sa‘idis did not write the book on obstinacy.

Hatim came and he accompanied me to Rashid Street. We were surprised to see the long lines at the post office. He suggested that we reserve our turn in making telephone calls, and then go to do our shopping and come back, thus saving some time.

We went back and sat for a long time, not understanding why the line was not moving. I went to the reception desk and asked to go in to see one of the employees that I knew. I was allowed to go through. I heard one employee saying, “The National Council has taken over the line to Cairo. There’s no way anyone can make a regular call tonight. We must tell people that we have to cancel their calls.”

Another employee said to him, “Don’t announce anything. If they want to wait, let them wait.”

Abu Wisam turned toward me and asked, “Can I be of help, Sitt Nora?”

I laughed, “The line is out.”

He smiled. I went out to Hatim with shock and sarcasm all over my face. I said, “We’re going home.”

He said, “You’re always hasty. What happened? We’ve wasted the day. It’s over, but at least we are together. Let’s go for a walk in the open air, then come back. Don’t you want to hear your mom’s voice?”

I said, “I do want to. But come, let’s get out of here first.”

As soon as I was out the door I burst out laughing. I struck one palm against the other in utter disgust and disbelief and said, “The sons of bitches, they are talking with each other and they couldn’t care less if we go to hell. Everything is going on as usual. They are having a blast together. Their own relationship has not suffered one bit and our lot is to be insulted as treacherous lackeys. I don’t know why we have to pay the price of their messes.”

“I don’t understand what you are saying, Nora. What happened to you inside? What relationship? And what messes?”

“The National Council has taken over the line. It means that the presidential palaces in Egypt and Iraq are talking to each other, contrary to the public posturing about cutting off relations. Ever since Sadat announced his accursed visit, they have been referring to him as ‘Abu Righal,’ about whom I had heard absolutely nothing except here. Abu Righal is the one who led the army of the Abyssinian king Abraha to Mecca, then died of the plague. They say that pilgrims stoned him. My relatives make the hajj every year and I have never heard that name. I thought they stoned Satan. That means that the cutting off of relations is part of the pressure they exert on people to cause them disruptions and hardships and get them kicked around from one airport to another. Maybe it’s an attempt to impoverish the Egyptian people so that it will revolt against its rulers. It’s a stupid way of thinking and we are paying for it!”

“Calm down, Nora.”

“They transmit the broadcasts of
Sawt al-Uruba
(Voice of Arabism) which calls upon Egyptians to rise up in revolt. And even though some Egyptians, about whose patriotic feelings I have no doubt, take part in writing its programs, this idea of exporting revolution is a stupid idea, Hatim. And it smacks of an arrogance that I don’t like, and which they themselves would never accept and would never imagine anybody applying to them, even non-Ba‘thist Iraqis.”

“You are against Sadat’s act and you know its consequences on the region. It is natural for there to be confusion and desperate attempts to get out of the international trap that has been set and which appears shiny and attractive from the surface. I am not talking about Sadat’s right to do what he did. My analysis of the situation might be much gloomier than yours, but what I object to is taking measures against the Egyptian people who are repressed by their rulers and who pay the price for the foolish decision of Egyptian and Arab rulers together under the guise of revolution and unity.”

I said, “Those who supposedly want to help us should help us resist, not weaken people by making them too busy trying to make a living.”

*

I sat at the conference roundtable. Today we had a full schedule of presentations in the morning session and celebrations in the evening. The only time I could visit my old house in Dora was in the break immediately after lunch. I realized that someone was talking to me: “Sitt Nora, there’s someone on the telephone for you. Come with me, please.”

Tariq Mandour sounded overjoyed to hear my voice. “I miss you, Nora. How long are you staying?”

I said, “Tomorrow at dawn we leave for Basra and I’ll be back in two days. Most likely I’ll extend my stay in Baghdad for two more days.”

He said, “I’ll come to Baghdad. How’s Mom, and Salwa, and Uncle Hatim, and Yasir and the baby?”

I said, “They’re all fine and they say hello to you. I have a letter for you and some small gifts, but not a fattened duck.”

He said, “Good. I hope nothing like your mom’s duck. Do you remember it?”

I said, “How could I forget? It was such a scandal.”

“I’ll call you at the hotel in Basra. I have many stories for you. I know you’re busy.”

I said, “I’ll be waiting for your call. Bye.”

I went back to the conference session. I thanked God that the presentation underway was pure propaganda, so I didn’t miss anything. I opened the notebook in front of me and began doodling.

I remembered Tariq when he came to Baghdad for the first time looking for work. His older sister, Salwa, was my dearest and closest friend since childhood. When he called us to tell us he was in Baghdad, Hatim was overjoyed. He has never forgotten that it was thanks to Salwa and her fiancé, Hashim, that he and I met at Salwa’s birthday party. We went to see him at his hotel and took from him copies of his credentials to circulate in government departments in Baghdad. Hatim told him, “Accept any job in a restaurant or a store.
The hotel meter is running every day. Or find work with the laborers. Go in the morning to Tahrir Square and wait for a contractor to come by. Try everything. If you do that from the first moment you won’t be laboring under any illusions about how things work here. It’s just until we can find you a job suitable for your qualifications.”

Tariq looked visibly shocked and disappointed. He had grown up in a well-off family. Both his father and his mother were radio and TV announcers and it had never occurred to him that he would do menial work. I looked at his fancy clothes and imagined what could happen. I asked him, “Do you have any other clothes, besides these? Something of a different level?”

“Of course not,” he said, surprised by the question.

I said, “Nothing is cheaper than clothes in Baghdad. Why don’t you buy an Iraqi pullover and pants so you won’t stand out in your trendy clothes?”

Tariq began to sweat. I could sense the tension that he tried to hide. He looked at the floor, not quite sure what to do, then he looked at me and at Hatim and said, “Nora, what’s happening?”

I said, “Tariq, what was the first thing I said to you? Come, live with us. Work in government departments and factories right now is quite hard to get and the jobs are filled. Commissions go to Egypt to finish hiring procedures for jobs that had been advertised in the papers. Iraqi officials prefer to go to Cairo, of course, where they interview dozens of young applicants and they come back with official contracts. As for getting employed from within the country here, it is subject to other conditions. First, local hires are treated exactly like Iraqis and at a regular salary. Monetary transfers are allowed only for minute percentages. And don’t forget: an Iraqi lives at home with his family and enjoys many benefits that you cannot get. What you don’t know is that their appointment procedures might take a whole year before they are finalized. That is, if there is a post to begin with, because you’re an accountant and not an engineer or a doctor. Even they are having a hard time now that thousands of them have descended upon Iraq.”

Hatim said, “I think that working with contractors is the only way for you to go. Iraqi contractors are very shrewd and you won’t get experience in project management without first knowing how a worker works. I know it is hard for you, but that’s the only thing I can say to my younger brother. I would like you to go tomorrow to the Square and to take the first labor truck, until I can find one of the contractors who work with our factory for you. First, I want you to see other contractors and get firsthand experience on the ground.”

Sounding very dismayed, Tariq said, “I have enough money to last me for at least two months at the hotel, during which time I hope to have found a job. I’ll do my utmost to write applications to all departments. I hope I don’t have to do what you’re saying.”