The Girl from Baghdad (15 page)

Mum was having a difficult pregnancy; she was extremely exhausted and weak. My aunts came to visit her frequently. At first, it seemed that they wanted to be close to her, to take care of her. However, as the weeks passed, I realised they would only make themselves comfortable on the couch and wouldn't lift a finger when they were at our house. They never helped, rather, expected to be served. Instead of providing any sense of support, they were just another burden for Mum.

Our father started bringing people home. He showed up in the late hours of the night, with friends who we had never seen before. Often, Dad would sit on the couch with strange men watching soccer games. My mother had to cook for them and serve them like a waitress. Even though her eyes were ringed with fatigue, she obeyed without complaining. Her stomach had gotten bigger and I frequently saw her pass her hand along her
lower back, grimacing in pain. When I saw her like this, I told her to go and rest. She would protest, claiming all was well. But when she let herself be taken to bed, she would fall asleep within seconds.

Dad asked me to bring him a beer one evening. He told me to keep it covered with a napkin; if a Muslim isn't allowed to drink alcohol, then a young girl is prohibited to even touch it. As soon as I set the bottle down on the table, I asked him why he wanted to drink. He looked at me strangely, like I had just asked him an impertinent question. ‘The doctor prescribed it,' he replied with a sardonic smile, ‘for a backache.' Then he returned to staring at the screen.

The club was my only escape. One scorching summer afternoon, Dani was sunbaking by the pool, while I quickly got dressed for an afternoon date with Uday. It had been three months since we kissed and we now saw each other at the club almost every day. He hadn't stopped being polite to me, still acting like a perfect gentleman. He was attentive to the trivial things that can make a girl swoon. Sometimes I would play a game of tennis with him. He was a great sportsman. He moved fast around the court with muscular legs and hit the ball powerfully. Every once in a while, he would serve me an easy ball and let me win.

I never dared ask him how much our relationship meant to him, or whether or not he considered me a
‘real' girlfriend. After all, the members of the club were used to seeing us together now, not just on the tennis court, but also at the tables at the bar or at the pool. Our relationship was clearly more than simple friendship.

When I first got to know Uday, out of vanity, I wanted everyone in the tennis club to know we were together. Sure, Uday was said to be a Don Juan, but I felt there was a profound connection between us that made me like to think otherwise. We saw each other so regularly that I stopped caring about how we were seen. Uday seemed sincere, thoughtful and was considerate of my feelings. I felt good whenever I was with him, and didn't care to think about the future.

We didn't have anything planned that particular afternoon. He waited for me, smiling, wearing an impeccable blue shirt and pants. I sat next to him. He took my hand and kissed it: a gesture so charming it made me laugh. Then he pulled me gently towards him and gave me a little kiss on the cheek.

‘Do you want to go on an outing today?' he asked.

‘No match? Are you afraid of losing like you did yesterday?'

‘No, I'd like to take a drive in the car. The driver is outside. Why don't we leave the club?'

It seemed risky to me. We might be seen together outside the club.

‘Come on, nothing is going to happen. You're with me. What could go wrong?' His grin was inviting.

‘I don't know … maybe it's not such a good idea.'

‘Nobody is going to see us, if that's what you're afraid of. I wanted to show you how beautiful our city is. It's more spectacular than you could ever imagine.'

The driver was shining the chrome bumpers of the long blue Mercedes. He jumped to attention as soon as he saw Uday, quickly fixed his uniform and opened the rear door of the car. Uday ushered me in first. The driver, before closing the door, stared at me with a blank but respectful expression. I asked myself if this was because of his duties as a dependant of the son of Saddam, or if he was simply used to seeing Uday bring his lovers aboard. The idea irritated me, and the thought of being one of many made my dormant insecurities surface.

Uday sat calmly by my side. I must have seemed tense because he said soothingly, ‘My love, it's just a ride in the car. Nobody can see you.' It was true. The car had tinted windows and nobody could see the passengers from the outside. ‘You don't think I would forget, even for an instant, who I am, do you? I know people watch me. But I like you. I like you a lot and I don't want to ruin everything. Okay?' He had never been so frank with me and it was reassuring. He explained to the driver where he wanted to go and leaned back next to me.

As we drove, I looked out the windows at Baghdad's most magnificent neighbourhoods; dotted with light stone buildings and mosques. We passed by the Zawra Gardens with their artificial lakes, lush vegetation, and glades of enormous palm trees. The car turned into Zaitoon Avenue, making its way toward the Harthiya neighbourhood where the heads of government lived in villas shrouded in greenery.

‘What's the matter?' he asked. ‘You're so quiet.'

I shook my head as if to say nothing was wrong. ‘I was just thinking about what it would be like to live in another city far from here.'

‘There's no other place I'd like to live. Look,' he added, pointing at the clock tower beyond the mosque. It was an art deco building that housed a museum dedicated to his father, where they displayed a collection of gifts other heads of state or eminent people had given to Saddam. I had been there the year before on a field trip with my class.

‘This is the area I love the most,' Uday confessed. ‘Close to the Tigris, full of buildings that have centuries of history. The heart of the city has always been here.'

We passed by one of the most prestigious buildings and Uday mentioned his father had worked there. It dawned on me that Uday never spoke of him, at least not with me. I thought about the portraits of Saddam hanging in every classroom, in every office, in our homes.
I looked at the son of our leader, searching his features for any resemblance and tried to imagine his everyday life: what happened when he came back home to the palace, the grand dinners, and the parties? Rather than talking about his privileged lifestyle, Uday had a refined nonchalance, as if to demonstrate that belonging to the Raìs's family was almost irrelevant.

He continued to look at the city through the window. ‘This city is the centre of everything, the pearl of the Middle East. It's an eternal city and nothing can ever destroy its magic and its strength. Do you see these buildings – the minarets? They'll always be here, even centuries after we're gone. Baghdad will never die.'

The sky began to turn red. Soon, evening would cool the air and the lights would be turned on one by one, adorning the city like jewels. It was time to go back, but I wanted that magical drive to last forever. Baghdad passed by outside the window. I felt nostalgic and I knew a day would come when I wouldn't be in Baghdad anymore, but the city would continue to thrive, eternal and splendid.

Little did I know that in a matter of years this mystical vision would no longer exist. Instead of a grand city steeped in history and religion, war would see my Baghdad demolished into a wreckage of dust and debris. If I had known this as a young girl I would have made
a better effort to imprint the buildings, the minarets, and the river on my soul to make sure I would never forget them. But perhaps some cities are meant to exist forever. Maybe Baghdad will rise from the ashes and be a magnificent jewel of the desert once again. Perhaps one day it will be a meeting point of all cultures and a million different faces will animate the streets.

Uday seemed sincerely proud of Baghdad. Many years later, after the Americans invaded Baghdad and stormed the Royal Palace, leading to the fall of Saddam, I saw a photo of the grown-up Uday in the newspapers. For a long time I asked myself: what happened to the young man I had known? What had made him capable of doing so much harm to his country? I never doubted that the accusations against him were well grounded. Perhaps he had lost control and had become a cruel and despotic person? He was unrecognisable to me in that awful photo that was splashed across newspapers all over the world.

The atmosphere was tense at home. Dad hardly spent any evenings there. When I asked him where he spent those nights he didn't come home, he told me he was at Kasside's. Despite this, he continued to take an interest in my sisters and me. He took us to Bibi's
house on the weekends and quizzed us about school and what we had done. But he had become more serious, at times hypersensitive, and the jokes and games we used to play together vanished from everyday life.

His relationship with Mum had changed immensely. They spoke very little and frequently stared at each other coldly. In front of the three of us girls, they pretended everything was fine, but it was evident their problems were growing. When Dad returned home late and Mum was still awake, they would bicker. Loud whispers in English were almost always the sign of a new quarrel. I hated those moments. I would lie wide awake in bed listening intently, hoping they would stop. After I realised they were going to continue for a long time, I hid under the covers, squeezing my eyes shut and praying that by some miracle I would wake to find them in love again.

Fortunately, I was able to retreat to the club in the afternoons. I lay in the sun with Dani and closed my eyes, forgetting all the bad times at home. I imagined what Uday might be doing not far from there. He was always so well groomed when we got together. He looked as if he had come straight off the set of a movie.

Our relationship had lasted four months and everybody at the club knew about it. I was considered his girlfriend, but I wasn't naïve enough to believe that this was sufficient to make the relationship official; the son of the Raìs certainly wasn't like other young men. I didn't
deceive myself by thinking I might one day become his wife. It was impossible. Nonetheless, Uday monopolised my days and imagination, and it worked like medicine. I let myself be transported by this fairytale instead of returning to the bitter reality of my family life. It was so easy to be captivated by him and his world. Besides, who wouldn't get into the prince's limousine when it was pouring rain?

‘Mum? I'm home,' I said loudly, putting my things down in the hall.

No response. The house was completely silent. I had come back from the club earlier than usual, which meant my mother should have been home. I poked my head in the kitchen, but she wasn't there. She must have been in bed. As she was now in the late stages of pregnancy, the doctor had recommended she spend time lying down in the afternoons.

‘Mum? Where are you? I'm back!' I continued to call her.

I ran upstairs onto the terrace, but it was deserted. I searched the house, until I heard crying coming from the bathroom. The door was unlocked. I pushed it open.