As he wept, he felt that he was not grieving for someone else, but for himself. He had been born the year Nasser launched his revolution. He was not yet three months old when the 23rd of July Movement came into being. Nasser’s heroics in Port Said and Suez were the backdrop against which he lived his early childhood. Like a dream, he still remembered the day his mother had picked him up and danced him around the room following the withdrawal of the Tripartite Forces. He could remember perfectly his mother’s subsequent accounts of courageous deeds in Port Said and Suez, and his father’s tales of heroes like Gawal Gamal – his father never stopped telling him how Gawal Gamal filled his aeroplane with explosives and plunged it, and himself, into the heart of an enemy destroyer, thereby putting an end to the supposedly indestructible ship.
As he grew up Hisham became increasingly conscious of Abdel-Nasser’s achievements. Nasser was implementing the union with Syria as Hisham was beginning to take in the world around him, and to this day he could remember his father and father’s friends’ cheers when the union was announced. They were sitting in a circle around the big radio in the sitting room. His father had bought a massive aerial for the occasion so that he could tune into stations all over the world. An image of Nasser standing amidst the crowds in Damascus still stuck in Hisham’s memory. That was also the year he went to primary school. For all the years of primary school Arab life rang with one name: Gamal Abdel-Nasser. For Arabs, every political event was linked to Nasser: the union, its dissolution, the revolution and war in Yemen, the Socialist Union, Socialist laws, Algerian independence, the revolution in Iraq, the resistance to the Baghdad Pact and the Arab Union … Nasser was in the very air they breathed.
By the time Hisham left primary school, Nasser was the Arabs’ only leader, still unrivalled, despite the disaster of the breakup of the union. By the time he left middle school Nasser’s star had fallen, but as a symbol he endured in people’s hearts. Can symbols fall? June 1967 came, and with it the transforming moment of simultaneous death and awakening. Politically, Gamal Abdel-Nasser died that June, three years before his body died, and with the death of Nasser many other dreams died.
Hisham clearly remembered the day he awoke to the disaster. For many, the previous day held the promise of a stroll on the shores of Haifa, Jaffa and Tel Aviv; now, suddenly, Zionists were promenading on the banks of the Suez Canal and praying in the ancient city of Jerusalem, drinking beer in al-Bireh and the golden arak of Ramallah in Tulkarm, bathing in olive oil in Nablus and filling their lungs with the air of the Golan and Jabal al-Sheikh. Their souls died within them as their eyes opened to the huge illusion they had been living – but no one blamed Nasser; they blamed everything and everyone except Nasser. The father could do no wrong, even when he was mistaken. When he resigned they wept; when he revoked his resignation, they rejoiced and said that perhaps it was a new dawn. Deep inside themselves they feared that it might be a new illusion, but they trusted Nasser in spite of everything; they wanted to trust him.
Hisham remembered those gloomy days well. Everything about them was tasteless, colourless, without smell. The songs of Abd al-Wahhab, Abd al-Halim, Farid and Umm Kulthumm were whetted blades and burning whips, and there was nothing but sorrow and dejection. The songs in our mouths are salty, the women’s locks are salty … our skins are dead to feeling, and our souls complain of their ruin. That’s how Nizar Qabbani put it, transformed by the disaster from a poet of love and melancholy into a poet who ‘writes with a knife’.
Nasser was dying while Hisham was at university – and with Nasser, a part of Hisham was also dying; a phase of his life was over, and a new phase was beginning. How couldn’t he be deeply affected by Nasser’s death, when his life had been linked with the great man’s since birth? In the organisation, they’d tried to teach him to hate Nasser. Even at a time when he had been dazzled by the scientific methodology of Marxism, when Nasser was anyway unpopular in his own country after the revolution and civil war in Yemen, Hisham had still tried to defend him. He was incapable of hating him … and his soul blamed him for hating him a single moment.
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* Karbala, a city in Iraq, is where Hussein ibn Ali was martyred in ad 680. The place subsequently became a sacred rallying point for Shi‘ite Muslims.
21
December came. The cold and frost penetrated the bones before the flesh. There is nothing worse than the heat of Riyadh except its cold, and nothing worse than its cold except its heat. Five months had gone by in this new city of his, or rather this new world of his. In that time he had become someone completely different from the person who, what now seemed like an age ago, drove into Riyadh in a hot tin box on a hot, windy day in August. He had changed so much in those five months. He was now a regular smoker and drank from time to time. He had actually started asking his cousin Hamad to buy drink for him in exchange for money. He had a steady girlfriend, and although her love for him had recently become unbearably exaggerated, it still flattered him. For his part, he certainly felt a sort of love for her, despite the twinges of conscience he felt whenever he had been with her, or when he heard someone mention her husband, whom he couldn’t seem to escape no matter how hard he tried. He wasn’t particularly attached to Suwayr even though he loved her, but she was besotted with him – to the extent that she was becoming over-protective. Once, when she accused him of having a relationship with his cousin Moudhi, they quarrelled and he threatened not to come back, and she wept and wept and begged him for forgiveness, which made him even more pleased with himself.
Despite his relationship with Suwayr, he couldn’t forget Noura, and deep down inside he continued to love her. Sometimes he went back to meet Raqiyya, although sex with her was no longer such a preoccupation since he had got to know Suwayr. For him, his love for Noura was of a precious, indescribable kind. It gave him a lovely, pleasurable feeling that he didn’t get from his relationship with Suwayr. As for Raqiyya, he found that sex with her had become more passionate since he had met Suwayr. It was a strange thing, sex. The flavour of it varied though the act was the same. Sometimes he would make a date with Raqiyya through Abd al-Rahman, and they would go into the desert as they had done before, but once the weather got colder he took to meeting her where she lived under cover of darkness, without anyone in the house the wiser.
When Hisham was alone, reflecting on his exploits, it struck him how much he had changed. It saddened him, but only briefly, and he soon forgot his sadness and returned to his illicit pleasures. Once Raqiyya tried to persuade him to meet her in his room, but he adamantly refused and she never returned to the subject again. She took to murmuring words of love to him, but he never felt love for her. Neither did he hate her. She aroused a powerful lust in him that he never experienced with Suwayr, and sometimes a feeling of inescapable sorrow. There were three women in his life now: one he loved, but would never allow himself to lust after; another he only lusted after; and a third he loved and lusted after at the same time. But his feelings for Suwayr never reached as far as his love for Noura, and his lust for never extended as far as his lust for Raqiyya; Suwayr was like an incomplete mixture of them both.
How those first five months in Riyadh had changed him! Cigarettes, drink, women … and income enough to afford all these pleasures. He was no longer saving most of it, as he had done in the past, but there was enough over, even if he hadn’t got quite so much to spare. It made him smile to remember the day he’d received the first instalment from college. He had immediately felt like a real man, with no need to wait for pocket money from his father. He had become completely independent, and he derived enormous pleasure from feeling such power. The first thing he did when he received his grant was buy an expensive bottle of perfume for Suwayr (twenty-five riyals all at one go!) because he was tired of the cheap lemon smell that clung to her. Suwayr was as pleased as a child who has been given a nice toy. She told him it was the first time anyone had given her anything. She opened the perfume bottle and savoured it
s scent with her eyes closed. He smiled, reminded of Raqiyya smelling the arak in Khashm al-An. Suwayr dabbed some on her neck and under her ears, then gave generously of herself when they made love that day. He was afraid that her husband would smell the perfume, but she assured him that Alyan never noticed such things. He would come home exhausted, just about able to eat, make love and go to sleep. She wouldn’t wear this perfume for anyone except Hisham; as for Alyan, even the scent of lemon was too much for him. She laughed tenderly, while he concentrated on the hand that was tightly squeezing his stomach …
Yes, he had indeed changed, even in his appearance – he had grown a moustache, to the delight of the women he knew: Moudhi squealed with pleasure, Suwayr gave him lots of love, and Raqiyya said that now she considered him a real man. Pride filled his heart; he felt capable of anything.
Only one aspect of his former life remained unchanged: his love of reading and his devotion to his studies, most of which he loathed. His parents were constantly on his mind. He tried to atone for his new lifestyle with the academic achievements that meant the world to his father. In fact, his grades were always high, although he was studying fewer hours than before. But though he had once allowed the organisation to divert him from academic achievement, he would not let his current pastimes distract him from achieving the highest possible marks. His professors and his fellow students both admired him equally; he was outstanding in every subject. Despite this, he could not conquer his growing self-hatred. He knew exactly why it was, but he could do nothing about it – or lacked the inclination to do anything about it. He told himself he was just doing what every young man of his age did, but still he couldn’t shift that despicable feeling within.
It was now almost the end of December, and the end-of-term exams were approaching. The biting cold penetrated everywhere. His coal heater was no longer powerful enough to heat the room. He shivered like a soaked bird, despite the fire that was always burning, and despite the heavy blanket that he wore wrapped around himself the whole time, while he tried to solve the mysteries of accounting – a subject he hated with all his heart. The Nejd weather, which knows no mercy or moderation … like its people! Or were the people like the weather? Who knows? Either way, it was as cold as death in winter, and as hot as hell in summer. There were only a few days in between which vanished as soon as they arrived, like apricots in season.
He wrapped himself in his blanket, rubbing his hands before the stove. He had thrown the accounting book across the room and was now revising some terms from Principles of Law. Suddenly the door of his room burst open and Muhaysin’s face appeared, followed rapidly by the rest of his person. He made for the stove and rubbed his hands vigorously over the burning embers, savouring their heat. Hisham threw off his blanket, feeling a fresh blast of cold, and made for the other side of the room where he turned on the electric stove, put on a saucepan of water, then hurried back to the heater and began to rub his hands over the embers in turn. Something important must have brought Muhaysin out unnanounced at this time of night. Could it be something to do with the organisation? Hisham shivered and took to his blanket again, waiting anxiously for Muhaysin to say something. He did not have to wait long.
‘I had an argument today with Muhanna,’ said Muhaysin, looking closely at Hisham. Enormously relieved, Hisham continued to look at his friend, seeking some further explanation.
‘We had some friends round today, as usual, and they had supper with us. After they left, Muhanna criticised us for having so many visitors, and for spending too much of the kitty. He said that the house had become a sort of ‘refuge for everyone’, even though supper didn’t come out of the kitty.’ Muhaysin was silent for a moment, as he ran his two warm hands over his face.
‘No one said anything,’ he continued. ‘but Muhanna went further, calling us a bunch of spongers with no future. At this point, I completely lost my temper and defended myself with such uncharacteristic force that Muhanna exploded with rage and accused me in particular of turning the house into a free-for-all. Then I lost it completely and punched him.’
They were interupted by the whistling kettle. Hisham got up and made tea, coming back with it on a tray. The two of them took quick, appreciative gulps of their hot drinks, and soon a delicious warmth began to flood through them.
‘Muhanna couldn’t handle this,’ continued Muhaysin. ‘He got up, stormed off to his room and came back a bit later carrying a bag full of clothes and books. Our friends tried to stop him from leaving, but he was as stubborn as ever and left, saying he’d be back later to settle up.’ Muhaysin paused while he poured himself another glass of tea. ‘Muhammad and Dais rounded on me,’ he went on, ‘and criticised me for my treatment of Muhanna, but I was furious and told them I was leaving too.’
‘I told them,’ he said, eyes wide and taking a large gulp of tea, ‘I told them that we – you and I – had agreed to rent together.’
Hisham was holding a glass of tea up to his mouth. He hastily put it down, eyebrows raised, and did some quick thinking. He had, at any rate, already made up his mind to leave his uncle’s house, but it hadn’t occurred to him to move in with Muhaysin, and so soon. Not because there was anything wrong with it, or because he hadn’t previously intended to, but simply because it hadn’t occurred to him.
‘I hope I didn’t go too far saying that to our friends,’ said Muhaysin.
‘Not at all,’ replied Hisham at once. ‘But it hadn’t crossed my mind. You took me by surprise.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Do you agree we should rent together or not? I’m not staying in the house anyway, whether we rent together or whether I live by myself.’
Hisham smiled. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘I’d already decided to leave my uncle’s house – and I don’t think I’ll find a better comrade than you.’ As he said the word ‘comrade’, he suddenly remembered the organisation. He’d almost succeeded in forgetting about it, or so he thought. ‘But the problem is, we’re coming up to exam time,’ he said. ‘When are we supposed to look for a house, when can we furnish it, when can we do anything about it?
‘You’re right. But we won’t do it all at once. We’ll rent first. Then, after the half-year holiday, we’ll furnish it at leisure. Anyway, we don’t need much, your room and my room are more or less ready. We only need a few simple things, a fridge, a gas cooker and some pots and pans.’ Hisham smiled when Muhaysin mentioned the fridge. He couldn’t restrain himself from commenting.
‘Fridge?’ he said. ‘What’s the point of that? Won’t a clay jar do?’
They both shouted with laughter, then Muhaysin said, with tears in his eyes, ‘With weather like this, we don’t need a fridge or a jar either. But I insist on a fridge as the first item in the house. I’ve got into trouble from something called a jar …’ They laughed again, their warmth spreading its wings.
Then Abd al-Rahman came quietly into the room.
‘I hope everything is OK,’ he said. ‘What are you cackling about? Your laughter is reaching the end of the street.’ Before sitting down, he took a glass and poured himself some tea, then he lit a cigarette, which he puffed on greedily. ‘I was desperate for one,’ he said, his words mingling with the smoke pouring from his nose and mouth. ‘I came to smoke it here. I didn’t realise you were having a party.’
‘It’s not a party, ‘said Hisham. ‘Nor is it a funeral. All it is is that we’ve decided to rent together from the second half of the year.’
‘And leave us?’ said Abd al-Rahman, looking upset.
‘You know I’m only living with you temporarily. I’ve already told you that –’ Then Hisham smiled and winked at his cousin. ‘You rascal,’ he said. ‘you’re not upset that I’m going at all, your only concern is who gets this room once I’m gone!’
‘Not at all,’ said Abd al-Rahman nervously. ‘But we’ve got so used to you. Personally, I can’t imagine the house without you.’
Hisham was suddenly gripped by a surge of feeling for his cousin and s
aid, emotionally, ‘I was joking, my friend. I can’t do without you. But I’m only moving house; my heart will still be with you, and we’ll see each other more. Believe me.’ The three young men fell silent and sipped at their tea, each thinking his own thoughts, as the embers in the heater died down.
22
The following day, the two of them went looking for a new place to live in a suitable location and at a reasonable price. They started immediately after the afternoon prayers, calling on numerous small estate agents in the quarters near the district of Alisha – Alisha itself being too expensive for them. They wandered around until the call came to evening prayers and the shops began shutting their doors. They waited until prayers had finished, then made for a ful (beans) and mutabbaq (casserole) restaurant where they snatched a quick supper. They made do with an egg and tomato sandwich before going home. They’d seen a lot of houses and flats, including some in good locations at good prices, but each time they met with a refusal when the landlord or broker found out they were bachelors.
It’s hellish to be a bachelor in Riyadh, Hisham thought. No one trusts you, everyone avoids you, as if you were a rat on the move. You’re guilty until you prove your innocence; most people take it for granted you’re some kind of criminal. While he was house-hunting, Hisham learnt a lot. He became convinced that all this fear of bachelors was actually a lack of trust in women, who crouched behind walls built to separate them from the nearest man. The virtuous woman would remain virtuous even if she was alone among a thousand men, and a man can only take from a woman what she wants to give him. You cannot, Hisham reasoned, force a woman to give something she doesn’t want to, but if a woman wants to give something, no power can stop her. Take the girl who was shut up in a box by a devil, who then threw it to the bottom of the sea, only ever bringing it up and opening it when he wanted her. Despite that, the girl was able to make love to more than five hundred people, the last of them being Shahriyar, as the famous story in the Thousand and One Nights tells us. The people of Riyadh persecute men because they do not trust women.
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