Читать книгу Oh, Salaam! - Najwa Barakat - Страница 10

CHAPTER 4

The neighborhood was still asleep.

Luqman would have thought he was in a rich neighborhood, were it not for the plastic bags, their bellies torn open and spilling out their garbage entrails. Masked ghosts, showing nothing but their eyes, sifted through the piles.

This was a new species, thought Luqman. The “unseen families,” as they had come to be called. It was the species of those who only went out under the cover of night, when they were turned out from the places to which they repaired during the daylight hours. First the war, and later the peace, had stripped them of their teeth, their fingernails, and their ability to buy. This species was distinct from the species of beggars in that its members maintained some dignity and pride, some fear and shame, such that they were not willing to be seen in used clothing, even if that meant they would consume half-eaten food.

Luqman saw these unseen ones scattered around the edges of the neighborhood like deformed insects or shattered trees with charred fruit. He turned his eyes away so as not to disturb the pleasure he felt upon entering the intimacy of this humble neighborhood, which resembled a blue bedroom sunk in a deep slumber.

Whenever Luqman entered the neighborhood, he felt he was going down instead of up, even though it stood atop a small hill.

Maybe it was the flowerpots that decorated the doorways abutting the small street. The entrances only went up two or three steps, as though to stay close and extend an invitation, welcoming the passerby to have a seat and make himself comfortable for a few moments. Or a few hours.

Or maybe it was the low buildings, not more than two or three stories tall, with their wan and faded colors and their windows, protected by airy, delicate curtains decorated with borders of lace.

“Thank God,” Luqman murmured to himself. There were still neighborhoods that preserved their modesty in this debauched city, crowded as it was with buildings that looked like mythical animals reminiscent of a bygone era or one still to come. Fanciful buildings, built for fanciful princes, shooting up every day, everywhere, insolent and disdainful. The buildings had strange, seductive names, enticing designs, and specifications that beggared the imagination. They rose up and remained half finished, hanging in the air. Like ghosts. Like freaks of nature, growing taller and more absurd. Like powerful men when they go mad and suffer delusions of grandeur, afflicted by hallucinations, amnesia, and nervous breakdowns.

Perhaps it was for all those reasons that Luqman loved Salaam’s neighborhood and felt a sense of ease and security there.

--

Salaam was a few years older than him and had never been beautiful. Maybe that was why the Albino, who hated women and didn’t feel safe around them, loved her.

She had been his neighbor and used to bring trays of coffee, juice, sandwiches, and other food down to “the gang,” when, at the beginning of the war, they took it upon themselves to stay up late, guarding the residential neighborhoods from expected raids. That was after the people of the city had been divided into thieves and heroes, good and evil.

The Albino never touched her. Whenever Luqman would tease him by alluding to her big butt, which jiggled at every step, he would say, “She has more honor than all other women combined!” And when Luqman would respond, “What makes you so sure?” the Albino would become furious, sputtering and struggling to speak, his face turning red. Luqman would fall silent and apologize. He was never afraid for himself during the Albino’s bouts of rage, though he did fear for the Albino.

Salaam was Luqman’s inheritance from the Albino.

If only the Albino’s taste had been a little better! Why did you choose precisely her, Albino? What drew you to her? “A fine metal thread, too hard and solid for your bombs to destroy, Luqman,” he used to answer.

And when a shell mowed down Salaam’s parents, hiding from a bombardment in the shelter, the Albino exulted joyously. Luqman had never seen him so worked up.

“She didn’t cry, Luqman!” the Albino was saying. “And when I went to comfort her, she looked at me for a long time and said with a touch of reproach, ‘You offer me your condolances for two old people, Albino, while the gang are dying by the dozens, no, the hundreds?’”

On that day, the Albino was certain that he loved her, that he had loved her for a long time, from the very first instant. He kissed her on the hand and the head and fired off twenty rounds in her honor.

--

Luqman knocked on the door. This was another point in Salaam’s favor: a wooden door with opaque glass; no doorbell or buzzer.

She woke up.

He heard the bedroom door creak. He heard her heavy feet in their slippers shuffling over the old, yellow floor tiles. If only she would lose a little weight, then maybe...Even if she lost weight, what would he do about her age? She was over forty. What about her hairy chin? What about her face? Whenever he saw it, he felt that the skin was sagging and melting away. What would he do with her cracked lips? And what about her small, dry breasts? Her ass! Of course, if he focused on her ass, then maybe...The thought had crossed his mind. But if he set aside the rest of the details and kept the ass like it was, wouldn’t it, too, appear with surprises of its own?

The door opened.

He hadn’t been wrong. He had surprised her by coming this morning. And she surprised him with her puffy eyes and the way her short hair stood up on the side of her head like a cat that had been electrocuted.

She smiled and embraced him. The odor of her breath shocked him, and her oily sweat stuck to his cheek. He pushed her away. “Someone might see us,” he said.

She looked at him kindly and showed him in.

“Be careful not to step on the traps! The rats are killing me,” she said. She disappeared into the bathroom.

Luqman heard the splashing of the shower as he took a turn around the sitting room. Old furniture, without a speck of dust. He touched things. Cold and clean. He pushed open the bedroom door and saw the bed. White sheets, clean and white like snow. Like the amazing body of Marina. No! He should put Marina out of his mind for now. Out of respect for Salaam, for all she did on his behalf without any payment, or for the sake of some recompense that he kept putting off.

At the beginning, when he began visiting her after the Albino’s death, she had maintained a definite reticence. Then, towards the end of the war, when the comrades began to be hunted down and thrown in prison, she came to him one evening and said, “Don’t stay here a single moment longer! You’ll be safe at my place.” She had gathered his things for him and brought him to her house, saying, “Stay here. No one will see you or turn you in.”

No one saw him again for weeks.

She would come home to him from her work at the telephone exchange—“the Central,” as it was called—bringing news about strangers and relatives, about allies and enemies. She would make dinner in the evening and talk to him about the Albino and about her life, which had been shattered by the Albino’s death. She would talk about her terrible luck, which had robbed her of a friend, a brother, a husband, and a father for the children she would never have. She would fall silent for a while and then conclude her speech by swearing she would never again think about men.

A few more weeks.

Here was Salaam, enjoying his presence and no longer talking about the Albino when she made dinner. Deep down, she had begun to cherish the dream of marrying Luqman. He figured that out from the news of raids and detentions, which she started inventing sometimes, exaggerating the details in order to make him afraid and keep him there. Later, he had no doubt about it when she began to shower him with gifts and embarrass him with effusive gestures of respect.

Another few weeks.

Here was Luqman, enjoying in turn his free stay at this luxurious hotel. But Salaam surprised him. She didn’t limit herself to that kind of persuasion alone. She began resorting to an endless litany of laudatory ethical descriptions, which she began hanging on her breast as badges, or jabbing into his chest like safety pins.

“Isn’t a true woman the housewife rather than the fashion model? Aren’t honor and morals the two essential pillars for the success of the institution of marriage? Doesn’t one hand need its sister in order to clap?”

And so on, with other enigmatic and loaded sentences that aimed at leading him into a marriage trap.

At first, Luqman let himself get caught up in Salaam’s game because he believed he was the one calling the shots. He would respond to her questions by advocating the counterarguments to her face, feeding that game of incursions and increasing her zealous efforts to persuade him. But as she became more aggressive and no longer stopped at the border, he realized his danger and the need to escape with his skin intact before losing his chance.

When he let her know he intended to leave, she became furious and slapped him. Then she used her fear for him as a pretext for his staying, claiming his stubbornness was an act of suicide. But by now, she had regained her senses and become calm after a long torment. Perhaps she had despaired. Or else she understood and was content with his occasional visits.

She still pampered him. She loved him in silence and pampered him. Nevertheless, despite all that she did for him, Luqman didn’t fall into the trap. Instead, he would “remain faithful,” as he put it, to the memory of a friend he used to have. He wouldn’t touch her in order to make her understand that he, for his part, saw in her a woman he respected, even venerated. She was the wife he didn’t deserve, he who had no past or future.

He persuaded her of all this without needing to use words. Just looks and sighs that Salaam took days, even weeks, to interpret. Until the time came for a subsequent visit and a new puzzle, a riddle wrapped inside an enigma, which he would drop in her lap to distract her from him. She would devote herself to taking apart the riddle, and he would slip away for periods of varying length—according to the amount of provisions he obtained from her—never more than a month...

--

Salaam came out of the bathroom followed by a cloud of soap and perfume. She was looking much better now. Well, a little better anyway.

Luqman went with her into the kitchen. She made breakfast. Cream, yogurt, za’atar, fried eggs, and cheeses. Fresh mint leaves, tomatoes, and cucumbers. Warm bread, as though fresh from the bakery oven.

He sat across the table from her. As she was cutting the food and seasoning it with salt and spices, she said a little flirtatiously, “What got you up so early like this? Or after being out all night as usual, did you get fed up and remember Salaam?”

Luqman smiled. Now the sweat was beading on her temples and her cracked lips. After a bit, the spots would appear under her bushy armpits. A sweaty woman. That was more than he could endure. Salaam was a woman for the winter. Marina was a cool breeze for the summer.

“I didn’t sleep yesterday,” Salaam went on.

“Why not?”

“After midnight and after two sleeping pills, the Albino’s mother woke me up. She had come down with some kind of fever or delirium. She began stomping on the floor of the room right above my head, calling, ‘Salaam! Come quickly, Salaam!’ I got up like a madwomen and raced up the stairs four at a time. I thought someone had broken in, to rob or kill her. But I found her all alone in her nightgown. I gave her a sedative and told her, ‘Calm down, Lurice!’ Which she did. I waited until I was sure she was okay, and she fell asleep near dawn. That’s when I came down to sleep...Why are you lighting a cigarette? You haven’t eaten anything yet!”

Luqman took a deep drag on the cigarette, leaned his chair back, and puffed out smoke rings. He ought to lead her away from this chattering she loved and was so good at, to induce her gradually to ask about his affairs. He’d plant a bomb for her, and he’d nail it. He intended to see Marina that evening. But seeing Marina required cash, and Salaam had the cash.

Salaam made coffee, still running at the mouth: “Poor Lurice! She said she saw the Albino in her dream. He was staring at her wide-eyed, and when she asked him what was the matter, he didn’t answer. He didn’t utter a sound. In the end, he came over to her and started smoothing her hair and caressing her face until both his hands were around her neck, and he began squeezing so hard she felt she was choking.”

Salaam’s dress was sticking to her butt. The hem, which had been tied up, went up further to reveal little purplish-blue veins in the crease of her knees. She stood in front of the sink, cleaning off the plates and rinsing them. The lines of her underwear were visible. They pressed into her butt cheeks in the attempt to hold them in, giving the appearance of four distinct sections. Salaam actually had two butts: one inside her underwear and one outside.

Salaam was cleaning the dishes, and her butt was talking vigorously. Luqman was sweating. His partner stood straight up to reply to Salaam’s butt.

What’s wrong with you that you get excited and stand up without permission? Take a good look, Partner, and make no mistake: what you see in this kitchen is only Salaam!

So what? Put one of the thick plastic bags over her head to hide her face. Then you can imagine she is some other woman.

Is that how you express your deep gratitude? Fine, and then what, Partner?

Shove her against the sink, lift up her skirt, tear her panties in half, and—

Take it easy, Partner! If you did her just once, Salaam would never again leave you in peace. She’d suck your blood until you dried out and withered, and all life left you for good. Or would that make you happy? Is that what you want?

I know it’s all too much and you’re fed up, but doesn’t patience have its limits? I’ve been in torment since dawn, and whose fault is it but yours?

And how is it my fault, Partner, that the blond broadcaster was a vile slut and a lowlife whore? Come on! Forget Salaam and her butt. Even if I gave you what you wanted, you’d be disappointed. Listen, if you stay worked up—

“Luqman, I won’t be long. I’ll take Lurice a tray of food. Then I’ll come right back,” Salaam said as she went out.

Luqman grabbed his partner, and the two of them went into the bathroom.