Baghdad: The Final Gathering

by Ahmad Ardalan

  For the next two weeks, I immersed myself in work, over sixteen hours a day. I only took time off to eat and play with Sarah. Farah was also busy in her work, so she didn’t seem to mind how busy I was. Still, even with so much on my mind, Fatima kept popping into my head. Things continued like that for a month, but my will grew stronger. Whatever desire I felt for the woman, I knew she was a red line I could never cross; the whole sordid idea was merely a fatal path.

  Just over a month later, I faced an incredible test of will. It was my mother’s birthday, and I went out to buy her some perfume, the Dior she’s always loved. Both the shops I had always bought from were out of stock. I was about to enter the third one when I spotted Fatima inside. I quickly took few steps back, so she could not see me from behind the shop window. She was dressed in a stylish V-neck black top with golden buttons and tight black trousers. She was wearing bright red lipstick, and her hair fell softly to her shoulders. I waited there, at that hidden angle, studying her every move, and I only moved away when she finished her shopping and was about to leave the place. I hurried to hide a few feet away, behind a kiosk where a vendor was selling cheap deodorant and knock-off perfumes.

  Fatima made her way out and continued walking the street, and I followed her from a distance. She maintained a slow pace in her white shoes, carrying a glossy black and white leather bag. Fatima was like a peacock, a beautiful creature showing off her beautiful array of colors, yet it was clear to me that she harbored a deep sadness. If I had any doubts the first time around, I certainly didn’t this time. The lady was unhappy; I sensed it in the way she moved and every step she took.

  I discreetly tailed her for some time, and when I looked at my watch, I realized it was getting late. I had to pick, Farah and Sarah up in an hour, then head to my parents’ home. It was the moment of choice: Should I approach Fatima and exchange a few words with her, maybe say something bold to express what I’m feeling, or should I forget her and move on with my life? We were both married, and that was our reality. As sedated as it sometimes felt, I was content and was fairly okay with my marriage, and she seemed to feel the same. I stood still, trying to make a decision, until she was out of sight. Finally, like a coward, I just turned and left. For the first time in my life, I ran away from a decision, and my sense of better judgment overtook what I felt in my heart.

  As I’m sure is the case for everyone, there have been moments in my life I wish I could go back and change. Now, seven odd years later, I wish I would have done things differently that day. Instead of letting her walk away, out of my sight, I should have approached her then. Life would have been so different. Just thinking about the impact that would have made on our lives for all these years gives me a deep headache, and I let out a deep sigh as I imagine it.

  Fatima wasn’t a mother that time, but that would later become our biggest hurdle. I cannot believe we haven’t yet found a way to be together. All things considered, we are an undeniable perfect fit, and the years have proven that she completes me in ways no other person can, but that day, at that time, it was just not meant to be.

  For a month or two, Fatima lingered in my mind, but she was really nothing more than a wish, a regretful reminder of a path of life not chosen for us. Time moved on, and a year later, she gave birth to twins. If there was ever any hope for us to be together, even a chance as slim as being hit by lightning, the birth of her children was the proverbial nail in the coffin.

  I made sure there would be no reason for me to meet or see her again. For the next two years, whenever I heard Ibrahim and Fatima were going to be present on any occasion, be it dinner, lunch, a birthday party, or any other family gathering, I used any and all excuses possible to weasel out of it. It worked nearly every time, with two exceptions. When I did have to see Fatima, I just greeted her casually and nonchalantly. I also tried hard to focus on my life and work. Farah and I rekindled what we could, and we had some good times, with a few trips here and there, but our work was still an obstacle. I know we could have done better.

  One day while I was asleep, I woke up to Farah screaming in pain and rubbing her chest. When we consulted with doctors, they informed us that she had Stage 2 breast cancer. She took the bad news bravely, and the whole family was inspired by her courageous fight. She continued to work, right to the end. Even a year of harsh chemotherapy could not stop her from fighting for the cause of women’s equality, and she continued traveling all over Iraq to spread the word. Late in 2000, though, she passed away peacefully in her bed, with Sarah at her side. Her funeral was the topic of conversation for months, and hundreds attended her burial. Over 1,000 paid their respects during the following three days of mourning. People who help others will never be forgotten, and those who give will gain, either in this life or the other. There is no denying that Farah was a great woman, the hardest worker I knew.

  It was a difficult time for us all. For the first few months after her passing, my mother stayed with us to help with Sarah while I went to work. The poor child was only 3 when she lost her mother, but Farah was always there; day by day, I saw more and more of her mother in my growing little girl. Farah was a wonderful role model, and despite the fact that Sarah only had a few short years with her, the impression she made was a great one.

  ***

  The next year, Sarah went to kindergarten, and Fatima and I met again. The school Sarah went to was the best in Baghdad. The teachers were carefully selected, and the classrooms were colorful, big, and clean. Most of the teaching was British style. The headmistress was born and raised to an Iraqi father and a Scottish mother, and she had spent half of her life teaching in the UK. Mrs. Salma married an Iraqi doctor and accompanied him to Baghdad. She had opened the kindergarten twelve years ago, and it made its mark in Baghdad in no time.

  Another benefit was that it was only five minutes away from my workplace. Every day, I woke Sarah up at exactly 7:15 a.m., helped her get dressed, sang the teeth-brushing song while she tried her best to clean them, combed her hair, prepared her snack box, and got her off to school. She was always there right on time, precisely at eight. I then walked to a nearby café for my morning Turkish coffee and a read of the daily newspaper. When I arrived at work at a quarter till nine, I first checked all the machines, made sure everything was set up for the day, then talked with my staff for a bit.

  At exactly nine a.m., we opened, and by ten, a third of the place was full. During school time, we had about thirty regulars each morning, teenagers who either dropped out of school or just didn’t have anything else to do. Soon after school was out for the day, around three in the afternoon, the place was packed and remained that way till late at night.

  Around two in the afternoon, I left to pick Sarah up. I grabbed a few sweets and treats on the way, then dropped her off at my parents’ house. My mother always prepared a late lunch for her, so every now and then, I joined them for a quick bite, about a half-hour, before I headed back to work. Around five, Mr. Shadi took over for me.

  For the most part, that was my daily routine, but one day, when I went to pick Sarah up from kindergarten, I saw someone familiar. There was Fatima, dressed in a long, black skirt and an orange top, bending down to talk to my little girl, who was there with her two twin daughters. Even from a distance, I saw the sparkle in her eyes. I could not hide my smile as I watched her, and it took great effort to take the last few steps toward her; my feet seemed to weigh a ton.

  “Hello, Omar. Sarah sure is a clever little girl, aren’t you?” Fatima said, then gave Sarah a friendly kiss as she looked up at me.

  I was still in shock when I replied, “Hello, Fatima. Nice to see you here.”

  “I am her new teacher. She’s so smart! She gets all the answers right, and when I asked for her name, she told me first and last, so I knew this cutie was yours.”

  I seemed to calm down as she talked to me in that lovely voice of hers. “I remember you mentioned you taught before, but I didn’t realize you teach children so young,” I said. “
I’m glad to know my daughter is in good hands.” As I spoke to her, I couldn’t help thinking one word over and over again: Fate, fate, fate!

  “I bring my daughters here, because one of the teachers takes care of the younger children of faculty. From now on, my twins will meet Sarah after school. I am sure they will be great friends,” Fatima explained. “Also, I haven’t told you face to face, but I am so sorry for your loss. Farah was a wonderful lady.”

  “Thanks…and yes, she was,” I said, with a tinge of sadness in my voice. “Sarah, let’s go. It’s good to see you, Fatima. Give my regards to Ibrahim,” I told her, and the second I mentioned his name, I noticed that the sparkle in her eyes disappeared.

  Again, I had the same feeling I’d experienced a few years back, as if something within her was calling out to me. It took me a few hours to fall asleep that night, and the last thought I had before my heavy eyelids fell was a wish that I would see my cousin’s beautiful wife again the next day.

  I did see her, and that recurred nearly every day for the next eight weeks of school. It was always the same: just a simple, “Hello. How are you?” a smile, and then, “Bye,” without another word spoken between us. One day she was in white, the other in black, sometimes in green, and sometimes in blue, but no matter what she was wearing and what she did or did not say, her sparkling eyes always spoke volumes to me.

  When spring break arrived, I was saddened to know I would see no Fatima for three weeks, while kindergarten was out. I was surprised how real those feelings were. Each day seemed longer than the one before, and by the time the break was over and I finally took Sarah to kindergarten again, I was emotionally drained. I had no power to fight those feelings, and no matter how justified the reasons were to not go through with getting closer to her, the absence had made my heart grow fonder, and it had taken a great toll on me.

  As eager as I was to see her, I arrived ten minutes late, but I was sure Fatima would not leave Sarah to wait alone. This time, she was wearing a light blue dress with small, white doves all over it and a blue ribbon that held her hair, tied up at the left. She was a sight for sore eyes, like spring herself.

  I smiled, and she smiled back when she saw me. Her grin faded quickly, though, and I saw suffering in her eyes, a deep sadness. She tried hard to show the opposite, but I’d been able to read her since I first met her. I was about to say something, but Sarah came running toward me, followed by Fatima’s two daughters, adorable with their little ponytails bouncing behind them. I hugged my daughter and picked her up, then started talking to and playing with all three girls. I’d always been good with kids, and Fatima, looking on as we laughed together, seemed impressed by that. For the moment, she was happy. Then, as fast as they came, the little ones trotted off, following a butterfly; I was thankful for that beautiful creature, because it allowed me to be left alone with Fatima once again.

  “Sorry about that, Omar,” she said. “I figured they’d be all worn out, tired by the end of the day. I guess my age has caught up with me, because I just don’t know where they get the energy!” she said.

  I moved closer to her. “Oh, come on. I love kids,” I said with a smile. I then took a deep breath and said directly, without any reluctance in my voice whatsoever, “Fatima, I have been waiting for this for weeks now, you know.”

  She blushed a bit and replied in a low voice, darting her eyes around, “Me too.”

  “As for the age comment, you wear it well. Ibrahim is a lucky man.”

  Suddenly, her face downturned into a frown, as if my compliment was an insult. “Have a nice day, Omar,” she said, then hurried off to find her daughters.

  It was obvious that I had triggered some sort of bad feelings within her, and I regretted that. I walked sadly toward Sarah, kissed her hands, took her to her favorite ice cream shop, and made my way home.

  For the whole day, I was haunted by Fatima’s reaction at my mention of Ibrahim. I mentioned him on purpose, and I got the same reaction as before. I was almost sure their marriage was broken, but I could only make a bold move when I was absolutely certain; even if I had all the feelings in the world for her, I couldn’t break up a family, especially my cousin’s. I had to find out, once and for all, where she was in life, and the short encounters at Sarah’s kindergarten were simply not enough to tell me what I needed to know.

  The following day, I made Sarah skip school, and I took a break from work, so we could spend the morning together. I took her to the Zawraa Park. Although it had seen better days, as the landscape was somewhat neglected, there were still beautiful playgrounds and a small zoo for us to enjoy. The embargo had done its damage there as well; some of the animals had died, and many looked as if they were weak and suffering. The lion looked as if he’d lost twenty pounds, but that was not all that surprising. It was difficult for people to afford meat, so the animals didn’t fare any better in our crippled economy. Sarah still had fun, though. She played for a while, fed some of the zoo animals, and then we went out for ice cream again.

  We ended our fun day at Hani’s Gift Shop, which had been open as long as I could remember. Old Mr. Hani stocked his inventory with new dolls and toys every several months. Again, because of the embargo and restrictions in logistics, as well as all the red tape and regulations in relation to the import of toys and other items, the prices were far higher than they used to be. Many families could no longer afford such luxuries as new toys. Damn the embargo, I thought. Whatever the two wars did to Iraq, this is far worse, stealing the smiles right off the faces of our children.

  After fifteen minutes of begging, “I want that one, Daddy! No, that one!” Sarah finally settled on a Barbie doll in medical or laboratory attire. Her choice made me happy, as a doctor Barbie seemed to show encouraging signs about her future.

  I needed that day with my child to help me calm down. I had to get away from anything related to Fatima. Still, I was already thinking about how I would approach her next day. I met the boys at the café that night, and that helped to take the edge off my worries. After that, I went home, made some coffee, sat on the balcony, and calmly decided what I would do next.

  The following day, I was a man on a mission. Like every other day, I arrived at the school to pick Sarah up. Once again, she was playing with Fatima’s daughters, but Fatima herself was nowhere to be seen.

  Then, I heard her voice: “I was worried about Sarah yesterday when she did not show up, but she told me you took her to the park. She must have had a lot of fun, because she went on and on about it today, telling everyone,” She offered me a half-smile as she made her way down the stairs from art class.

  “Are you happy, Fatima?” I blurted. “Look, just give me the word, and I will leave you alone forever. Please tell me you’re happy, and I will never bother you again,” I said out of nowhere, as soon as she neared me.

  For a moment, she did not answer, but she struggled to fight the tears that began rolling down her soft cheeks. “I-I am lost, Omar,” she finally stuttered.

  “So am I, but I am sure of one thing. I love you,” I confessed.

  “Save me then, Omar,” she begged, then quickly walked away.

  I tried to follow her, but I felt she needed some distance, so I stopped my pursuit. As she and her twins drove away in her car, Fatima wiped her eyes, and the little girls waved at Sarah from the back seat.

  At ten p.m. that night, I called her. Since Ibrahim was on call at that hour, she was all alone, and we talked for six hours, nonstop. That was when it all officially started.

  Fatima opened up to me during that very long talk, and I listened carefully to every word she said. She started with her childhood and talked on, right up to that very moment. She told me that her marriage was on the ropes. She also said that while she saw it that way, Ibrahim saw nothing wrong at all. In fact, my cousin didn’t seem to notice a thing. In his eyes, he had an idyllic life, with a home, a decent job, and two beautiful kids; he didn’t seem to mind that he and Fatima were disconnected, drifting apart
emotionally. For him, it was enough for the family to stay together, even if the husband and wife were not very happy with one another.

  Their marriage started with honest love. It wasn’t really planned, nor was it necessarily convenient for either of them. She mentioned that they had a good relationship at the start, but marriage had become a silent killer of their love. Just a year into it, the division between them became evident. They simply did not have the same interests or ideas about life. Fatima is a very sensitive, emotional person; even the words she uses show her inner personality. I easily determined that she is a pleasure seeker, someone who wants more out of life. She portrays an image of being strong, but I could tell she is a delicate person, full of deep feelings. I hadn’t been very close to my cousin for the past ten years, but I knew Ibrahim as more of a practical person. That was their problem: He did things routinely and preferred to play it safe, but Fatima is the opposite. She is a risk-taker who likes to try and learn new things. What really played a role in the gap in their marriage was Fatima’s need for more love and attention. She desires those, just as much as any other woman does or even more, and sadly, he rarely showed her that.

  “Omar, I have tried everything for the past four years. I plan dinners and trips and try to make special occasions special, but he doesn’t. Several years ago, he forgot our anniversary, and other times, he only remembered them after a day or two. Our anniversary was a month ago, and he still hasn’t said a thing about it,” she told me during our phone call, with heartbreak in her voice.

  As the hours went by, I felt her deep agony. I listened carefully and painted a picture of her marriage, but I still needed to know more. “Don’t you tell him about your feelings? Have you tried to talk things out?” I asked

  “A lot,” she said, “but he just says I am exaggerating. He says we don’t have as many differences as I think, that we do share interests. On the rare occasions when he does agree with me that something is wrong, he just nods and says he’ll work on it, but he does nothing, and the problems only get worse as the days go by. Months ago, I decided to give up on dreams. I have to carry on, no matter how miserable I am. Where would my daughters and I go? My brothers and sisters have moved on, and my parents have plenty on their hands. I don’t feel that searching for my own happiness warrants depriving my little girls of their father. Still, sometimes, I feel I deserve…more. I’m just lost, Omar, so…depressed,” she said. “Please don’t judge me in a bad way, but I have to admit that the best part of my day is the few minutes we spend together at the school. Even just those few words we exchange… I can’t explain it. It just soothes me somehow.”