Papa Sartre: A Modern Arabic Novel (Modern Arabic Literature) (17 page)

The boy’s dislike for his family and his relatives grew day by day. He was critical of their inability to enjoy life and have fun, to live in the fast lane, or enjoy physical contact. Those who were unable to perform popular heroic acts he judged harshly and determined a person’s importance solely from appearance. He was resentful of their clothes and their mere existence, their strange illnesses, their annoying voices. He disliked women who did not look like Rujina, with her pure dark face, curly hair, mysterious eyes—and that crime of hers that so stirred his desires. He remembered how she had flirted with him without any feelings of embarrassment.

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At first Abd al-Rahman was not able to establish contacts with people easily. He couldn’t accept the fact that sex was a natural matter, as if he wanted to eternalize his childhood. He wanted to act in a responsible manner, like a mature individual, without tripping.

During his adolescence, as his masculinity was developing, he felt he was a sacred child. He didn’t want to be like the adults and adopt their values, and he didn’t consider the family sacred. Rather, he wanted to contest all that. Among those around him, Saadun relegated people to the past; Rujina had a past but no family, having even gone as far as to destroy her family; Suleiman the gardener worked to be able to live in the khan; and all Naser wanted was his bottle of arrack. On the opposite side were the large, complex families whose members, both men and women, were dragged down by a life of habits.
He mercilessly ridiculed the families in his parents’ circle that he disliked so much, doing his best to assail their narcissistic feelings. He wanted to denounce them and thereby scare and shock his family.

One day he asked Saadun if he was married. Saadun laughed, “No. For what?”

Surprised, Abd al-Rahman wondered aloud, “Oh! What’s the point in having a woman?”

“A married man has one woman, but a single man has many women.” Saadun explained.

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Abd al-Rahman belonged to an aristocratic family, although he did not experience the life enjoyed by his grandfather in his glorious heyday. He was a refined man who had been quite powerful during the Ottoman period. Abd al-Rahman grew up at a time when his family was losing its prestige, position, and power. He was not at all unhappy with his family’s turn of fortune and enjoyed seeing it lose the standing and esteem it had once enjoyed. His grandfather did not talk much as he got older and began to wither away. His mustache, which he used to wear turned upward like a Turk’s, now drooped. He could not help himself and needed to be carried like a child between the garden and the living room. His eyes wilted, and he covered his hair, which had by now turned gray, with an impeccably clean white Turkish cap. A woolen robe covered his combed-cotton pajamas and woolen slippers. He would plant his silver-clad cane and speak with his son in a low voice. He spent most winter days on the covered balcony, where he was protected from the wind and could enjoy the warmth of the sun. He drank his Turkish coffee there. When he wanted to sleep, the servants carried him to his room.

His grandfather was one of the most prominent figures in Baghdad during the time of Sirri al-Kraidi, who became Baghdad’s wali in 1890. He established the park in Midan Square and, thanks to the astrologers, got close to Sultan Abd al-Majid and spent time at the palace admiring the beautiful gold-clad slaves and young boys from al-Karj. He often spoke of the meals that were served in the palace, the richly set tables, and the food served from gold and silver vessels. He described the cutlery, the pitchers, the glasses, and the incense burners. He married a Turkish woman named Nazla Hanim, and the couple went to Baghdad during the plague days. Right off she was shocked by the city’s ugliness, unhealthy air, unattractive people, and bad food, and she immediately returned to Istanbul. Her husband later joined her, and this is when he met Wali Hasan Wafiq, who joined him in his walks around Istanbul. They were usually preceded by a detachment of horse riders, the slaves of the wali, and another regiment of foot soldiers in military dress, with English guns, and pipes and drums.

The family lost all this prestige during the royal era. Nazla Hanim said the king was good for nothing.

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Abd al-Rahman spent his teenage years with Saadun wandering the parks, sitting at a café after school, working in the garden and the stable, and even playing poker in Khan Mamu at Bab al-Sheikh. Though his family knew about Saadun’s exploits they didn’t consider expelling him. Abd al-Rahman’s mother caught him twice with Rujina, but she didn’t make a fuss about it and satisfied herself with a reprimand. She explained clearly the reasons for her tolerance, “If it were not for my son’s attachment to you, I would have expelled you long since.” Her husband had once surprised them in a flagrant position in the kitchen as well.

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Abd al-Rahman’s father came upon them in the kitchen a little after midnight when he went down to investigate a suspicious noise. He threw open the door suddenly and turned on the light. The couple was lying on the floor totally naked. Shaken, Rujina stood in front of him without covering herself, while Saadun rushed to get into his clothes. Shawkat Amin’s eyes dwelled on Rujina, who was in no hurry to cover herself. She collected her clothes and went to her room, moving provocatively. After she left, the father reprimanded Saadun, using the same words that his wife had chosen as the reason for keeping him.

The following day Abd al-Rahman awoke to news of the incident, but that night he saw his father sneak into Rujina’s room. He told Saadun about his father and both found the story amusing. Saadun later offered to take the boy to a brothel, and they decided that they would go the following day.

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The carriage moved slowly down the wet street where a light rain had fallen. Abd al-Rahman was sitting under the black top in the rear of the carriage, taking in the large illuminated posters on al-Rashid Street. He saw signs for Mackintosh English toffee, Van Heusen shoes, the Café Brazil, the Orosdi Back department store, and Jaqmaqji records. Under the reflections of movie house marquees, shop windows displayed gleaming luxuries. Abd al-Rahman was totally absorbed by the sights and wanted to hug the women coming out of the boutiques, posh cafés, and cinema houses.

On such outings Abd al-Rahman’s liked to stop on al-Rashid Street at Dikket Bab al-Agha to smoke a water pipe, take in a film at the Roxy cinema, or even eat the kebab seller’s semi-fresh food, sold near Mackenzie’s bookshop. Dressed in his black suit,
necktie, and cap, he would sit on a metal chair and take in the liveliness of the market around him. Far from his father’s hypocrisy and his mother’s feminine purity and controlled coldness, he loved listening to the popular accent, the boastfulness of the people, the putrid odors. When Saadun asked if he wished to stop this time, he declined. “Don’t stop today unless it’s for a prostitute,” he laughed loudly. They had hardly reached the end of al-Rashid Street, near the square facing the church, however, when he was overtaken by such fear and anxiety that his knees began knocking.

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Saadun stopped the carriage at the entrance of the narrow alley overlooking al-Rashid Street from the far side of al-Harj market. The prostitutes who stood in front of the house were half naked and unashamedly exhibiting their charms and heavy makeup. Their coarse words evoked laughter. Abd al-Rahman and Saadun stepped out of the carriage and crossed the street toward the alley. The boy’s legs were buckling under him. He was intimidated by the power of the prostitutes, and, self-conscious of his inexperience, he was unable to face them. One of them approached him and asked the boy to follow her. Her face, covered with heavy makeup, betrayed her age, her hair was dyed bright red, she smelled of alcohol, and she was scantily dressed. As soon as Abd al-Rahman heard her say, “Come with me,” he ran away as fast as he could back to the carriage, breathing with great difficulty. He heard the prostitute laughing and calling after him, “Don’t be scared! Come on, I won’t bite you.” He raised his head from his hiding place to check out the situation and saw Saadun talking with the woman. Both went inside the house.

Abd al-Rahman was perplexed by this sexual traffic. He saw respectable men enter the narrow alley in their posh cars.
Prostitutes wearing expensive clothes, jewelry, and fur coats, met and rode off with them. Toothless old women were doing the bargaining and collecting the money. Other young women were standing in the doorways; the male customers looked them over, and then took them into the house.

Twenty minutes later Saadun came out of the house, disheveled, closing his fly, his shirt half undone. He was laughing and shouted at the boy, “Don’t worry, I won’t bite you.” When he reached the carriage he said to the horse, “Don’t be upset. If there were prostitutes for horses I would take you to them.”

Abd al-Rahman laughed at his apprehensiveness. The two men drove back to the fish restaurant near the church.

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The restaurant was in a modest district of town, but the night and darkness hid the decrepit houses and the poverty of the place. The two men sat on a couch covered with woolen rugs, ready for their fish dinner; the smell of fried fish filled the place. Saadun lit two cigarettes and gave one to Abd al-Rahman. While they were waiting to be served, a woman in an abaya passed by coquettishly. Saadun’s eyes followed her silhouette until she disappeared from view and he said, “She could break metal.” The comment amused the boy, who was constantly amazed at Saadun’s sexual prowess and unflagging interest in women. Saadun recalled how the boy had run away from the prostitute and hid in the carriage like a rat, to Abd al-Rahman’s great amusement. He asked the boy what he thought of Rujina.

“I don’t know” he answered.

“You’d like to try it with her, wouldn’t you?” Saadun asked. Abd al-Rahman was silent. Simultaneously he felt a cold shiver run through his veins and a warm feeling in his skin. They arrived home late, drunk with joy.

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Shortly after midnight the following night, Abd al-Rahman opened his bedroom door and saw Rujina standing in the dim light of the hall. She was wearing a revealing muslin dress. He approached her, breathing heavily, his eyes filled with desire. He kneeled and caressed her thighs; they then went into her room. He suggested they go to the roof, but she was afraid someone might surprise them. She took off her clothes, lay on the bed, and called Abd al-Rahman to join her. He averted his eyes from her nakedness, which reminded him of his mother’s body moaning under his father’s hairy legs. He sat down on the bed softly, and she took his head in her hands and placed it against her warm breasts. He passed his lips over them. Suddenly the door flew open and the light switched on. The two jumped in terror and heard his father shout, “Adulterous woman! First me, and now my son too!? And in the same bed!”

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Naked, the boy ran to his room, hurtling up the stairs. He was mortified to pass his mother standing in front of her bedroom on his way. He quickly covered himself, rushed into his room, and slammed the door shut behind him. They were even now: he had seen her naked, and now she had seen him naked. Still he couldn’t forget how she had stood motionless as he was running up the stairs naked before her.

The philosopher’s childhood certainly provided sufficient material to make a serious existentialist out of him. A single document stated that the al-Sadriya philosopher was deeply influenced in both his philosophy and conduct by Edmond al-Qushli. It was the only document of those I found, either among those the lawyer Butrus Samhiri had shown me when I visited him in his office, those owned by Hanna Yusif which he gave me
at our first meeting, or even the important papers that were held by Sadeq Zadeh. Edmond al-Qushli, the assiduous Christian, who worked first as a translator for an Indian company then as a teacher at Frank Aini School, lived with his grandmother Adileh in the district facing Mahallet Jadid Hasan Basha in Baghdad. In the fifties he was considered an existentialist, in the sixties a Trotskyite. When he was young, people referred to him as ‘Edmond son of Adileh.’

One wonders why Abd al-Rahman became the preeminent existentialist philosopher in Baghdad while Edmond al-Qushli turned his back on existentialism completely—he even fought against it. It is possible that Abd al-Rahman was a victim of a Trotskyite plot organized by Edmond al-Qushli, with the help of the great bourgeois of the time, Faraj Khaddouri. But in offering this theory we would face another hurdle: How did a proletarian Trotskyite join with a comprador bourgeoisie against an existentialist of the sixties, a descendant of an aristocratic family that had been in gradual decline from Ottoman times, to the monarchy, and later under the republic?

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It is well known that Edmond al-Qushli became acquainted with existentialism at the end of the forties reading the Egyptian journal
al-Katib al-‘arabi
edited by Taha Hussein. This contradicts the rumors spread by Iraqi philosophers of Abd al-Rahman’s generation who claimed that they carried existential thought into Iraq. But Edmond had read Abd al-Rahman Badawi’s translations of Arnold’s writings and some of Sartre’s articles on the subject long before the sixties. In the fifties, specifically in 1953, he became very attached to Suhail Idris, the existentialist Arab thinker and friend of Sartre’s. He brought existentialism to Iraq from Paris in his suitcase, as the Iraqi existentialists like to say.

Edmond fell in love with Aida Matraji, who was the Arab Simone de Beauvoir in the fifties and the sixties. He had two photographs hanging on his wall in his grandmother Adileh’s house, one of Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir and, on the opposite wall, a photograph of Suhail and Aida together. He considered Aida more beautiful than Simone de Beauvoir and Suhail Idris more handsome than Sartre, because Sartre was short and Suhail was tall. And while Sartre saw matters with one eye, Suhail regarded them with two. He also confided to his existentialist friend Sarkun Saleh—who was introduced to existentialism around the end of the Second World War, in the Waqwaq café in Antar Square—that he loved Aida because she was honorable, whereas Simone de Beauvoir lived her life as many Frenchwomen did and had known hundreds of men before she slept with Sartre. This explained why, according to him, Arab existentialism is greater and more honorable than French existentialism.