The Gardener of Baghdad Page 3

  I decided I would give the garden two entrances, one at the front, close to the main entrance, and the second at the far end, for those coming from inside the house. I selected four ficus trees, two to be placed at each garden entrance. They were a meter high and trimmed into round shapes, though they could be shaped differently in the future. The outer path around the garden was a foot wide, a mixture of small, shiny, white and black stones. Next to it were pink and white roses, neatly planted in two straight, parallel lines. The middle of the garden was an extravaganza of colors—yellow, red, and blue. Tulips, a large mixture of white and red roses, white orchids, and some lilies were all selected carefully to portray a message of appreciation for life, something I felt Mr. Radhi and Madam Laila had within them but had neglected a bit in their garden. I also planted six small cycads in various places, and each was surrounded by a bed of purple tulips. I’d always thought a garden should tickle more than the eyes; it had to alter all the human senses, and I knew the gardenia could do just that. Thus, I planted four beds at each end, and the flowers were so fragrant that their scent could be enjoyed from across the street.

  Madam Laila was extremely fascinated and joyfully grateful for the work I’d done outside their home. She was impressed with the flower selections and the colors, and she said, “This is a piece of art, worthy of a portrait!”

  The garden had to be carefully maintained, so I taught their gardener what to do and when to do it. As the weeks passed, the garden just bloomed and blossomed into more and more beauty.

  A neighbor stopped by and praised it, and others followed. In fact, many of their neighbors used afternoon tea with Madam Laila as an excuse to get a peek at the place. When the word spread about Mr. Radhi’s garden, Madam Laila insisted that they have a party so they could invite all their friends and even some royalty and show them the garden everyone had been talking about. For me, business began to boom.

  The preparations for the get-together took over a week. It was the first party they’d hosted in years, and when the day finally came, it was one of those parties the people of Baghdad talked about for several weeks. Madam Laila had arranged everything in the villa. It looked even more spectacular with all the decorations. Everything absolutely sparkled. She’d selected the very best plates and cutlery, and the food selection was extravagant. Appetizers, both cold and hot, would be served throughout the evening. A wide variety of main courses was masterfully chosen, over twenty vegetable, chicken, meat, and fish dishes, all freshly prepared in different culinary styles. Mr. Radhi bought a large red carpet to welcome his guests at the main gate, and I took care of the garden, adding the trimmings and final, delicate touches to make it even more breathtaking.

  The guests were the elite of Baghdad. Over forty families showed up, including doctors, lawyers, teachers, musicians, businessmen, and several ambassadors. Most had some influence in Baghdad society, but the main guest was one of the king’s far cousins. When her highness walked in, there was a moment of silence. She was extremely elegant, with beautiful, long hair that flowed down her smooth shoulders. She was wearing a red dress with several layers of gorgeous, rich fabric. Her slender neck was adorned with a long string of pearls. She was known for her beauty, yet she was very humble and kind to everyone.

  Madam Laila introduced her to all the guests, then proudly took her on a tour of their home, taking time to describe the many paintings Mr. Radhi had purchased at an auction in London a few months prior. Laila then escorted her esteemed guest outside, where she took her on a stroll through the glorious garden. Madam Laila was very thorough in describing every detail, and she made sure to tell her all about the plants, where they were originally from and the best time of the year to grow them. She also mentioned the special care each and every one of them needed. The day before the party, I had taught Madam Laila everything she needed to know about the garden, and she was a quick learner. Her highness was impressed with the garden and complimented Madam Laila on its beauty. She asked who had done the work, and Laila gladly gave me credit.

  The day before, both Mr. Radhi and Madam Laila had asked me to be involved with the guests and explain everything to them, but I told them I wasn’t quite ready to mingle with them. I apologized and explained that I’d never been around that type of crowd and wasn’t yet confident enough. I assured them, though, that I’d be close by; I didn’t want to miss any of the action—not for anything in the world. I wanted to see the party from a bird’s-eye view, so I asked Mr. Radhi if I could sit on the upper floor and watch from the windows. He agreed, so I positioned myself there during the party and opened the windows a bit so I could hear what everyone was talking about. I’d never felt so much pride and happiness as I did when all the people in the elegant clothes began talking about the work I’d done in the garden. They gushed about the colors of the roses, the tulip locations, and the designs I’d created by meticulously selecting and trimming the perfect trees. So many compliments were made about the picturesque garden that I began to feel like the party was a celebration in my honor.

  The most common question was who was behind the work in the garden and how long the work took. Mr. Radhi and Madam Laila were more than happy to tell them all about it. I knew then that my work would be very sought-after. I’d have to get better at it, as I’d have a large and very important group of clientele to please. I would need more help and a greater variety of plants and flowers. I wanted each garden to be unique in every way, each design to be more and more creative. I knew I could achieve my dreams and make a big name for myself in Baghdad; perhaps even in all of Iraq, just by doing an excellent job at the gardening that was my passion.

  After finishing their evening tea and enjoying themselves immensely, the guests began to leave. I had made sure there would be a bouquet of flowers for each of the departing families, the perfect friendly touch to end a lovely evening.

  When the last guests left and Mr. Radhi and Madam Laila sat down to relax in the garden, I joined them. I thanked them a lot, for I was a bit overwhelmed from the joy the day had brought. Much to my surprise, though, Madam Laila thanked me.

  She pulled me into a hug and uttered flattering words that still often ring in my ears: “Ali, thank you. Your presence and your garden has brought life back to us, back to this house. You can’t imagine how long we have needed that.”

  Mr. Radhi had some kind words of his own to share. He looked at me straight in the eyes and said, “Don’t thank us for anything. From the first moment you came to me in the market years ago, when you approached me so confidently, I sensed something about you. I felt that you were different somehow. You just needed a push. The talent and determination were already within you. We only helped pave the way, made people notice how uniquely talented you are. I’m sure you will do great things and make us proud. You’re the same age as my son would have been, and you are like a son to us.” he then held me tight to him and continued, “You are our Ali, but to the rest, you will be The Gardener of Baghdad! Let’s have some cake and tea and enjoy this delightful evening and the full moon, shall we?”

  We sat there for another hour, laughing and talking. It was a moment of my life that I wanted to capture in my memory, a blessed gathering that I would always cherish, especially since so many hardworking days were about to come my way…

  Chapter 2

  Just when Adnan was about to turn the next page of the handwritten memoir hidden inside the cover of a French book, the electricity went off. It wasn’t all that out of the ordinary and was part of everyday life in conflict-torn, modern-day Baghdad. It was so common, in fact, that people were more surprised when the electricity stayed on than they were when it went off. Electricity was a rare luxury, a shy, occasionally visiting guest who only dropped by for a quick greeting and was always quick to leave again.

  The place went completely dark, as it was very late and far past closing hours. Adnan decided there was no point in firing up the backup generator. It was a commercial area, and being the only sh
op with lights on at that hour would only draw attention—not a smart move for security reasons. There was no way he would go out into the dark streets to head home, and besides that, he was far too immersed in the story in the book. He simply had to continue reading. The allure of the story was so powerful, for it had transported him to a long-forgotten era in Baghdad, before there was so much turmoil and political unrest tearing the people’s lives and the scenic city apart.

  Adnan was in dire need of a cigarette, but unlike most places in Baghdad, his store allowed no smoking; this was due, in part, to his desire to protect the brittle, old, very flammable pages of his precious books. He took out his pack of cigarettes, opened the door, and lit one. He blew wisps of smoke out the door as he looks out at the dark, empty streets. Adnan tried to picture how Baghdad must have looked to Ali’s eyes, more than fifty years ago. He imagined it would have been more safer, more alive back then, when people could walk the streets and enjoy one another and the view. He wondered who Ali, The Gardener of Baghdad, really was. How did this book get here anyway? Adnan pondered. Did my father even know it was here? Questions swarmed through his head as he quickly finished his smoking break, taking one deep inhale after another. As soon as his cigarette was safely out, he walked back inside, locked the front door, and retrieved several candles from the front desk. He made himself comfortable in his favorite leather chair again and continued reading. “Starting the day after Mr. Radhi’s party, my nursery became busy…”

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  People began flocking in from all over. Many bought flowers, and some purchased trees and seeds of various types. Some even wanted to do their whole gardens all over again.

  I was extremely busy, and my business couldn’t have been better. I’d hired two helpers, and we managed to keep everything under control. I was glad I’d created a sitting area around the fountain, as people seemed to enjoy resting there with their friends and family while they drank tea and waited for us to fulfill their orders.

  We worked six days a week. On Saturdays, my off days, I often had lunch at Mr. Radhi’s house. I began to feel like a real part of their family, and I enjoyed talking to them. I learned much from Mr. Radhi about a variety of topics, and I read many of the books he suggested. I looked up to him and his wife as my surrogate parents, of sorts, and I was their Ali.

  During my workdays, I usually spent my evenings at cafés, enjoying the talk of the town with the locals. There was nothing better than smoking a water pipe and enjoying a cup of tea after a hard day’s work. I spent nights reading a book at home, sitting in the garden, or having a drink and a bite to eat at the local restaurants, enjoying the great voices of the many musicians the great city was known for.

  Time flew by, and before I even realized it, a year had passed since I’d left my uncle’s farm. During that time, I’d seen my uncle only a few times. He was very proud of what I had achieved, and I was happy to hear that everything at the farm was in good, working order and that my cousins had kept up with their tasks and chores.

  One day, my uncle came to visit, and he had a bright look on his face. He looked happier than I’d seen him looking in a year as he announced, “Ali, I have a surprise. Look who’s here!”

  Then, all of the sudden, Mustafa stepped out from behind his father. My cousin and childhood best friend had grown up. He was dressed in fancy clothes, a fine-looking, tall man, though he had the same sharp eyes and naturally straight eyebrows. He had grown a thin mustache, but the most significant change was his hair. His black mane was carefully combed to one side, and it made him look more serious than Ali remembered. He gave me the same nice smile I remembered, and we embraced one another tightly. The three of us talked for hours before my uncle left, and Mustafa stayed with me for the next few days.

  I’d heard scattered news about his progress over the years, and I’d received a few letters from him, but I was eager to hear about all he’d been up to. Mustafa told me all about his past four years, where he’d started and where he’d ended up. As I listened, I realized he’d had somewhat of a rough start. He first worked in Basra, a city in southern Iraq. He said Basra still had a nightlife comparable to Baghdad’s, and it was known for its delicious seafood. At first, he worked at the main port, carrying goods from vessel to deck, a job his father’s friend managed to get for him. After a few months, he joined a crew that traveled with a spice trader. He went as far east as India and to parts of Africa in the west. He’d seen many strange things on his voyages, things very different from our culture. “There are some things out there you would never understand, Ali,” he said. He learned much from and about other people who had other habits and beliefs, but the thing he loved to learn about most was precious stones.

  In his second year traveling the ocean, in a port in southern India, he met an old trader who was involved with those commodities. The two became very close, and they ran into each other quite often, a couple times in Africa and several in India. Mustafa learned a lot about the old Indian trader, who knew everything there was to know about precious stones and gems. He’d dealt with hundreds of them, some worth a fortune. Mustafa loved learning from him, as he was a master in trading and knew his business well. Once Mustafa felt he could trust the man, he began to work with him, bit by bit.. After a few years of good fortune and trade, and with the help and blessing of his Indian mentor, Mustafa had gained the experience and wealth he needed to be successful. Mustafa secured his own vessel and crew. It wasn’t a large ship, but it was adequate for his work. He had all the contacts, resources, and skills he needed, and he was doing well.

  All of Mustafa’s weird encounters during his travels sounded like an adventure novel to me. He’d seen king cobras, monkeys, elephants, huge temples, beautiful lakes and markets, bizarre cultural dancing, and festivals. His tales were fascinating, and I hung on every word. We laughed when he told me that he’d eaten some food that was so spicy it made his teeth burn and left him feeling sick for days. Until then, I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed Mustafa. I’d been so busy for the past year, so engaged in my work and trying to make everything perfect. His visit was a much-needed relief from the stress, and he showed up at just the right time. Even after all that time apart, the two of us shared a special bond that could ease all the troubles away.

  I told him what had happened with me and showed him what I had done and where my plans were headed. He was very impressed and proud, and he assured me that I was destined for success.

  We had many laughs, but our conversation gradually became more businesslike and professional. Since he was a bit of a world traveler, I asked him about places I could visit, as I wanted to expand my business and bring in new plants and seeds from India, Ceylon, and tropical regions in Africa, exotic plants that had never lived in Baghdad before, like some of those I’d seen in the green, leather-bound book Mr. Radhi had given me. Mustafa promised that he’d gather information for me and would return in two months with a nice voyage planned out for me. He thought it was a wise idea for me to visit other places, to get a better feel of what was out there in the world, and I was excited to experience and study different places, to go on adventures like he had and bring back the plants of the world to introduce them to the gardens and people of Baghdad.

  I’d envied Mr. Radhi’s suave, debonair looks the very first day I’d seen him in the market, and as I began to meet doctors and businessmen daily, that desire to carry myself that way grew into a necessity. I had grown confident in myself and in my work, and I felt it was time for me to dress professionally. If I was going to travel abroad, I wanted to make a solid impression on those I met. When I asked Mr. Radhi for help, he sent me to his tailor. I had several suits made and chose a Faisaliya hat to accompany them, a special hat worn by Iraqis and specifically by Baghdadis. I learned that the hat got its name from the first king, Faisal, who desired a hat with a uniquely Iraqi identity. To give my outfit its own unique flare, I always attached a rose to my suit, a different color every day. When Madam
Laila first saw me in one of my suits, she proudly wept. Everyone talked about how stylish I looked, and they seemed to notice that I’d looked after every detail of my appearance, right down to picking the most perfect, most beautiful roses for my colorful boutonnières.

  As promised, Mustafa returned two months later, with a list of places and people that he thought I should visit. He’d met them all before, and while I was worried about the language barrier, Mustafa assured me that most of them spoke English. He said some even knew a bit of Arabic, and he joked, “Just use your hands, and you’ll do pretty well!”

  I had also asked Mustafa to find a lovely ruby ring that I could give to Madam Laila as a gift for all she’d done for me. When I gave it to her, she promised she’d never take it off.

  I had never traveled outside Iraq before, and it took time to get my passport, but with the help of some of Mr. Radhi’s influential contacts, it worked out well in the end. I was away for three weeks, and my two assistants took very good care of my business while I was gone.

  As Mustafa had promised, the experience was indeed unique. I couldn’t believe only a thousand miles could make such a difference in cultures and ways of life. . Everything was different, from buildings to religion to food. What I loved most was the landscape. Unfortunately, I was always in a hurry and didn’t seem to have enough time to enjoy everything I wanted to see, but my visits were still quite beneficial. I found just what I’d gone looking for, and I made several agreements for the continuous supply of new seeds and trees that would take my nursery to a whole new level. Thanks to Mustafa’s advice and travel plans, everything went smoothly, and I was back in no time.

  I made sure to spread the word about all the wonderful new plants I had available, and I asked Madam Laila to send word to her highness, the one that was present at the party a while back. Just a few days later, I received a request to deliver three plants to the king’s palace, and I was thrilled and honored.