Читать книгу Late for Tea at the Deer Palace: The Lost Dreams of My Iraqi Family - Tamara Chalabi - Страница 19

Bibi and Hadi’s Wedding

(1916)

IN ADVANCE OF the day of the mahir, the official religious ceremony that was held on a different day to the wedding itself, servants carried huge zanabil from Abdul Hussein’s house to Rumia’s. The enormous baskets were filled to the brim with sugared almonds, pistachios, dates, fruit jellies and mann al-sima, a prized local delicacy made from the boiled bark of trees, mixed with nuts and covered in icing sugar. Each basket was so large that it required two men to lift it. In addition, the Chalabi family sent several trays of shakkar borek, thinly layered sheets of pastry stuffed with almonds and baked. Rumia also received the small gifts of candy that were to be handed out after the mahir to the men.

Ever prone to dramatic outbursts, Bibi was once more beside herself with worry about whether her mother would attend to all the necessary arrangements. She paced the house, pestered Rumia with questions and locked herself in her bedroom for hours at a time, smoking furtively and ignoring her brothers when they tried to talk to her through the closed door. The death of her father had taught her that happiness could be snuffed out in a moment, and she couldn’t stop herself from fretting over what could go wrong.

The cuisine, at least, was no cause for concern. Besides God, Rumia’s passion was her kitchen, and she threw herself into planning the feast. Despite having several servants, she reigned supreme in her kitchen, where she took an active part in the preparations. The formality usually present between master and servant was absent in her house-hold, dominated as it was by women. Several of the servants had been there for such a long time that they had become part of the family. This did not mean that any of them had lost their respect for the unstated hierarchy.

Nevertheless, Rumia barely slept a wink herself the night before the mahir. There was so much to do, and she was exhausted by Bibi’s endless demands and tantrums. She was also depleted by the great efforts she had taken to fund this ceremony. Ever since her husband’s death, money had been scarce. Her wily brother-in-law had laid his hands on his brother’s business and assets. He gave Rumia a stipend, but it was barely enough to feed two, let alone a family of four.

Rumia’s lifestyle had changed dramatically over the past few years. Her house became less and less frequented by guests; she had never been as sociable as her husband. Nor had she shared his enthusiasm for collecting antiques, porcelain, opaline and silver, but now she was grateful for the pieces that remained. They had come to her rescue whenever she found herself with a large bill to pay. To fund the wedding ceremony, she had passed a chandelier discreetly to her brother Raouf to sell on her behalf.

She was loath to ask her brother-in-law for anything. After her husband’s death he had become the financial guardian of the family, taking over his brother’s estate, his shops and his capital, because Rumia was not versed in business and her own boys were still minors. Her father-in-law was officially her children’s moral guardian, as religious custom dictated, but he was old, and left all monetary concerns to his son. It was humiliating enough that her brother-in-law had robbed them of their rightful inheritance, but to have to ask him for what was rightfully theirs … that was simply too much for Rumia. So she lodged her complaint with God, certain that in His infinite wisdom He would see the injustice and punish her brother-in-law accordingly.

In the meantime, she wanted to make Bibi feel as confident in the arrangements as she could, so she had spared nothing to make the banquet as fitting and sumptuous as possible. Rumia was keenly aware that, of her three surviving children, it was Bibi who had felt her father’s loss the most, and she had a deep fear of financial insecurity.

All the ingredients for a splendid celebration were in place. Rumia had prepared all the desserts the day before, with the help of her two servants – Saeeda and Laleh, a pious young Iranian maid from Kuzaran – and a few women who were regular visitors to her kitchen. The kitchen was filled with the trays of burma, dark vermicelli covering glazed pistachio nuts; walnut-and sugar-stuffed pastries; claytcha, date-stuffed round cakes; mihalabi, a rice pudding flavoured with orange blossom essence; as well as her signature halawa, with shaved carrots, cardamom and saffron.

The morning of the mahir, Rumia rose in time for her dawn prayers, but she couldn’t concentrate properly, and knelt three times instead of the required two. Every time she recited a verse, her mind would wander to the kitchen and she would lose the train of the sacred words in her mouth. After her prayers she went to the kitchen, where she was expecting to find Saeeda and Laleh already up and working. But the house was silent. Everyone was sleeping in besides her.

She crept up to Saeeda’s room, which was located behind the kitchen, and stood outside, debating whether she should wake her up or not. She took a deep breath and gently tapped on her door. There was no sign of life. She whispered Saeeda’s name softly. Nothing. Rumia opened the door and gave a gentle cough. Saeeda croaked, rubbing her eyes when Rumia told her the time and urged her to get up as soon as she could.

‘But we worked so late yesterday,’ Saeeda complained. ‘Just once it would be nice to get a proper lie-in.’

A couple of hours later Rumia left the kitchen and walked to her daughter’s room, where Bibi was still sound asleep. She went over to the window and opened the shutters. Mosaics of light flooded in through the shanashil, the wooden lattices that framed the windows. Bibi sat up in alarm. ‘What’s happened, what’s happened?’

Her two mahir outfits hung from the side of her closet. There was the cream embroidered kaftan that she would wear for the actual ceremony, and a light-pink silk dress, with gold embroidery and a round neck, for the lunch afterwards. Lying on the dresser opposite her bed were the ornate metal hair combs, with flowers painted in lacquer, which Bibi had insisted upon and which were to go on either side of her parting. Her custom-made high-heeled shoes were set out on the floor.

Rumia murmured her approval as she ran her hands over the outfits, but Bibi complained that they made her look short. ‘What if they realise how short I am and change their minds?’ she asked. Taking a deep breath, Rumia calmly told her to stop her nonsense: she was going to look lovely, but she should get up now as there was still a lot to do. She paused as she turned to leave the room. ‘Oh! You nearly made me forget to get out the pearl earrings your father – may he rest in peace – gave me. They will go with your outfits perfectly.’

Bibi perked up at this piece of news. She had always coveted her mother’s jewels. She had often thought that if they were hers she would wear them all the time, in contrast to her mother, who never let them see the light of day. Bibi didn’t know how precious the gems were to Rumia; that she was relying on them to save her from dreaded rainy days ahead.

As with all mahirs, many of the ceremony’s details were filled with symbolism for the imminent marriage. Bibi sat on a chair in the loose-fitting kaftan, which had a large round neck. This garment had to be free of any clasps, tied knots or fastenings, which were considered to be symbolic obstacles that might prevent her from speaking the truth when asked if she wanted to get married. Her hair shone and she wore kohl around her eyes, and sibdaj, a paste used as a blusher, on her cheeks. She hated the effect of the strong red and wiped most of it off immediately. However, she didn’t mind the diram, a walnut-based lipstick applied with a finger.

Her feet were in a bowl of water, which symbolized a plentiful life, in which jasmine flowers floated. On either side of her candles burned, garlanded with tiny flowers. Two women stood behind her. They were known to be happily married, and each held a pair of enormous sugar cubes which they rubbed against each other onto a delicate lace cloth that was held above Bibi’s head, so her marriage would be sweet like sugar. Facing her was a mirror so that she could see herself speaking the truth. A Quran lay open on her lap.

There was some commotion from the women as the mullah approached the door to the room. He stood outside and asked Bibi loudly whether she willingly accepted Hadi to be her husband. He slowly repeated his question fourteen times, so that she would be sure to consider her answer carefully. Her mother stood near her, counting with her fingers. When he reached the last time, Bibi quickly replied, ‘Yes.’

Two of the women in the room started ululating, but they were quickly hushed. Having obtained Bibi’s consent, the mullah continued the rest of the ceremony in the room next door, the dawakhana.

As was the custom, Abdul Hussein whispered to the mullah the sum of money his family was giving to the bride for her dowry; having agreed to Bibi’s grandfather’s request, he also disclosed the mu’akhar – the amount of money to be paid to Bibi in the event of a divorce. Hadi was standing next to his father, but as he still lived under his father’s roof, it fell to Abdul Hussein to conduct the financial part of the marriage. This having been dealt with, the mullah recited a prayer before finalizing the marriage contract verbally. The groom and Bibi’s grandfather shook hands, and the mullah put his hand across both of theirs while reading a final short blessing.

After greeting all the female guests and receiving gifts, mostly jewellery from the groom’s family, Bibi went up to change into her pink dress before joining the lunch banquet. She felt shattered as she sat momentarily on her bed to catch her breath. She had been very anxious for days now, and her fatigue was finally catching up with her, as was her hunger.

The day was a success, judging from the little food that was left over. Everyone in the household was exhausted but satisfied that all had gone well. Even the servants took Bibi’s marriage personally, wanting to give the groom’s side the very best impression in order to ensure that Bibi’s worth was truly appreciated. Yet the marathon was far from over. Now there was the dowry to prepare, in advance of the actual wedding day when Bibi would move into her husband’s home. Although she was officially married to Hadi, she had still not been presented to him.

Rumia now had the mahir dowry money offered by the groom’s family. The fifty gold coins given by the Chalabis was a generous amount, but she was aware that she would have to exceed it if she was to provide her daughter with the best possible trousseau. A trousseau was often looked upon by in-laws as a barometer of a girl’s background and her family’s ability to provide for her. A luxurious trousseau suggested a cared-for girl, who might be treated with more consideration than a girl who came to her groom without much. A meagre trousseau was like a licence that allowed a husband to get off lightly: he could provide his new bride with little, as she had little to start with. Moreover, the contents of the trousseau would be put on public display as part of the wedding festivities.

Rumia knew all too well that there was still much to do. As she helped her daughter choose the items for her trousseau, she brought out a metal-studded chest she had kept stored for years. In it were several pieces of beautiful silk that her husband had brought back from one of his trips to India. Looking through the unfolded cloth, she reminisced about those lost days when her husband had filled the house with life. Rumia decided to give Bibi the chest and all the silks in it. She would never wear them. She had taken to wearing black ever since her husband died, and would continue to do so.

Of course, tradition also dictated that the bride offer gifts to Hadi, his father and brothers. For the men, a shaving set each was chosen, along with embroidered towels and underwear, as well as silk-embroidered shaving aprons. It was an expensive business, especially in these difficult times.

In the run-up to the official wedding day, Bibi overheard her mother talking to Saeeda in the kitchen. Rumia was asking her to pray that the silver candelabra she had sent to be sold would fetch a good price.

‘What’s this, Mother? What are you talking about?’

Rumia glanced across at her. ‘Absolutely nothing for you to worry about, my dear.’ She turned her attention to some pots of spices and resolutely refused to meet Bibi’s eye.

‘Yes, it is; of course it is – what candelabra?’ Bibi demanded, her insecurities bubbling up in her chest.

Saeeda stepped forward. ‘Bibi, there’s something you should know.’ Calmly, she explained the truth about their financial situation, glancing across from time to time at Rumia, who let her continue.

While she wasn’t afraid to challenge her mother, Bibi listened to Saeeda respectfully. She knew from many years’ experience that Saeeda was loyal to the family and acted in all their best interests. Moreover, she was wary of provoking Saeeda’s temper, which could be fearsome when roused.

The news jolted Bibi’s world. She had taken it for granted that her paternal uncle, who was her legal guardian, would be covering the trousseau expenses. Troubled, she looked at her mother, searching for the words with which to express her thanks, but before she could speak Rumia hugged her and told her not to worry.

After a little while Bibi climbed the stairs pensively to her bedroom, where she reached for a hidden cigarette. She understood now more than ever just how important her marriage into the affluent Chalabi family was, and she was relieved that the process was well underway. As she considered the actual wedding, she found herself wondering what she would say to her husband when she first saw him, and how he would greet her. What if he didn’t like her? More importantly, what if she didn’t like him?

She worried about the first night, when the marriage had to be consummated. Now that she was betrothed, many married women in her circle had offered her advice about her wedding night, telling her what she might expect and warning her of the pain she might experience. She tingled with the mere thought of what might happen, strangely thrilled yet nervous at the same time.

Her mood improved over the next couple of days. The all-female henna party the night before the wedding was an especially joyful occasion. Rumia and Bibi’s relatives and close friends were all there. Bibi Istrabadi, the daughter of Saeeda’s old employer the Pivot and one of Bibi’s dearest childhood friends, teased her mercilessly about her new in-laws and the prospect of her wedding night, while a woman decorated their hands with henna patterns. The women sang and laughed, jumping from song to song, exhausting all the verses they knew. Even Rumia relaxed, momentarily abandoning her piety. With one hand covering the other, they clicked their fingers together, and the resulting rhythm accompanied their ululations around the room. Bibi could never manage this clicking business. As much as she tried, she could never make a sound.

The morning of the wedding day was rainy and grey. Bibi woke up very early. When she looked out of her latticed window and saw the downpour, she was filled with worry that the hafafa, the sugaring lady, would not come because of the weather. She could not take her bath until the hafafa had removed all of her body hair; depilation was something else she knew she would have to get used to as a married woman. Flustered, she rushed down to see whether the maid had brought her the tinkhawa, a mineral hair conditioner bought from the perfumer at the bazaar, and discovered to her immense relief that the hafafa had already arrived.

Between beauty treatments, she wondered briefly what her fiancé was doing at that precise moment. She knew that he would go for a ritual bath at the public hamam with a party of his friends. Having spoken to the other women about what was customary, she suspected that the men would all be treated to a succulent kebab lunch in the baths’ antechamber after they had finished their massage and sauna. It all seemed highly relaxed, compared to her compulsory beautification rituals. Bibi bit her lip in discomfort as the hafafa pulled another strip of sugar from her skin. Wincing, she reflected again on how lucky men were.

Hadi went through his wedding preparations with rather more detachment than his bride-to-be, but then there was less for him to do. Nonetheless, he was looking forward to the arrival of his bride that evening. He was anxious and excited in equal measure, trying to imagine what Bibi might be like. He had painted an image of her from the various descriptions that had been provided by his female relatives, concentrating on the more positive picture that his mother had created. Jamila had told him that Bibi was a lively girl, with a pretty face and soft skin. And certainly he liked the image he had now conjured in his mind.

There were a multitude of things for him to absorb in readiness for this great change in his life. Marriage marked his entry into the adult world and the responsibilities that it entailed. He was much less worried than Bibi about the prospect of disliking his spouse. As for the pressure of the wedding night – this had its unpleasant side, especially when the house would be full of people, all expectant that the deed be done. But he was confident that he would prevail. He smiled to himself, grateful for his experience of a few stolen amorous encounters with a young singer from Baghdad.

In any case, first he would have to wait at home while a procession of twenty or so of his male relatives went to fetch Bibi. As it was raining he decided to send her his favourite horse, Najma, who was tacked up by Ni’mati with a bright, colourful bridle and a kilim-like blanket under the saddle. He carefully instructed his younger brothers Abdul Rasul and Muhammad Ali to make sure that his new bride was comfortable.

Bibi was ready. She sat waiting on the edge of her bed, her legs too short to reach the floor as she bit her nails. She was wearing a white wedding dress embroidered with gold circular patterns, which had been made at a Jewish atelier in Baghdad. Her eyes were lined in kohl, and her skin was very soft after the morning’s rituals, perfumed with her favourite jasmine essence. She wore a wedding veil which would be pulled down over her face when the men arrived.

Despite the sound of the rain, the singing of the men carried through the street as they walked towards the house. Then it stopped. A loud knock was heard. As a privileged member of the household who was close to the bride, Saeeda took up the challenge, asking loudly, ‘Who is it?’

‘We are here to take the bride,’ the men replied.

‘We don’t have any bride to give you,’ said Saeeda. ‘You’ve come to the wrong house.’

‘We won’t leave until you give us our bride!’

‘I told you – we have no bride for you here.’

The exchange was part of the custom and, as in a play, each side remained faithful to their part. The men knocked again, and Saeeda repeated her reply. This formality continued for a little while longer until one of the men offered Saeeda a few coins to open the door. Saeeda pushed it ajar, just enough to peer out. Looking at the men in mock disdain, she closed the door and said, ‘Our girl is too precious for these pennies!’

The men knocked again, crying out, ‘We will give you all the pennies you want if you open the door.’ This time Saeeda obliged, and took the rest of the coins.

Bibi had meanwhile come downstairs and was standing in the sitting room with her mother, her brothers, aunts and cousins. Rumia gently pulled Bibi’s head towards her and whispered a prayer in her ear. Bibi then kissed her two brothers. She said goodbye to everyone else, before bidding her mother farewell. Rumia was crying and Bibi followed suit. Her father’s absence was sorely felt, and they both pined for him.

‘No, no, you’ll ruin her face with all these tears,’ soothed one of Rumia’s sisters-in-law. ‘Come on, my dear, she’ll still be near you.’

Bibi’s trousseau had been sent ahead a few days earlier, along with the presents to the groom and his family. Her father’s sisters, Fahima and Aminah, had already been to the Chalabis’ house to prepare her new quarters. They would accompany her to her new home tonight.

When she caught sight of the animal standing at the door, Bibi exclaimed in horror. She was terrified of horses, and she felt the colour vanish from her cheeks as she hesitated before agreeing to mount it. As she was helped up by Abdul Rasul, her heart was thumping so loudly she couldn’t hear the four-man band that led the way with drums and trumpets. Sitting sidesaddle, she struggled to hold an umbrella with one hand while she clung very tightly to the colourful reins with the other. Even though the horse walked at the pace of a snail, Bibi was terrified of slipping.

Her relatives and friends sang alongside her as they moved slowly towards the Chalabi house at the other end of the quarter. The entire neighbourhood came out in the rain to watch the zaffa, the wedding procession. Although it was not as spectacular as it would have been during peacetime, it nevertheless brightened up the streets and afforded the onlookers the opportunity to put aside their sorrows for a few precious moments.

When the horse finally came to a halt in the courtyard of her new home and she was helped down, Bibi looked up at the figures that stood waiting for her in the main courtyard of the house. She could only recognize her husband’s aunts and Khadja, her new grandmother-in-law.

Her own aunts, who had followed her on foot, appeared on either side to help her enter her new home. It was their duty to hand her to her husband. As she took her first step towards her new family, Bibi remembered her attempts to prepare a suitably smiling face in front of her mirror, in anticipation of this moment. She looked up towards the men and, lifting her veil, flashed her most winning smile at them. A ripple of shock went through the group, who had been expecting to greet a shy, demure woman – especially on this, her wedding day. It was a small mercy that her mother had missed the moment, for Bibi’s gesture was simply not the done thing. Her faux pas was made even worse owing to the fact that, in her nervousness, she had directed her dazzling, flirtatious smile not at her new husband, but at her father-in-law.

Nevertheless, both bride and groom greeted each other appropriately amidst a chorus of ululations from those standing around them. Dinner was served, which gave time for Bibi to relax a little. She was still very nervous about what lay ahead that night. The only man who had ever held her close had been her father, many years earlier. She couldn’t stop her stomach churning from anxiety, remembering all that she had been told about what went on between a man and a woman.

Unusually for Bibi, she was lost for words as she sat absorbing her new surroundings and watching her new family. The air was alive with stolen glances as she and Hadi shyly scrutinized each other. Eventually the meal came to an end, all too soon for Bibi. After bidding her new in-laws goodnight, she was ushered upstairs by her aunts to her newly furnished bedroom. In silence she was helped out of her wedding dress and into a delicately embroidered nightdress. She was momentarily comforted to see the large hand-beaten copper bowl that her mother had picked as part of her trousseau. As she leaned over it to wash her hands, she heard a knock on the door. It was her husband.

Her aunts giggled, kissed her and left. Staring at her hennaed palms, embarrassed to be seen in a negligee, Bibi stood frozen as Hadi approached her. He hesitantly stroked her hair as he held her hand. She looked up at him and smiled. She was relieved to see that he was indeed handsome, with kind eyes set in an open face. His arms enclosed her. She didn’t resist.

Ever mindful of her duties as a new mother-in-law, Rumia was determined to supply a sumptuous breakfast for the morning after the wedding night. A huge basket duly arrived early the next day for Hadi and Bibi, with freshly baked bread, gaymar, honey, a variety of homemade jams, lemon curd, marmalade, rice pudding and Rumia’s delicate shakar borek pastries. She added a few gardenias, freshly cut from her small courtyard.

There was a lot for Bibi to take in that first week, and the days flew by as she focused on an approaching social function, the prospect of which terrified her almost as much as the wedding night had. On the seventh day after the wedding, her mother-in-law Jamila would be hosting a tea party during which the guests would take a good look at the new bride’s trousseau, which would be laid out on her new bed in her new room.

It was a rite of passage that Bibi had previously enjoyed participating in as a spectator – but now she would be the subject of it herself. Several women who were not invited entered the house with their faces covered except for their eyes. It was an open house, so they could not be turned away, and they rummaged through the hand-embroidered silks and lingerie like crows picking over delicacies.

Bibi sat enthroned in the dawakhana in another bridal dress, while all the visiting ladies scrutinized her – her hands, her smile, her hair, her nose, her eyes, her manners and, of course, her outfit. Usually Bibi loved attention, but that day she could not wait for everyone to leave. Now that she was getting to know him a little, she longed for the opportunity to be alone again with her new husband. Aware of the women’s examining gazes upon her, she smoothed her dress and sat upright, determined that she would not be found wanting.

Bibi and Hadi as a married couple.