The Girl from Baghdad (3 page)

Jana stared at her husband, entranced. How many more things didn't she know about him? Would she ever know everything about him? When they were alone, she bombarded him with questions. That's how she discovered that, thanks to their elevated class, Mohamed and his siblings had studied at the best universities. He had a degree in economics from Cairo. His brother, Kassid, was a surgeon. All three sisters worked in commercial offices in the city. None of them remained hostage to domestic life.

Jana spent the first fifteen days in the house with the other women. It was customary to spend time together, drinking tea on the living room couches. The house was luxurious but smothering. Heavy, dark velvet drapes adorned the walls. An enormous crystal chandelier, so large it occupied most of the room, hung from the ceiling. They stayed in that room for hours while the bowl of salted watermelon seeds passed from hand to hand, as did small glasses of tea. They never stopped chatting. Jana guessed from their gestures it was one endless gossip between women, but she still did not understand their conversations. She felt alone and uneasy. What was more,
nobody cared. The only one who seemed to notice was Ahlam. Every once in a while, filling her glass, she slowly repeated some Arabic phrases, hoping Jana would start to understand. Then Bibi would make an abrupt gesture with her hand and Ahlam, alerted by the jingling of Bibi's bracelets, would stop and serve the others too.

The highlight of each passing day took place at night when she was finally able to be alone with Mohamed. In his arms, she tried to pretend that everything was going well. One evening, however, two weeks after their arrival, she finally opened her heart, ‘You know, I don't think your sisters like me. I'm afraid of making a mistake … They don't want me here.'

‘My love, you have to give them time. And, besides, Ahlam took to you immediately. She really looks after you.'

‘Yes, she's very kind. But I always feel uncomfortable around Kasside – like I'm under examination.'

‘Don't exaggerate. It's normal that she pays attention to what you do. After all, she is responsible for many things in the family. You'll get used to it eventually, it won't seem so bad,' he reassured her. Mohamed closed her eyes with a kiss before adding, ‘I have good news for you: everything is almost ready for the wedding.'

‘What wedding?' She had completely forgotten.

‘Ours! My mother and Kasside have made the arrangements for the banquet, and the sheikh is ready to
conduct the ceremony in the town hall in two days. The whole family has already been invited. It's going to be a magnificent party. Aren't you happy?'

‘My love!' She held him even tighter. Maybe after this second wedding the in-laws would finally consider her one of them. She closed her eyes, dreaming of her party.

Jana didn't have any idea what an Arab wedding would be like. The preparations had started three days before. When Jana went to lend a hand, the women made her understand that cooking was a duty, reserved solely for family members. Bibi controlled everything from her chair, hitting her cane against the floor whenever she gave an order.

On the eve of the ceremony, Jana remained in her room the entire day. She didn't know what to wear, or what to do. None of the in-laws had explained anything to her and, afraid of creating a fuss, she didn't ask. At a certain point, the door opened and Ahlam came in. She carried a big box in her hands and placed it on the bed.

Jana opened it and saw a long, ethereal, finely embroidered Eastern-style outfit. It wasn't remarkable, but it had a simple and elegant line. She thanked Ahlam, saying one of the few Arabic words she knew: ‘
shukran
', ‘thank you'. Ahlam smiled and left.

On the night of the wedding, alone in her room, Jana put on the outfit and looked at herself in the mirror.
Even dressed like this, she could never look like one of them. Her complexion was too pale; she would never possess the dark and intense look of the other women. Ahlam was beautiful. Maybe even Kasside and Elham used to be, although now they seemed withered. And her? Did Mohamed really find her as pretty as he said? He must have been used to the mysterious beauty of the Iraqi women. Could she be as charming as them?

Seated in front of the mirror, she brushed her golden hair and put a few drops of perfume on her neck. While putting on her eye makeup, she realised her hand was trembling. She stopped and looked deep into the reflection of her green eyes. She felt strange, and not just because of the outfit. She thought about her friend Irena who wasn't there to do her hair, nor her sister to make her smile. Her mother wouldn't be there either. She was hit by a wave of homesickness she wasn't able to contain. A tear came to her eye and risked ruining her makeup. She dried it and took a deep breath. There: the worst had passed. She was even able to smile, remembering she was about to get married to the man she loved – an opportunity not every woman could experience. She fixed her hair and smoothed down the wrinkles of her dress. Hearing a gentle knock on the door, Jana ran to open it. Mohamed was waiting for her with a dazzling smile.

The ceremony at the town hall went quickly. Seated in high-backed chairs, the couple repeated the marriage vows spoken by the sheikh. Afterwards at Bibi's house, the guests paraded in front of the couple, honouring them with gifts and blessings. There were about a hundred guests at the banquet; many of them were dressed in luxurious clothes and some wore traditional garments. Jana didn't know anybody, but she was enchanted by the other family members she had only met that day, who'd kiss and hug her – she wasn't used to such enthusiastic displays of affection. She realised many in the crowd were observing her closely – those full of curiosity and those who seemed wary of her. It was, however, a glorious party. People danced late into the night, but everything ended that evening. The party didn't last for three days, as it usually did at Iraqi weddings. To Jana, who didn't know anything of that world, it seemed like a party designed for a princess, just as Mohamed had promised.

Mohamed left the day after the wedding on a long business trip. The afternoons with Bibi and the sisters-in-law started again, the same as before. Now that Jana was a member of the family, as part of her chores she also had to serve Bibi and the others, and take care of heavier domestic work. It was tradition; a woman who goes to live in her husband's house has to serve the sisters and mother-in-law. Kasside, who assumed Jana was a proud woman,
pushed her every once in a while in order to measure her character. Jana obeyed even when it was humiliating.

When the sisters-in-law invited her downtown to go shopping, Jana asked herself if it was a friendly gesture or another initiation ritual. A month had passed since she'd arrived and she still hadn't visited the city. She let herself be dragged in an excited cortege into the commercial streets at the centre of Baghdad, full of women with covered heads.

It was a surprise to discover Baghdad was a city where Arab and Western culture mixed at every juncture. The bars, where alcoholic beverages were consumed freely, were only patronised by men. But there were also numerous American fast food restaurants, as many Americans were living in Iraq. Baghdad was a wealthy, thriving city. The streets were full of high-powered cars and red double-decker buses. In the shops, next to European merchandise, stood exquisite objects made by Eastern artisans; finely worked jewels, precious textiles, and tailored
dishdashe
, which were large embroidered cotton tunics that the sisters-in-law often brought home. They insisted Jana have one tailored for her too. Kasside chose the fabric and made the arrangements with the dressmaker. Jana wanted Kasside to think she trusted her and so she didn't complain that the colour wasn't to her liking.

Mohamed returned from his trip, bringing dozens of expensive gifts. Jana sat in a corner, anxious to tell him
about her progress, to pronounce the words that she had learned, as the sisters clustered around him in a tight circle. The family always came first. Jana began to understand that privacy didn't exist in that great clan: nobody minded their own business and everyone gave their advice about everything.

When they were finally left alone, Jana threw herself into his arms. She told him about the difficult days she had spent with her sisters-in-law. Mohamed comforted her, tenderly stroking her face, ‘Don't worry, my love. We won't be here much longer.'

A week later, on a warm April day, Mohamed invited her to accompany him for a drive. He seemed overjoyed and she let his happiness seep into her, like the rays of the sun. He drove her to a nearby neighbourhood called Al Mansùr, one of the city's most beautiful districts.

‘Why are we stopping?' she asked. ‘There isn't anything here …'

‘You're wrong. This is my surprise for you,' he responded as he helped her get out of the car. ‘This is our new home.' He pointed to an apartment in a three-storey, light-coloured stone building surrounded by a tall hedge. There was a large covered terrace on the right side.

If they had been behind closed doors, she would have covered him in kisses. She had endured three difficult months, but her dreams had come true – they finally had a place to call home.

It was in this very apartment in the district of Al Mansùr that I, the first of Jana and Mohamed's three daughters, spent my early childhood. In 1973, just before I was born, my mother decided to return to Prague, near where my grandmother lived, as she felt safer giving birth in her home country. At the time she didn't consider the fact that in doing this she was guaranteeing me dual citizenship, which, in retrospect, was a very fortunate decision. Back then, Czechoslovakia still consisted of the now independent states of the Czech Republic and Slovakia.

It was autumn when my mother gave birth to me in one of the city's medical clinics. My mother remembers vividly the day that heralded the birth of her first child; the sky was grey, but the leaves of the trees were an
explosion of red and yellow. Holding me in her arms as if she were afraid that I would fly away, she gently kissed my forehead. She softly blew the forelock of my chestnut hair from my round face, squeezed my little hand in hers and adoringly stroked my face. Even though our shared bloodline would always unite us, I had my father's features. She silently prayed to God to make me a strong woman, capable of fusing the two souls that I had inherited, to allow the East and West to coexist within me.

My father came to Prague to take us home. He was open about the fact that his family would have preferred a baby boy, but he told them that their heir would arrive in good time. Still, he was overjoyed. He couldn't have asked for more; his career was skyrocketing, he had a beautiful wife, a newborn daughter and a fine home. My mother had decorated it in Western fashion: sofas and curtains with simple lines and sophisticated furniture, as she didn't like all that gold and crystal that sparkled at Bibi's house. She unfurled large rugs onto the outdoor terraces, where we slept on hot summer nights. Um Butrus, the maid who came to tidy the apartment every day, quickly bonded with my mother. She always minded me when my parents, elegantly dressed for glamorous social functions, went out for the evening.

I was two and a half years old when Klara was born, and six when my mother became pregnant for the third time. In the last few months of her pregnancy, I placed my ear on her huge belly and asked, ‘This time it's going to be a little brother, right?'

‘We don't know, dear. And if it's another little sister, another little girl like you?'

‘I don't want a sister,' I responded, sulking.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I want a brother! When he's big and tall and strong, he'll protect me.' Although I was very young, I already had attitude.

‘You have your dad to defend you.'

‘I want a brother, like my cousins! Even Aunt Kasside says …'

‘What does Aunt Kasside say?' she asked patiently.

‘She always says that you need a boy or else little girls get lost.'

‘No, they don't get lost,' she said, giving me a curious look. Then she caressed my head, smiling. ‘Stay close to your dad and you'll see …'

‘She also says a boy is worth three girls, but I don't know what that means.'

My mother looked at me, shocked.

‘If Khalid, instead of being a boy, had been a girl, three girl babies would have come out of Aunt Ahlam's tummy?'

She smiled. ‘No, dear. Your aunt just wanted to say …' she paused. ‘Your aunt wanted to say …' She knew perfectly well what Kasside intended.

‘That boys eat a lot? As much as three girls?'

‘Yes, wonderful. That's exactly what she meant!' I had made her laugh.

‘On that note, let's go have a nice snack!'

Watching her as she drizzled a little honey on a piece of soft bread, I thought I saw sadness cloud her face.

Back in Prague, a little girl was born: Linda, an identical vision of my mother, with the same round face and fair complexion. On our return to Iraq our family was immediately summoned to Bibi's house to celebrate. I left my parents in the living room and ran to play with my cousins. My mother sat next to her sister-in-law Ahlam, who held her hands and congratulated her. Ahlam was beautiful and sweet. When I went to her house, she let her daughter, Samar, and I play with her makeup and dress up in her clothes. I always carried around a little purse with lip gloss inside. When I put it on, it made me feel big. Ahlam even played with us and taught us how to do our hair. She was my favourite aunt. Aunt Kasside was much rougher on all the children. Every once in a while she would smack Alì, the youngest and naughtiest
of her kids. It was she who was in command at Bibi's house and we all had to obey like little soldiers.

My father was radiant and showed little Linda to everyone. Then he took the baby into the room where Bibi waited for him with Kasside. I chased Samar down the hallway and, passing by the room where they were seated, stopped out of curiosity. I peeped in from the threshold. Grandma sat on the armchair, wrapped completely in her white dishdashe and veil. The dark birthmark on her right cheek stood out even more in the sea of white. Grandma had always scared me. She scrutinised everyone with squinting eyes from her chair and almost never spoke. My father brought little Linda to her. I heard Bibi say harshly, ‘Another girl.' And, immediately after, Kasside's voice: ‘Sorry to say.'

My mother started studying Arabic after I was born. Taking advantage of the fact Linda was still small, she spent entire afternoons reading the Koran, keeping her youngest daughter on her knee. When the baby started to say her first words, she had fun parroting those that Mum read aloud. They were learning to speak together. Klara and I, who already knew a lot more than the two of them, continued playing and, every once in a while, corrected Mum's pronunciation, even if she had already
become pretty good. She still preferred to speak English with Dad, but now she understood all the conversations. She frequently spoke a mix of Czech and English with us, even if we responded in Arabic.

When I was a little older, my parents would take me with them to the parties at their friends' villas. There were sofas with gold legs, walls decorated with flowers or velvet curtains like at my aunts' houses. The guests were Dad's colleagues: men who worked at the embassy and important businessmen from around the world. Many of them had foreign wives, who were either European or Asian. My mother liked that environment; it was a very different world compared to Dad's family. She got ready for those outings carefully, making herself beautiful. I watched while she made herself up with green eye shadow, a little lighter than the colour of her eyes. When she let down her hair, I helped her brush it. Then she dressed in a long gown and put on her most exquisite jewels. She sprayed a cloud of perfume around herself. To me she looked like a queen. I wanted a little perfume too, so Mum told me to put out my hands and she put a drop on each wrist.

It was at one of those parties that Mum reunited with an old friend from Prague. Incandescent spotlights illuminated the pool and garden. The children chased after each other, making trouble for the waiters who were serving cocktails before dinner in their livery
white gloves. I took refuge next to Mum, hiding behind her skirt.

‘Careful, Michelle, or I'll knock the glass over!' she scolded. She had just taken a flute of champagne from a passing tray and was talking to a friend of my father's. Mum hadn't noticed the elegant woman in an evening gown sneaking up behind her. She felt the light touch of a hand on her arm and turned around. She looked down, thinking it was me, but raised her eyes to see a brunette woman smiling at her. Her eyes widened.

‘Irena! Is it really you? It's impossible!'

They embraced each other warmly. Then my mother, still grasping her friend's hand, added, ‘How long has it been? Let me see you. You look splendid.'

‘I was anxious to see you again, Jana! Adel told me there was going to be a surprise tonight, but I never would have thought it would be you! You don't know what a joy it is to see you again.'

‘I didn't know you were in town. When did you get here?'

‘Two months ago. Adel and I got married here in Baghdad. But then we left for our honeymoon and came back a few days ago.'

‘And work? Did you quit?'

‘I had to. But it's fine this way. The new house has to be completely fixed up. And I still have to get
used to this new life. It's been a big move, relocating here. I imagine it was for you too. You have to tell me everything!'

‘It was tough in the beginning. We didn't have our own home and we had to stay with Mohamed's family. But we've had an apartment to ourselves for a few years now. We're settled. We're happy.'

‘And this little girl who's hiding behind you? She wouldn't by any chance be your daughter?'

‘Yes, my eldest. I have three.' Mum pushed me gently towards the woman. ‘Go ahead, Michelle, say hello to my friend Irena.'

Very shy, I murmured a hello. Irena smiled and bowed down to give me a kiss.

‘You're a very pretty little girl, Michelle. How old are you?'

I showed five fingers on one hand and a thumb on the other.

‘Six? And where are your little sisters?'

Mum answered for me. ‘They're at home. They're still too little to come with us. Klara is three years old, and Linda, just a few months.'

‘I can't wait to see them! You have no idea how happy I am now that we're neighbours again.' Irena turned to me. ‘You know, Michelle, your Mum and I worked together at the airport, where she met your dad.'

‘Gosh, it seems like ages ago! And I've missed you a lot. It's as if I've been reunited with a sister. You don't know how easy it is to feel alone, in a foreign city …'

‘It won't happen again, now that I'm here. We'll stay together and you'll teach me everything about Baghdad.'

‘To tell the truth, I don't get out much. As you'll notice, women without a chaperone aren't viewed well here. But with a little caution, one can do many things. I, for example, now go shopping or to the hairdresser alone.'

‘Well, my dear, from today I will come with you, just like old times!' concluded Irena, also taking a flute of champagne from the tray passing by.

‘Cheers! Who would have ever thought that destiny would have a tale of
Arabian Nights
in store for both of us?'

‘May I join you?' my father asked, approaching closer. He tilted his glass towards the two women then greeted Irena, glad to see her again. He lovingly drew himself to my mother and embraced her in a way he was never able to in front of his family. I heard him whisper in her ear, ‘You're beautiful. I love you.'

She returned his gaze with the eyes of a woman in love.