The Baghdad Clock Page 9

  He fell silent for a while, looking at the canal to his left. He pointed his stick at the flowers scattered about without any order, swaying in the breeze.

  ‘There’s nothing more melancholy than a morning rose opening in the garden of an abandoned house.’

  He turned to pick up his book. Although he did not need to, he leaned on his stick as he straightened up and immediately departed. Biryad followed him to the end of the alley and then hurried back, hanging his head in sadness.

  Silence settled on the women for several minutes. They feared the unknown, the hidden parts of the future, the uncertainty of setting off, and the risk of staying.

  ‘Liar.’ Umm Farouq spoke the word without being fully convinced of its truth.

  Umm Mustafa replied, ‘He’s not a liar. Your husband will not return before the Tunisian woman drinks up his vigour and sends him to you in the mail like a worn-out scrap of cloth.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Umm Farouq.

  My mother said, ‘He didn’t demand a single dinar in exchange for his words, so how could he be a liar?’

  ‘Let’s wait and see,’ responded Umm Farouq.

  ‘We’d better not wait too long,’ said Umm Baydaa.

  The Baghdad Clock struck three in the afternoon. The women got up and headed over to Umm Mustafa to say goodbye, hot tears in their eyes. They pressed her close and departed for home.

  18

  Biryad entered Nadia’s dream and said, ‘Follow me.’ He lifted his white tail as he led her through the gate of Abu Hussam’s house. He went to the place where his daughter Mayada was lying. Nadia looked at her face and saw she was dead. She lifted Mayada’s hand off the floor and pressed it to her chest. Mayada turned her head away and closed her eyes. Startled at this movement in death, Nadia took a step back. Then she went forward again, took Mayada’s hand, and felt her pulse. Mayada moved her lips and addressed Nadia.

  ‘Sit me up.’

  Nadia bent over and helped her into a seated position, leaning her back against an old car tyre that was nearby.

  ‘Who killed you?’

  ‘Hussam. My brother Hussam.’

  ‘Why did he do that?’

  ‘A few days ago, I returned to the clinic of Dr Tawfiq. Do you know him?’

  ‘No,’ replied Nadia.

  ‘He’s a young doctor who opened his clinic two months ago at the end of the street. My neck was hurting, and I wasn’t able to sleep on my right side from the intensity of the pain. So I went to him. After the examination, he looked in my eyes and smiled tenderly at me. Then, very deliberately, he left his home telephone number for me along with a prescription.

  ‘After hesitating a long time, I decided to call him because he was a good young man, and I liked his smile. I lifted the telephone to my ear and put my finger on the number three, the first digit of his number. My breaths came short from embarrassment and confusion. I dialled the rest of the numbers with difficulty. It started to ring, and my heart nearly jumped out of my mouth. Help me sit up straighter,’ Mayada said abruptly. ‘My back hurts.’

  Nadia lifted her and leaned her directly against a wall. ‘What happened after that call?’ she asked.

  ‘The doctor asked to see me again. An innocent relationship developed between us. I liked him and felt safe with him. He had a good heart, and I liked his smile.

  ‘In those days, I began standing for long periods in front of the mirror that hung on the wall in our entryway. I began looking for my spirit after ignoring it for a long time. I started taking an interest in my hair, which I had also been neglecting. I bought a new box of make-up. We started going out together when he had free time.

  ‘I was happy with him until that terrible day. We went to the nursery near the park, and I picked out some plants and flowerpots that he liked. He told me he was going to build us a small house with a garden, not too big. I was very happy and told him, “It will be the most beautiful garden in the world when our children play in it.” He laughed and put his hand on my shoulder. I pulled myself away, nearly dying from embarrassment.

  ‘We put the plants in the trunk of his car and went on a drive together through the park. He got out at the refreshment stand to buy us some ice cream while I remained alone in the car. Hussam drove past in a different car and saw me sitting in Tawfiq’s. I fainted from fear because Hussam gets angry quickly and looks for conflict. Tawfiq came back a few minutes later and reassured me. He told me he would come in two days to ask my family for an engagement. I was overjoyed and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It was the first time I had kissed him. Believe me, it was only the first time.

  ‘That evening, Hussam came home furious. He found me singing in the kitchen and told me he wanted to talk to me. But I ignored him since I knew he only wanted to stir up trouble. He came over to grab my dress and pull me around.

  “‘What were you doing in the doctor’s car?”

  “‘Tawfiq wants to marry me.”

  “‘He was marrying you at the refreshments stand?”

  “‘He’ll come here the day after tomorrow to propose. I will marry him and never see your hateful face again!”

  ‘Hussam was seized by a sudden fit of hysteria. He began screaming like a crazy man as he threw plates and glasses at me. Then he ran to our father’s wardrobe, took a pistol out of the drawer, and pointed it at my chest.’

  *

  When news of this terrible event spread, the neighbourhood was profoundly shocked. The police came and discovered the crime scene. That day was truly a dark one, leaving behind a deep wound in all our souls.

  Everybody in the neighbourhood had loved Mayada, who was known for her good nature and the way she helped others. She would always do housework for mothers after they gave birth, and during exam periods, she would go from house to house to offer free tutoring to the boys and girls. When she was studying at the Agricultural College, and even after graduation, she helped everyone arrange their gardens and offered advice regarding fertiliser, the type of soil, and how much water was required. The credit goes entirely to her that the gardens in our neighbourhood were greener and better maintained than elsewhere.

  Her father had been a manager at the railway company and had retired a long time ago. As for her brother Hussam, he was a dubious individual who did not mix with any of the other residents of the neighbourhood. Nor would he greet them. He hated Biryad and kicked him once on the mouth. It was the first time that the beloved dog had been hurt by any of the neighbourhood people. Biryad yelped in pain but did not tell Uncle Shawkat what had happened.

  Hussam was always on edge. He repeatedly changed his mind after making decisions. A few years before, he had proposed to Wafaa, the daughter of Umm Ali, but then he broke off the engagement without telling her or her family why. He would sometimes walk around drunk and fall down in the street, and the boys would carry him home. Then, not too long afterwards, he surprised us by becoming very religious and spending his days at various mosques. He would disappear for long periods of time, and when he came back, he would distribute religious books to the neighbours for no apparent reason.

  Mayada graduated from college when I was halfway through secondary school. She was appointed to a position in a faraway province, but she refused to take the job, preferring to stay at home. As the years went by she began to lose her beauty and grace, and she developed an air of neglect and despair. When fate smiled upon her and Dr Tawfiq fell in love with her, she was transported out of this world.

  The police detained Abu Hussam for several days. Then they released him since the suspect, his son Hussam, had escaped to Jordan and was out of reach. The father resumed his old habit of sitting at Abu Nabil’s shop with the retired neighbours. He used to sit with them there for many hours without ever getting bored, telling them exciting stories of his life spent working on trains and all the strange things that had happened. But after the murder of his daughter, he became a man of few words, and no one heard his former decisive declarations that brooked n
o dissent – with one exception: ‘It appears that this soothsayer was right.’

  This was the first time Abu Hussam had agreed with the sons of the neighbourhood in their expectations. When he realised that, he fell silent for a while and then changed the topic of conversation.

  19

  Nadia and I recalled the dream on the way to school. We spoke about Mayada and her family. When we saw Biryad playing in the street, we remembered how Hussam had kicked him in the mouth, and how Biryad had hated him since then and would never go near their house.

  Nadia and I mixed dreams with real life, fantasies with reality. But she forgot, and I remembered. That day, Farouq came out of his house wearing athletic shorts. Without closing the door, he came after us, and when we turned in the direction of the small square that separated our street from the school, he caught up with us, and as he continued on his way, he told me, ‘I miss you and need to speak with you.’

  I said goodbye to Nadia with a quick sign and let her go on alone. I followed Farouq. I missed him too, not having seen him since his trip to Argentina. School could go to hell! I watched Farouq from behind as he went on ahead. I felt that every fibre of his being was returning to me. I loved him, and I hoped he would lift me off the ground in front of everyone and tell me he loved me.

  We reached the street that ran behind the market. From there, we headed towards the main street, which we followed in the direction of the Baghdad Clock.

  We spent some time sitting in the garden facing the clock. I was somewhat nervous because this was the first time I had skipped school. At the same time, I was feeling sad that Mayada had been killed by her brother. But Farouq had been travelling, I had not seen him for ages, and he did not want anything in this world to ruin his joy at their victory.

  I tried to act normal with him, but he could tell that my thoughts were elsewhere, so he took me by the hand and we walked to Al-Zawra Park. On the way, he talked non-stop, describing his trip to Argentina for me. He was telling me, ‘In the newspapers, they gave me the nickname “The Iraqi Maradona”.’

  I did not know who Maradona was, but I guessed that he was the best football player in the world, so I smiled at Farouq, encouraging him to go on. But he started looking at the street, the pavement, the litter in the road, and comparing it with the clean city of Buenos Aires that he liked so much. He said, ‘The streets there are very beautiful. The buildings are tall, and they aren’t covered in dust like the ones we have here.’ He also told me, ‘Every time I saw a beautiful Argentinian girl, I thought of you and missed you.’

  When we entered Al-Zawra Park, he gradually led me on among the trees. He looked both ways, as though he were planning to do something, and then he quickly came close and stole a fleeting kiss from my lips. Automatically, my hands pushed him away, and I immediately realised my mistake. I tried to pull away from him, but I felt an intense dizziness. I lost my balance and nearly fell into an irrigation canal after dropping my book bag. I hated Farouq and decided to leave him and go back to school. But instead, I sat on the ground, put my hands over my eyes, and started to cry.

  Farouq sat down a good distance away. He regretted what he had done, and after a short time, he came over to apologise. I do not know why I wished in that moment he would kiss me again. I grabbed his hand and felt the heat of his fingers. He began wiping my tears with his other hand, but he did not kiss me. I stayed there, holding his hand. It was the first time I felt I loved him entirely. He was so close to my spirit that he became part of me, and I was afraid of him moving further away.

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘And I love you! Forgive me for how I was acting.’

  ‘It’s okay ... but don’t do it again.’

  ‘And if I did?’

  ‘I’d kill you!’

  ‘I’m going to do it again.’

  ‘I’m going to close my eyes. But you’d better not do it again.’ I closed my eyes and waited, but he did not kiss me. I opened them back up and found him laughing.

  ‘You know, you’re prettier with your eyes closed.’

  ‘Why? Aren’t my eyes pretty?’

  ‘No, your eyes drive me wild. But you’re even prettier when you close them.’

  ‘You want me to close them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘If you died, I would never close them.’

  I picked up my bag, brushed off the dirt, and walked away quickly as he followed behind, pleading with me to wait. I reached the path that led to the park’s gate. He hurried to catch up with me, but I ignored him and began singing to myself. He was laughing.

  I heard the Baghdad Clock strike ten in the morning. Looking into his eyes, I said, ‘I want to go to school. I don’t want to miss the entire day.’

  Farouq looked at the ground as he said, ‘I love you more than the whole world.’

  I crossed the street and was nearly run over by a speeding car. I turned back to Farouq to reassure him that I was okay, but he had already gone off in the other direction and was nowhere to be seen.

  Everything in my life changed that day. I began feeling that I was a happy young woman, but one who was not innocent and good. I felt a large curtain cutting me off from the world, from Mama and Papa. I was alone in the road, with people watching me through the windows of their cars and saying to themselves, ‘This girl has no lips!’

  I lifted my fingers to feel my lips, and it seemed that they were bigger than before. I felt a mild pain and imagined they had turned blue. When I reached the school, I went into the bathroom and took a pencil box out of my bag. I opened it and looked at my face in the inside cover, which reflected light as though it were a mirror. My lips looked normal, and there was not any trace of the kiss on them. I went to the deputy head and apologised for my tardiness. She was busy at the time with a pedagogy supervisor who was visiting the school and interrupted me with a gesture to go, so I went to class and sat beside Nadia, who was laughing. I brought my mouth close to her ear and said, ‘I have a secret!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not saying.’

  ‘Tell me!’

  I placed a finger over my lips and said, ‘Farouq kissed me!’

  Nadia smiled with all her heart and said, ‘What took you so long?’

  ‘Oh my god, Nadia!’

  20

  Uncle Shawkat was sent into retirement from his job at the central bank. He no longer had any work to get up for early in the morning. No reason to start the motor of his old car and head off for the day.

  He now had a lot of time he did not need. He got up early in the morning but then remembered that he had nowhere to go. He went back and lay his head on the pillow but did not fall asleep.

  Getting up again, he went into the kitchen to make breakfast, which he ate while listening to old Iraqi music on the radio, something he had become used to doing every day in his Volkswagen on his way to work.

  Uncle Shawkat opened his front gate, stepped halfway out into the street, and smiled at the children on their way to school. Interlacing his hands behind his back, he walked in his pyjamas to the end of the street. He did not know whether he ought to feel any embarrassment because he no longer had any work to do at that hour of the day. Yes. The feeling was getting to him. He was a man with no use. From that day onwards, no one would bring him important papers connected to the movement of currency in the central bank.

  Dozens of files had been placed on his desk nearly every day for him to sign after inspecting them to confirm they contained no errors. In recent years, the official papers he had to sign had started running short. He was disgusted by the cash that piled up in high stacks. The currency and its value changed. The paper bills were exchanged for new ones that smelled different. Coins began disappearing: the quarter dinar went away, then the half dinar. Then the dinar itself. The Iraqi dinar disappeared and became a memory from a different time.

  He bent his head again in shame when he realised he had gone out into the street in his pyjamas. It was the first time i
n his life he had done that. He went in and closed the gate. Sitting on his chair in the middle of the garden, he took his retirement letter out of the pocket in which he had put it the night before. He reread it more than once, incredulous that this nearly translucent piece of paper with its four lines had ended his long service, a service which had surpassed a quarter of a century of coming and going every day, to and from work. Addressing Biryad – who sat before him in wonderment that Uncle Shawkat was not going away this morning as he used to do every day – he said, ‘This paper, my friend, is like the old currency: a single sheet counts for many and equals a quarter of a century of government service.’

  Biryad shook his head and came closer to his owner, who reached down to stroke his back tenderly.

  Uncle Shawkat got up and walked around the garden, not knowing what he ought to do. He picked some of the moss that was growing under the pomegranate tree, rinsed his hands under the tap in the garden, and let the water run into the canal. The water poured forth, making narrow channels in the ground and carving a path through the soft dirt of the canal. He saw a small branch resist the flow of water, clinging to a rock that stood in its path in the canal. The branch slipped away, propelled by the force of the gushing water. Uncle Shawkat kept watching until it disappeared from sight. Then he looked at the dog again and said:

  ‘We too, Biryad, are nothing more than little sticks, driven along by the heedless waves of this life. Dry twigs abandoned by their tree and left to lie on the ground of chance. Maybe to be swept away by the flow of a small canal, or to be picked up in the beak of some bird building a nest in that tree. We return home not in our former capacity as branches, but as raw material for the homes of sparrows. Just yesterday I was a green branch in the tree of the workplace, and I’ve dried up and fallen on the ground, where the water of deadly free time makes sport of me.