Papa Sartre: A Modern Arabic Novel (Modern Arabic Literature) (20 page)

On their third outing Abd al-Rahman tried to kiss her, but she refused. He pulled her to him, but she was trembling and had tears in her eyes. Her heart was beating fast and she put him off, saying in a hoarse voice, “No, no—I can’t.” He asked her for an explanation while still trying to touch her soft thigh under the table. She pushed him away. “I don’t know why, but things like that are repulsive to me. There was an incident . . . .”

“What sort of incident?!” exclaimed Abd al-Rahman.

“I can’t . . . I can’t,” she said, and fled the table.

He stood facing her. She was surprised and agitated, convinced that he had spoiled their relationship by dredging up a painful memory and doubting her. He left the café and walked beside her quietly down al-Rashid Street. They talked and slowly regained their usual familiarity, walking so close that their bodies almost touched. He liked to impress Nadia with talk about existentialism, nausea, estrangement, nihilism, and the absurd. For her part, she liked this abstractness that kept their focus distracted from physical matters. She liked this philosopher’s inclination toward delusive imagination, a yearning for the forbidden, and the ability to create great works
in the air. Abd al-Rahman liked to walk in front of her and look at her as he continued talking nonstop, while she chimed, “A great philosopher.”

Abd al-Rahman felt that his love for her was stronger and deeper than her love for him. He never imagined that love could be so deep and catch a person so unawares. He disliked her calm, which bordered on aloofness. He was convinced that love proceeded according to inviolable but mysterious rules that impelled him to meld into her with all due force.

The philosopher wanted Nadia always to focus on him, admire him, and appreciate his greatness. Every time he talked to her about his successful philosophical debates with the greatest western philosophers he never failed to ask, “Well, what do you think of me?” She always replied, “A great philosopher.”

The things that Abd al-Rahman feared most were neglect, estrangement, and betrayal. He had a limitless ability to listen to comments about his greatness. He also knew that love was madness, and he believed exclusively in lust and sex. That’s why Nadia’s reserved attitude was suffocating him and put him off. He wanted her to pine for him and him alone. He became obsessed with this wish, and this obsession affected his behavior. He was obliged to take solace in words in order not to push her against the fence of the Armenian Church, press his body hard against hers, and force her to submit to him.

Nadia was not the innocent girl she seemed to be. She endured an excruciating inner struggle, torn between her physical desires and the memory she couldn’t erase. She wanted to resolve this conundrum using the philosopher as bait, and she enjoyed tormenting him. She considered him vulnerable, an antihero. She found Abd al-Rahman weak and consumed by his imagination, and she only pretended to believe him and his endless truth-defying proclamations. Of course, he never doubted that she believed him. She knew that this was his nature and that he was quick to
cry or laugh. He was nothing but a contradiction caught between happiness and a mirage that existed solely in his imagination. She was well aware that he had a mind that roamed freely, a result of his obsessions, delusions, pains, failures, and denial.

Abd al-Rahman wanted his yearnings and memories to be firmly anchored to her, but after he took her home he was usually sad and frazzled because their conversations had not led to sex. He was left feeling empty. He realized that becoming a destructive existentialist through the application of continuous chatting was a myth. He felt nauseated, having strayed from his true self by getting involved in something alien and then gradually having lost his identity. He would stand near the lemon tree in his father’s garden, calling up a single repulsive image of her that he resented and from which he wanted to free himself. He had longed to kiss her and desired, more than anything, to simply take her, but the cell of existence was pressing too tight around him. In order to expunge her, he avidly sought a connection to some other world, a world without limits that he could interpose between himself and her notions of separation and defensiveness. He wanted to leave her to deal with indifference, to cast her far away, but he didn’t know how.

He desired her, but he felt disgusted by the idea of marrying her because he didn’t want to pass the futility of life—by means of a struggle in bed—to another human being who experienced unhappiness and suffering similar to his own. He liked depravity, which he felt was close to his soul. It was a renewal of his thinking and imagination, a taboo he pondered, a thirst for a special sort of worship, a type of isolation, a fulfillment that no one knew but which was cheap, enjoyable, and forbidden. It liberated him from his depraved dreams and freed him from pimples and nervous illnesses, the hatred of the body as a malady of existence. It freed him from dislikes, the disappointments of life, and its shortcomings.

He was at a loss as he stood in his parents’ garden, not knowing what to do next. He suddenly raised his head and saw a black cat at the window. He ran after it with a broom and swore at it, uttering words that are not fit to repeat. His true anger was aimed at Nadia, not the cat. She was the real threat to his existence.

When he returned to his room he decided to get drunk. He poured whiskey in a glass, added ice, and began to read Nizar Qabbani’s poems. He started reading the poem entitled, “Existentialism,” which discusses two aspects of existentialism in Paris. The poet saw his beloved’s eyes tear for the gray Parisian sky, he heard the whispers of her long throat, he visualized her hair cut
à la garcon
, and remembered the color of her dress. He imagined her dancing to the sound of jazz and the birds’ song, and saw her walking in a narrow Parisian street. Qabbani recalled how lively she used to be, how eagerly she chose the first thing she saw, her burning love for life as he was listening to the incessant barking of the dog. Abd al-Rahman couldn’t get over this shock. The winding path of love, spiraling like a snail. Love made him feel pain and joy at the same time. Despite his resentment, he was eager to see her the next morning.

He went to the bookshop and stood in front of her, unkempt and two days unshaven. She was impeccable, reflecting the elegance of a person in love. Her hair was beautifully coiffed, her makeup perfect, her face blooming, and her perfume filling the shop. She wore a red coat and a matching silk scarf. Her beauty and elegance were irresistible. He was speechless and cast about in vain for a topic of conversation. He was increasingly aware of her hold on him—a prisoner of her charm, unable to escape and save himself. The matter was out of his hands. He told her calmly, “I love you and I want to marry you.”

Her answer came fast and loud, “Please. We are in a place of work. Sartre’s books are on the last shelf.” He was instantly aware of the banality of the scene: A lover goes to an angry mistress and
says one word to her; she shouts at him that they are in a workplace and directs him to the object of his interest to give customers the impression that he was pestering her. She then threatens to have him thrown out if he oversteps his boundaries again.

The following day he told her that he did not love her because she did not love him. They were sitting in the Orient Express café watching the rain from behind the glass. Nadia cried and covered her eyes, but he didn’t believe her. He knew this was a classic trick between lovers. He told her, “I’ve decided to leave you and go back to Paris.” When she looked up, her eyes were filled with tears and her cheeks were red. She turned her face to look at the passersby and saw people with umbrellas running through the rain. In the crowd a young couple laughed and held hands as the rain fell on their faces.

Abd al-Rahman thought that she would return to him easily, but her continued silence made him aware that he was being overbearing. His ploy had not worked, and he knew he’d made a big mistake. The waiter placed newspapers on their table alongside their coffee. The philosopher tried to change her mind, but it was soon evident that nothing he said would help. Nadia got up and left without looking back. He took his coat, left money on the table, and ran after her. She was walking fast, unconcerned by him or the rain that fell on her face and made her makeup run. He followed her and tried to talk, but she ignored him. Around them people were waiting to enter the cinemas and cafés; the smell of grilled meat filled the air in al-Rashid Street.

Abd al-Rahman was completely shocked and in denial. He thought she was bluffing, and he tried to ignore her, but she didn’t change her mind and went home. He realized that he couldn’t get from her what she didn’t want to give. Nadia had reduced him to his true size and had preserved her dignity. When he turned his back on her she turned her back on him. He was well aware now that there was no use being stubborn.

Rain was falling heavily when he arrived home. He rushed past his parents in the living room without saying a word and went directly to his room. He sat facing Sartre’s photograph and cried bitterly. He didn’t believe in Nadia anymore, and he was convinced that his love for her would end up destroying him. But soon the pain caused by his failed love changed into happiness as he realized that true love and true philosophy overcome everything. He was not only crazy about existentialism, he was also eager to assimilate its principles and strongly oppose anyone who denounced them.

Abd al-Rahman decided to join his parents downstairs, even if this meant revealing to everybody that he was hurting and had just had a falling-out with his sweetheart. He sat in a comfortable armchair, looked around the splendidly furnished room, and said to himself, “Here, I can read Jean-Paul Sartre’s books.” He looked through the large window covered with raindrops and suddenly remembered a fishmonger he had met in Paris. One cold day the fishmonger had tried to cover his ears with a very thick hat. Abd al-Rahman transposed Sartre’s face onto that of the fishmonger’s and imagined Sartre as a fisherman with Simone de Beauvoir at his side eating a cookie. When Sartre tugged the fishing rod, there was an explosion and Sartre melted into the water like a piece of ice. Simone de Beauvoir was left standing alone, feeling deeply saddened by Sartre’s sudden disappearance.

80

During his courtship of Nadia, Abd al-Rahman had made various attempts to get physically closer to her by stealing a kiss or letting his hand wander onto her thigh, but Nadia objected very strongly. When he asked for an explanation she told him that one day she would send him a letter and explain her attitude in writing. In the meantime, he was flooding her with boring letters that
were filled with phony grievances and put-on anger. He wrote these letters in the hope of frightening her and prompting her to write him love letters that were overflowing with affection. He wanted to uncover her secret, the reason for her strong reaction to his attempted kiss. One day she finally sent him that letter.

81

I was not able to locate the letter Nadia Khaddouri wrote to the al-Sadriya philosopher, even though many other documents confirmed its existence. That letter led to their breakup. It was reported to me that after reading the letter Abd al-Rahman shouted so loudly that the whole household was alarmed and everybody rushed to his room, to find a totally broken man. No one could confirm to me whether the two of them met after that letter, but some people assured me that he chased her everywhere she went before finally leaving for Paris. He never talked to her, however, but rather watched her from a distance and saw the signs of sadness and pain on her face.

When he again returned to Baghdad he was married to Germaine, a plain Parisian girl whom he passed off as Sartre’s cousin.

82

Abd al-Rahman was extremely agitated and was unable to distinguish clearly between his inner feelings and the strange ideas that crossed his mind. He packed his bags and left for Paris. No one knew how Nadia truly felt afterward, but she had left her work at the bookstore and stayed home. She was seen only once outside the house, helping the victims of the explosion at al-Kilani power station, which happened a few days after the revolution. The victims had set up their tents close to her father’s house. She regularly distributed food to them and played with
their children. Those who saw her reported that her experience with Abd al-Rahman had not diminished her beauty. Five months later Edmond proposed to her.

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Edmond was nervous as he walked toward Nadia’s house. She greeted him and was extremely surprised by the change in Edmond’s appearance: his vest, white shirt, carefully combed hair, and a Trotskyite beard together transformed him into an attractive young man.

They sat facing each other with their knees nearly touching. The warm ambiance and the beauty of the place helped Edmond relax. He took out his pipe and searched for his tobacco, but Nadia offered him some of her father’s tobacco. Both felt at ease and looked lovingly into each other’s eyes. Edmond was emboldened and began toying with Nadia’s cross. She did not object and moved closer to him and when he kissed her she responded. It was the kiss that Abd al-Rahman had so longed for.

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Among all the documents I had was a single photograph showing Edmond and Nadia together. It was a very important picture, but I couldn’t confirm whether it was taken before or after the wedding. They looked elegant, attractive, and young, and one couldn’t help but find them appealing. I found that photograph in the archives of the photographer Hazem Pack.

There is no doubt however that Nadia and Edmond were married. The documents refer to the wedding, the church where it was celebrated, and the first night they spent in the Khaddouri house. On the morning after their wedding the servants heard Edmond vow to kill Abd al-Rahman.

85

That morning Nadia came down from her room feeling agitated and nervous and she pretended to busy herself arranging the flowers. Edmond followed, looking sad, and sat on the sofa facing her. He was disheveled, his beard uncombed, and he smoked nervously. He went to Nadia, held her by the shoulders, and shouted at her, “Liar, liar!” He couldn’t control himself and was barely able to stand upright. He repeated, “Liar! You’re not a virgin!” Nadia kept quiet and turned her face away from him. Edmond wouldn’t stop. “It must have been Abd al-Rahman. He did it to you. It’s him! Say it.” But Nadia vehemently denied the accusation.