The House of Jasmine (15 page)

“Hassanayn, please,” I implored. “I can't laugh anymore.”

“Then don't laugh,” he said.

“O.K. O.K. Have you ever known me to be a liar?”

“The biggest liar in Egypt and the whole Arab world as well.”

“O.K., but now I want you to believe me. I only want two things: the first is to get married and the second is to quit the union.”

#

I went to visit Hassanayn, and he wanted me to choose one of two women: the first was a beautiful young widow, who wore a veil and had an apartment, a child, and a large bank account left to her by her former husband, who had drowned in the Tigris. The second was a typist who was not as pretty as the first. The widow was twenty-four, while the unmarried woman was twenty-six. Hassanayn innocently told me that ever since I had told them the story about the man who threw his furniture into the sea, he had been thinking of finding me a wife, and that he had been serious when he mentioned it the first time. He also whispered to me that if Ibtihal hadn't been his cousin, he would have preferred me to himself and let me marry her, because he saw me as a child who is lost in the desert. He was not serious about what he said, but I still felt embarrassed. First he had thought that I didn't want to get married, then he thought that I was incapable of finding a wife. He had done all but take my hand and wander down the streets calling out: “A woman for this miserable man!” This paternal attitude of Hassanayn's annoyed me, but I still said that I wanted to see the unmarried woman. Hassanayn laughed when I told him my choice and said in a voice that was loud enough for his wife to hear: “The widow's husband drowned in the Tigris. Is this our fault? And why did he have to swim in the Tigris in the first place? Couldn't he have swum in the Euphrates?” I heard his wife laugh in the next room. I hadn't thought that the unmarried woman was better than the widow; it was more like a random choice. Perhaps if I had thought about it carefully, I would have realized that the widow was better. She was prettier, richer, and already had a child who would therefore be easier to raise. Who knows? I thought that maybe I would be like my father, unable to have a child for twenty years. We made an appointment for me to see the woman the following week.

#

The day on which I had planned to quit the union drew near. I had been thinking about quitting since the very first day after I had won the elections, but couldn't reveal my thoughts. To be honest with you, there were times when I changed my mind, but for the most part, I could not stand what I had to handle: absences, sicknesses, social aid, dismissal warnings, requests for leaves, organizing recreational trips to Port Said, suggestions for literacy classes and other classes to help the workers' children with their school work. Where had all these responsibilities been and how come no one had mentioned them to me before the elections?

I spent my days running between the various workshops and administrative offices of the shipyard. I finally realized why al-Dakruri had been so thin and pale, and thought that his death was inevitable. If the snake hadn't bitten him, he would still have died soon from a heart attack. My office was always full of workers who came in to tell me about their problems, but also took the opportunity to chat and enjoy a few laughs. I didn't have time to take care of the employees' files, which became covered with cobwebs and made my office look like a haunted house.

My apartment filled with workers who thought that a private meeting with me could help them get a promotion. Usta Zinhum always brought so many of them that I sometimes wondered if he were not just bringing people off the streets. My time and energy were completely wasted on these new responsibilities. I wasn't used to this mess. I was used to silent papers placed in neat files that I could open at any time. I arranged them and changed things in them and they never objected.

At the end of one long day, as I was getting ready to leave the office, Usta Zinhum came running in. He was sweating and out of breath. I suddenly wished I had a bed in my office so that I would never even have to leave!

“A crisis, Shagara,” he said. “A real crisis.”

I felt my whole body tingling. He had just called me by my name without bothering to use Mr. or any other title.

“What happened, Usta Zinhum?” I asked.

“Imbabi is dead.”

“Imbabi who?”

“Imbabi. Don't you know him?” He pulled up a seat and sat down, then said to me, “Have a seat first.”

I had already remembered Imbabi, about whom one of the workers had told me during my campaign, when Usta Zinhum said, “Imbabi, the lunatic. He was found dead on the beach, his body surrounded with crushed fish, his mouth reeking with the smell of fish and covered with clotted blood. Now dozens of workers are gathered around the body. They say that he had recently started to eat the fish raw, and that today he ate so much that it bloated him. The problem is that nobody knows his address or any of his relatives.”

I pointed at the files and asked him to look under “I” and “M,” then sat back in my seat and let my arms relax to my sides. The round man bounced like a rubber ball and soon he pulled out a file, placed it in front of me, and opened it.

“The file only has one page,” he said. I looked at the sheet of paper, which only had his name, age, job, and salary at the time when he was first hired. There was no address, and there was nothing to indicate any change in his life: a marriage, a promotion, sickness, punishment, transfer. Nothing. There was only one yellowed sheet of paper, partially eaten by weevils.

“This is what I expected. The union will take care of his burial,” Usta Zinhum said while I watched him silently. I wanted to slap him on the face, he who knew everything, that spy!

Burying the man wasn't a difficult job. I left Usta Zinhum to handle it and went home. I looked in the mirror and couldn't ignore the paleness of my face, which reminded me of al-Dakruri's. I had no time to cook and lived on canned foods, although I often read in the papers that they weren't well preserved and not fit for human consumption. The other members of the union didn't help. They only passed the workers' problems and demands on to me. I had to wait for the chairman of the board of shipyard directors to fulfill his promise to consider “the files” its own department and staff it with two more employees. I would be the head of that department and the supervisor of those new employees. The shipyard had placed an advertisement for these two new positions in the newspapers, and it was going to be a few more days before the promise could be fulfilled. I was waiting for that to happen before I quit the union. Then the chairman wouldn't be able to go back on his decision. Actually, he could, but I didn't think that he was going to. God was still on my side. I thought that I could sue the shipyard if the chairman went back on his decision, because I would have the right to keep my new position. Yes, I would defend my rights, because a person who doesn't defend his rights is worthless.

The important thing was that my marriage plans developed quickly. I visited Hassanayn at the time that we had set, and found Nawal there visiting with his wife. Before I had had time to think about how I could introduce myself, Hassanayn called to his wife, “Why don't you both come and sit with us?” She smiled, left the room for a minute, and then came back with a china plate that I had seen before, bananas piled upon it. Nawal followed her into the room and shook my hand.

Would anyone believe that that was the first time I had shaken hands with a woman? I was thirty-five years old, and had shaken the hands of many of my female colleagues and many of my mother's female neighbors in the hills, but none of them had made me feel like a man shaking hands with a woman. Nawal's hand was warm and it trembled a little. My hand was as cold as ice. I looked at her face while she looked down at the floor. She was as small as a cat, and sat with her knees and her legs pressed tightly together. She was pretty, and her eyelashes never stopped fluttering. She must have sensed that I was watching her. She must have been aware of my ulterior motive. Who knows? Maybe she was also looking at me somehow. I wondered whether that year, 1980, was going to be a decisive year in my life.

#

It seemed as though I was always trying to remember something, but couldn't. At work, at home, with Hassanayn, when I was alone with Nawal at her house, I often had the sudden feeling that there was something I wanted to remember, but I didn't know what it was.

“We came to celebrate,” said Hassanayn as he opened his arms wide and embraced me. It had been a while since we had embraced. I had heard the doorbell ring repeatedly and thought that it was Usta Zinhum coming to me with a new problem. I decided that I would beat him up, and if I could, throw him and his buddy off the balcony. But when I opened the door I found that it was Hassanayn and Magid. Magid and I embraced several times, and then I went in to get two of the old chairs, which were going to be replaced in a few days, but Magid said, “Let's go to the café. The café is better.” I realized that I could see a few white hairs among his shiny black hair. I stood in the middle of the hallway without getting the chairs. It was as if Magid had paralyzed me with what he just said. What was the secret of that little, mostly empty café overlooking an ordinary road where cars raced by? I had a lot to talk about with both of them—how Nawal and I were going to buy a refrigerator, how we were going to buy a stove, how we had bought china and kitchenware and chosen some nice simple furniture that we were going to buy in a few days in cash, for I was going to withdraw all of my savings out of the bank. My account was back at a thousand pounds, after having decreased during the election campaign. Nawal's father and her brothers were going to contribute another thousand pounds. I also wanted to tell them that I hadn't had time to go by to see Magid and invite him to the wedding, which was coming soon, but that I would have definitely remembered to do so before the wedding date. We hadn't had an engagement party, but had only exchanged rings in the presence of Nawal's close family. The wedding, though, was going to be attended by members of both families, and mine was Magid, Hassanayn, and ‘Abd al-Salam.

This is too much for a chat in the café, Magid, I thought, so why do you want us to leave? I have found Nawal to be quiet and tender. I want to tell you how I kissed her for the first time, and how she was surprised and confused, and how I have tamed her so that she now puts her head on my chest and nestles like a bird, and how my arms can almost cover her up. Here we are, going to the café to chat about the same old things.

“Is it really December already?” I asked, and Hassanayn smiled at my question and said, “You are already starting to see the days differently.”

“It is hard to believe that this is December in Alexandria,” said Magid. “It rained constantly last December, and January too. Alexandria has gone crazy.” Then he laughed and added: “So, you're finally getting married, Shagara.”

He rolled the dice and threw them on the backgammon board. Once again, I had the feeling that I was trying to remember something but couldn't. I lit a cigarette and smiled as I rolled the dice in my hand.

“What's up?” Magid asked, having noticed my absentmindedness.

“I was thinking that I wish my mother were still alive,” I said. Then I threw down the dice and went on playing. I didn't know what had made me say that, but Hassanayn patted my shoulder, and blushed. Then he said to Magid, perhaps to change the subject, “Have you seen the house of jasmine lately? It was pulled down, and now there is a vacant lot in its place.”

I was suddenly depressed. I hadn't realized how long it had been since I last walked down that street. My feet just got used to their new route. I tried to concentrate on the dice as Magid played.

“We saw it on our way here,” Hassanayn said to me. “I'm sure you know the house.”

So he knows the story of the house, I thought. Magid knows it, too, and so does the rest of Alexandria, just as ‘Abd al-Salam said.

“If Magid got married, and ‘Abd al-Salam returned and got married as well,” I said, trying to get the conversation on to a lighter subject, “then we could all have children who would grow up together.”

“Allah! Allah!” cried Hassanayn, “You are as good as Hassan al-Imam.” We all laughed as loudly as we used to, but it was not long before we were silent again. Then Magid said, “Not a single word from the American woman.”

His statement surprised me and Hassanayn. We had forgotten about the American woman and her promise to Magid. I looked down at the dice on the board and could feel that Hassanayn was looking at me.

“Dr. Musa has written to me a few times from Kuwait, trying to tempt me to join him there,” Magid went on, “I'm seriously considering going.”

It became impossible for me and Hassanayn to go on ignoring what Magid was saying. He was holding the dice in his hand and waiting for our comments. I wanted to say something, but felt that if I opened my mouth, I would scream. I looked at Hassanayn, who was blushing and looked unhappy. Hassanayn took a letter out of his pocket and said that it was from ‘Abd al-Salam.

#

“War has broken out between Iraq and Iran, as you probably know. You must have read about it in the papers or heard about it on the radio and television news. I can't believe that you're so busy that you haven't had time to write to me for so long. My only explanation is that you have separated. If so, then I wish each one of you all the best with his new life. Who knows? Maybe you really don't have time.

“Anyway, I'm sure you know that I have a lot of experience with war by now. It seems to be my destiny. God created me, and said: ‘You, ‘Abd al-Salam, are going to be a warrior,' and so He gives me an opponent everywhere, even when I don't really know it. So far, I'm still not sure exactly who my enemy is. What is certain is that I'm a brave warrior, and this is enough for me to fight any war. I'm the bravest warrior in the Middle East, and if there is no war, then I will have to start one. I must be the bravest warrior in the world. I have volunteered to fight in the Iraqi army.