The Girl from Baghdad (10 page)

‘Kasside told me. She also said you girls were the ones who put these silly ideas in her head. And she's right. It doesn't look good going around in tight clothing. I don't want you going to that dance school anymore.'

‘Why? What did we do?' I replied. ‘Did Aunt Kasside tell you to forbid it?'

‘It's not important who told me. You girls will stop going to that disgraceful school,' Dad reaffirmed in an authoritative voice.

‘But Mum said –' Klara began.

‘Your mother can say whatever she wants. I am the boss in this house!' he said, raising his voice.

He considered the discussion closed. As he was leaving the room, he turned again to face me and demanded, ‘Get rid of those rags. I don't ever want to see them again.'

I ran to my room and sat on the bed. I stared at my tutu, crumpling it between my nervous fingers. I felt two tears of rage run down my cheeks. I was confused and mortified. Why should I be ashamed to dance? I was good at it, and I loved it. I didn't understand why my father had made such a scene. It was the second time that I had seen that enraged look on his face and when he was this way, it was difficult to recognise the charming,
loving man I knew – my king who would take care of me and make me smile.

A tenuous peace returned to our family after that scolding. We quit dancing, although disheartened, and everything seemed resolved. Nevertheless, I sometimes felt Dad was behaving strangely. Something made him edgy, but I wasn't sure what. He was the same as before, smiling and sweet, but there were moments in which he seemed distant and pensive. When things were like this at home I escaped to my friend Dani's house.

Dani was Christian and always wore a cross around her neck. Although we were used to visiting the homes of people who had different beliefs to ours, little by little my curiosity about her religion grew stronger. Dani told me that during Sunday mass she and her family all sat together: adults and children, men and women. This seemed bizarre to me. During mass, they prayed standing up, and only when the priest raised a wineglass did they kneel, keeping their hands joined. These were all strange things to me. My aunts would say that Christianity was a haràm, or sin. ‘Haràm! Haràm!' they repeated vehemently. To pray with the Christians or to enter their churches was haràm. Whoever did so would be hurled to hell and would never escape. They would suffer eternal
agony, forced to put up with an infinite series of tortures, the first of which would be the total skinning of the body and then an inferno of flames to consume the remaining flesh. But I stopped believing in these legends, even if they had greatly influenced me when I was young.

The church Dani attended was a small, light-coloured stone building. We passed it every day on our way home from school. It looked just like an Orthodox temple from the outside. One day, right there in front of the church, Dani said to me, ‘Why don't we go in?'

‘It's not allowed. It's haràm!' I envisioned the flames for a second. ‘It's a sin to go inside. I can't.'

‘And if you do? What happens?'

‘I'll go straight to hell.'

‘You can't believe in these things!'

‘I don't. But my family does and if my aunts find out that I entered a church, I'll really see hell.'

‘I won't tell them. And besides, aren't you hot? Let's go in. It will be cool in the church. Come on.' She pushed open the dark, heavy front door.

My eyes had trouble adjusting to the dim light inside. The sun streamed through a high window, illuminating the dust particles floating in the air. I was immediately captivated by the mysticism of that majestic place. I smelt incense and wood. The enormous stone columns cloaked in darkness were grand and imposing. It felt peaceful. I was completely enchanted.

A long shiver ran down my back. I was doing something prohibited. I didn't believe in all those stories about hell, but I believed in Allah. I asked myself if He would ever pardon this insult.

Dani was already more than halfway up the aisle. She saw me hesitating and signalled for me to catch up. My curiosity overpowered my feelings of guilt and I joined her at the altar. Nearby there were candelabra, adorned with large, unlit candles, placed on top of a special tablecloth. A much larger candelabrum, decorated with strange symbols, stood at the side of the lectern.

‘Why aren't they lit?' I asked, pointing at the candles.

‘They only light them during mass.'

I wanted to know everything. ‘Show me how to pray. What do you do?'

‘There's no special way. You kneel like this and join your hands together. Then, in silence, you speak to the Father.'

Behind the altar was a painting of a woman looking up towards the sky with a gold circle above her head.

‘It's Mary, right? What do you call that thing around her head?' I asked pointing at the painting.

‘A halo. It means she's a saint, special. It's a little like your prophet, Mohammed.'

‘What do you say to God when you pray?'

‘I confess my worries. I talk to Him about my secrets. I ask Him for help when I have some kind of difficulty.'

‘And He hears you?'

‘I don't know, but it seems like it sometimes. When I come to pray here, I feel like He's closer to me. My mother says it's because this is His house.'

The idea that one could enter God's house, that He could be seated on a throne or hiding behind the decorations on the altar and listening to people's prayers, fascinated me. I started to feel Him too; He was there, closer than ever before.

‘Dani, do you think Allah and your God could be the same person?'

‘Yes.'

I knelt next to her and, together, our hands clasped in front of our faces, we each said our own silent prayers. I asked Allah to forgive me for this sin, but if it were true that He and Dani's God were the same person, there couldn't be anything wrong. Kneeling on that bench, I felt like I could confess anything to God. A great peace filled my heart. I didn't tell anybody about my little transgression; it had to remain my secret.

It was around this time that I met Bàsil. Dani had spoken to me about a boy who lived in our neighbourhood, close
to my house. I vaguely remembered a little green-eyed boy who used to join us on our bike rides around the quiet streets of Al Mansùr, but it had been many years since I had seen him. Dani had run into him a few days before and discovered he had grown up and become terribly cute. She suggested we take a walk around the neighbourhood, hoping to run into him.

The first thing I saw were two mesmerising catlike green eyes. His mysterious looks were powerful enough to make my heart jump. He was a tall, handsome boy with dark chestnut-coloured hair and light olive skin. He had a confident stride and hands with long tapered fingers. He was just coming out his front gate as Dani and I passed by. She squeezed my arm tightly. The timing was so perfect I suspected Dani had a stopwatch in her pocket.

He greeted her as soon as he saw us. He blushed and smiled when our eyes met. Dani was so excited she barely noticed. He looked around to make sure no-one would see us talking to him in the middle of the street. When we were children, we were allowed to play together. But now that we were older, things were different. On this day, nobody was around so we drew closer to each other.

‘Hi, Dani and … sorry, you look familiar but I don't remember your name,' he said.

‘Michelle. It's been years since I've seen you.'

‘I've been taking care of my mother since Dad died.'

‘I'm sorry. When did it happen?' Dani asked.

‘Four years ago,' he replied, then turned to look at me.

‘Did you stop studying?' I asked, remembering he had always been very intelligent and studious.

‘No. I still study. I'm going to college soon.'

His voice was familiar and comforting.

‘Let's go, Dani, before some nosey person leans their head out the window,' I said to her, glancing around carefully.

‘Yeah, it's best. Later, then,' he said as he walked away. Then he stopped and said to me, ‘Hey! Wait a second. I don't remember where you live. Which one is your house?'

I pointed at it. It was just a stone's throw away from his.

‘Strange that we've never bumped into each other, in all this time. Let's hope that another five years don't pass before we see each other again!' He waved goodbye and disappeared around a corner.

Dani was upset. I tried to convince her it was only her imagination; it wasn't true Bàsil had eyes only for me. I knew I was lying. I didn't want to hurt her, but it was obvious I couldn't help being affected by him either. We were taken with each other from the first moment and couldn't do anything about it.

I ran home so fast I almost flew. Those twinkly green cat-eyes had sparked a million fantasies in my mind. I felt woozy, delirious with happiness. I flung open the door, shouting, wanting to tell Mum about the encounter. She was on the couch next to Esmàa.

My cousin had her face against my mother's shoulder, hidden by a long strand of Mum's blonde hair. I guessed she had been crying. My mother caressed her head, trying to calm her. As soon as Mum noticed me, she signalled for me to go to my room. I listened in on their conversation from behind the door.

‘Calm down now, Esmàa. Everything is okay.' My mother's voice was comforting, ‘Tell me how it happened.'

‘He treats me like a slave!' Esmàa couldn't control her sobs. ‘He acts like a master. He doesn't lift a finger, just orders me around day and night. And Kasside defends him. She doesn't do anything but yell at me and take his side. I thought I was marrying a caring man. I should have realised it sooner. But how could I not have noticed after all these years?'

‘Men always change a little after marriage. It's normal.'

‘Jana, he didn't just change a little. He turned into somebody else!

‘Every time Kasside comes to visit us, she expects to be served and all she does is shout at me.
I had hoped Samìr would take my side, but instead he told me his mother is owed absolute respect.' She took a deep breath. ‘Yesterday, however, she went too far.'

‘Why? What happened?'

‘She started to say how very strange it was that I still wasn't pregnant; that I was good-for-nothing.'

‘And how did you reply?'

‘I didn't even respond. I looked at Samìr … and he said it was my fault if I wasn't able to give him a son.'

My mother sat in silence. Then she offered Esmàa a tissue. ‘Dear, it's only been six months since your wedding. Sooner or later you'll have good news. You've lost so much weight. You're going to get sick. You have to take care of yourself and stay strong. You have to be healthy before you can get pregnant. Don't think about what Kasside says. You know how she is.'

‘Exactly. She's mean. She was mean to you too, no?'

My mother's eyes widened. ‘Why do you say that? Kasside and I have always got along.'

‘Yes, but you know how fake she can be at times. She's always judged you, even if she doesn't show it around you.' Esmàa looked Mum directly in the eyes and continued, ‘Jana, don't pretend not to know. You know that not being able to give your husband a son is considered a crime. Not to mention doing things your way.'

‘I've never done things my way,' my mother replied dryly.

‘Maybe you don't understand. Your daughters have always been free to do many things that have been prohibited for others. This is against the rules; Kasside's rules more than anything. And she is the one who says it often, to your husband. I heard her complaining to him about how you raise them.'

‘They don't do anything wrong. They're mature and responsible girls. And Kasside knows that perfectly well. Stop with this gossiping.' My mother was perturbed, but at the same time tried to stay calm. ‘It's time for you to dry your eyes and go home.'

‘I don't want to. Let me stay here with you,' Esmàa begged, almost whispering. She was about to start crying again.

‘Does Samìr know you're here?'

‘No, nobody knows. And they don't need to. I'm not setting foot in that house again.' She tightened her fists.

‘Why?'

‘This.' She pulled down her shirt revealing a dark bruise on her shoulder. ‘And this.' She lifted the hem of her dress, exposing her leg: there was another dramatic mark.

‘Good God, Esmàa! Who did that?' my mother asked in horror, raising her hand to her mouth.

‘Samìr. We had a quarrel after his mum left. He hit me. He was out of his mind. He had scary eyes, Jana.
You don't know … he's a monster! I don't want to go back to him, I don't.' She sobbed desperately.

Mum hugged Esmàa, cradling her until she was completely calm. She convinced her to go back home to her husband. She said that things would settle with time, and Esmàa trusted her. She hugged her again before she left.

After having closed the door, finally alone, my mother leaned back against the wall and sighed heavily. She looked exhausted. She wiped her forehead with the palm of her hand as if to unload heavy thoughts. With dark, sad eyes she stared at the floor.

‘What can I serve you, ladies?' the waiter at the club asked politely.

‘I'll have an orange juice,' replied Dani.

‘And you?'

‘A Coca-Cola, please.'

The waiter gave a little bow and walked away. At the Al Sayade Tennis Club, the staff wore white gloves as part of their impeccable white uniforms.

Seated at the bar, near the pool, Dani and I looked around taking in the surrounds. Girls sunbathed in their bikinis on the deckchairs. Boys swam in the pool. At the club, we were free to meet and speak with them; the
usual taboos remained outside the big front gate, which was protected by two guards.