Rain over Baghdad: A Novel of Iraq (38 page)

Hatim liked the washer and we reserved it and promised the sales clerk that we would pick it up the following day. I took the money from Hatim and put it in a box where I usually put my money and my keys on a shelf in the armoire. I opened the box the following day and discovered that some of it was missing. I realized that it was not a matter of bad memory. I said to Hatim, “Someone enters our house in our absence.”

He laughed and said, “How would he enter?”

I thought as I went through the house that there was only one way in and that was the balcony. He climbs the grapevine trellis.

I examined the door and found a little piece of broken glass between the steel bars. I looked at the telephone shelf on which I put the terrace door key and said, “It is one of our neighbors’ kids and not a burglar.”

“Why?”

I said, “Because he knows where the key is, and the neighbors know where the telephone is because it has always been there for years. A burglar wouldn’t take five or ten dinars only from the box, but would take all the money. I left the whole amount to cover the price of the washer yesterday. The break-in happened while I was in Egypt. The thief went through the house freely and you didn’t notice anything because you lock the door of the room, but I forget to. The kids are used to climbing onto the trellis to gather the berries from the tree, and it is easy for one of them to jump onto the balcony.”

He said, “It makes sense. What should we do? Lock all room doors and don’t forget and leave any of them open for any reason. And we can change the living room furniture so that if he enters, he wouldn’t find anything to steal.”

I said, “I’ll wait for him tomorrow. Most likely it is Jasim or his brother, sons of Abu Nidal. I’ll lock myself in my room until I find who it is. Most likely he’ll come after the usual time we leave.”

He said, “No, Nora. This is risky. How do you know it’s not a burglar who might attack you? Please don’t do it.”

In the morning I got my son ready for nursery school. I heard some knocks on the door. I found Subaiha, the neighbor’s daughter and Jasim’s sister. She said, “Please, Umm Yasir, I need a matchbook.”

I gave her a matchbook and said to Yasir, “Eat quickly. I don’t want to be late for work.”

Everyone left. I sat in my room waiting for what might happen. I took off the robe I had put on to open the door for Subaiha. July
heat was unbearable. I picked up a book about Iraqi civilization. I loved King Sargon of Akkad! I was in awe of the layers upon layers of civilization. The deeper I got into it the more fascinated I was by Ishtar and Inanna and began to imagine that Isis had visited Iraq or was herself transformed into Ishtar before she went to Greece, all those human gods roaming God’s world!

I came to when I heard a sudden movement, the sound of the spring attaching the screen door to the terrace steel door. I jumped up from the chair and opened the window that overlooked the garden and the side street. I walked to the door of the room on tiptoe and pressed my ear to the door, but I didn’t hear a thing. I turned the key slowly and kept the door ajar. I didn’t find any traces of anything moving in front of me. I opened the door suddenly and a cat jumped over the door in panic. I thanked God as my heartbeats raced. What if it was a burglar? There were no burglars in Baghdad after they hanged them publicly in the square and no one dared rob or burglarize anymore. It was a harsh way but its firm application worked. People left their doors unlocked and everyone was safe. I remembered that there were some burglaries and thefts since Egyptian workers entered Iraq without visas or jobs. When I asked the minister of labor how true that was, he said, “There are five million Egyptians in Baghdad. It is only natural that if some people don’t have jobs right away and spend all their money, there would be crimes. Some time has to pass for entrants in a new society to adjust to their new situations.”

I thought it was a very clever and wise answer, but it did not deny that thieves had reappeared.

I returned to my room without closing the door. I sat reading and got caught up in the history of Sargon of Akkad. After an hour I heard the same sound at the door: the cat again, I thought. I got out to look and was struck by the two eyes right up against my face. I thought it was Jasim. Yes, it was Jasim. The boy jumped with fright and got his hand out of the glass opening in the door with difficulty, and cut it in the process. He ran toward the terrace.

I shouted, “Thief! Thief!”

I realized that in his haste he might fall off from the relatively high wall. I noticed that I was still in my sleeveless nightgown. I returned to my room and quickly put on a galabiya and ran to the terrace. I found the boy at a distance running toward the railroad tracks. I shouted. The women neighbors came out quickly running, and so did a man who chanced to be passing in front of the house. The neighbors called the police, who arrived half an hour later while people were still milling around inside the house.

The policeman asked me, “Did you see the thief?”

I said, “I think it was Jasim, the neighbors’ son. Same height and physique, but because of the distance from the door of my room and the glass between us, it is not quite clear.”

“What did he take?”

“He took a small sum of money every day, five or ten dinars.”

“Did he take jewelry or anything else from the house?”

“No.”

I added, “Yesterday, by chance, we forgot and left the garden hose on in the garden and the soil under the trellis was soaked. So, when he jumped over the wall, his feet got stuck for a moment in the muddy soil and they left a track which is still there. Make him put his foot down, and if it is not a match, I’ll forgo the charges.”

He said, “Sign these papers.”

I said, “Why don’t you get him now and we’ll finish this whole thing.”

He said, “I said, you Egyptian, sign here. This is police business.”

The neighbors left. In the evening, Abu Nidal, Jasim’s father, came to meet Hatim, then he asked to meet with me. He sat in front of me, obviously sad. He was a simple worker who had not caused any problems as far as we knew. He had many children. I felt pity for him: events had escalated beyond anyone’s calculation.

He said, “I assure you, if our son had stolen, he did that without our knowledge and I did not get a single fils from him. I’ve never encouraged him to steal. On the contrary, I teach them all honesty.
Dear lady, I am a poor man, but I fear God and, as you see, I work from the break of dawn until the evening. Life, for me, is a lot of heartache.”

I said, “I know you quite well, Abu Nidal. I didn’t want to call the police. All I wanted to know was who was the one who broke into my house, so I could stop him from doing it again. It was one of the neighbors who called the police. Ask Abu Mus‘ab, he was here when it happened.”

He said, “I know. But are you sure it is my son?”

I said, “I won’t tell you it was him. Ask one of your sons to bring his shoes and place them in the mud which has now dried up and preserved the track. You decide for yourself. If the track is not his, then I give you my solemn word that I won’t press charges. I know that he is used to climbing the mulberry tree, and I also know that he is no thief. The opportunity was there and that tempted him to take a small sum. Young men have been known to do such stupid things.”

“What sums did he take?”

“I don’t know, but yesterday he took twenty-five dinars.”

“Take however much you want, but don’t testify against my son in court. If he went before juvenile court, he won’t come out alive or normal. He would be sent to juvenile prison and from there to an adult one. He is close to sixteen and he will either come out a criminal or a wreck. You’re Egyptian, and you don’t know Iraqi security. My son will be lost forever and it’s all in your hands. We are neighbors who have never harmed you.”

I said, “You are the best of neighbors and I love your son and call him to gather the berries with his brothers and friends every year. I have never thought of doing any harm.”

He said, “Would you agree to tell the judge that my son was chasing a bird that fell in the garden?”

I said, “Yes, if he believes me.”

Hatim said to the man, “Hang in there. It’s a small problem and it will pass, God willing.”

The man left and I began to cry, not believing the amount of hardship I had brought this family. Hatim embraced me and said, “You are not the one who committed the crime.”

He said, “I warned you. Didn’t you think for one moment that you may have miscalculated, and thus exposed your life to danger? It’s a crime of opportunity, Nora. It may have been Abu Maasuma, the gardener, or Abu Mushtaq, the driver, or any worker in one of the shops nearby.”

I said, “I depend on being one hundred percent correct. Therefore, it was an unnecessary risk. But one who works does not steal. Now I pity the family. Did you see the fear and sense of defeat in the man’s face? He feels that his son is inevitably a goner.”

He said, “Tomorrow I’ll ask my colleagues in the legal department at the factory about your testimony in court and we’ll find a way to get him out of the catastrophe he brought upon himself.”

I slept only intermittently that night, during which I was assailed by nightmares. A few days later I received a summons to testify in court. I went early in the morning. A dignified judge, about fifty years old, came into the stately courtroom. He asked me to tell him what happened.

I said, “I was alone at home. Suddenly, I saw a boy on our terrace. I screamed and the neighbors came. Then it turned out that the boy had been chasing a bird that had fallen into our garden. After the police left, we found the bird hiding in the terrace behind the central air cooler.”

The judge said angrily as he waved his hand dismissively, “Go. Go to your family.”

I was taken aback by his tone and tears welled in my eyes. The court usher said, “Come and sign these papers.”

I left, wondering what angered him so much. Did he find out that I was lying to protect the boy? Have you forgotten your father and how he arrives at the truth with terrifying speed? It seemed all the judges were like that, or was it because I was an Egyptian and it was wrong to accuse an Iraqi boy? I ran from the place to the
street, not trying to hold back the tears. I had intended to go to the office, but decided to go home first to bring Jasim’s family the reassuring news.

I knocked on the door. Subaiha opened and was surprised to see me. I asked her if her mother was there.

She said, “She’s here. What do you want from her?”

The mother, whom I had rarely seen, came. I told her calmly: “Thank God, today I testified in favor of your son. I think the judge believed me and the problem has been almost taken care of.”

She wiped her tears with her shawl and said, “Thank God, good lady. Thank God and may God bless you.”

I cried as I took my leave.

Who knows what that incident did to Subaiha, when she is at a marriageable age, or to her family? Did I follow up on that? Of course not. I considered it a simple incident that ended well. But has it ended for them? I don’t think so, given that reaction of hers.

I arrived back at the conference right on time. I ran to the bathroom to pump out the milk before going back to the panel presentations and discussions. Anticipating the discussions, I couldn’t help reflecting on the contradictions through which Iraq was going these days: a war and, at the same time, a determination to carry on with the development plans. Can this really succeed? I had sensed some fear on the part of leaders of the Ba‘th even though they were skilled at hiding it. Last time I saw them before the war they were acting in an arrogant manner. But it wasn’t the people’s fault. At the beginning they had faith in their leaders without thinking, but with time they questioned the audacious plans and decrees, first in whispers, then loudly.

My friend Umm Salah told me on the telephone, “Nora, all my family volunteered to fight in the war, even my young son in middle school!” Then she cried.

The presentations reminded us of the role played in the country by brutal colonialism and the Syrian and other Arab betrayals
responsible for what was happening in the region. This got me to thinking about the relationship between Iraq and the United States and how puzzling it was. The Ba‘thists frequently mentioned that a certain power had helped them take over. For us, Egyptian journalists, though we kept that a secret from Iraqi colleagues, that power was the USA, even though they publicly attacked America and called it all kinds of names. At the same time they were at war with Iran, a war that was in the United States’ interest since the latter was really upset about losing the shah, its policeman in the Gulf. According to rumors, the bomb at Mustansiriya University and the attempt to assassinate Tariq Aziz were the work of Iraqi intelligence; there were also rumors that it was the United States that suggested to Saddam Hussein to escalate the conflict with Iran, and that the US made promises of monetary and military support. It was also rumored that American experts and SAVAK, the shah’s intelligence service agents who fled Iran after his fall, estimated that the war would not last more than three weeks. I don’t like accusations of betrayal and I don’t believe the rumors, because I believe how stupid the petty bourgeoisie can get when it takes over power and how arrogant it can become. Besides, the Gulf countries supported Saddam Hussein, as did many countries, including France, Britain, Argentina, and Brazil. As for Syria, that was a different and very complicated subject.

I remembered my first trip to Syria. One day I ran into my neighbor Umm Tayih in front of Abu Samira’s grocery store. She said to me, smiling and winking, “We are going to Syria. Would you like to come with us?”

I said, “Who is ‘we’?”

She said, “I and a group of women neighbors. Abu Tayih and Abu Mahmoud will also come with us. Umm Sulafa used to organize these trips for us. We would have a good time and buy stuff: clothes, food, and everything. Didn’t you ask me for garlic a few days ago? I’ll buy you a bunch.”

The morning papers, Ba‘thist and others, had spoken of the resumption of relations between the Iraqi and Syrian Ba‘th Party sides. The news was met in the street with great joy. Travel agencies in Gamal Abdel Nasser Square instantly hung posters adorned with electric lights about their trips to Damascus.