From the beginning of December, glittering decorations lit up the historic Old Town and the festive atmosphere seemed to enliven every corner of the city. But it was a lonely time for me. At night, walking down the animated streets, I felt homesick for Iraq and I missed Mum and my sisters. I also wanted to see Aunt Zdenka. The closer it got to Christmas, the more the painful memories resurfaced: the last dinner at Hotel Al Rashid, the blissful childhood years in our house with Dad. My thoughts were constantly preoccupied with Baghdad.
In August the Iraqi army had invaded Kuwait and ignited a new war. Only two years had passed since the end of the conflict with Iran. Plans for a massive international response to the invasion of Kuwait led by the Americans were all over the radio. Through all this recent drama we had little news about my father and his family. Despite everything he had done to us, I still worried about his safety. Tormented by these constant thoughts, I squeezed into my heavy coat after work and ran home quickly to seal myself in my tiny dark cave. The melancholy swept over me.
One evening, I couldn’t take it anymore and went out in search of a public phone. I called Mum. ‘I’m coming home for Christmas Eve,’ I said trying to still the quaver in my voice. I wanted to see her and I needed to find a bit of peace again after those first difficult few months in the big city.
‘You’ve lost weight, my daughter. Look at how much you’ve wasted away. Do you eat enough? Do you always work a lot?’ Mum gave me a big reassuring hug. ‘I’m happy you’re here. Now just relax. Are you sure you can’t stay longer? Three days isn’t enough.’
I told Mum I had to go back, as I needed to work as much as possible.
Babička waited for me in the kitchen. I hugged her. She seemed calm but, unfortunately, the peacefulness didn’t last long.
After dinner, while my grandparents got up to go into their room, I stayed in the kitchen with Mum to talk.
‘Do you have any news from Baghdad?’ I asked her delicately. We hadn’t spoken about Dad in a long time.
‘I’ve only been able to find out a few things. Your cousin Omar and the other boys had to enlist. I believe they’re already fighting on the Kuwaiti front.’
‘And Baba? Did you hear anything about him?’
Mum’s expression hardened. ‘I think he’s doing well for himself.’
‘It’d be better if he were dead!’ interrupted Babička, entering the kitchen. She must have been eavesdropping. ‘That good-for-nothing. He’s been your ruin, Jana.’
‘Stop it,’ I yelled at her, rising to my feet, ‘I can’t take you talking like this anymore. What do you know about our life, huh?’ I flung myself at her, screaming, ‘What do you know about Baba?’
‘If he loved you so much, why didn’t you stay there and live with him?’ she asked contemptuously.
I shouted, flailing my hands. ‘You can’t talk like that!’
Mum ran to prise us apart. ‘Stop it! Enough with these arguments! What’s happened has happened,’ she said, sitting down in a disheartened slump and adding in a whisper, ‘Let’s not ruin this Christmas too, please.’
‘Christmas should be spent in peace, right?’ I said harshly, looking at Babička. I left the kitchen and went to lock myself in my room, slamming the door.
February was a difficult month. I had to study at night, to make up for the lost afternoons when I was working. I slept little and ate less. My apartment was poorly heated and after it snowed, when the temperature dropped below zero, a layer of ice formed on the windowpane. At night I curled up on the mattress in the dark, under the heavy blankets. Nothing could warm me. I feared these evenings. If the future seemed cloudy, my darkest times were at night. Other than my strength, I had nothing. I fell asleep clenching my chattering teeth and vowing not to give up.
I often dreamed of Baghdad. In my mind, it was still the splendid city of my childhood and not the place I saw destroyed by bombs on the television news. I didn’t have a television, but I saw a few news bulletins at Ivana’s apartment. She and her mother sat in silence while I stared at the surreal images of the devastated city. I remembered the bombings I had lived through. In those moments, my memories were almost too painful to think about.
The American missiles of 1991 were different to the Iranian ones from the first war. They were volatile and destroyed more houses, including ours.
During our phone conversations, Klara would give me little updates about news from Baghdad.
‘I’ve got news about Dad. Mum doesn’t want me to talk about it, you know. But Adel, Irena’s husband, was able to get in contact with Dad’s family.’
‘Is he alive? Is he okay?’ I asked impatiently.
‘There was an explosion at the market. I think he had worked there for a while, ever since the airline closed its headquarters in Baghdad. He and his wife had a little fruit and vegetable shop. His legs were wounded. They say he’s paralysed.’
‘My God.’ It took a few seconds for me to catch my breath. My eyes were filling with tears.
‘There’s more bad news. Omar, who was fighting at the front, died a month ago. We don’t know much about the other cousins, but I fear they’ve suffered the same fate. The only one who was able to escape before they closed the border was Samar. She met a man who lives in France and was able to arrange a marriage. I don’t believe any of the other girl cousins will, at this point, find a husband. The aunts have lost everything: work, their houses, money. Everything.’
The call left me shaken. Dad’s family had refused to help us when we badly needed it, but I never wanted them to suffer like this. I didn’t know how I should feel for them. Despite it all, I had never lost the hope of seeing my father again.
Throughout this challenging period, compounded by the trauma of what was happening in Baghdad, there were brief moments when my life seemed to perk up.
One morning after class, I ran to catch the train back into the city, hoping to arrive at the shop in time for my shift. I took a seat in an empty compartment so nobody would bother me. I was still wearing my denim miniskirt and a sweater, which reeked of cigarette smoke from the night before. I urgently needed to take a shower and have a quick clean-up. I noticed a small run in my stocking, on the knee. I couldn’t remember how I had managed to ruin the only pair of tights I owned. I fumed, thinking about how expensive they were. I had spent the previous night partying with some schoolmates.
Friends from high school had organised a party and now that I lived alone, I was free to spend my evenings as I wished. Whenever I went clubbing with Ivana, I came home at dawn and had just enough time to get ready to go to school or work. I had a rampant desire to meet new people and I didn’t feel the least bit tired. It was as if I had suddenly discovered the world and, reinvigorated, I wanted to make up for lost time.
During the train trip, I closed my eyes thinking about the party the night before. My schoolfriend’s apartment had been completely overrun by a small crowd of teenagers, who all looked about the same age as me. As soon as I entered, I was hit by deafening music and the fog of the almost irrespirable air, thick with cigarette smoke. I wound my way around the rooms with a girlfriend. The owner of the apartment kept bringing us beers, and before I knew it I had danced the night away. I was so exhausted I crashed on a mattress in one of the bedrooms. I woke at dawn, panicked. My head was spinning and my mouth was completely dry. Somebody had covered me with a blanket. The room was clogged with ashtrays, cigarette butts, dirty glasses and empty bottles. I found my girlfriend sleeping on the living room couch. I nudged her, whispering goodbye before running to the train station.
Once I arrived in the city, I decided to catch the bus instead of taking the subway. I loosened the long wool scarf around my neck and breathed in the morning air. Little by little, the winter was retreating. The early spring sun made the red roofs sparkle against the powder-blue sky. The castle towers of Vyšehrad stood out between the trees, near the bank of the river. Prague was visually grand, but I still didn’t feel it was my home. Even no
w that I was used to it, I knew I wouldn’t stay there forever.
I graduated from high school and spent the summer working full-time. I had accumulated a decent amount of money. I had made many sacrifices to save up, but knew it was my ticket to a more secure future. Aunt Zdenka came to visit me and said she found me more ‘grown-up and mature’. That year in the city had changed me significantly. Speaking with my aunt, I remembered everything she had told me two years before. She still had the same opinion.
‘You’re an intelligent girl, Michelle. I don’t know what you intend to do in the future, but I can tell you what will happen if you stay here. You’ll wind up like all the other girls your age. You’ll continue working, perhaps get a promotion, but ultimately your options will be limited. Then you’ll marry the typical nice guy and you’ll live a life of compromises to maintain the family.’
I looked at her, perplexed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s simple. Is this what you want? Is the life here enough for you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I know you well. You have bigger dreams than these,’ she said, with a hand on my shoulder. ‘You’re ambitious and you have your whole life in front of you. Think about it hard, dear. Don’t be afraid to search for happiness, even if you have to go far away to achieve it.’ She hugged me tightly and, at that moment, it was clear what I had to do.
I could make out Ivana’s silhouette in the middle of the tables around the dance floor. ‘You’re finally here,’ she said kissing me on the cheek. ‘There are lots of foreign tourists here tonight.’
I looked around. I adored this place under the Charles Bridge. It was packed with boys and girls our age, people from all over the world. Some were already on the dance floor.
‘Look – she’s here too, just like every evening,’ Ivana said in my ear, indicating a blonde woman at the bar. She was wearing a flashy red dress and stood teetering in high heels. ‘Did you know she even came to talk to me the other night? She wanted to offer me a job in television, in either Italy or Germany.’
‘You didn’t say yes, did you? You know she runs with a fast crowd.’ I had heard she sent young women to Italy, believing they would work in television, but they ended up as prostitutes.
‘I’m not completely stupid,’ Ivana responded, raising her eyebrows.
The deejay lowered the music and spoke into the microphone. ‘And now, everyone on the dance floor for the song of the moment!’
‘The Lambada, Michelle! Come on, let’s dance!’ Ivana screamed, dragging me with her. We shimmied wildly for the entire song. I liked it a lot and they played it every night.
‘It’s no use. I’ll never be able to dance like you. Will you show me how you do it?’ she exclaimed, laughing.
‘Move your hips like this … It’s not difficult, see?’ I wiggled my hips.
‘It’s not fair! You belly dance!’ she teased.
We moved off the dance floor. Ivana left me alone for a second to get something to drink.
‘Hi. I’ve been watching you for a while. Are you foreign too?’ a voice behind me rang out in English.
I turned around. He was a tall slender boy with short blonde hair. His bright blue eyes gleamed.
‘Actually, I live here, but I’m Iraqi. And you? Are you German?’
‘Italian. Are you here alone? Do you want a drink?’
I accepted and we moved to chat at a table near the large window overlooking the river. The floodlit Vltava ran slowly past us and the hill covered in houses on the other side was studded with masses of little lights.
‘I’m here on vacation. I arrived two days ago and I’ll be here for all of August,’ he said. ‘I didn’t even ask you your name …’
‘Michelle. Yours?’
‘Giovanni. Prague is beautiful. Like Italy. Have you ever been there?’
‘No, but a lot of boys from your country come here,’ I answered, avoiding his eyes and watching his hands playing with his glass. ‘I like Italian music, especially Eros Ramazzotti.’
‘Se bastasse una bella canzone …’ (‘If a pretty song were enough …’) he sang, then laughed.
We continued talking about Italy. I wanted to know more about him.
‘I just graduated from high school. And as soon as I get back to Rome, I’ll start work at my uncle’s café. But I just want to enjoy my vacation for the moment. Since you know the city, why don’t you show me around one of these days?’ he said with an irresistible smile.
‘I work in a shop during the day, but you could come and pick me up when I finish and we could take a walk. The Old Town is beautiful.’
We spent the entire evening chatting and dancing together. We made a date for the following day. When he said goodbye, he pulled me towards him and gave me a little kiss.
In the square nearby, the Old Town City Hall clock rang four in the morning. It was Giovanni’s last evening in Prague. We had spent almost all our time together that month. Every night he’d collect me from the crystal shop and we’d stay out late. We often went for a beer, but it was also wonderful just walking hand-in-hand along the gently lit, deserted streets.
Giovanni spent his last night in Prague at my place. He was a romantic young boy, a gentleman. He loved music and spoke for hours of the trips he would like to take in the future. Listening to him made me want to do the same.
We stopped in the middle of the empty square. I couldn’t mask my sadness. I liked being with him and I didn’t want him to go away. He looked unhappy too.
‘I can’t believe I’ll be on a plane in four hours,’ he sighed. Then he pulled me towards him. ‘Come here. Do you know how much I’m going to miss you?’ He gave me a long kiss. Then, staring into my eyes, he asked, ‘Why don’t you come with me?’
It was a completely mad proposal. ‘I can’t …’
‘Why not? You can stay with me. If it’s because of your job, you can find one in Italy too. Or perhaps something even better. You’re too pretty to be a shop assistant.’ He kissed me one more time.
We started walking again, towards the Charles Bridge. The reflections of the statues lining the bridge shone on the river.
‘Well?’ he said, breaking the silence. His question had left me dumbstruck and continued to make my head spin. ‘Have you decided to come?’
‘Are you serious?’ I asked him dubiously. I didn’t know whether he was kidding or not.
‘Of course. You’ve told me a million times you want to leave this country. Why not now?’
‘I don’t know. Let me think about it a bit.’ I knew with certainty that I would eventually escape this bleak country, where I had no future. It wasn’t very important where I would go, and it was something I hadn’t really thought about. So why not take a chance? Why not Italy?
The dream of getting out had never seemed so close to realisation.
The day of my eighteenth birthday, I arrived at Babička’s house with two giant suitcases. I had moved all of my things from the filthy studio apartment, bidding farewell to it forever. My mother welcomed me, surprised and delighted.
‘What are all these bags? Are you coming back to live with us? What joy, you’ve been so missed,’ she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around my neck. I squeezed myself against her, a lump in my throat. ‘Why do you look so serious?’ She looked puzzled. ‘We’ll be okay. Your sisters will be so happy.’
Linda and Klara gave me big hugs, shouting, ‘Happy birthday!’ They didn’t know how significant that day was for me, in so many ways.
They had baked me a cake and gave me presents. Babička had taught Linda how to knit and she had made me a pretty, colourful scarf. Grandpa hugged me tightly, saying, ‘You’re really a woman now. Eighteen is an important age. Now you’re an adult.’
‘I know,’ I replied without revealing too much emotion, even if my heart was pounding.
I hadn’t slept at all the night before. I had piled up all the money I had saved on the mattress and counted it repeatedly. I stared at the cei
ling for hours, thinking over and over about what I had to say to my mother.
I called her into the bedroom before dinner. We were alone. She entered, and her eyes fixed immediately on the untouched luggage.
‘You haven’t unpacked your bags. You must be tired. I’ll give you a hand,’ she said as she reached for the clasp.
‘No, Mum, I don’t need to unpack.’
‘What are you saying? Your clothes will be crushed. It would be better to hang them in the wardrobe.’ She opened the doors and started to shuffle around the clothes inside. ‘We’ll need to make a little room, now that you’re back.’
‘Mum, really, it’s not necessary … because I’m leaving again soon.’ There. I’d said it. She spun around quickly.
‘What does that mean?’
‘I’m not coming back to live here. As soon as they issue my visa, I’m going to Italy.’
My mother sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked confused, unbelieving. I went on, ‘I’ve worked a lot and put away some money. I decided a while ago. I need to do it. I really hope you understand.’
‘Are you sure?’ she asked, under her breath. ‘This all seems so rushed …’
‘I’ve already waited such a long time. It’s been such a difficult year in the city. But I promised myself that I would do this as a present to myself when I turned eighteen.’
‘And what gift is that? To go far away?’
‘I want to try and change my life. If I stay here, what can life offer me? Even you left, twenty years ago. I know you of all people can understand. I’ll only be away for a while,’ I said as I reached out to squeeze her hand. She stayed silent, staring at the ground.
I started again, ‘I at least have the right to try. Don’t you want to wish me luck?’
‘But where will you go? And why Italy? You don’t know anyone. You don’t speak the language. How will you live in a foreign country alone?’ she enquired worriedly.
The Girl from Baghdad Page 20