Papa Sartre: A Modern Arabic Novel (Modern Arabic Literature) (11 page)

“But she is your friend,” Ismail would counter, to which Abd al-Rahman responded, “Yes, my friend, but it does not mean that I should become jealous.”

To convince his friend, Abd al-Rahman related an incident that involved Jean Paul Sartre and was witnessed by Abd al-Rahman in person, “Once I was visiting my friend Sartre, and Simone was present—I mean Simone de Beauvoir, of course. Naturally, there were other philosophers such as Merleau Ponty and Gabriel Marcel there as well. We were drinking heavily and feeling nauseated. In other words it was a little invitation to experience nausea in Sartre’s apartment. I was talking with my friend Sartre about some fundamental differences between us and suggested changes to include in his philosophy. He agreed with me on every single word I said and every single letter, in other words he agreed with me all the way.”

Ismail shouted, “Isn’t that great!”

The philosopher went on as he continued to drink his whiskey and blow smoke in his companion’s face. “Simone had disappeared and while Sartre was looking for his pencil case he wanted to ask her whether she had it or had seen it. We couldn’t find it anywhere in the house. The only place we had not searched was Simone’s bedroom.”

Ismail, shocked, interrupted him and asked whether they had entered her bedroom.

“Yes, we did, and we found her lying on the bed with her skirt pulled up, and Gabriel Petrovitekch was on top of her.”

“Who’s he?” inquired Ismail.

Abd al-Rahman explained, “He’s a Russian existentialist. He uses the pen name Midanoviski.”

Aghast, Ismail took a deep breath, raised his eyebrows as if he had just recovered from his drunkenness, and asked, “What did Sartre do?”

“Nothing, nothing,” explained Abd al-Rahman, hesitantly, “He told her, I am sorry darling, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Ismail Hadoub was stunned; his jaw dropped, and his eyes shone from the effects of alcohol and surprise. The story
disturbed him deeply; he was angry and disgusted. Until then he had had a great respect for Simone de Beauvoir and had never heard such anecdotes about her. Yet he did not want to give up his friendship with the philosopher who went to France and witnessed existentialism with his own eyes, unlike any other Iraqi. Books, no matter how accurate they are, cannot transmit ideas as faithfully as an eyewitness. Abd al-Rahman had personally witnessed existentialism. He had touched it, felt it, and stuck to it like no one else, unlike those who did not see it but dreamt of it and imagined it.

Abd al-Rahman stood apart from other existentialists in the country. A huge gap separated him from them, for there is a difference between the one who has known something, experienced it, and endured it, and the one who has only imagined it. Abd al-Rahman must have truly known existentialism, in flesh and blood, like no one else.

Ismail suddenly had an idea. He began acting on it the afternoon following the one he had spent with the al-Sadriya philosopher at Grief Adab. He was often absent from the philosopher’s company, joining him occasionally in the evenings at the café or at Dalal Masabni’s nightclub. He claimed to be working at the
Abnaa al-zaman
newspaper and told the philosopher that Salim Malkun had asked him to write a piece about existentialism and Sartre in reply to an article by Suhail Idris, the distorter.

Abd al-Rahman objected to Suhail Idris’s tendency to combine nationalism and existentialism, an approach that seemed rather comical to him. He made fun of the author and mocked him loudly every time someone called Idris a nationalist. He didn’t believe that politics or ideology played a part in existentialism. Whenever Shaul mentioned that Sartre wrote political articles, Abd al-Rahman poked fun at him and all those who shared that opinion. He argued that the poor quality of the
Arabic translations gave the false impression that Sartre’s writings had a political content. Abd al-Rahman not only disliked politics, he despised it. He recoiled from those who practiced politics and those who discussed it. He considered existentialism a mere feeling of nausea, a permanent nausea provoked by everything political, social, moral, and life-related.

Ismail’s absences became more frequent, and he rarely met with the philosopher, a big change from the past when he was with him almost always and everywhere. He described his absences as a Sartrian and existential commitment, a responsibility, yet not a philosophical responsibility of the kind Suhail Idris pretended to have, but an existential responsibility. Abd al-Rahman provided excuses and justifications for Ismail’s absences and never asked about him. All that concerned the philosopher was Ismail’s response to Suhail Idris. The truth of the matter is that Abd al-Rahman hated One-Eyed Jaseb’s attacks on Idris because they were aimed at an existentialist, even though Abd al-Rahman disagreed with Idris. He used to ask the public at the café, “Did Sartre approve of Gabriel Marcel?” and everyone would reply in one voice, “No.”

Ismail’s explanation for his absences couldn’t be further from the truth. He was not going to
Abnaa al-zaman
every day as he had told his friend the philosopher and as was confirmed by many of al-Sadriya’s inhabitants. The journal’s editor, Salim Malkun, was not a stupid man and would never have assigned to Ismail the responsibility of replying to the Arab World’s then most famous existentialist. He could not put himself in such an embarrassing position, as he knew very well Ismail’s weak style, his inability to write without mistakes, and his obscure, ridiculous ideas. A typical passage might read as follows: “Existentialism—what is existentialism? In reality it is an existential nausea, a type of nausea that Sartre, the father of the wonderful existential nausea, taught us. He wrote the novel
Nausea
in one
month, as confirmed by the philosopher of al-Sadriya, who saw him in person in Paris and is married to his cousin.” The article would then be filled with a series of insults against all those who criticize existentialism. The names of Shaul and One-Eyed Jaseb were usually among them.

There was no way a respectable newspaper like
Abnaa alzaman
could publish such rubbish. When Ismail used to read them to Abd al-Rahman in the presence of the dancer Badi‘a, in the midst of the hubbub created by the singers and drunks, the shouting of the prostitutes, the swearing, the overturned chairs, and the rushing servers, Badi‘a would pulse with admiration for this virile man. Abd al-Rahman felt the articles were missing something but was not able to pinpoint what.

Abd al-Rahman found excuses for Ismail’s repeated absences, which soon became established fact. He was the only one to believe Ismail’s excuses and accepted that he was on an existential mission. Badi‘a had her doubts when she noticed Ismail’s lack of interest in Wazzeh, one of the prostitutes. She tried to draw the philosopher’s attention to Ismail’s absences, but it was in vain. He was convinced that Ismail was on an existential mission, a great undertaking, even though it consisted of writing meaningless articles—but then again life is meaningless. As long as Ismail did not claim to be a philosopher like him, he would tolerate his absences and expect him to defend the philosopher’s den and shut up One-Eyed Jaseb, Shaul, and others.

I learned from more than one source in Mahallet al-Sadriya that Ismail paid frequent visits to the philosopher’s house during his absence. He established a relationship with his wife, whom Ismail truly believed to be Sartre’s cousin. He was convinced that as long as he could lie on the cousin of Sartre, the greatest French philosopher, it was as if he had slept with the whole of France.

18

A poor vagabond like Ismail had nothing but his virility to boast about, something that could attract a Frenchwoman who had had no sexual relations with her husband since they mutually lost their attraction to one another.

Every evening he would saunter down Mahallet Abu Dudu, go past the Christian quarter, then the convent courtyard, and finally to the Jewish quarter. He wandered into al-Sadriya in front of the roosters’ cage, listening to the calls of the fruit vendors and watching the women wrapped in their abayas and those sporting the latest hairstyles.

Shaul knew very well where Ismail went, so did One-Eyed Jaseb as he shouted praise for the apples he sold on his cart, and Hamdiya who sold her merchandise at the souk. Even Dr. Simon Bahlawan knew where Ismail Hadoub went in the morning and sometimes in the evening, leaving only a half hour before the husband’s return.

The philosopher, on the other hand, continued visiting his mistress openly each night and experiencing his usual nausea.

19

Existentialism was the philosophy of choice for Iraqi intellectuals in the sixties, which explains why the arrival of the philosopher to Mahallet al-Sadriya was considered the greatest event of that decade; his presence filled a huge philosophical gap. The intellectuals of the time could not wait forever, for the appearance of a new major philosophy or a philosophical interpretation of an existing major philosophy. They were eagerly anticipating the arrival of such a historical event and were, according to numerous sources, lost in pseudo-philosophies.

It was in this condition of confusion and loss that Abd al-Rahman, son of Mr. Shawkat and the greatest philosophical
mind of his time, appeared on the scene. Without him they would not have been able to put a radical end to this complex philosophical problem. He brought them an authentic philosophy, not a false one, a unique philosophy that was not a mere copy of French existentialism, or a passive artificial interpretation, but a creative Arabic interpretation of it. This all happened thanks to Abd al-Rahman’s constructive efforts in formulating and establishing this philosophy and his pushing it onto a path that its founder, M. Jean-Paul Sartre, would never have thought possible.

20

Following a philosopher differs from following a follower of philosophy. Abd al-Rahman was a philosopher; therefore, being his follower was not like being Suhail Idris, a follower of philosophy. With such a concept it is understandable that Abd al-Rahman was able to gather a large number of followers around him in the sixties.

Abd al-Rahman’s withdrawal from upper-class society and the soirées of noble families essentially forced him to seek his public in the streets and to lower his standards in order to reach his followers. Being wealthy, handsome, young, and elegant gave him independence and power and moved him in the direction of instinctive pleasures. He was able to associate with those less fortunate than himself, such as Ismail Hadoub, and such actions provided proof of his correctness and humility. Ismail Hadoub, on the other hand, considered the matter a privilege for himself and an appreciation of his genius, which made up for his modest background. This motivated him to become intimately attached to the al-Sadriya philosopher. He spent wonderful days with him, walking behind him, carrying a notebook and a golden pen, writing down the valuable words uttered by the philosopher.

On a cold January day, as it was raining heavily in Baghdad, Ismail stood in front of a café where the philosopher was sipping coffee. He wore nothing but a woolen sweater that Shaul had given him when he was working in his store. He was shivering from the cold, and as soon as Abd al-Rahman saw him he took off his black woolen coat and placed it on Ismail’s shoulders. “You represent to me what Simone de Beauvoir represented to Sartre,” he said. The public in the café heard those words and began spreading them everywhere. It became known that the philosopher took good care of his followers. He shaped them and made sacrifices for their sake.

People were somewhat surprised by the intimate friendship between the two men. They were surprised by the existential image that conveyed truly the humanitarian side of this goodhearted existentialist, this nauseated person, this bright, energetic Sartrian who surpassed Sartre himself. Four years later Ismail Hadoub betrayed Abd al-Rahman and slept with his French wife. The scandal was known all over the country. Abd al-Rahman died, a homicide or suicide, and Sartre’s cousin returned to her country. Iraqi intellectuals everywhere declared that Sartre was embarrassed by the scandal. All that remained of Abd al-Rahman was the black coat on Ismail’s shoulders.

21

When the existential philosopher had lost his way in the metropolis of existentialism and before he had found the house he was looking for in Gay-Lussac Street, he encountered his destiny standing on the sidewalk wearing a dark red suit, a woolen coat, and a simple woolen hat. This is where he met Germaine, the woman he later married, and through her he espoused a whole nation.

Before he met Germaine, however, he had a painful and sentimental experience with a young woman who was working as
a waitress in the Café de Flore in Saint Germain. It was a story of a tortured love. She was, in a way, the miracle that mended a rift in the philosopher’s life. Unbeknownst to her she was the one who saved him from a horrible fate that would have led him into a wasteland. While Germaine took him to an environment of philosophy and unbelievable existential scenes, the Café de Flore waitress brought bitterness, confusion, emptiness, and sorrow to his life.

The philosopher was enamored of the waitress the moment he set eyes on her round and firm, protruding breasts, visible through the opening in her shirt. He imagined himself talking frankly to her about his feelings in order to stop the erupting volcano in his life. It was only his cowardice that stopped him and kept him away from these golden mountains that held him prisoner by their sweetness and attraction. Feeling helpless, he used to sit at a table, drinking beer or a cup of hot tea, his pipe lying on the table near
Le Monde
or one of Sartre’s books, watching her. He would sit there in silence, giving the impression of being a thinker who was pondering a wild and adventurous life. Deep inside him there was nothing but emptiness and sexual visions floating freely each time the waitress bent over to serve a table or toyed with the cross between her breasts.

One day she bent over his table to clean an ashtray and remove an empty beer glass. His eyes fell on the rounded shape of her full breasts that were swelling beneath her white woolen sweater. She asked him what he was thinking about. Her question was God-sent, as he had long wanted to draw her attention to his superior intellect so that he might dazzle her with his philosophy and ability to penetrate the open horizons of his being, but he had not known how to do it. She took him by surprise. He felt a little nervous but managed to smile at her as his heart rate rose significantly and his voice rattled in his throat. He replied spontaneously and philosophically, “I have been thinking about
Sartre’s opinion of women. He said that they could not do without men.” The pipe was shaking in his hand, his heart was beating, and his lips were trembling. The waitress laughed quietly, pushed back an unruly lock of blond hair hiding her blue eyes, winked at him and said, “Do you really need Sartre’s head to know this?”