The Last of the Angels (14 page)

The mullah, after a short hesitation, replied, “That's an excellent idea, but I'm not sure whether he's still alive.”

Others seated near them said, “Yes, he's alive and well. Every day he walks in gardens near here to compose poems about the birds and the trees.”

One of them volunteered, “Would you like us to bring him to the coffeehouse? He lives in the Citadel.”

Thus the great Dada Hijri became a member of the delegation, to which was later added the madman Dalli Ihsan, who was included in response to his aged mother's entreaties and assurances to the delegation's members that even angels had a right to kiss the king's hand. She was naturally referring to her son Dalli Ihsan. Meanwhile, the Communists, of whom Khidir Musa had said that they excelled only in the art of stirring up needless strife, had agreed that Hameed Nylon should represent them—although they did not announce this—since he was to be the chauffeur who drove the delegation to Baghdad. Fathallah Isma‘il, Kirkuk's director of public security, imposed himself on the delegation at the last moment, alleging that the government wished to assure the delegation's security. Previously Khidir Musa had accepted the participation of other delegations, which were chosen respectively by the Turkmen, Kurds, Arabs, and Assyrian Christians, in addition to a delegation from the Chuqor community and the special delegation that he had selected himself. The understanding was that all these delegations, representing the entire city of Kirkuk, would meet half an hour prior to the appointment in front of al-Zuhur Palace.

In advance of the appointed day, the vehicles left for the capital, the seat of government of the king of Iraq. In front was Hameed Nylon's vehicle, which flew the flag of Iraq. Khidir Musa, who was awarded pride of place, sat in front with Hameed Nylon. Trying to emphasize his importance, Fathallah Isma‘il, the director of public security, squeezed himself in between Khidir Musa and Hameed Nylon. He took out his revolver once or twice to brandish it, but Khidir Musa forbade him from doing that, saying, “Put away your revolver. No one will try to interfere with a delegation like ours.” Among those in the back seat was Death, who had introduced himself—to mask his identity—as Dervish Bahlul, a name that Hameed Nylon joked about sarcastically throughout the trip, without, however, upsetting Death, who smiled slyly from time to time and said, “Nothing's better in life than laughter.” As usual, Dalli Ihsan remained silent as he contemplated a terrifying emptiness that stretched as far as his eye could see. Between them sat the poet Dada Hijri, who looked like a saint who had descended from a mountaintop.

Behind this automobile came the other vehicles, which carried prominent citizens of the Chuqor community and the city of Kirkuk. These men took a special pride in having been selected to represent their factions in a visit to the king, whom they loved fervently. They were indebted for this chance to Khidir Musa, whose great authority no one could any longer question. They considered his prestige a distinction for their city, for which they wished a deservedly illustrious position. People had actually emerged early that morning to line Railroad Station Street, which was the anticipated route of the delegation as it headed toward Baghdad. Schools had been given the day off, and teachers came with their pupils, carrying Iraqi flags and lining up on both sides of the street. The military band also turned out, and the musicians in their dress uniforms played drums and cymbals. An enormous, dark-complexioned sergeant marched at the head of the troupe. He carried a staff with two metal heads and twirled it with awe-inspiring skill to the beat of the music. Overwhelmed by the jovial mood, Hameed Nylon—to the crowd's applause and laughter—began to drive his car in reverse. He did not cease driving this way, even though his vehicle was at the head of the procession, until they left the city and reached an area where the undulating plains that encircled the city spread out.

The procession had scarcely left Kirkuk when the poet Dada Hijri sank into a soul-chilling despair. He was seized by such anxiety that not even Dervish Bahlul could banish it from the poet's breast. The smile did not return to his bronzed face until a sonnet was born—near the Hamreen Mountains, which are a rocky chain that stretch from Iraq to Iran. He refused to share a single couplet from it, however, despite their persistent pleas, alleging that he wanted to revise it in different circumstances when he would be better able to judge it, since the circumstances might even get the better of the poetry itself and leave it an awkward mishmash. He was seconded here by Dalli Ihsan, who seemed more affected than the others by Dada Hijri's words, which Kirkuk's director of public security declared incomprehensible. Khidir Musa pointed out that a person cannot understand everything and that some matters are perceived directly by the senses, independent of any logical reflection.

At noon the motorcade reached Khan Bani Sa‘d, where the vehicles stopped in front of a ramshackle, whitewashed mud-brick structure where food and tea were served. In front and inside, the establishment had old platforms, on top of which had been placed straw mats, and long wooden tables, which were covered with oilcloth sheets that could easily be wiped clean. In this filthy setting, which was unprotected from the dust and swarming with flies, Khidir Musa delivered a brief oration to the Turkmen, Kurdish, Arab, and Assyrian members of the Kirkuk delegation. He said that the delegation's members had a right to enjoy their visit to Baghdad however they wished. Perhaps some had relatives or friends they also wished to visit. For this reason he granted each of them an appropriate freedom of movement. All he asked of them was to appear at least half an hour prior to the appointment in front of al-Zuhur Palace, so that they could enter as a group to see the king. Then he invited them to enjoy—at his expense—stew, which was the only dish this restaurant offered to travelers to or from Baghdad. Everyone relished this repast, but when the tea, which was an indispensable sequel to the stew, arrived in sawn-off bottles cut down to half their original size, Khidir Musa, who was enraged by this, scolded the restaurant's proprietor, demanding that he serve their tea in proper tumblers. The man apologized, protesting that tea tumblers cost a lot and that he saw little difference between a tumbler and a bottle bottom. The tea a person drank was the important thing, not its container. Even so, Khidir Musa paid this man, who was clearly greed incarnate. Khidir Musa had himself once resorted to cups made from bottle bottoms, during the war era when the price of tumblers had increased in such an obscene way that the poor could not afford them. He remembered how he had filled a bottle half full with kerosene and then placed an iron rod, which had been heated red-hot on a fire, inside the bottle. The moment the rod touched the kerosene, the bottle would split apart at the level of the kerosene. All that was in the past now, though, even if the restaurant's owner claimed otherwise.

The vehicles shot off again and later that afternoon reached Baghdad, where most of the cars disappeared in the maze of streets. No one was concerned about this, for they had all agreed where they would meet the next day. Of the motorcade there remained only Hameed Nylon's car and a second one transporting prominent citizens from the Chuqor community. That was driven by Salim Arab, who normally worked as a driver on the Kirkuk-Sulaymaniya road.

These two vehicles headed toward al-Rashid Street and then stopped in the region of al-Maydan, the red-light district of Baghdad at the time. There Hameed Nylon escorted the men to the River Bank Hotel, the entrance of which adjoined that of the Shams Restaurant, which was filled with soldiers, country folk from every corner of Iraq, petty bureaucrats, pimps who supervised prostitution in the nearby alleys branching off from al-Rashid Street, and detectives who were close to their employment in al-Saray Station, which was located on the other side of the street, behind some houses that once had been mansions inhabited by top Ottoman officials. The men from Kirkuk climbed the stairs to find themselves face-to-face with a man of about sixty wearing an Arab head cloth held in place by a band. He rose to greet and direct the men, of whom only six remained. The public security director had withdrawn, explaining that he was obliged to stay in al-Fadl in the home of a cousin who would never forgive him if he chose to stay in a hotel. Al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji had gone to the home of a friend who was a merchant in al-Shurjah Market. Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri had sought out an old friend whom the government had named as the imam of the Haidarkhana Mosque, which was located a few steps from the hotel. The remaining men could have had beds in a number of different rooms, but Khidir Musa preferred to reserve a single room for their party so they could talk matters over that evening. Thus Khidir Musa, Dervish Bahlul, Dalli Ihsan, and Dada Hijri had their beds in a room that was reserved for them alone. Hameed Nylon and Salim Arab were assigned a different room, which they were to share with other men currently absent. They preferred to separate from their companions, for they wanted to enjoy their stay in Baghdad, free of any oversight.

In fact, barely half an hour had passed when these two were back on the street again, slipping down the alleys where love was for sale. The doors of the houses were open and whores stood in the doorways chatting idly with young pimps, who leaned against walls or light poles while watching the action from a distance. A young prostitute called to Hameed Nylon and Salim Arab, “Come in here. You won't find any finer girls than us.” There was an open courtyard where a few men were seated on benches. Two women were chatting with them. They were obviously waiting for the appearance of their favorite girls, who were with other patrons. At the front of the courtyard sat a corpulent old woman, whom the girls referred to as al-Hajja. She took the money before a man entered and met a girl. The girl who had been standing in front of the door entered and asked Hameed Nylon, “Don't you like me?” The madam, who clasped a string of prayer beads, called to Hameed Nylon in a tone that was almost a command, “Go with Awatif, man. She's hot for you, as you can see.” Awatif tugged on his hand, saying, “You won't regret this.” Salim Arab went with another girl who had just returned from Mosul and who was bragging about her boyfriend, who was an officer, and her visit to him. Al-Hajja told her the moment she arrived, “Your fun with your friend the officer is over. Now it's time to work.” This romantic escapade, which cost each of the men a hundred and fifty fils, restored the equilibrium after their tiring road trip. Hameed Nylon confided to his friend his true feelings about women: “Nothing is sweeter than what's forbidden.” This made Salim Arab laugh. He agreed that this was a matter that scarcely two men in the entire world would dispute. He told Hameed Nylon about a carpenter who owned a shop in al-Nujum Street in Kirkuk. The man would proclaim his wife divorced whenever he threw himself upon her only to regret later what he had done. Hameed Nylon smiled and said, “Without sin, there's no pleasure. What is licit is a duty. It is what's forbidden that's special.”

On their return to the hotel they met Dervish Bahlul, who was coming back from a visit to the hotel's only toilet, which was located in the hall. He told them in a low voice that Khidir Musa had asked where they were, indicating that he might wish to speak with them. Khidir Musa, who was stretched out on one of the beds listening to Dada Hijri recite some of his poetry in a quavering voice as he leaned his elbow against the pillow, told them that the men did not want to spend all their time in this putrid hotel, for when a person comes to Baghdad, he needs to see some of it. They agreed to leave the hotel shortly. Dada Hijri said, “We thought we could sleep, if only for half an hour, but that proved difficult, as you can see. When a man senses that he is in Baghdad, he feels alert. It's a sensation I experience each time I visit this city.” As the men prepared to leave the room, Dada Hijri said, “Previously I would head for the Parliament Café, where I would find Jameel Sidqi al-Zahawi and Ma‘ruf al-Rasafi waiting for me, but death's tyrannical hand has not spared them.” Dada Hijri was merely making a casual observation, and Dervish Bahlul fought to retain his self-control. Only Khidir Musa remarked the angry flash in his eyes when he responded, “This is man's destiny on earth. No one is exempt. Death is the ultimate price of life.”

Dada Hijri was astonished by this profound maxim that Dervish Bahlul had volunteered. He answered this deep insight by repeating a quatrain of Turkmen verse in the style of the people of Kirkuk:

Dervish Bahlul smiled then and responded with a quatrain that left Dada Hijri in tears as emotions exploded in his heart:

Hameed Nylon placed a brotherly hand on Dervish Bahlul's shoulder, telling him, “I like you a lot, dervish. People who see you for the first time don't grasp your true worth. Only now have I understood why Khidir Musa chose you as a member of this delegation. A fellow rarely meets someone as wise as you.” Dervish Bahlul smiled almost apologetically: “Hold your compliments, Hameed Nylon. Perhaps meeting me will one day be something you will hate more than anything else in life.” Naturally, no one understood the real meaning of this statement except for Khidir Musa, who said in an attempt to end this awkward conversation, “I think the time has come for us to hit the streets. The city's calling us.” So the six men descended to al-Rashid Street to give themselves a chance to blow off steam, for the smell of dust from the desert had made them giddy.