Rain over Baghdad: A Novel of Iraq (57 page)

I said, “Now I recognize you. You’re the one who wrote about America, the virgin. Young Egyptian writers fell madly in love with you. I have read your obituary recently. Why this surprise visit? Do you feel my need for you now?”

Saroyan said, “Just like Hamlet and the ghost, I came to you evoked by Baghdad’s night hours. I brought you the words of your old friend, the fisherman who used to grill little fish for you in front of the nets set up to catch quails on the beach of Anfushi in Alexandria. Remember that? He said he sensed your loneliness and boredom and felt that you hadn’t lost your faith in and love of those old days, the love you used to tell your friend Salah Hafez enslaved us. Salah would then laugh and say, ‘We die and come back to life for our love of life.’”

I said, “That’s Sheikh Sam‘an. What did he tell you was happening in Egypt right now?”

Saroyan said, “He said that Egypt, in times of trials and tribulations, gives birth to monstrous freaks whom it disavows; as soon as they come of age, they also disavow it. Dislodging these freaks from Egypt’s good soil, he said, requires extraordinary effort and it insists on attributing their ancestry to the times of trials and tribulations.”

We heard a laugh. The snake slithered out from under the bed. We all turned into birds flying and hovering high up in the room. The snake said sarcastically, “So, this is the pleasure of flying in the sky? Silly birds that have no knowledge of the earth, so they get bored and fly away to the sky, seeking life in a searing emptiness filled with light but no food and no support for the living. Who needs such a boring existence? And, why taunt others? Is it to cover up the madness behind their desires and their uselessness in life? Silly birds! But I will not be deceived by their idle talk again! Now, I know everything. I’ve seen the sky, flown in it, got to know
it quite well! I’ve even experienced falling but I did not break; rather I got more confident in my own abilities. Let those who are incapable of loving the land live on in deception. But I know the truth and I don’t trust their calls. I was created on land and on it I shall live.”

We all flew around and hovered. We opened the windows overlooking the Baghdad sky and took off, flapping our wings, happy with freedom and light, as Gorky said, “We sing the praises for the valiant craziness of the brave.”

I closed the folder and put it in the bag. I decided it was autobiographical musing that I could read at leisure in Egypt. Maybe they would solve for me the riddles that I haven’t been able to comprehend so far: Anhar’s disappearance and also his own departure.

I noticed that a new batch of passengers had come in. They were mostly Egyptian, but there were some other Arabs and Iraqis and very few foreigners. Was it time for the Cairo plane? How could that be? I looked at the sign close to the gate and saw that it indicated it to be Alia Airlines flight to Baghdad. I thought to myself: “One man’s poison is another man’s meat!” Egyptian daily flights between Cairo and Baghdad and also Iraqi Airways flights had been suspended and now Alia has taken their place.

I heard a gentle voice asking me, “Is this seat taken?”

I looked up and saw that it was a pregnant woman, about twenty years old, the same age I got pregnant with Yasir. She looked quite healthy and cheerful.

I said to her, “Please, go ahead,” pronouncing my words the Iraqi way. But she didn’t notice.

She sat down after she placed her bag on the floor in front of her and looked around. I had goose bumps and began to sweat suddenly, something that happened to me every time I saw a pregnant woman. She asked me, “Are you Egyptian?”

I said, “Yes.”

“Are you going to Baghdad?”

“No. I am going back to Cairo.”

Laughing, she said, “So we are trading places. I am coming from Egypt to give birth in Baghdad in my family’s house. My husband works at the Iraqi embassy. There’s only a few of us left there after the closing of the embassy.”

I asked her, “Are you comfortable in Egypt?”

“Yes. And Egyptians are lovely people.”

I said, “Why didn’t you give birth in Egypt? You would get the same kind of care.”

She said, “As you know, family is something else. This will be my first baby.”

We heard the announcement for the Iraqi Airways flight. She got up and took her leave.

I remembered the conversation between me and my Iraqi women neighbors when I decided to travel to Cairo to give birth to Yasir. But things did not go as planned, even though I had packed my bag and booked the ticket. The eve of my departure, which I had eagerly awaited, came and my women neighbors at the Shurta neighborhood, Umm Allawi, Umm Saadi, and Umm Safaa, came to visit. Samia, Mahmoud, Adel, and Nahid also came to bid me a safe trip. Besides packing my bag I had been cooking a lot of food and putting it in the freezer for Hatim all week long. I went to bed totally exhausted, but not really feeling it until my head hit the pillow. Hatim came and embraced me hard, but was surprised when I started giving in to sleep. He let go of me, saying, “I miss you.” I told him, “I’ll wake up early for you.”

I was awakened by light blows to my side. I tried to ignore them and go back to sleep, but the blows kept coming and getting harder. I tossed and turned a few times and got up, went to the bathroom, then back to bed, as the blows kept increasing in frequency and intensity. I went downstairs and paced in the hallway. I sat on the first chair I came across. Then I stood up again but that didn’t provide any relief either. The blows were now quite hard and painful.
I held my sides to give them some support. Then I kept whirling around until I almost fell down. Tears flowed down my cheeks. I heard Hatim saying, “What’s wrong, darling?”

“I don’t know. Hard blows in my back.”

“Should I boil some cinnamon for you?”

I laughed, “Again?”

Hatim, whenever he noticed my discomfort in the early months of my pregnancy, boiled some cinnamon sticks for me and insisted I drink it. His sister saw him making a cinnamon drink for me during her visit to us and she screamed at him, “This would expel the embryo!”

He said, “I used to see you women doing that whenever any of you felt a stomach ache.”

Hatim took me in his arms and sat me on the bed. The pain increased and he could feel my hot tears on his chest. He got up, put on his clothes, wrapped me in my robe, and took me outside.

Sabah and Shukry heard us going out at two o’clock in the morning. They opened the door and asked us in alarm, “Where are you going? What happened?”

“Nora is in great pain. It seems she’s about to give birth.”

Sabah said, “No. She’s still at the beginning of her eighth month. Wait for me. I’ll come with you.”

“Thank you. I’ll make sure she is all right in the hospital, then I’ll come back, God willing. You’re pregnant yourself and shouldn’t strain yourself.”

We left Sabah in a state of sincere anxiety, a state of true tenderness that she surprised me with from time to time.

I went to the hospital. The doctor on call asked me to lie down on a table and started listening to the fetus with her stethoscope, then said, “You’ll be admitted to the hospital. This is a case of premature delivery.”

I said, “But I am going to Egypt tomorrow.”

She said, “Before the morning comes, you’ll have a beautiful baby, an Iraqi to boot.”

I said, “But a baby in its eighth month doesn’t live and is usually weak.”

She said, “This is a common mistake. An eighth-month baby has a better chance of survival than a seventh-month baby because it spends more time in the womb.”

I asked her in tears, “What should I do now?”

Patting me on the shoulder she said, “You’ll have a natural birth. Have no fear about the baby who, God willing, will be a strong healthy child. What did you do today?”

“I had a lot to do: I received a number of guests and packed. Could what I am feeling now be the result of exertion and if I rest the birth would be on time?”

She laughed and said, “You cannot postpone birth. If the baby decides to come, nothing in the world will stop him. Go to the maternity ward. And because this is your first, delivery will take a long time.”

She wrote out the admission forms and ordered a wheelchair for me. Hatim accompanied me to my room and whenever I had a contraction, I held onto the back of the bed. At five in the morning another doctor came in and examined me.

She said, “The womb is dialated almost four centimeters. Do you feel any pain?”

“No.”

She looked at Hatim and asked him, “Why are you here?”

“I am waiting for my wife.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“No. I am a mechanical engineer.”

“A mechanic does not assist his wife in giving birth. She still has some time to go. You’re not allowed to stay here.”

“But she’s all by herself.”

“That’s natural and we’re all with her.”

Hatim gave in after desperate attempts to get the doctor to let him stay. He went home first to reassure Sabah and Shukry. After a few hours, Sabah arrived carrying a clothes bag for me and the
baby. They allowed her to visit for a few minutes after she pleaded with them. The doctor ordered an X-ray for the fetus, and when she examined it she said, “Why the tears? The baby’s weight is excellent and he is very normal and poised downward. You are in labor but you still have some time.”

Hatim came in the evening, directly from work, without eating anything. He looked exhausted and worried. He told me that he had called my father, who had waited for me at the airport in vain, and reassured him. We both went to the doctor in charge and asked him why I hadn’t given birth yet. He said, “It’s labor: the womb is open and I cannot discharge you. I don’t know when the contractions will increase and when the baby will come out. All we can do is wait.”

On the third day, when the first doctor came into the room I asked her to let me go home. She said, “The baby is coming. If you put your feet on the ground, you’ll give birth right away. Every hour the baby stays in your womb is good for him. Sleep on your back until contractions come again.”

Hatim took me home and prepared the room, providing everything I needed. He said, “I’ll give the key to Sabah so she can come to you without your having to get up.”

I sat on my bed, not believing that I was back at home. The telephone brought me my mother saying, “Don’t be afraid. Hundreds of babies are born every day and you are brave, even though your son is impatient.”

My father took the receiver and said, “You cheat at everything, even giving birth? You want to rob us of two months. May God be with you. Listen, it’s your mother who is going to be a grandmother. Your father is still too young for that. Listen to the doctors’ instructions.”

Hatim brought the television set to my room and moved a sofa there and a small table and two chairs.

I said, “Why all this trouble?”

He said, “I want you to feel comfortable and to sit on the sofa to read if you get tired of the bed.”

“Are you happy I didn’t travel, darling?”

“Of course, I cannot bear the separation. But I wanted you to have mama’s help as you give birth. Before, you were complaining that you didn’t have enough time to read. Now is your big chance.”

I started getting bored after the second day at home. I left the book on the pillow and opened the window to let February’s soft sun come to my bed. I had a strong desire to get to the refrigerator to put meat on the grill and have it ready before Hatim came home. But I was afraid. Hatim used his own practical shortcuts. He would marinate the meat in the evening and when he came home he would shove whatever vegetables were on hand in the oven, and make some instant soup. After dinner he would sit next to me to read.

I heard someone knocking on the door and when I looked I saw Fathiya coming into the room carrying a little baby wrapped in a blanket. I cried out, “Who is this?”

“Ali. Abla Sabah gave birth during the night. She wanted to spare you the excitement.”

“I heard a great commotion last night. I thought you had guests.”

I held the baby’s hand and kissed it. Fathiya placed him next to me on the bed so I wouldn’t carry him. I asked her, “Why does he look so old?”

She laughed, “Abla says that just before he was born, he lost some weight. Babies change fast. In a week he’ll be as beautiful as the moon.”

Two days later, Sabah and the children came up to visit me and life went back to normal. Three weeks passed, feeling like three years. My belly was distended and I was as swollen as a balloon, feeling that I was a bomb about to explode. Then my belly curled like a ball and began to creep downward. I felt as if it was going to fall off. I awoke, bored, then went back to sleep after Hatim left. I sat next to the window overlooking the garden. I saw Fathiya picking up the children’s toys. I said to her, “Please tell Sabah I want to see her.”

Sabah was surprised to see me all dressed up. She asked me, “What’s up? Why are you so dressed up?”

I said, “I want to go to the market with you. I am tired of lying down. I’ll walk next to you slowly. Bear with me.”

“But the doctor has warned you. And, thank God, we’ve gone a long way into the eighth month. Be patient.”

“I am tired.”

“Okay, I’ll change clothes and call out to you.”

I applied light makeup for the first time in a long time and put on a wig as I smiled. I’ll ask Sabah to take a picture of me, round as a ball in my present condition. Suddenly a bucket of water gushed between my thighs all at once. I cried out, “Help, Sabah!”

Sabah ran up the stairs shouting, “What happened?”

She was surprised to see the large puddle of water in which I stood. She said, “You’re giving birth. Fathiya, get a taxi right away. Where’s the baby bag?”

“In the armoire.”

“The doctor told you not to put your feet on the ground.”

“I only walked three steps. Thank God we didn’t go to the market.”

We got in the taxi. I was full of shame not knowing how to hide the water gushing out of me. I told the driver, “Please excuse me. Yarmouk Hospital, please.”

He said, “God is generous, honored lady. May He grant you safe recovery.”