The Gardener of Baghdad Read online

  When I was chosen to design the landscape for one of Baghdad’s new squares, where the meetings of the Baghdad Pact Assembly would be held, I knew I’d been accepted as the people’s gardener, The Gardener of Baghdad. The Baghdad Pact was sponsored by the United States of America and Great Britain and was meant to oppose the spread of the Soviet Union. A northern wall would be built, with the blessing of Iran, Iraq, Turkey, Pakistan, and Britain. The pact was signed in Baghdad, where the headquarters remained. It took two days to design the square and select just the right flowers. It was an important day in Baghdad’s history, and everything had to be perfect.

  It looked absolutely brilliant on opening day, speckled with a rainbow of flowers. There were delicately trimmed trees, and five large palms were planted in the middle of the square in a circular shape; these represented the five members of the Assembly. The name of Baghdad, our fair city, was spelled out with red and white flowers on one of the borders, and the square looked like a piece of Heaven on Earth amidst the four intersecting roads. A delegation on behalf of the royal family and others congratulated me for a job well done, and all referred to me as The Gardener of Baghdad, much to my delight. Little did I know that the name would be remembered for something else, something entirely different from my beautiful garden designs…

  ҉҉

  As I look at the love of my life, Mary, sleeping so quietly with our beautiful baby, our little Laila, our angel lying next to her, I remember the first day I met Mary. I have to write down every detail, to share exactly how it all happened. Every conversation I remember having with anyone who influenced our love will be recalled, for this is our story…

  It was a beautiful Tuesday in the third week of March, 1956. My nursery was starting to boom with flowers. In just a few years’ time, it had become the most well-known garden and nursery in Baghdad, and royalty and elite persons visited from all over. I was on the roof of my house, talking to Mr. Radhi about how I wanted my new house to be, my beautiful place facing the Tigris, when I noticed a blonde lady and two other people entering from the front. I didn’t have a clear view of them, but what I saw was enough for me to consider greeting them personally right away.

  The young lady, whom I assumed was British, looked to be in her early twenties, and she was the most attractive woman I’d ever seen. She was so exquisite that all the colorful flowers around her seemed to fade. She was stunning, rather tall, with a perfect figure. Her long, golden hair shone like sunlight breaking through the clouds, and her big, sparkling eyes were greener than any leaves or grass I’d seen. Her eyebrows were so perfect that they looked as if they’d been drawn by hand, and her cheeks were rosy enough to make my roses shy away. Her lips were naturally full and colorful. She was wearing a long white dress with a green ribbon in the middle, fastened with a golden brooch. I wished life would stand still in that moment, just so I could have had an eternity to absorb the beauty of that masterpiece of creation in front of me. My heart was beating so fast, and I was totally swept away. I had never felt like that before, as if I’d been somehow transported to a place I’d never thought existed. After I got my sanity back, thanks to a few deep breaths, I introduced myself and Mr. Radhi, who had joined me after I suddenly took off and left him stranded on the rooftop.

  The lady was shy and didn’t answer, but the older Iraqi woman next to her spoke in a low, clear voice. She was in her sixties, a bit short, with small, dark brown eyes. Her face was covered in wrinkles, and her hair was gray. Still, there was a warm feeling about her. She was sweet enough to compliment the place and said she’d heard a lot about it. She got straight to the point about their visit and told me they wanted a nice bouquet of flowers to give to a general. “Mary’s father has been gone for months, training with the Royal Guard, and we want to give him something beautiful,” she said.

  As soon as I heard Mary’s name, it seemed to ring in my ears, even as I looked at their traveling companion, an older man. Like Mary, he didn’t speak a word. He was a typical Englishman, like those I’d seen several times in Baghdad, but he was very tall. He seemed to be in his sixties and was wearing a British hat, holding a cane in his right hand. I assumed he was the butler or some sort of house security. I politely asked them to have a seat near the fountain and enjoy some tea until we could prepare their wonderful bouquet.

  I tried to catch as many glimpses of Mary as I could without being too conspicuous. She never dared to look back to me. Mr. Radhi noticed that I was looking at her, and he gave me a strict stare—a look I hadn’t seen from him before. When the bouquet was ready and they finished their tea, the old lady paid, the Englishman finally spoke to thank us, and they left.

  After they were gone, Mr. Radhi gave me that same disapproving look again.

  I shrugged. “Only a blind man wouldn’t have wanted to look at her,” I told him.

  “Well, in that case, you’d better be blind next time,” he replied.

  “You really think there will be a next time?” I asked.

  “Son, this is no joke. I am dead serious, Ali,” Mr. Radhi said loudly. “You must be careful of—”

  I interrupted, “It’s not only her looks. It’s everything about her. I-I can’t explain it. I just felt something when I saw her. Something inside me wouldn’t let me take my eyes off her. I don’t know how to explain it, but there was some sort of connection—if not a physical one, something spiritual—some power pushing me toward her. And Mr. Radhi, before you answer or lecture me about acting childish, I have to say this wasn’t normal. I know I don’t know her, but I immediately felt something deep for her, just from that one look.”

  “Ali, I am going to say this once, and I won’t repeat it again. No matter what you decide, you know I will be on your side and will support you. But there are borders in life, Ali. No matter the temptation, no matter how right and wonderful it might seem to cross those borders, they should never be crossed. This Mary, my son, is a red line, a border you should not ignore.” He looked at me with a serious expression on his face, one of sternness and compassion. “From the time you came into our lives, I have gotten to know you. That’s what scares me, Ali. You are a stubborn, very determined person, and while this has helped you achieve your dreams in business, it might also lead you into bigger conflicts from all sides. You and this Mary are from entirely different worlds, something you are too young to understand and powerless to face. Life isn’t fair, Ali. As much as we want it to, equality has never and never will exist. If you go forward with pursuing this girl, the path will be hard for you. They are foreigners, and they will not be here forever. They know nothing of our daily lives. We are not the same. Someday, if things get serious on the political or social front, you might see what I mean. Maybe then the blinders will come off and you will see the true colors of the world. Deep down inside, we don’t look at each other the same way. We differ in culture, social habits, beliefs, and, most importantly, politics. Her father is a general, Ali. You cannot go after a Royal Guard general’s daughter and expect your people to support you.” With that, Mr. Radhi took off, but it was a conversation I would not soon forget.

  True to his word, he never brought the issue up again, and he supported me in whatever decisions I made. He was there for me every step of the way, as I imagine my father would have done if he had lived. Mr. Radhi had a special place in my heart, because I knew he did more for me than any man ever would, simply out of the kindness of his heart.

  As the days passed, I tried to immerse myself in my work and the remodeling of my home. Still, despite the reality of every word Mr. Radhi had spoken, I remained under Mary’s unspoken spell. She was constantly on my mind, day and night. I ached for her, and Mr. Radhi and Madam Laila’s absence didn’t help to ease my loneliness. At that time of year, they always traveled to London for a month, to spend time at a nice estate they owned. They had asked me to join them several times, but I’d always been too busy. This time, though, I wished I’d gone with them, just to get away from my work and my o
bsessive thoughts of Mary for a while.

  Whenever I heard anyone arriving at our place, I’d rush down to meet them, hoping to see her. I kept my eye on the gate constantly, and if I had to leave for any reason, I told my helpers to come find me as soon as possible if the beautiful blonde, green-eyed British lady showed up. I claimed she was an important buyer I needed to handle personally.

  It wouldn’t have been impossible to find her on my own, but I didn’t want to. I knew she’d return sooner or later, and that would give me a better chance to take the next step. The last thing I wanted to do was force myself on her or scare her away.

  As the weeks passed, there was obvious change in me, evident to everyone who knew me. I was eating less, I wasn’t that cheerful, and my ever-present joy had faded. Only Mr. Radhi knew the reason behind it, but out of respect, he didn’t tell a soul—not even his wife, Madam Laila, who’d also noticed the change after their return to Iraq. She never asked me about it and gave me my space.

  When Mustafa came back from one of his trips, he knew something was wrong with me, and he instantly wanted answers. He asked for some tea and pulled me over beside the fountain. Like some kind of scavenger on a corpse, he was all over me, demanding that I tell him what was going on. He was very worried, and it was useless trying to keep a secret from him; one way or another, he’d eventually get it out of me.

  I told him the whole story, and his reaction was similar to Mr. Radhi’s. He told me I was getting myself into trouble and continued to lecture me and give me his harsh opinions. He told me stories of women he’d had emotional feelings for during his travels, women he decided not to pursue because it was too much of a headache. “And my circumstances are nothing compared to yours! Why, once I met this woman in India who—”

  He was in the middle of one of his love stories when Mary and the old lady came inside. I jumped out of my seat, left Mustafa in a fraction of a second, and hurried to greet them. In spite of losing my parents at a young age, I’d always believed I was a lucky person, and everything had surprisingly fallen into place for me. This was yet another example, for they wanted me to get a look at their garden, which needed some loving care and a whole lot of change and updating. In my head, I was dancing with joy. I knew that was my chance, and I couldn’t have wished for a better platform. I had to make it wonderful not only because I loved my work, but also because in the end, that garden would be hers.

  We decided on a date, and my name would be left with security so I’d have no trouble entering. Up to that point, Mary didn’t say a word; all talking was done by the old lady, Miss Naseema, who’d become well known to me by then. Just as they were about to leave, Mary, careful to avoid eye contact, said, “Thank you,” very quietly. Her words were as soft as she was, and from the moment they entered my ears, her sweet and tender voice became part of my soul.

  I went back to Mustafa, who’d seen the whole thing, but before I could excitedly tell him that she was the woman I’d been talking about, he warned, “Ali, it’s wrong, I have a bad feeling about this. I can’t blame you for falling for a creature so beautiful, but believe me, dear cousin, I sense trouble. You shouldn’t let things go any farther, Ali. We are simple people, and we live easy lives. Why complicate things? I’m happy you are doing well. Don’t throw this opportunity away over the love of a woman who isn’t right for you.”

  “Mustafa, we have the right to love, don’t we? I’m human, and I have feelings and emotions. Just give me a chance to prove to you that this can work out. Of course I won’t force the lady into anything. I have to try because in my gut, I know there is something serious about the way I feel for her. I know you think I’m crazy, cousin, but I promise you, Mustafa, that this beautiful young lady will be my wife sometime. I promise you that,” I replied back.

  Mustafa had known me since childhood, and he knew how stubborn I could be. Realizing there was nothing he could say to talk me out of it, he just patted me on the back and left.

  ҉҉

  My meeting was scheduled for a Tuesday, and I dressed very professionally in a navy-blue suit and a red tie, along with a matching red rose. At the security gate outside the compound, I was asked several routine questions for the sake of identification, and once they’d confirmed my name and all the information, they allowed me inside.

  The house was located in an extremely secure special compound in Baghdad, were many foreigners resided. Few Iraqis were allowed to entry, and only by invitation. It looked nothing like any part of Baghdad I’d ever seen. It was very quiet, the streets were paved differently, and everything was very organized and clean. Children were playing in one of the small parks. There were basketball and volleyball courts, a soccer field, and a big swimming pool shared by everyone in the compound. People of different ages were bicycling, and others were walking their dogs. If someone had been taken there in a blindfold, they wouldn’t have known they were still in Baghdad, because everything about the place and the culture inside it was entirely different. All the houses were similar: three-story villas, off-white in color, with long, marble garages. The only thing that differentiated one from another were the small alterations each family added to their domiciles, like the decorations on the outside doors or walls and adornments in some of the outdoor gardens.

  I was welcomed inside by Mr. Dalton, the man who’d accompanied them the first time they’d come to visit our nursery. He’d been working for the family for over eighteen years, and he was now in charge of the household, though his responsibilities differed greatly from those of the butler’s.

  We sat down on the terrace that overlooked the garden, which was comprised of a nice but simple, fairly green lawn speckled with a few random flowers here and there. After we had tea and made small talk about my life, Mr. Dalton gave me a tour of the garden. I heard every word he said as we walked, but my mind was elsewhere, focused solely on Mary. I wondered where she was and if I was going to see her or not. I didn’t want to ask Mr. Dalton or the owners about her, because it would have seemed inappropriate. They had invited me there to do a job, and I didn’t want to seem too forward.

  The garden stretched all around the house. It was largest in the front and was connected to the back garden by a very narrow strip of lawn that had nothing planted in it. The back garden was a bit smaller in size and wasn’t in good shape. The grass was awfully overgrown, as if it hadn’t been mowed in weeks, and there were yellow patches everywhere. Truly, their gardens needed my help.

  There were two balconies on the second floor overlooking the back garden, and when Mr. Dalton saw me looking at them, he informed me that those were the upper bedrooms, one for the general and the other for his daughter. He then informed me that the main reason they wanted the gardens renovated was to satisfy the wishes of Mary, the general’s daughter. As Mr. Dalton explained it to me, she’d just come back from the UK, where she’d been studying poetry for three years. He told me she had lived in Baghdad for a year and a half before, when her father’s military service transferred him there from Cairo some five years earlier. I was glad to learn more about Mary from Mr. Dalton, but most of all, I was anxious to see her.

  I was already explaining to Mr. Dalton what I had in mind for the front and back gardens when Mary and Miss Naseema headed our way. Mary looked like the purest rose I’d ever seen in her pale pink dress with the matching parasol. As they greeted me, I caught the sparkle in her eye and shyly told them hello.

  Mr. Dalton explained to them what he’d told me about the garden, and then Miss Naseema took over. “We trust you to choose the right look for our gardens, Ali,” she said. “We’d love to see more color out here, especially reds and yellows, which are the general’s favorite. We need more trees and flowers to be planted, a landscape design that will brighten up this part of the dull compound. We’ve almost accidentally entered our neighbor’s house so many times because everything looks so identical! If it wasn’t for their dog, I would have just barged right in!” she joked. “We want our gardens to b
e something special, a unique design, and Mary is sure you’re the right man for the job.”

  As she spoke, I took plenty of notes and asked questions so I could get it just right.

  Mary said nothing until Miss Naseema began to talk about the back yard. At that point, the beautiful young woman chimed in, “Mr. Ali, I am quite confident in your abilities, as I’ve seen your wonderful work. I’m sure everything will look lovely and inviting in the end. I have two personal requests for this side of the garden. My room is on the right up there. Every morning, I have breakfast on the balcony, and I’d love to have something beautiful to look at while I sip my tea. I am very fond of orchids, so please plant as many as you can. Secondly, would it be possible to plant strawberries? I’d love to pick them when they’re red, ripe, and juicy.”

  My heart trembled with every word she said. I’d shown up expecting little more than a glance from her or possibly a “Good morning” or a “Thank you,’ but now she was talking to me, going on and on about the garden of her dreams. Her words were music to my ears, like a beautiful poem or a melody so sweet that I never wanted it to end. I couldn’t believe she’d actually addressed me by name, and I was flattered by her confidence in me being able to grant her requests to beautify the grounds she gazed upon every morning.

  I tried to act normal and to keep my voice from quivering as I replied, “Miss Mary, you needn’t be so formal. Please call me only Ali. I’d like to thank you for the kind words about my work and for having faith in me. It really means a lot to me that you admire my work. Rest assured that you will have all the orchids and strawberries your heart desires. I will personally make sure of it and will do all I can to make this garden mirror the beauty of the one who looks upon it over her teacup each morning.”