The Gardener of Baghdad Page 7

  Views continued to be exchanged, and the more the talk droned on, the more guests gathered. Dr. Kamal seemed to be getting the upper hand in the argument, as his points and questions were echoed among the people present, and the general had little to say in response to many of the points the doctor wisely brought up.

  Then, from out of nowhere, Charles suddenly appears. He rudely pushed his way into the conversation, but he had little to offer other than curses and foul words against anyone who opposed the current Iraqi regime. Clearly, he’d been listening in, because he insisted on arguing and being rude. Not only did Charles interrupt Dr. Kamal with his nonsensical remarks about the problems in Iraq, but he went completely out of line when he began to personally insult the doctor. He began by scolding him for preaching communism, then immaturely began to insult the doctor’s taste in clothes. In a matter of minutes, his uneducated, rude, and stupid verbal attack on the doctor turned the entire conversation into a tense battle, to the point where the two men had to be physically restrained and separated.

  I managed to pull Charles aside and said, “Please calm down, Charles. This is a party, and I ask that you respect all of my guests. The general and the doctor were simply having a discussion, and both are entitled to their opinions, even if they disagree.”

  Charles was out of control and drunk; I could smell the alcohol on his breath every time he spoke. To make matters worse, he was an angry drunk who was in a very bitter mood, likely suffering from a hangover from the night before. When I couldn’t calm him down, the general tried to escort him out. Charles cursed loudly and yelled at Dr. Kamal in drunken slurs, “Maybe you need a lesson like the one Fahd had to learn in 1949!”

  Fahd, whose real name was Yusuf Salman Yusuf, was one of the early founders of the communist party in Iraq, a very outspoken activist. He was arrested for inciting riots and publicly speaking out in favor of communism, only to be executed on February 14, 1949 by the orders of Nuri Pasha.

  When Charles made that threat on one of my esteemed guests, I had no option but to act quickly to force him to leave the grounds. Mustafa and I pulled him away and demanded that he leave immediately, before we had to throw him out and humiliate him.

  To avoid further embarrassment, Charles left of his own free will, but before his departure, he whispered several threats to me. “I won’t forget this, Ali, and I will get my revenge on you for humiliating me like this in front of the general and Mary,” he wailed.

  I’d had an uncomfortable feeling about him from the first moment I’d seen him, and I knew he was going to cause trouble. The way he behaved at my party proved that I’d been right about him all along.

  After Charles left, everything returned normal, and no one dared discuss politics any further. I had never cared anything about politics. Even if Iraqi society was divided, all I wanted to do was live a happy, normal life, surrounded by family and friends that I could trust, enjoying my work and getting by day by day.

  An hour later, the general took me aside. He was very apologetic about the whole fiasco Charles had created and assured me that it would not happen again.

  “Do not mention it,” I assured him. “It was not your fault, General, and I just want you to enjoy the party.”

  The lunch menu had been very carefully selected by Madam Laila. I stood up on the roof for a bit, overlooking my guests down below as they dined. Everyone seemed to delight in the food and looked satisfied.

  I quickly noticed that Mary was alone, eating by herself, so I went down to talk to her. I had so much to say, and I hoped I would remember it all. “Mary, after the second song, can you excuse yourself to use the washroom and head to the other side of the house, in the direction of the nursery? I’ve left the gate open, and I will be waiting. Don’t worry about Naseema, I have everything under control,” I said quietly to her.

  Without a word, she smiled and nodded her approval, then daintily dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin.

  I took Mustafa aside so we could go over my plans one more time. I would take Mary to the corner of my nursery so I could talk with her. Mustafa was more than willing to serve as a lookout, in case anyone walked from the back garden to the front, where my nursery was. Although I doubted that anyone would leave their places, extra care was needed to ensure that I’d have my privacy with Mary.

  Mustafa had suggested we bring an Iraqi Maqam band, a band consisting of a Quanun player strumming an old, Arabic harp, a drummer, and an oud player with someone singing Iraqi poems in beautiful harmony. I agreed with him that the live band could play after lunch and for the remainder of the party, as it would keep all of the guests distracted and engaged and give me the time I needed with Mary.

  Madam Laila was part of the plan as well; she was asked to occupy Miss Naseema in one way or another so she wouldn’t feel compelled to tag along when Mary came to speak with me. Although Naseema seemed to have a nice heart and I thought she could eventually be convinced that my love for Mary was pure, I felt it was too soon to tell her. I was sure it would only take fifteen minutes for me to tell Mary what I had to say, so it would be easy enough for Laila to entertain Naseema for that short amount of time.

  The Maqam band began playing as planned, and most of the Iraqi guests sang along. The foreigners enjoyed that little taste of Iraqi culture as much as the Iraqis did, and they shared in the action by clapping and dancing. Everyone seemed happy and distracted, so as soon as the first song finished, I left and gave Madam Laila a look.

  A few minutes later, my Mary joined me. I was about to say the words I had carefully selected, but out of nowhere, she spoke first. “Ali, if you promise me that you’ll never hurt me, shout at me, or leave me alone—if you’ll promise that you’ll always love me—I-I will be yours.” A tear rolled down her left cheek as the last words left her mouth.

  I was speechless, left in complete shock. Not one of the scenarios that had been playing through my mind had involved Mary giving herself to me so freely. I had no idea that Mary would take the initiative and start the conversation. I quickly took out a handkerchief, moved closer to that sweet, delicate, lovely flower of a woman, and wiped away her tears. When I could finally speak again, I said, “Not only do I promise that, but I also promise that I will dedicate my life to your happiness. You are my life, Mary, and I would never hurt you.” After she smiled and looked up at me with tear-filled green eyes, I realized I still had some things to tell her. I was sure Mary wasn’t naïve, but I wanted to be sure she saw the full picture, that she realized from the outset that things would be very complicated for us. “Mary, are you sure?” I asked her several times. “It will be very difficult for us to be together, and most of the world and the people we know will be against us. I’m willing to fight the world for you, Mary, but you have to know it is not going to be easy. The rosebush of our relationship will be very, very beautiful, but it will also come with thorns.”

  “I know,” she said quietly.

  “I love you, Mary, but are you really, really sure you’re ready to—”

  She stopped me from continuing and put her left hand on my chest, hovering just over my heart. “Ali, my love, as long as we are together, no one can stop us. Meet me tomorrow at the cloth market at four p.m., near a shop called Abu Abbas, and we will spend some time together.” She then excused herself, for fear that everyone might begin to wonder where she was. Before she went, she thanked me for the way I had handled Charles. “He can be quite a monster sometimes. I am glad you asked him to leave.” Then, just like that, my beautiful little bird fluttered away.

  I didn’t go back to the party right away because I wanted to savor the moment.

  A few minutes later, I was joined by Mustafa, who gave me the most curious look. “Well? How did it go, cousin?” he asked when I said nothing.

  I looked at him with a dreamy expression on my face and said, “I-I feel alive, Mustafa. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy, and I was right about her. She wants me as well, and I cannot tell you how much it means to me to know that.”

  We then sat silently for a few minutes, just basking in the moment and listening to the guests as they sang along with the Maqam band, and finally made our way back to the party after a while.

  All the guests left around six p.m. With the exception of Dr. Kamal’s and Charles’s argument, everything had gone smoothly, and everyone had had an unforgettable good time. I thanked Mr. Radhi and Madam Laila for all their hard work that had made the party a success.

  On his way out, my uncle hugged me tightly. “I’m so proud of you, Ali. If your father was still alive, he’d be the happiest, proudest father in all of Baghdad.”

  Those words meant a lot to me as I looked up to the skies…

  ҉҉

  At that point, Adnan stopped reading. He put the book and his notebook aside and just stared out the window for a few minutes before he broke into a small fit of laughter—not a joyous laugh but a sarcastic one, a chuckle of sadness as he stared at the dark streets of Baghdad. “Ah, my fair city, it has always been the same for you, hasn’t it? Even in that era, when Ali was making your gardens beautiful, you could not find peace. Even then, you were divided. Will this ever end? Will the people of Iraq ever be united so there can be real beauty in our world?”

  He then took a deep breath and decided to go out for a little walk. He picked a kebab sandwich for dinner and warmed a glass of tea, then settled in for a long night of reading.

  Chapter 4

  Adnan missed his wife and her cooking, but the kebab wasn’t bad. Besides that, it was the last night he would spend in his shop before everything went back to normal. After finishing his quick dinner and his tea and wiping his mouth and hands so as not to smudge the precious pages, he opened the book and continued reading…

  ҉҉

  I wore a nice gray suit decorated with a small white rose when I went to the market to meet Mary, and I arrived there at a quarter till four. I only had to inquire with one person about the location of the Abu Abbas shop, as everyone knew the biggest, oldest clothing shop in the area. Abu Abbas was around seventy years of age, and he had taken over the store after his father passed away. It had been passed down to his father from his grandfather and so on. The store was over 100 years old, and it had an outstanding reputation due to its history and because they sold all types of cloth and garments from all over the world, including Persia, Turkey, Japan, China, Kashmir, and even Europe.

  I was standing inside the place when Mary sneaked up on be from behind, a welcome surprise. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Miss Naseema is far away, busy bargaining with another shopkeeper as she always does.” She smiled as if she was very glad to see me and asked, “How are you, Ali?”

  “Well, I haven’t been able to sleep because I keep thinking of you.”

  “Really? I’ve never slept better. Maybe it’s because I’ve been so happy and so excited about seeing you today.”

  After that, we remained silent for a few moments and let our eyes do all the talking. Her expression was so sincere and shy; she only gazed into my eyes for a few seconds before smiling and turning away or batting her eyes at the ground, then looked back up at me again. I, on the other hand, never took my eyes off of her. In my eyes, I hoped she could see that I was a man deeply in love, a man who couldn’t believe I was fortunate enough to be there with a woman like her. I still couldn’t believe that the most beautiful lady in Baghdad was there with me, Ali, a simple gardener. The more I thought about it, the harder it was to believe: Of all the men in the world, she had chosen me.

  Even though the market was teeming with people bustling about everywhere, I couldn’t hear a sound. Everything around me seemed to melt into silence as I stood there admiring Mary’s unique beauty, only enhanced by all of the lush, colorful fabrics that surrounded her. It was as if I was standing in another galaxy, a place where multicolored lights illuminated everything and warmed me to my core. We both simply looked at each other, standing there in silence, for what seemed like the longest time.

  After a few minutes, I broke the quietness and admitted, “Mary, not only am I the happiest man in the world, but I’m also the luckiest. I am surrounded by gorgeous blossoms and lovely, soft petals every day, yet I’ve never seen anything as beautiful and delicate as you, and I know I will never see anything so beautiful in my whole life that even comes close.” I went on to tell her that I’d been dreaming for months about her, fantasizing about us being together, and wondering what I would say if given the chance. “These little clandestine rendezvous are nice, Mary, but I have to see you more often. It is so hard to spend my days apart from you. We need to arrange to meet as often as we can.”

  “I can see you again in just six days. On Tuesday, Miss Naseema and Mr. Dalton always go to the butcher to buy meat for the house, and they also run other errands. They should be gone by ten a.m., and they’ll be away from the house for at least two hours. My father isn’t in Baghdad right now, so that means I’ll be alone with the maids. I’ll leave your name with the gatekeepers so you can drop by. If anyone asks, you can simply say you’re checking on the garden.”

  “Don’t worry about anyone being suspicious,” I assured her with a gentle pat on the hand. “I have another client in the compound, and I’ll arrange to visit him on Tuesday afternoon. That way, our story will be covered from every angle.”

  We exchanged deep looks before she told me she had to leave. Just as she was about to walk away, I grabbed a piece of purple satin from behind her and asked the shopkeeper how much it was. I gave the man the money he requested, then placed the satin over her hair. Purple was definitely her color and looked amazing on her. Mary was a shy woman and blushed. She smiled but couldn’t bear to look me in the eyes as she thanked me and went on her way, caressing the satin scarf I’d given her.

  Mary had made a wise decision to meet at Abu Abbas because it was always crowded, everybody was busy bargaining, and no one even noticed the other customers. After she left, I remained there for ten minutes, watching Mr. Abbas as he bargained and joked with his customers. He was full of life and clearly loved working in the store, his family’s heritage, and the sight and sound of his boisterous laughter gave me hope that life could be happy and good. After I left the shop, I bought a cup of tea at the market and made my way back home.

  ҉҉

  Ever since I’d hosted the party at my home, it had become a custom for several of my party guests to stop by in the evenings for tea and talks. The regulars included men from all walks of life: Mr. Radhi; Mr. Adeeb, a journalist; Mr. Akram, a well-known painter; and Mr. Danial, a math teacher. We usually sat by the river and played dominoes while we talked. I wasn’t that interested in politics, but it was the common topic of conversation in those days, as a great majority of people were quite fed up with the British influence in Iraq, fearing that our country might lose its Arabic identity. The complaints about this matter were becoming more and more prevalent in the streets.

  During one of those talks, Mr. Adeeb mentioned that many people in southern Iraq weren’t that keen on the prime minister and the British anymore. Every day, he received reports from his colleagues about demonstrations held to protest the poor living conditions.

  I tried to focus on their words, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Mary. I worried that if the bitterness against the British escalated, she and her father and their companions would be forced to leave Iraq to go back to the UK. Where would that lead us? I thought. I was glad we were set to meet in just two days, as we had much to talk about, particularly considering everything I’d heard from my visitors.

  ҉҉

  Everything went smoothly when I went to meet Mary on Tuesday. I had no problems passing through the main gate of the compound, and I reached the Thompson residence around ten after ten. I found Mary in the garden, dressed in white pants and a long-sleeved green shirt; it was the first time I’d seen her in trousers, and the well-fitting garments only confirmed that she was a carefully sculptured angel. She greeted me in a normal way, as if I was merely her gardener, so as not to arouse the suspicions of any nosy people in her household. We acted very natural, as if I was just there to do my job and check the gardens.

  When we finally sat down at the end of the back garden, near the strawberries, she told me she was very pleased with them. She also mentioned that she enjoyed picking the tiny red fruits. “I love them!” she said. “They’re so good and sweet, just like you, Ali.”

  Mary was much more open this time. We talked mainly about her and how she coped with being a daughter of a military man. She said she never really felt at home anywhere. She also told me about her time in England, where she studied literature, and she said she had a strong desire to study more in that field. It was fascinating to hear her talk about her life, and whenever she told me about her experiences, I closed my eyes for a second and tried to imagine her in those moments of her life.

  It was obvious that she cared greatly for Naseema and Mr. Dalton, and she praised them for always being there for her. Much like me, Mary was a broken soul, a person who longed for the care she’d missed out on when she’d lost her mother at an early age to death and had lost her father to his military commitments. It was somewhat similar to my story, so we were connected in that way, and I understood how she felt. In fact, I could almost feel every word she said rather than just hearing them.

  During our talks, I often referred to “Inshallah.” Because Mary had spent years in Egypt and in Baghdad, she had heard it a lot and understood its meaning: “If God desires.” She enjoyed learning Arabic words and asked me to speak in my native language, and I was happy to comply.

  Our time went by far too fast, but she promised that she would stop by the nursery soon, as she needed some things for her garden.