The Gardener of Baghdad Read online

  After Haji Ibrahim spoke those words, all of my doubts melted away. No matter what lies ahead, I told myself, I will be happy with the choice I made, and I will do whatever it takes to keep moving forward on that path. At long last, I felt happy and relieved, and with the old man’s words repeating in my mind, I turned the boat around and bid my new friend farewell. My choice was made: I wanted Mary, and I would have her, even if it meant fighting against the whole world.

  Chapter 3

  The Fajir prayer was called just before dawn. It was the first of five prayers required by each Muslim every day, and all prayers had to be prayed at a specific time. Adnan couldn’t believe he’d spent over seven hours reading. He yawned, stretched, and set the book aside, then left his shop, locked it behind him, and walked to the nearest mosque.

  The mosque was nearly empty, and only a dozen or so people were there to pray, most of them local elderly folks. Ever since the end of the war, people had avoided the Fajir prayer for security reasons, but those who’d suffered hard lives couldn’t have cared less and insisted on following their religious customs in spite of all the turmoil and hardship.

  After finishing his prayers, Adnan decided to take a short walk. The quietness of the streets gave Adnan some time to think properly. He was still very confused about how the book about the gardener had ended up in his bookshop in the first place. He wondered who had put it there. He was eager to continue reading, but his body had already shut down. He felt drained, and he knew he had to get a few hours’ sleep, especially since he had to open his shop at nine a.m., so he went back to the shop to rest.

  Four and half hours later, he opened the shop. It was just before nine, and those few hours of sleep had really helped to rejuvenate Adnan. Aside from a kink in his neck, he felt fresh and awake. He decided it was best to focus on his work and continue reading the mysterious book after lunchtime.

  His wife stopped by at nine thirty with some breakfast. She’d missed him and had been worried about him all night. Adnan told her about the book he’d found and how addictive and interesting the story was. She seemed intrigued, but she said, “Adnan, why don’t you just come home early and bring the book with you to read it there? It’s too dangerous to stay overnight here.”

  They enjoyed breakfast and went on talking about the house and the kids. Just before she left, he promised to be home later that night.

  Samir, a man who wanted to buy the shop from Adnan, dropped by the shop just before lunch. Samir was an avid reader and had been a customer for years.

  Adnan offered him some tea, and they sat down to talk about the store. Adnan was still not convinced of selling it, and finding that book yesterday hadn’t made the decision any easier. He already felt as if he was sitting on a vast sea of knowledge, and he thought that finding that unique handwritten book inside another book’s cover was a sign that he shouldn’t go on with the sale. The owner and potential buyer went in circles and could come to no solid agreement. Finally, Adnan admitted, “I appreciate you stopping by, Samir, but I’m afraid I’m just not ready to make a decision yet. I need more time.”

  After Samir left, Adnan had lunch with some friends at a nearby restaurant, a place where he’d been enjoying good meals and company for the past three decades. He always had the quzi, tasty rice with a big chunk of meat; unlike Iraq’s political situation over the years, that dish hadn’t changed a bit and was still just as delicious as ever. During lunch, he asked his friends, “Do you know of anyone who has had a business in this area for a long time? Anyone who might remember a lot of people and events from the past?”

  “Well,” one of Adnan’s friends chimed in, “my uncle is eighty, and he remembers everything about Baghdad. He’s also good with names. He can even tell you which minister was in charge of which ministry in each year. He remembers the goal-scorers from football matches played decades ago, and if you get him started talking about his childhood, he’ll never stop.”

  Adnan was happy to hear it, and he hoped the old man might be able to give him some insights into Ali’s story. “Do you think I could talk to your uncle? Maybe tomorrow afternoon?” Adnan asked, not wanting to give too much away. He figured that would give him enough time to finish the book, and if what Ali had written was true, the old man might have some knowledge about it.

  “Sure,” his friend said. “I’ll arrange for him to meet you at the café a block away, where all those old fellows gather to play dominos and backgammon. My uncle has a memory as sharp as a tack, and he’s also friendly and funny and loves to talk. I think you’ll like him, Adnan, and I know he’ll like you.”

  After Adnan finished his lunch and returned to his shop, the remainder of the day was quiet and uneventful. Before he knew it, it was already six in the evening. He closed the shop and called his wife to tell her he was going to stay overnight again. He knew he was breaking a promise and that she’d be upset with him, but he had to finish the book before meeting with his friend’s uncle, and being at home would be too distracting. He needed a quiet place, a place where he could be all alone and not bothered by any noise.

  After he hung up with his disgruntled wife, he took out his small black notebook in which he’d written down some important facts from the book he’d been reading. He set the notebook aside and opened Ali’s memoir to continue where he’d left off the night before, about halfway through the book…

  ҉҉

  The fisherman’s words affected me greatly, and I decided to take action, but I had to be slow and cautious about it, so as not to arouse suspicions. Miss Naseema’s advice was important. I knew I’d have to carefully study every step I made, and every piece would have to fall in place at the right time. I couldn’t take any chances because this wasn’t just a joke or some teenage crush. My love and desire for Mary were very real, but so were the dangers of pursuing her. Charles, the general’s ever-present sidekick, was one of those dangers, a determined man of a seemingly evil nature; everything about him felt wrong, so I would have to exercise precautions in all dealings with him and those who spoke to him. Most of all, I had to be sure of Mary’s feelings. I didn’t want to surprise or frighten her, and I knew I couldn’t force her to love me. I had to be certain that she shared my affection, and I had to make sure she knew what our togetherness would cost. A relationship between us would inevitably change both of our lives dramatically and forever.

  I knew I had to remain focused on my ultimate goal, being with Mary, if everything was going to fall into place. I had to finish my work on the general’s gardens and make them as beautiful as possible, I had to maintain my successful gardening business, and I needed to finish my dream home; the latter was the best excuse to continue seeking what my heart so longed for, Mary.

  The memories of Mr. Radhi’s first house party still lingered in my mind. I wanted to host a gathering like that, to invite the important people I knew. My guest list would include my loyal customers, and of course the general’s family would top it. On that happy occasion, I would finally approach Mary with my feelings.

  Until that day came, I still wanted to see her as much as possible. I started making sporadic visits to Mary’s house, using the excuse that I wanted to check on the garden. I wanted to stay in the picture, to make her feel, one way or another, that I was always close by, always available to her. I hoped she would gradually come to understand how genuinely interested I was so that when the right moment came, she wouldn’t be surprised or frightened about my affection for her.

  I executed my plan to the last detail. I visited them every two to three weeks to make sure everything was all right. During those visits, I always spoke with Mary or Mr. Dalton about the garden. It seemed to bring joy to Mary’s eyes when I visited, and whenever I was alone with her even for a few seconds, I made sure to compliment her; that always put a smile on her face, and I loved to make her happy.

  With Miss Naseema ever by her side, Mary visited me several times. On one of those visits, I told her about the party I was going to have. “It’s in two weeks,” I said, “and of course you and everyone in your household are invited.”

  Mary couldn’t hide her beautiful, gleaming smile and was glad to accept the invitation on behalf of them all.

  Just when she was about to leave, when Miss Naseema quite a ways ahead and already near their car, I moved closer to Mary and had the courage to whisper some words in her ear: “Mary, the party I’m throwing is for you. I want to…I have something to share with you.”

  She responded with a slight nod, her eyes full of anticipation.

  ҉҉

  Within a few days, my friends and assistants had delivered the invitations, a simple but beautiful note card with a rose attached to the side. The party would be on September 7, the historic day when I would profess my undying love to Mary. It had only been six months since I’d first laid eyes on her, but it felt like we’d known each other for years. I hoped that in a matter of days, she’d tell me she felt the same way.

  Mustafa returned to Baghdad for the party. I’d informed him of it a month earlier, and there was no way in the world he would miss it. I’d already spoken to him about my decision to talk to Mary. He was tired of trying to talk me out of it, so, like the close cousin and friend he was, he finally gave up and decided to help me. Just his support and advice boosted my confidence; Mustafa had learned quite a bit out in the world and from his own romantic encounters and experiences, and he was happy to tell me all he knew.

  Madam Laila was thrilled with my new home and was more than happy to take charge of the preparations. She made arrangements for catering and organize the whole thing. She was quite an expert in event planning, and she knew exactly what we would need to create a wonderful evening for everyone in attendance. If I’d ever known anyone classy,
Madam Laila was certainly that, so I was happy to put her in charge of my party and grateful for all her hard work, insights, and help.

  I loved music, so to make the evening even more special, I asked some friends to install speakers around the garden so my guests could enjoy classical music in the background as they arrived. One of my clients had given me two classical music record albums, and I had immediately fallen in love with Mozart and Johan Strauss. Strauss’s “Voices of Spring” was my absolute favorite and had to be played.

  The night before the party seemed to drag on and on. I barely slept because I was so excited about the next day. I had it all planned out in my head, but the execution of that plan was only a day away, and I was a bit apprehensive about it. I worried that others may have been right and that I should have kept my distance from Mary. What if she does see me as just the gardener, someone lowly and not worthy of a relationship with her? Even if she does have feelings for me, what if she’s decided it’s too impossibly difficult for us to be together? What if she thinks the barriers that differ and separate us are not able to be conquered, and she’s decided to rely on logic rather than her feelings? I thought and pondered and worried all night, but in the end, no matter the outcome, my mind was set. I will tell Mary how I feel. She must know.

  All I had to do was to choose the right moment to take her away from the crowd and talk to her in private. I knew the party would be my best opportunity for that, and there would be no better circumstances. It could be my last chance, I thought, and I have to prove myself worthy of her. Mary had to know that what I felt inside for her was true and real, that the burning love I had for her had to come out. She had to be certain of my true intentions. I didn’t want to mask my desires. I wanted to be an open book, to be myself and let her know that my intentions were sincere. Simply put, I wanted Mary to know I loved her—that I loved her more than anything or anyone in the world.

  ҉

  There were around 140 invited guests, and only 35 were non-Iraqis, 2 English families who were close friends of Mr. Radhi and Madam Laila’s, and some of my clients like the ambassador of India, a family from France, an American family, and the Thompsons, Mary’s Family. I was sure that dreadful Charles would accompany them, of course, because he always followed the general around like some lost puppy. My Iraqi guests were a mixture of friends and clients, including some important physicians, journalists, wealthy businessman, and Dr. Kamal Adel, a cardiologist who had studied in Moscow and would later play a very important role in my life. My uncle and my cousin, Mustafa, also attended.

  The party was set up in my back yard, right next to the river. My uncle, myself, Mr. Radhi, and Madam Laila greeted the guests, who all started to arrive just before noon. The place looked fantastic. All the chairs and tables were delicately covered with white and gold cloth, the eating utensils were perfectly polished, and there was a big bouquet of flowers on each table, each one carefully selected by me. The classical music in the background made for a festive atmosphere, and thanks mostly to Madam Laila, my home looked like a royal palace.

  Although I had a smile on my face while greeting every guest, I was anxiously waiting for only one—my future, my motivation, and my only desire in the world. Finally after half of the other guests arrived, the Thompsons showed up. I wasn’t sure a living creature in our world or any other had ever been more beautiful than my Mary. Her hair was brushed to the side, covering nearly half of her soft face. Her green eyes sparkled like precious emeralds. She was an angel sent to Earth, an angel in a white and red dress fit for a princess, and she was right there, at my party. My heart skipped several beats, and the second I shook her dainty hand and we exchanged looks for a fraction of a second, it felt as if my heart had stopped altogether. As soon as Mary and her family walked past us, Madam Laila smiled at me happily; she, too, had noticed just how stunning Mary was.

  I felt some relief when I realized Charles wasn’t with them. With him out of the picture, things would be far less complicated and risky, and I would have a better chance at getting some alone time with Mary without him sniffing around like the dog he was.

  Everybody enjoyed their time, talking about their businesses and lives while sipping on drinks and nibbling on food brought by the waiters. As the host, I made sure to mingle with all my guests. I wasn’t arrogant about it, but deep down, I couldn’t believe that in a matter of just a few years, a farm kid was to the point of hosting an elaborate party for the elite of Baghdad.

  I planned to speak with Mary after lunch, and everything was moving along accordingly. I often stole looks at her while I mingled, and I noticed that she was looking right back at me.

  I was standing next to General Thompson, talking with him about his garden, when I was joined by Mr. Radhi, Mr. Philipe, my French guest, and Dr. Kamal.

  Dr. Kamal had come from a wealthy family, a long line of doctors. They had no interest in politics, it seemed, but Dr. Kamal’s trip to Russia had intrigued him. He was impressed by the Russian ideologies and theories, so he enjoyed talking about politics in that regard. He was very straightforward and did not mince words, even though his views differed from those of most of the people who were present. He spoke a lot about socialism and the importance of community; it became very clear very quickly that the good doctor was a communist at heart. At that time, Iraq was a very unstable nation, swarming with various movements and beliefs and mindsets, all battling against one another. Some Iraqis were content and happy with Prime Minister Nuri Al Said or Nuri Pasha as he was called and the royal family, while others were nationalists, communists, or Baathists who weren’t. Everyone had different visions for Iraq, and the ongoing situation with Egypt, Israel, France, and Britain only fueled that sometimes hostile division in the country.

  During our conversation, Dr. Kamal was very open about many issues. He acknowledged the vast differences among the Iraqi population, but he also mentioned that a very small percentage of the public was enjoying life to its fullest potential. He said that too many of the elite cared only about themselves while the majority of the society was suffering from lack of employment, food, and education. The doctor ranted on about the need for unions in the various workforces and industries so that workers would be better represented and their requirements and needs better met. Mainly, Dr. Kamal talked about Iraq’s reaction to Egypt’s nationalization of the Suez Canal Company, specifically to Egyptian President Gamel Abdul Nasser.

  Dr. Kamal spoke of a story about British Prime Minister Eden having dinner with King Feisal II and Nuri Pasha of Iraq when he received news of Egypt’s decision to nationalize the Suez Canal Company. Apparently, Nuri Pasha himself advised Eden to hit Gamel right away and “show him the iron fist.” Incensed about the matter, Dr. Kamal emphasized, “It is an absolute shame that an Iraqi prime minister would advise that his Arabic brother should be killed, and this proves that the current government’s loyalty is far from what the people in the streets desire.” He went on and on about this topic to anyone who would listen and spoke very loudly about the matter, not caring who overheard him.

  Of course none of this sat well with General Thompson, as he had a different take on the matter. He adamantly defended the Iraqi government and attempted to explain why all their actions were in the best interest of Iraq and its people. He also requested patience. “The government is well aware, as am I, of the social and economic division of the people here, but it does take time to mend these things. The wheels are already turning to create a more closely knit society. In a matter of years, equality will exist for all Iraqis in regard to social standing and access to work and education.”