The Girl from Baghdad (17 page)

I knew it was prohibited, haràm, to wear a Christian symbol, just as entering the church was. But I continued wearing the cross day in, day out. Maybe I hoped somebody would discover my secret, perhaps my own father. I wanted to trigger a strong reaction from him, something to bring him back to me and our family. My mother noticed the cross, but didn't say anything.

I awoke in the night to the horrified screams of my mother. Footsteps followed, then a chair crashed to the floor. My mother screamed again. Dad was back in the house for one of his nightly raids. He was looking for books and some of his papers. He and Mum were shouting at each other in English. My father's face was dark; his eyes, wild. I almost didn't recognise him.
He took a precious statue from a shelf and then another figurine, a souvenir from one of our trips and shoved them into a large bag. He began doing the same with the silver when Mum grabbed his arm.

‘Stop! You can't take everything away from us, Mohamed. Get out of our house.' Her frail hands gripped on to his wrists, in an attempt to stop him from making off with the expensive cutlery he had in his hand.

‘This isn't your house. I'll take what I feel like taking. Move out of my way!' he yelled, freeing himself from her.

‘Not the silver. You've already taken too many things. Stop! What do you need them for? Where are you taking them, huh?' Mum wouldn't back off and he became furious.

‘Give up! You're pathetic,' he barked, shaking her roughly. ‘Get out of my way.' He slapped her across the face and she fell to the floor.

I wanted to run to Mum, to protect her, but I was terrified of him. I was afraid he might hit me too. There was no way this man was my father, my king. I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Klara looked at me with fear in her eyes. Linda was grasping her arm, her eyes streaming with tears. I didn't know what to do. Call the police? How? Our father had taken the telephone a week before, ripping it from the wall in a rage.

Mum cried softly and curled into a ball on the floor. Dad, without acknowledging her, started filling the bag again, but she reached out for his ankle. He kicked her. She tried to defend herself, shielding her body with her arm. Klara started to scream and ran towards them. Dad turned to look in our direction, noticing our presence.

My sister shrieked tearfully, ‘Stop! You're mean, leave Mum alone!'

Dad took a few threatening steps towards us. I was scared and instinctively wanted to protect Linda, squeezing her behind me. I felt her sobbing hard against my back. While our father was distracted, Mum scrambled to her feet. She jumped on his back. ‘Stop! Damn you! Don't touch the girls.'

‘Get off me.' He pushed her away. ‘What do you want from me? You're not my wife anymore!
Tallaq!
Tallaq! Tallaq!' he taunted, furiously launching the words at her.

That incantation – which means ‘divorce' – repeated three times sanctified a separation. But Dad couldn't do it like that, he needed witnesses.

‘Get out of this house, now!' Mum shouted.

‘This is my house, Jana, and don't you forget it. I'll be back to get the rest of my things.' He grabbed his big bag and left, slamming the door behind him.

Mum slumped down on the chair and steeled herself not to cry. Linda ran to her and hugged her tightly.
Klara and I followed. All four of us remained huddled together, shaken by what had happened.

When Dad came to the house four days later to take us kids, as always, to Bibi's, neither Klara, Linda nor I wanted to go with him. The memory of that awful night was still too real.

‘I don't want to. I'm scared,' cried Linda.

Klara agreed. ‘The other night was terrible, Mum. He frightened us. He hurt you. We want to stay here with you.'

‘Well, you have to go. He isn't mad at you girls. The argument is only between your father and me. You don't have anything to do with it, understand? Do it for me. Go to your grandma's house and act as if nothing has happened.'

‘But it's not true!' I protested.

‘If you don't go, it will be worse. Do as I say. He'll bring you home in two days. Everything will be okay. Your father would never hurt you.'

It was difficult for me to believe her, but I let myself be convinced.

Dad was waiting for us outside. We climbed into the car without saying anything. He had shocked and wounded us with his violent actions, and now we sat silently in the back seat, side by side, squeezing each other's hands as we tried to comfort one another.

At Bibi's house, Dad helped put our things in our
bedroom. He tried to be nice. He acted as if that awful night had never happened. He asked us about school, about what we had done that week. Linda ran off to take refuge in Aunt Ahlam's arms. I answered him in mono-syllables, confused by his bizarre behaviour. I asked myself if that man, who couldn't make eye contact with me, was still my father.

Shortly after, Klara and I heard Kasside and Ahlam speaking with Dad about our full-time move to one of their houses, as if it were already decided. We looked at each other in disbelief. Surely they would tell us before doing something so drastič

I relied on my daily routine to keep my mind off what had been happening. Mum, too, even though she was fed up, encouraged me to get out of the house and find ways to occupy my thoughts to avoid dwelling on the dramas that were plaguing our family. So when Bàn invited me to her house one afternoon, I accepted willingly.

There was surreal silence as we played in the large villa. It wasn't the same with Otůr gone. It was hard to pretend that everything would be okay after her death. Even then, the very action of talking about Otůr and what we missed about her emphasised the sombreness engendered by her absence. Every once in a while we heard an explosion detonate in the distance, providing a bitter reminder of what we had lost.

‘Are you home alone? Where's your mum?' I asked.

‘She went out. My uncle is in his room,' Bàn said, pointing to a door at the end of the hallway. ‘He's probably sleeping or watching television. He won't bother us.'

I only knew him by sight. He was her father's younger brother and still lived with them. He was a tall man with a moustache, trimmed short like his hair, and a dark complexion. I thought he looked like Saddam.

We locked ourselves in Bàn's bedroom to listen to music and flip through magazines. I asked if I could use the bathroom. She showed me where it was then returned to her room.

The corridor was dark. As I turned the bathroom doorknob, a hand touched my shoulder.

‘Hi. Are you here to see Bàn? I didn't know she had visitors,' her uncle said to me, staring at me oddly.

‘Good afternoon,' I responded hesitantly.

‘It's been years since I've seen you. You've grown a lot.' The corners of his mouth turned, a creepy half-smile formed on his lips.

The way he was looking at me was unnerving. He placed his arm around my shoulders and opened the bathroom door.

‘Were you looking for the bathroom? Come on, I'll show you something.' He gestured for me to go in first.

It all seemed very strange to me, but I obeyed, afraid of what he might do.

He closed the door behind him and sidled up beside me, getting incredibly close. I backed up until I was against the wall. I was trapped and frightened. What did he want from me?

Standing over me, he leaned his face closer to mine, as if he were going to kiss me. I couldn't move. I felt the weight of his body pushing against me. His hand moved suggestively over my clothes.

I was petrified.

I heard him panting in my ear and I could smell the nauseating odour of his breath. I tried to move, but he pressed me against the wall. He started breathing heavily and saying indecent words, while his clammy hands ran over me. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. All I could do was tremble.

He started fiddling with the buttons on his pants. I looked frantically for an escape. I launched myself towards the door but he was faster – and caught me immediately.

‘Where do you think you're going, huh?'

He pushed me back against the wall. He pulled down his pants and started to touch himself, murmuring in a deep voice. Frozen, I saw his genitals looming towards me.

My desperation for escape grew. Fuelled by adrenalin, I gathered all my strength and made a run for it. I shoved him, freeing myself from his grip. I bolted down
the corridor, out the front door and all the way home without stopping, moving my legs as if the devil himself was following me. Only when I was safe in my bedroom did I finally start to catch my breath.

I felt confused and dirty. I knew it was a grave, horrible thing, but I couldn't speak to anybody about it. I couldn't let my mother see me upset. She had already suffered enough. When she called from the kitchen, I looked at myself in the mirror and felt overwhelming shame. Had I really been so naïve? How could I, even for an instant, have gone into the bathroom with a strange man? I was about to cry but I held back my tears. I looked for a sign of that nightmare on my face. Nothing could be seen. I had to forget everything as quickly as possible. I didn't want Mum to worry about me.

A week later Aunt Ahlam came to visit us with Samar and Sundus. She was the only one of my aunts who still came to see my mother. Her visit was a positive sign, even if it was out of obligation. We weren't alone. As long as somebody from Dad's family continued to keep in touch with us, everything wasn't lost. Ahlam stayed in the living room with Mum. She looked at her compassionately, as if she pitied her. I feared Ahlam too, sooner or later, would wind up turning her back on us.

I was alone with Samar in my bedroom. I had kept my terrible secret to myself for days. But Samar, who I had
always been close to, was somebody I felt I could confide in. While I told her about Bàn's uncle, I saw the shock in her eyes. The shame I felt made it difficult for me to speak, but I needed to rid myself of every last drop of rage and fear, so I told her all the dreadful details. Once I finished telling her my story, I felt liberated. Divulging my shameful secret to Samar didn't erase what had occurred, but at least it alleviated the guilt.

‘You have to tell your parents. This is too important to keep a secret. Tell your father. Maybe he can do something to fix it,' my cousin advised.

I looked straight into her eyes. ‘Samar, nobody needs to know anything. I just want to put it behind me and forget it ever happened.' How could she not have understood how ashamed I was? I wouldn't be able to handle it if my parents ever found out.

‘But that pig can't get away with it! Somebody has to do something, for heaven's sake,' she insisted.

‘Please, I don't want anyone else to know. Don't tell anybody, I beg you,' I pleaded. ‘Swear it. Promise me you'll stay as quiet as a mouse.'

The next evening I was in my bedroom when my father arrived. I heard him ask my mother where I was, then my door opened and he came in with a perplexed and worried expression on his face. Without greeting me he sat on the bed.

‘Tell me what happened,' he said solemnly.

‘What do you mean, Baba?' He couldn't have known.

‘With that man. Tell me what he did to you.'

I stared at him in disbelief. I suddenly felt vulnerable. Samar had betrayed me. Dad waited for my answer, his hardened eyes piercing through mine.

‘Nothing,' I stuttered.

‘Don't mess me around. This is not a game, Michelle. I assure you it will be all right. I just want to know what happened between you and that man, and you're going to tell me, step by step, like a good girl.'

His interrogation was making me feel more ashamed and uncomfortable.

‘Staying quiet won't resolve anything. Out with it. Tell me,' he commanded.

‘I can't. I can't …' I felt my eyes water.

‘Don't make me lose my patience, Raghdde. I have to know what he did to you.' His voice began to crack, but he controlled himself.

‘He didn't do anything to me. That is, maybe he wanted to, but … nothing happened, I promise.'

‘Look me in the eyes and tell me one thing,' he continued. ‘Did you do anything to provoke him? Did you tease him?'

‘No!' I was horrified. How could he have thought it was my fault? ‘I didn't do anything! It was all him. I didn't have anything to do with it.'

‘You have to tell me, Michelle. Did you do anything to make him behave this way?' His words stung.

‘No, I swear,' I repeated, crying. ‘He took me in the bathroom. I didn't understand what he wanted. Then he threw himself on me.'

‘What did he do to you? Did he touch you? Where did he touch you?' His voice started to rise, his fingers gripped the bedspread.

‘He tried to touch me, but I managed to get away.'

‘Where? Where did he touch you?' he insisted.

‘I don't know. He put his hands on me, I told you, I don't know. I don't remember.'