Читать книгу Oh, Salaam! - Najwa Barakat - Страница 11

CHAPTER 5

She flashed her wide smile as she threw him the car keys. He hated her. How he hated her! If only he hadn’t gone to her this morning. She knew exactly why he had come, and she was leading him on. She kept making him wait in order to test how long he could endure.

An ugly spinster, but cunning. That’s how Luqman saw her now. He wanted to accelerate as fast as possible, open the door, and jump out. The car would follow its course through the trees and crash into the stone wall. It would bounce into the air, and Salaam’s body, trapped inside the iron frame, would be pulverized on the jagged rocks and dried grass below. If only...

Salaam jammed a cassette into the jaws of the tape deck and pressed play. A woman started singing, lethargically at first, but then she set in with vigor.

Luqman had closed the window against the thick traffic and dust, but he opened it now. A wind blew over him. The air had become slightly cooler after filtering through the stone pines that passed by on the shoulders of the winding road going up the mountain.

If it weren’t for these dense clouds, Luqman’s mood would have shifted entirely. He would even have felt something that resembled joy. Not bad. His mood had lifted a little. Now he was looking over at Salaam, and the wink he sent her didn’t betray the animosity he had felt just moments before.

He demanded a lot of her, and he got mad at her when she acted like a woman. It’s okay, Luqman, if she’s stubborn sometimes. No matter what she is, Salaam will always be a woman, and she’ll have a woman’s moods. Let her indulge herself from time to time. What if she were a dog? Wouldn’t it be her right to ask you for a bit of attention and tenderness? It’s good you were willing to go with her. An orphaned woman with no one looking after her. It’s a fine thing you’re doing, something she’ll repay with a handful of dollars, hopefully. Hope for the best, and it’ll come your way. Smile, and the world smiles with you. So does Salaam.

Luqman breathed deeply. He hummed along to the song coming from the tape player. Then he looked at Salaam and said, joking and flirtatious, “Salaam, oh, Salaam!”

--

With obvious irritation, the director said, “Only doctors can bring their cars into the sanatorium.” She turned to Salaam and continued, “If your fiancé doesn’t park the car outside, you won’t see Saleem, and I’ll cancel your weekly visits!”

They didn’t respond.

Salaam didn’t respond out of fear for Saleem, her younger brother. Every Sunday, she came to visit him in this free, government-run institution. She brought different kinds of sweets and food. She gave him clean clothes and brought home with her the clothes that had gotten dirty. If only she had been in a position to put him in a private clinic, or to take him to be treated in a foreign country equipped with better techniques! If only...

As for Luqman, he was afraid that Salaam, if the director prevented her from visiting, would take her brother out of the state asylum. It had taken him long weeks of suffering to persuade her of the need to commit him. Taking Saleem out would mean bringing him back to the house, which would require hiring a private nurse to keep him safe and care for his needs. More particularly, that would mean an additional expense and money set aside out of reach, just to benefit that idiot, Saleem.

Salaam leaned over the trunk of the car and took out some bags. She headed towards the entrance, saying, “Why don’t you come with me? He’d be happy to see you.”

Luqman replied that he had no desire to run into that slut of a director again, otherwise he’d end up doing something he’d regret. He went on to say he’d wait for her in the garden. Salaam agreed and said she wouldn’t be long.

Luqman’s mood became sullen again after he saw her head up the stairs and go inside. God alone knew what Miss Salaam—Spinster Salaam—would force him to do. Why didn’t she give him what he wanted and let him go his own way? Why did she insist on torturing him like this? Goddamn her and her handful of dollars that she doled out to him with an eyedropper! A miserly spinster who forced him to come to the insane asylum! What did she need the money for? She didn’t pay rent since she had inherited her apartment from family. Did she have any expenses other than food, drink, and some clothes? Fine, what about the rest of her salary? Why didn’t she give it to Luqman? In order to spite him. She wanted to bust his balls every time he came to her. So she could suck his blood, wreck his way of life, ruin his good moods.

The whore! All women were whores, no exceptions. Even his mother had been a whore. She would beat him for the most trivial reasons, even for no reason at all. She would beat him until blood ran from his mouth. And when his father came home, she would go complain about him. Then his father would beat him too and tie him to the tree for hours.

Why all the beating, Luqman? Because you killed a mangy cat, or you threw a rock through a window, or you hung a rabbit. Your parents cherished animals above you, and they would beat you rather than blame the neighbors and villagers who brought complaints.

When you left them a little before the war broke out, you went away unapologetic, not looking back and fervently hoping to be gone forever. The only permissible motive for going back would be revenge.

And during the war, when your star was rising, they didn’t leave you alone. Instead, they started coming to you, time after time, to seek your help: Your brothers are naked...the earth is parched...the rains haven’t come...your mother is sick...your father needs treatment...the dirt roof of the house is about to collapse, and so on without end. Pay for it, Luqman! Give, Luqman! Be a sport, Luqman! Show compassion, have mercy, feel pity...and pay for it, Luqman, pay!

And when the war ended, when your own good fortune was reversed and your pockets became empty again, they turned away and forgot you. When you asked them for help, they started whining and griping again: Where would we get anything? What you gave us wasn’t enough to finish the four-story building. We were forced to mortgage the land and take out loans...Why do you yell like this? Deep down, you’ve always been good for nothing, and you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Leave, and don’t come back! We, your family, want nothing to do with you. We do not acknowledge you. And we’ll call the police on you if you don’t stop yelling...

--

“If you don’t stop yelling, I’ll put you in the straitjacket and lock you up!”

Salaam ran and put her hand over Saleem’s mouth. She promised the attendant that he would stop yelling after a little, and that he, the attendant, would be rewarded if he let her have a few extra minutes with her little brother.

“Little?” responded the attendant. “People have grandchildren at his age. What’s more, he riles the others up, and if they get riled up and start shouting too, what am I supposed to do? What would I say to the director? Visits usually take place through the bars. I’ve already brought you in to him, and that’s against the rules. What else do you want from me, Miss Salaam? For me to lose my job? Shame on you! I have kids!”

Salaam smiled and said, “Don’t you see? He has calmed down. He yelled so that I wouldn’t leave, so that I’d stay with him longer. Didn’t I promise you a gift? Let me stay, and you’ll be rewarded.”

“Fine,” answered the attendant. “Bring me the gift. I’ll be back in a quarter-hour.”

Saleem sat back down near his sister, Salaam. He started knocking his head against her shoulder again, imploring. She looked around and saw that the others were all calm. They, too, looked at her, imploring.

Salaam opened the buttons of her shirt and thought about the great sacrifices she made for her brother, to keep him looking human. What about the others? Didn’t they have parents and siblings? She saw their torn clothing, their long, dirty fingernails, their bare, blackened feet, and their faces filled with cuts, bruises, and inflamed pimples leaking pus. Then she resumed gazing at Saleem’s face and thanked God.

He threw his head against her chest, imploring. She slipped her hand in to her breast, brought it out, and gave it to him. Saleem sucked with his eyes closed while the others watched. Sometimes she thought he tricked her with his yelling fits so that she would give him her breast. How did this memory come back to him? How did he remember that she had suckled him when he had been only a few years old?

She was the one who had raised him. Their mother had given birth to him when she was almost fifty. Salaam had grown up as an only child after her mother’s womb had decided not to bear any more children. Then it changed its mind suddenly and brought forth Saleem. How wonderful her little brother had been! Thanks to Salaam. For Salaam is the one who raised him. She stayed up at night with him, fed him, rocked him, put him to bed, taught him...and suckled him. Until...

Until the war came.

The war was responsible for her losing him, for his losing his mind, for his mind losing its sense. Or else it was the Albino, whom Saleem began accompanying during his nightly rounds and his nighttime work.

All she remembered was that Saleem came home one day drenched in tears. He said he hated the Albino, that he never wanted to see him again. Salaam slapped him. She slapped him as hard as she could and screamed at him, “Shut up, you coward! You aren’t a man. You’re a chicken! I denounce you and your shame, you chickenshit!”

Until she cut off Saleem completely.

She no longer spoke to him. She began going down to “the gang” every night with trays of coffee, juice, snacks, and sandwiches just to spite him. Maybe he would be cured of his cowardice. Maybe he would get it together and return to the righteous struggle.

Until the Albino loved her.

He loved her and saved her from the shame and the schadenfreude of her relatives and neighbors. He protected her just as he protected the people of the neighborhood from death at the hands of their enemies.

Until the Albino proposed to her.

Salaam found her place, and what a place it was! She had a say in things, and the women of the neighborhood started trying to please her. Wasn’t she the fiancée of the Albino, this leader of men, at whose passing the surrounding neighborhoods trembled, as well as the neighborhoods beyond?

Until the shell struck the shelter and mowed down their parents, together with Saleem’s sound mind.

Her brother began to keep to his room, leaving it rarely. He suffered long periods of insomnia. And if he slept, the nightmares would wake him up. Or his temperature would rise, afflicting him with fever and all kinds of hallucinations.

Until the kid went crazy.

He stood in the door of the house, in view of the neighbors, and aimed an imaginary machine gun and began firing bullets of spittle. He fired imaginary bullets from an imaginary gun at imaginary people in an imaginary war.

Until the Albino died.

Until the war ended.

Until she went to Luqman to persuade him to hide out in her house.

Until Luqman persuaded her of the necessity of putting Saleem in a mental hospital.

Until she put him in the state sanatorium. She thought Luqman was embarrassed by her brother in front of people, and that if she only got rid of Saleem, Luqman would marry her. He would live with her and compensate her for the long years of deprivation she had known after the Albino’s departure.

Until she heard the attendant’s steps coming towards her. She pushed Saleem away and tucked her breast inside her shirt, which she buttoned back up. She pulled out a five-dollar bill to give to the attendant, and she hurried away, ignoring her brother’s screams and the screeching of his insane cohort.

--

Luqman lit a cigarette. He began wandering through the gardens that surrounded the buildings of the mental institution.

There was nothing better than nature to calm the nerves. If the war hadn’t ended and he were still rich, he would have erected a palace on a high, remote mountain. He would have filled it with rare, exotic animals and lived there alone with snow-white Marina. If only...

Luqman smiled. If anyone heard what was going through his head right now, they would have arrested him immediately and made him a permanent inmate of this asylum. Who would ever believe him if he told of the power, influence, and wealth he used to have? No one! Especially after quick money had become a dream that enticed everyone in this country.

When he saw them walking about with their cell phones, their flashy sunglasses, and their car keys, he wanted to puke. When people were given free rein, everyone became a pompous rooster, crowing and strutting about in public. Up became down, right became left, and decent folk got caught in the grime. The pigs! They were hungry, and they bought cell phones. They were broke, and they took a loan for the entire cost of a car. One nuclear bomb, and it would all be over. A universal conflagration. Each and every one of them annihilated. Then Luqman could rest easy.

One of those bombs you used to be so good at making, Luqman. You would be refreshed, and you would rest easy. Do you remember? God, those were the days! You’d make your bombs, and the buyers would come. Buying and selling. Your business developed and grew, and you became partners with the Albino. You two would secure the supply of bombs and whatever follow-up or servicing they required. Then the Lord made you prosper. And the Lord is generous indeed when he makes someone prosper, Luqman. You had a team of workers that even the Americans envied. You began exporting and working with people of various nationalities until your reputation ranked with the greatest professionals in the world.

And now? And now your fate is tied to half-woman spinsters like Salaam. You, Luqman, who were once able to make the most famous and richest whores in the world get down on their knees. You—

“Luqman? Can it be?”

The speaker didn’t give Luqman a chance to recognize his face before he threw himself upon Luqman with an embrace and kisses on both cheeks. The pounding on his back and shoulders continued until Luqman was seized with a fit of coughing. Luqman pushed the man off him and onto the stone bench beside him.

“Najeeb! Is it you? You scared me, man! I thought you were one of the crazies grabbing me. But tell me, why are you dressed like this? What are you doing here? Are you sick too?”