by Ali Bader
10
Ismail Hadoub left Shaul to join Abd al-Rahman. In this move Ismail adopted the methods of a hunter, one who wants to catch life with philosophy rather than hunt philosophy through life. He followed Abd al-Rahman because, unlike Shaul, he talked about life in a practical and appealing way, with precision, elegance, and humor. Shaul lacked all those attributes and so did his culture. Abd al-Rahman’s philosophy was more attractive because existentialism was clearer than Marxism. For example, whenever Abd al-Rahman said “nihilism” it meant that he wanted to get drunk, and whenever he said “freedom” he was planning on sleeping with a woman, and “commitment” meant an appointment at a bar or nightclub. This is how Ismail explained Abd al-Rahman’s philosophy to one of his new friends at the Coronet bookstore.
Abd al-Rahman’s philosophy contained enjoyable things, while Shaul’s happiness colony required struggle and fighting. One could struggle and possibly die without ever attaining that stage; what kind of paradise was this? In immediate taste and gratification Ismail found a rich interpretation of life. He cringed at delayed enjoyments.
Ismail’s escape from Shaul was first met with a smile from the philosopher, but later he welcomed him without reservations. He reacted to Shaul’s anger by supporting Ismail, who had opted for freedom, and because, as Abd al-Rahman explained to his disciple, freedom is a commitment. Ismail on the other hand considered his personal choice an echo of lingering memories. He stood before the philosopher and told him that he had been a philosopher since infancy. When his words were reported to Shaul, his former benefactor commented sarcastically, “Do you really believe that this ass was wrapped in a proper layette like normal human beings? He’s a bastard. His prostitute mother abandoned him in a stream.”
Ismail left Shaul propelled by a stubborn idea: he was seeking love, sex, alcohol, and other pleasures. As for Abd al-Rahman, he did not see any dramatic aspect to Ismail’s decision. He considered it a normal inclination on the part of all human beings to indulge in life’s pleasures. It was obvious that the fulfillment of that inclination required spending time in cafés and at philosophical nights of debauchery at the Grief Adab nightclub. In brief, it was a life of drinking, sex, and disregard for all traditions.
11
Rumors and gossip surrounded Ismail Hadoub’s departure from Shaul to join Abd al-Rahman, the philosopher of al-Sadriya. The whisperings drove Shaul crazy and pushed him to violent rages. He shouted threats against Ismail at the top of his lungs. His words of abuse were heard by passersby, who were amused by his pronunciation of r as gh and his threatened reprisals against
Ismail. The scene was an entertainment for the scoundrels of al-Sadriya, who laughed and joked at Shaul’s expense, which only fueled his fits of anger. Some of the salesmen in the neighborhood felt sorry for him and intervened. They chased away the scoundrels and beat their donkeys, provoking noisy quarrels with the fruit sellers, butchers, sheep herders, pottery makers, and china merchants. Those quarrels sometimes caused Shaul to shake violently and fall to the ground.
12
Abd al-Rahman crossed al-Matajer Street in al-Sadriya souk every day at noon, carrying an umbrella dripping with rain water and wearing a black raincoat. He shivered in the cold and advanced with uncertain steps, while his mother-of-pearlencrusted pipe hung from his mouth.
Ismail found the philosopher’s personality very attractive because he was the personification of laziness, carelessness, and moral degradation. He explained every immoral action as a natural inclination dormant in every person’s conscience. Ismail considered philosophy more dangerous than theoretical conversation about the happiness colony.
13
Abd al-Rahman and Ismail often staggered home drunk after a night of low pleasures at a nightclub. When they reached the top of the street, they slowed their pace until they reached Shaul’s shop, then vomited in front of the door, wiped their mouths with their sleeves, and ran off. Shaul used to run after them brandishing a broomstick, but they always managed to disappear around the corner of the street as quickly as exploding sticks of dynamite.
Sometimes the two men would stop at the end of the street, where there was an abundance of bordellos with long queues of gentlemen waiting to pull down their elegant pants. Some of the women in question appeared in corsets, while others poured their bath water at the thresholds of their rooms, laughing noisily.
14
Abd al-Rahman and Ismail went out daily, either in a taxi, or a carriage drawn by two gray horses for a fare not more than one dirham. They liked to use a carriage to take them from the nightclub near the Roxy cinema to King Ghazi Street and back. Each would sit in a corner of the carriage as they rode through the crowded streets of the residential areas, between the heavily scented eucalyptus trees, talking with the driver about bootleg arrack and imported whiskey. The narrow streets surrounding them were filled with women in black abayas, imitation jewelry shining under their sleeves. When the carriage reached Zubayda Square, it made its way with great difficulty, as it was hampered by throngs of people, especially children playing in the streets. Women sat on the thresholds of their quarters or peered from their half-open windows; others sat on the roofs. The carriage driver, who wore a scarf tied over his head and whipped the horses’ flanks, quarreled with the grocers, silk merchants, and rabble who lined the street before he took Abd al-Rahman and Ismail to Grief Adab, where Dalal Masabni was waiting for them.
15
Dalal Masabni was the most famous dancer of her time. She was born in Baghdad of a Lebanese mother named Aida Qastali and an Iraqi father. The mother was known for her impetuosity and adventures, but the father’s identity was unknown. Some believed that he was a tradesman of great repute in Mosul and was hiding in Baghdad under the false name of Abd al-Hamid al-Hashemi. After the departure of his wife and his fifteen-year-old daughter to Lebanon, he left the house he had rented for them and went to Iran. There, traces of him disappeared forever. Aida didn’t like living in Beirut, so a year later she went to America with a man she had met in one of the gambling halls. She placed her daughter Dalal in the care of a famous drug trafficker who called himself Sami al-Khouri. He was none other than the well-known drug kingpin who was featured on the pages of the international press in the sixties and who gave Interpol a run for its money with his capers and large-scale trafficking. He had a special inclination for beautiful women and finally fell in love with the French singer Maria Vincent, whom he met at the Cordon Bleu nightclub in Istanbul.
The fact is that Dalal had met Sami on al-Hamra Street in Ras Beirut long before he had become famous. She was fifteen years old and had just arrived with her mother. It was Samira Shuwayri, Beirut’s most famous belle at the time, who introduced her to Sami. Despite her youth, Dalal worked as a professional dancer at the Masabni nightclub. She soon left her job at the club to live in the luxurious apartment that Sami owned in the Roche. Her long blond hair, thin figure, narrow waist, and calm gaze attracted much attention. All of Beirut was talking about the new girl who went riding around with the drug dealer in his Cadillac and ate dinner with him at the Cave restaurant. They used to sit in a dark corner drinking champagne. After midnight they’d go to the casino to gamble. She stood near him holding two glasses of whiskey, one for her and one for him. She gave his whiskey to him to drink one sip at a time, still holding the glass. Two years later Dalal’s photograph appeared on the front page of the local Lebanese papers, and other Arab newspapers as well, standing close to Sami after he was caught in the largest-ever hashish smuggling operation to Cairo.
16
Dalal was arrested at the Regent Hotel in Cairo. She was a nervous wreck, trying to control her shakes with a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air. She was anxiously watching the door when two men from the Egyptian secret service knocked. They asked whether she was Dalal and after she confidently acknowledged her identity, she left with them. The servants and hotel employees watched her being led to a large black Mer-cedes in front of
the hotel, that drove off at a high speed.
Dalal sat before the prosecutor on a comfortable chair. His desk had an inkwell, pencils, and a small case that she recognized as Sami’s. She faced the heavyset interrogator, who asked her boldly but politely about the drugs that Sami had smuggled into Cairo, all the while staring into her beautiful sad eyes. She did not reply. Soon Sami was brought in, and when she saw him, she stood up to hug him. He was quick to inform the police that she had had nothing to do with the drugs and served only as a cover. Dalal looked at him affectionately, but he covered his face with his hands without saying a word.
After an intensive investigation the prosecutor could not implicate her and was forced to release her. She was sent back to Beirut, and Sami was condemned to two years in an Egyptian prison. Dalal returned to their apartment in Beirut to wait for her lover, and rarely went out. She was attended by a Greek maid whom Sami trusted fully. As she spent the days recalling the sad moments of his arrest and the good times they had spent together, the old maid informed her that it was the first time that he had been caught and that it had happened because he feared for her life. Sami’s willingness to sacrifice himself for her strengthened her love and attachment to him.
One day she learned from the maid that Sami had returned to Beirut. She waited for him at the apartment, but he did not show up that day or the days following. His friends asked her to be discreet because he feared for her life. She became suspicious, especially when she learned that he had traveled to Istanbul for a new deal. She waited for him again, until months later she heard that he had married the French singer Maria Vincent. That was the last she heard of him until one day a friend of his brought her a packet of money with a message from Sami, informing her of his marriage to the French singer and freeing her from any commitment.
Dalal returned to the same nightclub where she had met Sami and joined a group of belly dancers performing there. She performed with them for some time but was soon fed up with this exhausting job. She couldn’t compete with professional dancers who had trained in the top dance studios and with the best teachers in Beirut and Cairo. She decided to return to Baghdad and, with the money the smuggler had left her, she opened the Grief Adab. It did not take long for her to become well known throughout the city, especially after the philosopher became one of her customers. This connection gave her a reputation as a patron of writers and culture. She had a table permanently reserved for Abd al-Rahman with a sign that read “reserved for the philosopher.”
17
The philosopher was excited by Dalal’s voluptuous red lips, which held her white cigarette tightly. The smoke she was in the habit of blowing in his face smelled of alcohol and her favorite perfume. Knowing her was liberating and tickled him provocatively, especially when her body quivered left and right and she chewed gum. He was very attached to her because of the sense of freedom he felt with her—no jealousy and no moral or social responsibility. With her he was not concerned with values, especially those related to honor. Dalal had the capacity to free him of responsibility, and this freedom was the reason he was so attached to her. He was well aware that she had known many men before him and that she would know many after him, but she was fair, balanced, and had common sense. In a distorted kind of way, she was philosophical.
Dalal used to receive an English friend in her room. She claimed he was giving her English lessons, but she always sent him away the moment the philosopher stepped inside the nightclub. She used to walk her English friend to the door and bid him a polite and subtle adieu, then welcome the philosopher at the same door and with the same good manners, maintaining a balance in her relationships with both of them. Neither felt that she was giving the other more importance, as she divided her attention equally between the two. She demonstrated great skill in this ceremonial sending of one friend away and welcoming of the other.
When she finished her dance, she sat at the philosopher’s table to enjoy his and Ismail’s company. Sometimes she accepted other customers’ invitations to spend time at their tables, but she only did that reluctantly. She felt superior to the other customers, who knew nothing about philosophy. She enjoyed the company of her peers, those with the same intellectual interests. Abd al-Rahman didn’t mind sharing her with the others. He didn’t want her to himself because he did not want to feel responsible for her. He wanted her to belong to everyone in order to rid himself of any sense of jealousy, for the feeling of jealousy was not philosophical. Abd al-Rahman’s attitude puzzled Ismail, whose tribal and primitive values considered it a kind of insult. He couldn’t understand that the dancer was the philosopher’s mistress and yet she sat with others. Abd al-Rahman used to answer such smug oriental ideas with a philosophical image, “You will not become a true existentialist unless you get rid of this oriental jealousy.”
“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 ab
out 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.”