Mothballs by Alia Mamadouh Page A

Sami?”
    â€œThe day we had the betrothal to your mother, he shouted and cursed. He said the girl’s marriage was a shame, but Shafiq, God rest his soul, he said, ‘Jamil is a nice boy from a good family.’ Your grandmother died three years after he did. She suffered a lot – she thrashed about like a fish. She didn’t die until God took her two months later. That left Sami, Widad, and Inam, and they stayed in the house as if they were his servants. He beat them and cursed. Your mother was the sweetest of all, like a rose. She spoke little. She was gentle and calm and never harmed an ant. Be merciful to her, dear God, most Merciful of all the merciful.”

Chapter 5
    My mother followed my father to her room. They were face to face. The air in the room boiled with his shouts. She was standing, worn and weary; if she approached a sensitive point she would get burnt, and if she retreated she would be choked. His words came in a torrent, like a tumultuous wave: “You’ve all turned my hair grey. That daughter of yours is going to drive me mad. Everything is against me. I’m alone in Karbala. In the morning my boss shouts at me, and in the afternoon there are the screams of the prisoners. At night I do the screaming alone. Listen. I am going to get married. I have no more patience for this situation. I want more children. You finished by having Adouli. I want a real woman. I’ve given you my best years and my heart’s blood, but all in vain. Go back to your family. Go back where you came from.”
    She said, between her tears, “Is this the truth, Jamouli? Are you really going to marry again? You are my family. Your mother is my mother, and you are the father of my children. How can you? Your children are living with their father’s wife.”
    She knelt before him and trembled so that her teeth chattered. She sobbed. She reached for his legs and grasped his boots. She removed them and placed them side my side. “A woman may fall ill and take medicine and get well but she should never be left. Good God, Jamouli. Is this my reward?”
    She began to massage his toes and leg in order to rise up. She removed his socks and smelled them. “You always smell clean. Darling, really, are you going to marry again, Jamouli? Do you swear by your father’s soul?”
    He pushed her against her chest, and she fell backward. “Why do you want me to ask you for permission? You’ve been ill for years. All that medicine and all the expense, and you’re still the same.”
    He stood up and began to undo his leather belt. He held his pistol and pulled out the cartridge clip, and placed it at a distance in the middle of the table.
    My mother was afraid of every sort of weapon. She did not look at him, but he bent over her and raised her head to him. They looked at one another. His face was calm. At that moment my mother was able to get close to him, and before he removed his trousers he knocked her to the floor and threw himself on top of her. Her tears flowed wordlessly. He checked to make sure she was not dead. She knew he could not wait.
    Amidst her tears and his murmurs, she sobbed, “Don’t marry, Jamouli, please, God bless you, for the sake of the children, and your dear mother, who was better than my mother.” He stifled his shout in her quiet breast, then stood up, preparing to leave.
    â€œNow listen well, Iqbal. A few months ago I married a nurse from Karbala. She came with me to Baghdad, and she is pregnant. I don’t like doing things illicitly. There are as many women as we have prisoners after me. They’re young and pretty, and my boss had his fill of them. I swear to you, he even slept with the animals. Listen – don’t shout and don’t cry. You are going back to Syria, and I am going to stay at the prison by myself. You know the prison. Come there and see how it would drive you mad. Don’t worry about the