I opened the door quietly. The whole place smelled of hookah smoke. I have a good nose for anything related to hookah, and within seconds, I knew it was his regular lemon-mint combination. Beneath that, though, the place also had a rusty scent. The hall lights were off, and when I called his name a few feet from the door, I didn’t hear an answer.
I heard a TV set on in the back, so I walked through the messy living room to get there, realizing that if Hana lived there, she would have kicked him out in an instant for the condition of the place. The bedroom door was only partly ajar, so I called his name again.
Once again, there was no answer.
I pushed the door open and saw my best friend, lying on his belly in only his white underwear and a vest that had seen better days, breathing heavily and out cold to the world. Anyone else who had seen him in that disgusting state wouldn’t have been able to believe he was the good-looking, elegant guy people used to envy, the guy who used to stand in front of the mirror for an hour, checking his hair. He was a total wreck, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks.
There was a half-full bottle of Black Label whisky on the bedside table, with its lid missing. A dozen cigarette butts littered a dirty ashtray, and the bucket of melted ice was still cold, indicating that he’d passed out less than an hour ago. The sound of the awful music from that Iraqi channel annoyed me, so I ransacked the room to find the remote control and finally located it under one of the pillows so I could turn the television off.
I knew Aws would be out for some time, so I covered him with one of the bed sheets, put a pillow under his head, took the ashtray, the bottle, and the ice bucket, and made my way out.
I couldn’t bear seeing that filthy place, so I took my shirt off and started cleaning the place. I finished three hours later and crashed on the sofa.
“I am making tea,” Aws whispered in my ear five hours later.
I looked up and saw two croissants and two big, black mugs with Lipton teabags in them. I said nothing for the first ten minutes, and he was too shy to utter another word. For a while, we were just two guys staring at one another. I waited until I knew he understood the miserable state he was in, and then I said, “I remember the very first time I came to your house, buddy. Remember that? Must have been twenty or twenty-five years ago”
Aws nodded.
“Your house was like none I’d ever seen as a child, with those balconies overlooking that beautiful pool, all those ceramic tiles, statues, portraits, and chandeliers. Remember when your mother gave us hot chocolate, dozens of tasty croissants, and Danish pastries in that beautiful tray with the shiny China porcelain? Remember that? All that care and elegance, and I was only a kid. Now look at us, drinking out of free mugs, in a filthy flat, eating pathetic excuses for croissants, stale and baked days ago. Where the hell did it all go wrong?”
He looked at me with a puzzled face, as if he honestly had no clue.
“I’ve asked you this so many times, Aws,” I continued, “but do you still love Hana?”
Still, he refused to answer, but I didn’t expect him to do so verbally anyway. His eyes said all he needed to say, bearing the look of a frightened child who knew he had just done something wrong and had been caught in the act.
“You will lose her this time. You will lose your son and, not surprisingly, lose yourself. Do you really want to do that, Aws? Man, you’ve known her since we became friends.”
“That’s why she calls you my second wife,” he said, cutting me off.
“Aws, remember the first day you met her? It was just a few days after we started hanging out near that tree during class breaks. Do you recall our first confrontation? We had just reached the tree, and Hana and her sister were there. I told them it was our place, but they said it was going to be theirs from then on, and we all got into one of those stupid, childish arguments over territory. You just walked away and—”
Aws interrupted, “I remember! I fetched a bucket of water and told them they had the count of three to leave. By the time I got to two and a half, they were nearly back to the classroom, half-scared and half-giggling.”
“Right, and at that moment, you told me you loved the look of the taller girl. My friend that tall girl became yours, but for the past ten years, because of your addiction, you’ve been screwing it all up. You’re an alcoholic, Aws.”
“Omar, we just don’t get along. Hana is always going head to head with me, always has to be right. She—”
Now, it was my turn to cut in. “Is she?”
“Is she what?”
“Almost always right?”
“Maybe… I guess, but it’s not just about right or wrong, Omar. It’s the attitude.”
“That is all crap talk, and you know it. What attitude? You answer half-drunk and sit on your ass the whole day. You’ve been living on what your family left you, and you’ve lost nearly half of it on gambling and spent the other half drinking. You’ve changed, Aws, and you’ve lost most of the people who loved you. You prefer instead to surround yourself with losers who attach themselves to you like mites. I talked to Emad, and he’s worried too. People still love you, but we all hate the state you’re in, and some of them keep their distance because they can’t stand it. I’m only twenty minutes from you, and we’ve only seen each other twice in the past three months. Essam says he called you a dozen times, but you wouldn’t answer. When did you last talk to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Aws, Hana changed her phone number and the locks. She said she refuses to listen to you anymore, while you insist on doing this to yourself. You might not remember, but the last time you talked to her, you cursed her like hell, and your son heard you shouting. He’s just a teenager, and he might even hate you now. You’re lucky he hasn’t come over here to kick your ass for talking to his poor mother that way.”
“What can I do?”
“For starters, clean yourself up and lose some weight. Hana doesn’t look like she’s aged a day, but look at you! If you want redemption, with us, with Hana, and with yourself, this is your last chance, Aws. I mean it. I know a place in Austria. If you play by their rules, I assure you that you’ll be back on your feet in one month. We can fly out in two days. If you accept, I promise you a surprise like no other, okay?”
He said nothing, but I could see in his eyes that he wanted to try. He wanted it. I could see it in his eyes.
I grabbed hold of the sweaty collar of his dirty, tattered vest. “Okay?” I shouted.
“Yes, yes!” he said, then stood to hug me. “Damn that old tree. Yes!”
***
I’d only been back from my travels for two days, but I knew I had to put a conclusion on my ongoing love story. I rang Fatima twice to talk about the decision I had come to, the one that I hoped would finally help us both find the peace in life, a peace we had long forgotten. Unfortunately, she didn’t answer my calls, and I worried that she was still too sour over our last conversation. As much as I hated delaying it longer, it would have to wait, because Aws was ready for the help he needed, and for my friend, it was now or never.
I made my calls and began putting together the big surprise. I packed a small bag for myself and helped Aws pack two larger ones, since he would be there for a month or more.
We reached the airport around eleven thirty a.m. Our flight was scheduled to leave Gate 2 at exactly 2:05 p.m., so we sat down to wait. I deliberately made Aws sit with his back toward the rest of the waiting area, and when my surprise showed up, I was careful not to give it away.
“Guess who, Awsi?” someone said, suddenly covering his eyes from behind him.
Aws turned around, and tears sprang into his eyes when he saw Essam. The only person who ever called him that name. He immediately jumped up to give his old friend a hug. “Let’s go to Vienna!” Essam said.
We arrived around noon and made our way to the nice flat I’d booked near Stadt Park, in the first district. It would be a two-day stay for us, and then a private car would
pick Aws up and take him to where he would make his recovery in Baden, a half-hour drive from Vienna. The two of us would then go home.
The taxi ride to the flat took forty minutes. As soon as I saw the park, I sent a text message: “Leave the door open,” all set for another surprise.
We all made our way out of that taxi and gave the taxi driver a hefty tip, even though he was a weird man who kept asking us if there was a crisis looming. It wasn’t like Warren Buffet and Donald Trump were in the car, but Essam couldn’t resist having fun with him. After he gave Aws and me a wink, we all talked in jargon and lingo that even Wall Street gurus wouldn’t understand, making the driver sorry he ever asked.
The driver helped us unload our bags from the trunk, but we had to carry them to the third floor ourselves. I let Aws lead the way, since I had another surprise in store for him.
“What the hell? The door is open,” Aws said when we finally reached the flat.
“Huh?” I replied from a few steps below.
Aws entered quietly, and we followed behind. There was loud music booming from one of the bedrooms. When Aws opened the door, Emad jumped on him, nearly giving him a heart attack, and we all started laughing our heads off. After all those years, our gang was back together, for the first time since that night in my garden, a few weeks before the war, and it was certainly a joyous reunion.
“I can’t believe it’s been twelve years, guys. What happened? Why so long?” Emad asked.
“Life happened,” Aws replied.
“Yes, you chubby bastard, and you are wasting it,” Essam said, smacking Aws on the back like he used to back in the good old days.
“Damn it, that hurts! I’m getting old, you know.”
“Well, guys, other than Aws being our new fatso, Essam’s flabby muscles, and Emad’s white Santa beard, I think we’re back,” I teased.
“The hell with you, lover boy!” they all shouted.
After two hours of back-talking, banter, playful fighting, insults, and fond recollections, we were all hungry. We enjoyed a great schnitzel for lunch after Essam checked the website and showed us a picture of the huge plate. Our love of food had always strengthened the bond between us, and we spent hours discussing the great experience of anything that tingled our taste buds. “People eat to live, but we live to eat,” Essam always said, and he was at least partially right. The schnitzel turned out to be the perfect choice, as the fried, breaded veal was crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside. Each bite was followed with a loud, “Mmm,” from all of our lips.
After a little scroll past the Stephensdom, the most famous cathedral in Vienna, then the beautiful pedestrian Kartner Strasse, we went back to rest and play a few rounds of dominoes. Then, we were ready for another guys’ night out, our first in many, many years.
We decided to dress alike in dark blue jeans, white, collared shirts, and black jackets. We wanted the night to be special and memorable, and we loved wearing matching clothes, so we’d make an unforgettable impression when we went out together.
Following our old tradition, we laid out the rules before we left. This time, the most important rules were for Aws. He would only be allowed a few glasses of wine, no more than three. If he didn’t comply, the night would be off, and we would pack our bags and leave the next day, and our exciting river cruise would have to be called off. His three-glass limit was our way of gradually helping him withdraw from alcohol. We knew cold turkey was not an option, so we planned to enjoy ourselves while still doing the best we could for him. Hash was also not allowed.
Essam was happily married, so he just innocently danced, ate, and drank and did nothing else. Emad and I were still single on paper, so we could play the field. I refused to do anything bad, as I’d always felt as if I was married to Fatima, but to the world, I was single, and I’ve always hated rules. Still, freedom comes at a price, especially on nights like that. For us, the price was that the first two rounds were on us. Our guys would never miss out on a chance like that, so of course they chose the most expensive drinks in the house.
It was one of those nights that would forever live in our memories. We ate, drank, danced, and laughed a lot. We started in a bar and ended in a fine club on the outskirts of the city. I could not even recall how we got there. I remembered that we tried singing in German with some locals, and then some locals tried singing one of our Iraqi college songs with us, while dancing with some of our twenty-year-old moves; both failed miserably.
Essam had never had a drop of alcohol in his life, and as usual on a crazy night, he was the one in charge. First thing in the morning, he filled us in on the parts we couldn’t remember. “None of us broke the rules,” he said. “Well…maybe a little. Aws had a tequila shot after three glasses of wine, and you and Omar shared a joint, Emad,” he said, “but we all voted that it was okay.”
“Essam was talking to a nice lady. We spied on him and voted that it was okay, since they were just chatting and laughing,” Aws said.
“Useless voting!” Emad said, and we all broke into laughter.
As planned, we took a private Danube cruise to Wachau, an hour and a half from Vienna. Since it was just after noon, we had lunch there, at a small local restaurant where we were given our choice of various fish from the river. The same family had been running the place for over two decades, and the food was delightful. It was a quiet day, and we all shared two bottles of wine and memories of our days in our broken city of Baghdad.
“I’d do anything to go back to those days,” someone said, and I had no doubt that he meant it. We had traveled the world, but nothing had come close to living peaceably in the city we’d been brought up in, the city where we made our first friends, the city where we experienced our first love and learned about the various paths of life.
Our love for that place inspired us to develop a plan to start a humanitarian project for Iraq within a year. Emad wanted to convince a panel of surgeons from all over the state he worked in to visit Iraq for a few days and treat difficult cases for free. Essam and I would handle the arrangements in Iraq, and Aws offered to donate $15,000, which we hoped was only the beginning of more to come. Aws was happy and grateful for all what we had done for him, and he promised to fight and get better. We all agreed to get together and hoped the next time, we could meet in Baghdad.
***
A week after we returned from Vienna, Fatima finally answered my call. I was right about her being upset about my last words to her, but she knew I was right. More than anything, she just didn’t like how harshly I had spoken to her.
We sat down in the same old café we’d visited often over the past few years. She ordered her regular café latte, and I had Turkish coffee, sans sugar. The intense love between us was still evident when both our eyes met. We could also see the wrinkles that had formed over the years from all the stress; those were the scars of our battles against the world. We stared into each other’s eyes for several moments. It was clear that we both felt it might be the last time we would talk, and we both wanted to get the most of it.
“Omar, I am really tired. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t even focus on my daughters,” Fatima said, breaking the silence.
“I know. That’s why I asked to meet you, Fatima. I will always, always love you. In another world, we would have been the happiest lovers. We would have had dozens of kids, but in this life, it was not to be,” I said, then quickly wiped the tears off her cheeks. “I’ve been ready to take the next step in our relationship for years now, and I selfishly pressured you while you were still fighting your wars. I know I should have given you space, let you do things at your own pace. Maybe I didn’t because I was just too selfish, or maybe I thought it was our right, our business and no one else’s. I just could not bear to be away from you for a moment, and I wanted you by my side. Anyway, no matter what the reasons were, it got us nowhere. You felt bitter, our lives became sad, we were gradually disappointed, our happiness fading. Our undying true love became the curse that
led to our sadness.”
She sniffled and sobbed again as I continued.
“Fatima, you will no longer hear from me. I promise you that. I hope you will give yourself a chance, give your life a chance. Believe me, if I die right now, I’ll still be a happy man, because I’m one of the few lucky people who found his soulmate, one of the rare fortunate ones who got to live a love life with the girl of my dreams. Even if I live the rest of my life without you, every moment we’ve shared will fill my life forever. You will always be here, in my heart, even if it tears me to pieces that we can’t be together. Please don’t call me, and try not to think of me unless you are convinced you are ready to be mine, in front of the world. If that ever happens, I hope it won’t be too late,” I finished, then kissed her hands and got up.
She pulled me back and whispered into my ear, “My hero, now and forever.”
***
Months and months passed, and September came quickly. My brother and parents joined me in driving Sarah to the airport, so she could head off to her new university abroad. The four of us waved to her as she made her way through the security checks, and I looked at our reflections in the glass. There we were, my elderly parents and my brother and I with white hair atop our heads. As I looked at them, I was happy we were all there together. How fast life has moved, I thought. Berlin…Baghdad…our home…my grandparents’ garden…Dad in his army uniform and Mom in her beautiful pink dress… Oh, the memories!
I knew nothing will ever come close to sitting in our family garden in Baghdad in the old days. My mother, brother, father, and I rarely spent time taking that beautiful space in, but I recall those refreshing springtime moments. Our garden was home to over twenty varieties of flower, two seating areas, and big palm trees, the masterpieces of the area. Mom made us tea with milk and brought out biscuits, which we enjoyed dipping in our tea. My brother and I told her all about our school day, everything we learned and played. She knew all the teachers’ and students’ names, as well as what was unique about each one of them. She then told us about her day, where she went, and the latest news about what our aunts and uncles were up to. My father was there for a few minutes, dressed in his suit. He always picked a rose, talked to Mom for a bit, then went off to tend to his work.
Baghdad: The Final Gathering Page 16