She didn’t notice Saleem until he had gotten on top of her. She shook him off, alarmed at how her distraction had allowed him to do what she had been forbidding for the past two weeks. He got back on top of her and pinned her arms to the ground. Salaam tried to squirm out from under him, but he fought to hold her and cried out. She feared to resist any further, lest his yelling expose her secret to Najeeb, so she put a hand on his mouth and smiled at him. Then she drew his head down to her shoulder, caressing his back and his shoulders. She stretched out her arm, feeling for the pharmacy bag. She put her hand inside and slowly drew out the needle. Then she brought it up and jammed it hard into Saleem’s shoulder.
--
Salaam found Najeeb waiting in the living room, which was unusual for him. She apologized for being late and said she had been worried about Lurice, who was becoming a child again in her fear of being left alone in the dark. Salaam went into the kitchen after letting Najeeb know it wouldn’t take her long to get dinner ready.
Najeeb called to her, “I’m not hungry.”
Salaam looked at him, finding it strange that his voice was so weak and his face damp with sweat. She asked if he was tired. He didn’t answer but just headed off to the bedroom, dragging his feet.
“Wake me in an hour,” he told her. “I’m going to lie down for a while to rest.”
Salaam started going around the house to take care of some chores. She moved some furniture to sweep, and when she had finished, she dusted. Next, she brought a bucket of water and began to mop.
Her slippers were bothering her, so she took them off and walked around barefoot. Some of the cold from the floor tiles transferred into her body, and she stopped for a moment, pressing on her kidneys with both hands. She listened intently to make sure that a noise she heard wasn’t coming from the basement. Then she made fun of herself about how much she worried.
By this time, Saleem would be soaring in the seventh heaven. She had jammed the needle into his shoulder and squeezed the plunger. When Salaam had pushed him off of her and saw she had emptied the syringe entirely, she was afraid she had given him too much morphine because Saleem was seized by a fit of convulsions and started writhing about and knocking his head against the floor. But he became quiet again, and Salaam approached to put her ear to his chest. When she was reassured that his heart was still beating, she got up, blew out the candle, and left him.
His violent attack had surprised her, making her frightened and agitated when she injected him. Some time ago, he had stopped being satisfied to suck her breasts, and he had tried to do other things that made her hair stand on end. She wondered where he had learned such things, forgetting that he had become a full-grown man, lacking nothing except a sound mind. How should she respond in the future?
The best thing would be to keep him tied up and feed him with her own hand, and...and what if he began crying out, and Najeeb heard? That shouldn’t be a problem. She would inject him first with morphine, and when he went limp and his eyes started rolling in their sockets, she would remove his gag. Then she would feed him, change his clothes, wash him, and leave him there. She would no longer give him her breast. What were these wicked things that he began asking her for as though they were proper?
Saleem had gone to sleep without dinner. She would go down early the next morning, or if Najeeb was still asleep, she would steal out that night to go down and make sure that he was okay.
Salaam finished mopping and stood in the corner. She opened the front door and began waving it back and forth in the hopes of bringing an additional gust of air to speed the drying process. She thought about waking Najeeb, but she changed her mind when she remembered the strain and fatigue etched into his features. She would let him sleep for a while longer. If he woke up on his own while waiting for her to finish cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen, he would have gotten an extra half hour. And if he didn’t, she’d go herself to wake him.
She passed near the room that Najeeb had transformed into a laboratory. She thought about going in to see what had become of it, but she decided against it when she remembered the fear that seized her upon seeing the rats, even if they were securely imprisoned in their cages. How long would he persist in this madness, she wondered. She took strength by telling herself that this madness of his certainly was what kept him with her.
When would Najeeb notice her and open a conversation about his love? When would he ask her to get married? It’s true that he had lived with her for weeks. It’s true that he never neglected her. And it’s true that he slept in her bed, slept with her, and provided for her desires better than any husband. Nevertheless, Salaam needed the title, the description, the name.
“Mrs. Salaam? She’s the wife of Mr. Najeeb!”
She longed to hear people utter this sentence just once in her life, and then let her die afterward, it didn’t matter! She would talk to Luqman about it. A long time had passed since she last saw him. God alone knew what had happened to him and to the affairs of the business. Tomorrow she would call him, and maybe invite him to dinner. Before everything else, she’d commission him to press Najeeb on the subject of marriage. Let Luqman ask him sometime when they were alone, as though she didn’t know anything about the matter. That way, she’d see whether the idea of matrimony with her was appealing to him, or at least, whether she was appealing to him.
Salaam turned off the faucet and shook the water from her hands. She was too tired now to wipe down everything she had washed. She’d let it evaporate slowly and wouldn’t make herself use a towel to dry everything. She felt hunger biting her stomach. She looked at the clock and saw that it was exactly ten. What should she do? Should she wake Najeeb now that he had spent more than two hours fast asleep?
Salaam headed for the bedroom and opened the door slowly. She went over to Najeeb on her tiptoes. He was still sleeping. She wasn’t able to make out his expression because of the dark, but she heard the sound of his deep snoring. She got undressed and took out her nightgown. She wouldn’t wake him. She would have supper by herself, and then she would go to sleep too. It wouldn’t hurt her to go to bed early for once, even if she was choking on her desire for him.
Salaam swallowed a last mouthful from her bowl and got up to put the leftovers back in the refrigerator. She heard Lurice’s footsteps overhead. She listened carefully and tried to discern what the unhinged old woman was doing at this late hour of the night. Salaam had been neglecting Lurice ever since Najeeb came to live with her. Salaam no longer had the time to cook for her and look after her like before. She began bringing Lurice bags of groceries and letting her manage things on her own. Often, Salaam forgot to look in on her, or pretended to forget, in order to avoid Lurice asking her to do the things she couldn’t do on her own. How many hands did Salaam have to look after everyone? Wasn’t her work in the Central and the house enough for her, together with taking care of Najeeb and Saleem?
Saleem...She wouldn’t feel at ease and certainly couldn’t fall asleep as long as he had gone to sleep without supper. He hadn’t eaten a thing all day, so how could she leave him like that, hungry and tied up, like an animal? She would go down and try to wake him. Then she’d shove something into his mouth so she could relax.
--
Salaam stood up and pushed her fingers into her eyes to see if maybe they would grant her a few tears. She rubbed them a second time and waited. Nothing.
It was the first tear that resisted her. She renewed her request. One tear, just one, and then the water poured down until her shirt was dripping on the floor. But it was sweat that flowed. A monotonous sound began ringing in her head: a single sentence, the meaning of which she soon lost as it began to circle in the void.
Saleem was in the same position she had left him, stretched out on the blanket, the only difference being a thread of saliva that ran from the corner of his mouth, down his cheek, chin, and neck to puddle on the floor.
She had moved him a little, but he didn’t stir. She shook him, and he felt even m
ore rigid. Finally, she understood. She moved away, begging for the tears.
He was dead. Just like those who were murdered, even if there was no premeditation or intent. By a needle of morphine, a massacre, or a sniper’s bullet. This is what was repeating in Salaam’s head while she stared at him as though looking into the face of a stranger.
She looked at his tied hands and thought the length of his fingernails looked strange. She came closer and untied his bonds. Then she stretched out on the floor. She took the flaming candle and set it next to him. She lifted his hand to her mouth and started biting. She kept biting and spitting until she had chewed down the nails on all ten fingers. And when she was satisfied about the clean appearance of his hands, she folded his arms across his chest. She wiped the spittle away from the corner of his mouth with her hand. She positioned the head in line with the body. She ran her fingers through his hair to arrange the locks that had gotten long and hung down in his face. Then she stared at him again.
Wouldn’t it have been better if her features had shared the beauty and symmetry of Saleem’s? Wouldn’t it have been better if he had come in her place? If she had been the boy, and he the girl? This is what they—family, relatives, and neighbors—used to say in front of them both when they were children. How right they were! If Saleem had been the girl, he and the Albino would have been the same age, and the Albino would have loved him. And if Salaam had been a boy, she wouldn’t have been afraid of the war or felt cowardice. She would have become the leader of the neighborhood. Saleem wouldn’t have gone crazy, and she wouldn’t have been described as an ugly spinster. If only...
Salaam put her hand on her breast and pinched down hard. She didn’t feel any pain. Indeed, she didn’t feel anything. Not exactly: she felt annoyed. A great annoyance, and an overpowering desire to sleep. Drowsiness began to rise in her like water rising over her and inundating all sensation inside her. What if she stretched out here, next to him, put her arm under her head, and went to sleep? If she did that, she would doze off immediately, in a second or less. She would sleep comfortably and deeply, as though relieved of a heavy burden she had shouldered for years. She would sleep, without needing the sleeping pills she resorted to like a lighthouse guiding sleep to her eyes. She would sleep. Just sleep. As people do. Just as sleep was meant to be. Like a cow dozing off in a safe pen. As though everything that had happened hadn’t happened. As though all of creation would begin afresh tomorrow...
Salaam fell asleep.
She didn’t know if it was for minutes or for hours. But when she woke up, she felt energy steal through her limbs as at the start of a new day. She stood up and brushed the dust off her nightgown. If she hadn’t stopped to think about the work that was in front of her, she would have forgotten why she was in the basement at that moment.
She went up the five steps and entered the house, heading immediately for the room she had started to call Najeeb’s laboratory. She opened the door as though she weren’t about to do what would have terrified her merely to think about a day ago. She bent over and grasped a metal handle. Then, with a solid movement, she lifted the cage without paying the least attention to what began scurrying and squealing inside it.
She went down the five steps and set the cage down on the threshold. Opening the door, she went over and blew out the candle. She turned around to go back out. Her foot collided with something warm and supple. She crushed it as though stepping on a sponge that had the feel of meat. She nearly fell over, but she reached out and caught onto something. In maintaining her footing, she knocked over some boxes as well as various other things that began crashing down and rolling around with a clatter.
That didn’t phase her. She took the cage and turned it to face the basement. She raised the small latch that closed the cage and gave it a kick with her foot. The rats shot out quickly, running together all over the basement floor.
Salaam put the lock back in its place on the basement door and closed it. It gave a solid click, confirming that it was secure. She listened intently, and sounds reached her ear that resembled the noise of an iron tool scratching a glass surface, a blade chopping flesh, a saw catching on a wooden object before tearing it up.
Reassured as to what was going on, she decided to go up and lie down to sleep. She carried the empty cage and went up the five steps. Before entering the house, she turned to the sky and saw it was just as it had been, full of clouds. Tomorrow, she would forget. Tomorrow, there would be no trace of the secret that had been hidden in the basement. At that moment, the rats were gathered around him, jumping on him, biting, gnawing, tearing, and eating until they obliterated him completely, as though he had not been here, or as though he had never existed at all.
Salaam opened the door of the apartment, went inside, and closed it behind her.
She went up to the bed and lay down beside Najeeb. She opened her eyes and she rolled over onto her right side, looking for a comfortable sleeping position. When she found it, she closed her eyes and settled into a smile.
Now Saleem was returning to the bosom of his parents in order to return the favor.
He died, first of all, to thank her.
Second, he died to liberate her.
And third, he died to absolve her.
He died and made the rats eat his corpse. He was leaving in order to make sure that no one would bother his sister, pursue her, or accuse her of committing any crime at all.
CHAPTER 18
Shireen called, asking if he could come over as soon as possible.
“Of course,” he answered. He left the apartment immediately and went to her.
He found Shireen dressed in a nightgown. Her eyes were tired, and so was she. It was unusual for her to be at home at this time of the day.
“Are you sick?” he asked. She didn’t answer and ran instead to the telephone, which had begun to ring.
Luqman went in to the living room and took a seat. When he saw she was engrossed in a conversation that might take a while, he picked up a newspaper lying nearby and began flipping through its pages.
Wasn’t this the gleaming, snow-white Marina? What was she doing in the photo, and why were so many policemen surrounding her?
“A Russian prostitute was arrested in possession of five kilograms of heroin...”
The Communista? Really?
Luqman’s eyes began jumping back and forth between the photo and the small black print. He wasn’t able to connect the person discussed in the article with that girl in the photo, who looked as frightened as a child who had lost her parents in the airport.
“...The goods were found packed into twenty wooden clothes hangers...The woman, who has been identified as Marina Ostropovich, was headed for Paris to meet her fiancé, who had gone there ahead of her. He is one of the most important drug dealers and has been identified as...”
Shireen finished her conversation and came to sit near him. Luqman folded the newspaper and set it aside in order to take her in his arms and press her head against his shoulder. This way, she wouldn’t notice the shock imprinted on his face from seeing the photos and commentary in the newspaper. He stroked Shireen’s hair as he recalled his last meeting with Marina. She had been perspiring happiness when she told him she was leaving for Paris.
After a few moments, Shireen sat up and turned to him. She said, “Luqman, I’ve resigned from my job.”
“Is that what has made you so unhappy? You scared me! I thought there had been some catastrophe.”
Shireen was silent, frowning. She went on, “There’s something else I have to tell you. I’ve decided to go back to Paris.”
“Paris!” Luqman cried out. “When?”
Shireen said, “As soon as I finish some necessary matters. As soon as possible.”
Luqman was shocked. He stared at the floor. This truly was a catastrophe! What could he do now? What should he say to her? She had already settled the matter and taken her decision without the least thought to his existence.
Luqman stood up
and put his hands in his pockets. He walked over to the balcony. And now what do you suggest, Partner? Any advice? Do you see what has happened? You were so proud of yourself. You claimed to have taken firm hold of the reins, thinking she was hooked on you and would never be able to leave. Yet here she is, bidding you farewell, not taking you into consideration at all. It won’t hurt her a bit to be separated from you. I sincerely congratulate you!
Shireen followed him out onto the balcony. She stood near him and raised her hand to stroke his back tenderly. Luqman turned to her with brows knit. Then he took a chair and sat down. She took one too and sat facing him.
“There’s nothing more beautiful than the Mediterranean,” Luqman said, as he stared into the sea. “From now on, I’ll think about it differently, and I’ll love it more, knowing you are on the opposite shore.”
Shireen swallowed hard. She put her hand to her neck as though to massage the lump that was caught in her throat. The telephone rang. Luqman smiled. He looked at her and nodded. She didn’t move from her seat, and the ringing stopped.
“Do you know what?” Shireen ventured. “I only accepted this position and came here in order to forget an impossible love story. Now look at me! I’ve fallen into one that’s much more complicated.”
“And you haven’t forgotten yet—is that why you have decided to return?”
“No, it’s not what you think,” Shireen insisted. “Actually, I don’t know how to explain it to you. Everything is still so confusing to me. I don’t want to depend upon this land. Everything here hurts me so much. Do you understand?”
Oh, Salaam! Page 12