Najeeb stopped. He left the room, only to come back a few moments later with two notebooks. “Here they are.”
Luqman took them in his hands. Two volumes in black leather, thick pages filled with beautiful, ornate handwriting.
“What are all these drawings and foreign symbols?”
“Just read the first notebook,” Najeeb replied. “That’s where he recorded in Arabic everything he observed about rats—their behavior, their habits, their physical characteristics. The second includes foreign expressions because it contains chemistry equations, recipes, and instructions about ways to combat them. There are also lists enumerating the types of traps, illnesses, poisons, materials, germs.”
Najeeb took his leave and went into the bedroom to lie down. He was tired after such a long day.
--
Despite how late it was, Luqman’s eyes still rejected sleep. That’s the way Luqman was. Whenever someone slept beside him or occupied his living space, sleep eluded him. It was as though drowsiness were a fixed quantity of oxygen. If someone else consumed it, it was gone. So Luqman would lose his share of the sleep, being rendered a wide-eyed insomniac.
Luqman lit another candle. He lay on his back and took out a cigarette. Then he brought the notebook up to the light and began to read.
“There is a rat for every human on the face of the earth. But in our county, after the war, I estimate their number to be twenty-to-one. There are two types:
“Rattus rattus: It is also known as the black rat or the house rat. It originally comes from the Far East. It made its way to the Middle East on account of commerce and trade. Wherever it settles down, it brings the bubonic plague. It lives for three or four years. It makes its nests in house attics. It eats meat but prefers fruit and vegetables.
“Surmulot ou rattus norvegicus: It is known as the Norwegian rat (taking its name from the country where its existence was noticed for the first time), or else the gray rat or the migrant rat. It is bigger and fiercer than the black rat. Active at night. It lives hidden under the earth, in canals, in sewers, in all kinds of places and environments. It feeds on corpses, both human and animal, on plants, and on small, living prey. It gnaws on everything to find nourishment, even metal, paper, rubber, and cloth. The male is violent, engaging in ferocious battles. They eat each other when hungry. The strong will jump on the weak, open their skulls, eat their brains, and afterwards the rest of the body and limbs. It is the strongest, most dangerous, and most widespread type. It kills the black rat.”
Luqman raised his eyes from the notebook. That one he had seen in the bathroom window—what type was it? And the other one that bedded down in Salaam’s oven? In any case, if it were permissible to make a comparison between rats and people, then he, Najeeb, and the Albino would be the superior Norwegian species.
“The rat is present in every corner of the earth. It loves temperate climates, secure dwellings, and abundant food. It fights for survival with enormous tenacity, and it has the temperament of a traveler or vagabond...
“It reaches sexual maturity two months after being born. It mates in all seasons, with all females. Rats multiply rapidly since the female is pregnant more than ten times a year for a period of twenty days. In each litter, it can birth up to twenty young.”
Now you’re talking! It mates in all seasons and with all females! Do you hear that, Partner? If I were a rat, we’d never be idle, and I’d find you a suitable bride every day. I’d be the master, and I’d gather all the females in a harem for you and for me.
“The rat is the most destructive, the most gluttonous, and the most reproductive animal. It doesn’t kill just when it is hungry, but also, and especially, because it enjoys destruction. Nothing it eats can make it vomit.
“It is classified as a rodent because its teeth never stop growing. Therefore, in order to halt their growth, it constantly bites, gnaws, and digs with its teeth. It can fall from a great height and not be hurt at all. It can jump up to three feet or more in the air. When cornered, they become fierce and may jump, bite, and inflict wounds.
“Its memory is prodigious. It passes on information about a specific poison from generation to generation, for instance. Rats that live in the city are cleverer than those in the country because they acquire more experience.
“It is nocturnal, and if it appears in the light of day, that means the population has become enormous, leading to food shortages. In their movements, rats keep close to the walls because their eyesight is weak. In that way, it is safe from danger on one side. They always follow the same track.
“It lives in groups, or tribes, but it enjoys the feeling of being big and independent. If it senses danger, it is able to organize armies and send out hordes, the savagery of which surpasses everything that is recorded about the Berbers or the Tatars. Tribes may sometimes attack individuals of their own species, killing and laying waste. Females and the young are not spared these ferocious battles and wars.
“Its essential vices are four, not seven, like the vices of humans, insofar as they do not know sloth, envy, and pride. They are characterized by gluttony, lust, greed, and wrath.
“It enjoys powerful nationalistic sentiments and is noted for a deep hatred towards outsiders and strangers, even from their own species. If a stranger joins a group, it is left alone to wander around for a while until it begins to feel safe and pushes into the middle. That’s when the tribe gathers around it. With bulging eyes, and squeaking with high, sharp, heart-rending voices, they begin to tear, shred, and rip.
“Only two kinds of living creatures make war against their own species: the rat and the human. These two do not benefit any other living creatures, and they destroy all types of life.”
Only a flicker of life remained in the last candle Luqman had lit. Its wick leaned a little. It trembled with a final blaze before sinking into a quagmire of melted wax that flowed down to congeal on the small table where Luqman had tossed the notebook. Darkness reigned, and his internal clock indicated the morning was only a few steps away.
CHAPTER 9
Salaam was nervous.
The director didn’t usually call her into his office. He would usually summon the rest of the women in the Central, especially the young and pretty ones, whether they were married or not. And when it was someone’s turn to go in to see him, the others would note the time and begin winking and whispering until she came out again. Then they would gather around her, with jokes and laughter spreading through the group.
Salaam smoothed her skirt. Then, with a bit of pride, she headed for the director’s office, looking at the other women with sidelong glances, as though her time had finally come after a long and patient suffering. She knocked on the door and was invited in. She went in and remained standing. The director stood up to greet her with a warm welcome. He asked her to take a seat, and he sat nearby, doing away with formalities.
Salaam relaxed.
The director began by insisting she light a cigarette and have something hot or cold to drink, all the while looking at her knees, which the hem of her skirt pulled back to reveal, with eyes that gleamed with lust and speculation. When she kept on refusing, he smiled.
The director leaned back in his chair and said, “You are the most senior woman we have, Ms. Salaam. I hope you are as happy to remain with us as we are to have you.”
What was going through his head, Salaam wondered. Was he finally remembering her after all the other girls had visited him, and he had been dissatisfied with them? Or did he have some plan in mind? In any case, no matter his intentions, this surprising visit was a win. When she left, she would act exactly like all the others. She would walk slowly, with a certain coquetry, leaning her head back to shake out her hair. She didn’t have hair to shake out, but no problem. She would find some other gesture, no less suggestive, and she’d let out a moaning sigh, a little like a meow.
After some general conversation on this and that to get things going, the director said, “Miss Salaam, you are far and
away the most qualified and experienced woman working here. Therefore, after a long and careful consideration, I have decided to put you in change of the others. Of course, this means an increase in pay, in rank, and in standing. But an increase in responsibility and duties, too.”
Salaam was annoyed.
She found it strange how, instead of jumping up in joy, she felt the blood rising to her face and throbbing in her temples and ears.
“And the other manager?” she asked with some emotion. She knew this question of hers didn’t come from any concern or pang of conscience, but from an urgent need to grab onto some life preserver before sinking further under that emotion.
“Poor woman!” the director responded. “I don’t know what clouded her judgment so much that she would go around paying for things with bad checks. Just today, I was informed that she would be held by the district attorney while waiting for them to conduct further investigations.
“I don’t know what comes over people! Last week, the police came one morning to arrest my neighbor, the bank employee. Embezzlement! People are no longer satisfied with their lot in life.
“What did our woman here have to complain of, seeing as she was a government employee with a respectable salary and a secure job? Do you think she dressed like she did and spent like she did from her salary alone? I don’t mean anything bad by saying this, but what I mean is that I used to overlook the gifts and bribes she used to pocket on the side.”
Salaam understood.
What the director was offering her was the following: if she played the role of spying on the other women, she could cheat people on the price of calls and ask for more money in exchange for providing better service. And the proceeds? She’d divide them with him, of course, each according to the importance of his position.
The director smiled and said flirtatiously, “Nothing kills me like a smart woman.” He reached over to shake hands so as to congratulate her and encourage further cooperation and success.
Salaam turned around before going out the office door and said, “The mother of my deceased fiancé, may he rest in peace, doesn’t have anyone else to look after her, and...”
“I understand,” answered the director. “You can leave in the afternoon. Today you’ll only work half a shift. This is a gift to you and an expression of my great confidence in our partnership, which I hope will be fruitful and loyal to the end.”
--
Salaam stood in front of the window at the sandwich shop and ordered: “One shwarma, one falafel, and one chicken. With lots of garlic, please!”
She would eat out of anger. She would bite, chew, swallow, and drink until she choked. Maybe food would calm her down. The animals! All men were animals! Stupid, foolish, and loathsome, strutting about like mindless roosters. As soon as they see a butt, a leg, or a piece of naked flesh, they open their mouths, breath panting and tongues hanging out like hungry, horny dogs that jump on anything.
And the women? Whores! All of them, without exception. And she, what would she do in this corrupted, wretched world? A woman like her deserved a better man—the very best, by God! Goddamn you, Albino, did you have to die? Wasn’t it possible for you to marry me first? To put the ring on my finger, and then to go off to depths of hell, if that’s what you wanted? Wasn’t a solitary widow better than a spinster no man would turn to look at? And that bastard, Luqman, that lowlife sponge, who cared only about money! And the director—with all these males around me, he was the last thing my life needed. All of you can go and die. I’ll cry over the lot of you and publicize an eternal period of mourning.
Salaam arrived at the funeral services shop.
The old man wasn’t alone. Salaam preferred to wait outside, hoping he wouldn’t take too long with the female customer. She leaned against a car parked nearby, keeping the old man and his customer in her line of sight through the window.
She watched the two of them debating. They wandered slowly between the coffins. They would stop for a few seconds, then continue their circuit. The old man’s face began to betray something like resentful disgust. Salaam smiled. The customer had to be haggling with him about the cost. Now they were retreating into the recesses of the shop, which meant they were dropping off in price. Top-of-the line styles and the best quality were put in the front of the shop near the door. Older and cheaper models were stacked in the back.
The customer scratched her head and sweated. Anguish was clear on her face. Anguish, mixed with some embarrassment or confusion, as though the old man were addressing her with utter contempt, rebuking her, or characterizing her in the most insulting way.
A horn blared behind Salaam. She jumped and turned around to watch a car speeding by as fast as a bullet. She poured out a bucket of abuse on the driver. She turned back to the shop. She saw that the old man was alone and cursing in his native language.
“Comes in, Madame Salaam,” he said to her. “What have these days comes to? The customer wants a coffin, but not to spend her money! She can buy from somebody else. I am not a charity! Last week, a customer asks to lease her a coffin. She says, ‘I take it for twenty-four hours, and after the burial ceremony, I bring it back.’ Can you believe? Enough! No respect for the dead in this country. They put them in coffins made from the wood of vegetable crates, and then hoppa! Into the dirt you go! No funeral ceremony, no procession, no mourners. What do you expect from people who no longer mourn their dead, eh? And what do you hope for from a town that wastes boatfulls of money on junk and scrimps on the cost of giving its sorrow a dignified appearance? I’m sorry, Madame Salaam. Please to sit and rest. Do you want tea or coffee?”
Salaam thanked the old Armenian for the cup of coffee. Then she paid the price of the bronze plaque she had commissioned him to make. And when she was intending to leave, he said to her, “If you want me to hang an advertisement for your company in my storefront, you be my guest.”
Salaam thanked him and went out to the street. The old man followed her out to say, “I folded the screws up in a small piece of paper, which I taped to the back of the plaque. Be careful not to lose them, Madame!”
--
The doorman said in his weird accent, “The electricity is out and the generator is broken, but Luqman is here. His colleague arrived a little while ago. God, what’s his name?”
Salaam thought, “God, seven flights! With the dark stairwells and the rats!”
The doorman looked at her as though reading her thoughts and said, “Adnan, take the lamp and go up with the lady.”
Salaam didn’t thank him, even though he had called her lady when he usually just called the tenants by their first names without adding a “mister” or a “sir.” She didn’t thank him because she knew that the son of the doorman (who was called Abu Adnan, given that his son’s name was Adnan) would only go up with her to Luqman’s apartment with the expectation that she pay him, as though he were a taxi driver dropping off his passengers.
Salaam banged on the door with her fist, gasping for breath as her chest heaved. She waited a few seconds, and when there was no answer, she kicked the door with every ounce of strength she had.
Luqman opened the door, glowering and ready to let fly a string of abuse. But he was surprised to see Salaam, exhausted from the heat and the exertion. The color of her face had changed to a greenish-purple. The sweat had made her appearance even more ugly and out of sorts than usual.
“Sorry! I didn’t hear you,” he said. He brought her in, looking at the package wrapped in paper that she was carrying. “What is this?” he asked her.
She extended the plaque to him and replied, “A gift!”
Luqman smiled. He quickly cut the string and tore off the wrapping paper. But his face soon fell when he discovered the bronze plaque. In order to conceal his reaction from her watchful eyes, he turned and called, “Najeeb! Come, see what Salaam brought us!”
Najeeb came out of the office with a tired look and dirty clothes. Salaam had never seen him like this before. She looked at
him curiously until he said by way of explanation, “Work clothes. I got back just now from an assignment in a big commercial warehouse.”
“In that case, the work must be going as well as can be,” she said, looking for more information.
Luqman corrected, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Salaam. It was an order that came in after weeks of waiting.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll call,” she returned. “There are more rats in this town than there are people. You’ll see!”
Najeeb took the bronze plaque from Luqman’s hand and read aloud.
S.L.N. Associates
Rat Extermination
He asked, “What does this name mean?”
Salaam replied, “They are the first letters of our names, the three of us.”
Najeeb: “Why did you use Western letters?”
Salaam: “Because that looks more serious.”
Luqman: “And why didn’t you call it L.S.N., for example?”
Najeeb: “Grow up, man!”
Luqman: “What’s wrong with you two? Can’t you tell a joke anymore?”
Salaam: “On my honor, you weren’t joking. You’re mad because I didn’t put the letter of your name first!”
Luqman: “First of all, keep your voice down.”
Salaam: “And second?”
Luqman: “And second, don’t play games with me. Your intentions are as clear as day!”
Salaam: “My intentions? And what are my intentions?”
Luqman: “To make the two of us understand that you are in charge of this business, and that we are your employees! Remember where the capital came from, Salaam. Don’t force me to get all the papers out!
Salaam: “All this, instead of thanking me for everything I’ve done and keep on doing for your sake, Luqman?”
Luqman: “Don’t play the role of victim with me! If you didn’t have an interest in doing otherwise, you’d let dogs tear me up and eat me alive. Do you think your talk about honor, principles, and morals can fool me?”
Oh, Salaam! Page 6