One morning, the three wagons, one behind the other, traversed the small souk and then the large one, where butchers sat on chairs placed directly in front of their meat hooks from which hung slaughtered carcasses. Their knives were stashed in leather belts that they fastened around their waists over their dark, blood-stained dishdashas. Their jamdaniyat head cloths distinguished them as being Turkmen, not Arabs or Kurds. Also present were proprietors of small stores that sold elixirs and aromatic herbs, vendors of fruit and vegetables, which were displayed in straw baskets placed on the pavement, and people selling kebabs, for which the city of Kirkuk is renowned, since they are prepared in an almost secret way. The meat is mixed with dry bread that has been pulverized and ground while special spices are added. The Jewish merchants of aromatic herbs procured these from a village called Turcham, located in Afghanistan on the Khyber Pass, which Alexander the Macedonian traversed with his armies long ago on his way to India. All these men rose to show their respect and greeted the elders of the Chuqor community as they headed to the governor’s home in the open, black, horse-drawn wagons. Even the patrons of the great souk’s male public bath, which was to the left of the market up an alley that linked the great souk with a street leading to the Chay community, came out to the street—clasping red cloths around their waists, while some held tumblers of cinnamon tea, which they drank after eating an orange in the baths—to present their respects to the elders, whose renown had reached every locale in the city.
The three wagons crossed the narrow, stone bridge, descending toward the other side of the city. After almost half an hour the wagons came to a halt in front of the governor’s residence, which was guarded by a policeman who was sitting in the garden on a wooden chair. He wore khaki Bermuda shorts and had set his rifle on the grass. The policeman sprang to his feet in surprise when he saw the men descend from the wagon. Meanwhile the drivers started unloading the delegation’s presents, which consisted of cans of shortening, molasses, and sesame oil, sacks of sugar, and boxes of tea. Khidir Musa called to the policeman, “Come lend a hand.” Another man, who was obviously a servant, emerged from the house, and a gardener working in the front yard hurried over too. Assisted by the coachmen, they carried the presents inside. Then the servant returned to the four gentlemen waiting in the garden and invited them to enter, escorting them to the reception room, where he served them orange juice.
The seated men expected the governor to appear from one minute to the next. Khidir Musa collected his thoughts and even the sentences he would use with the governor, but the wait lasted so long that the men began to feel anxious. Finally the servant returned to announce, regretfully, that the governor had been forced to travel to Baghdad that very morning and that Madam thanked them for the presents. If they cared to tell him what was on their minds, he would convey their concerns to the governor when he returned. The men, who grasped instinctively that “madam” referred to the governor’s wife, assumed that the servant had misspoken because the city of Kirkuk normally applied the term ‘madama’ to a woman who showed her hair and wore high-heeled shoes. The absence of the governor troubled the men somewhat, but Khidir Musa managed to cloak their discomfort by saying, “It’s nothing urgent. Merely convey to him the best wishes of the Chuqor community when he returns.”
The men departed, but anxiety overwhelmed them once more and they felt desperate. Khidir Musa surprised them, however, and restored hope to their hearts when he remarked, “It seems we shall be forced to contact the king.” Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri agreed, saying as if he were uttering a maxim, “It’s always better for a man to address the head rather than plead with the tails.” Thus the men climbed into the wagon, which was still waiting for them, and headed this time for the post office, which was located on the banks of the Khasa Su River, opposite al-Alamein Garden, in order to place a call to the king. For no apparent reason, the other two wagons trailed along behind them.
The postal clerk, who was a young man of about twenty-five and who had transferred from the district of Tuzkhurmatu to Kirkuk some six months before, was alarmed when Khidir Musa approached and asked in a friendly way, “Could you place a call to al-Zuhur Palace in Baghdad? I would like to speak to the king.” The young man continued to stare openmouthed at Khidir Musa—as if awaiting further instructions. So Khidir Musa said, “I can speak Turkmen if you don’t know Arabic: I said I would like to speak to the king.” The young man nodded and replied, “One moment please.” He rose and entered a side room. He disappeared for a few minutes and then returned, accompanied by a portly man who wore thick prescription glasses. Khidir Musa introduced himself: “I’m Khidir Musa, recipient of the Medal of the Two Rivers, second class.” The man shook hands with the elders of the Chuqor community, one after the other, and then invited them to have a seat in his office. Since there were not enough chairs, he asked Khidir Musa to sit in his chair, behind the desk, while he was content to perch on a small tea table after covering it with a copy of the newspaper al-Nahda, which was lying in front of him on the desk. The man said welcomingly, “It is a great honor for us to receive a visit from men of your caliber.”
Al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji burst in, “May God repay you with blessings.”
The man said, “Unfortunately we don’t have the king’s secret telephone number, although the number for al-Zuhur Palace is available, to be sure, in a directory we keep for our own use.”
Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri beamed as he observed, “What’s the difference? The king lives in al-Zuhur Palace; everyone knows that.”
The man stammered, “That’s true.” So he rose, lifted the receiver of the telephone that stood in front of him on the desk, and asked the operator to connect him with al-Zuhur Palace in Baghdad.
Soon the telephone rang. The postal employee lifted the receiver, listened to something, and then handed it to Khidir Musa, saying, “Here’s al-Zuhur Palace. Go ahead and speak.”
Khidir Musa felt extremely uncomfortable. His heart was pounding rapidly, and his face was flushed. He no longer knew what to say. He took the receiver but did not place it near his ear, for this was the first time he had used a telephone. Silent and awestruck, the elders from the Chuqor community waited to hear what Khidir Musa would say in this historic conversation. The postal employee rose and, gently pressing on Khidir Musa’s hand, suggested, “Move the receiver closer to your ear.” Then the terrified men seated there heard Khidir Musa open his mouth and say, “Greetings! With whom I am speaking? Is this His Majesty King Faisal II?” There were several moments of silence after which Khidir Musa, whose face was now streaming with perspiration, announced “I am Khidir Musa, recipient of the Medal of the Two Rivers, second class. I am speaking from Kirkuk.” Khidir Musa suddenly beamed and then laughed affably. “So you know who I am then. Yes, I’m the man who flew to Iraq from Russia in a zeppelin.” There were some more moments of silence as Khidir Musa listened to the speaker on the other end. Then he said, “A delegation of prominent citizens of Kirkuk would like to have the honor of being received by His Majesty King Faisal II, may God preserve him and bestow on him a peaceful reign.” He listened again attentively and then said, “That is most convenient: next Thursday at ten a.m. We will be there, God willing. Convey my greetings to His Majesty the King as well as those of Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri, al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji, and Headman Salman Hanash. May God reward you with blessings. Good-bye.” Thus ended a conversation of which the residents of Kirkuk continued to speak with pride and satisfaction until the king’s death in the revolution conducted by Brigadier Abd al-Karim Qasim many years later.
The man with whom Khidir Musa had been speaking at al-Zuhur Palace in Baghdad was not actually the king, but was definitely a member of the royal family, as Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri observed, since the man had immediately recognized Khidir Musa and teased him, asking, “Weren’t you afraid you’d fall out of the blimp? His Majesty and the Crown Prince were highly diverted by your escapade.” Mullah Zayn al-Abidin a
l-Qadiri was not too far from the mark because only an insider close to the king would have known that King Faisal and Crown Prince Abdul’ilah were impressed by Khidir Musa’s courage. Headman Salman Hanash, who felt proud when he heard Khidir Musa mention his name when passing on his greetings to the king, said, “Perhaps the speaker was the Pasha.” Khidir Musa rejected that suggestion, however, affirming that if the speaker had in fact been Nuri al-Sa‘id, he would definitely have spoken to him in Turkish, since he was fluent in that language. Khidir Musa openly blamed himself for neglecting to ask the man his name, but al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji, who had difficulty keeping famous people straight, said, “You did the right thing. It would not have been appropriate for you to ask his name, for he represents the king, and when you speak with him it is as if you are speaking with the king himself.”
Khidir Musa asked the postal employee, “How much for the telephone call, son?”
The employee protested: “Don’t even think about it. The call’s on me.”
Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri told him firmly, “That’s not right; you have to make a living.”
The embarrassed employee answered, “It’s a trivial amount; three dirhem. What does that amount to?”
Al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji intervened again, preventing Khidir Musa from reaching into his pocket while placing a banknote, which obviously was a quarter dinar, in the employee’s hand.
The four men exited to find their three drivers waiting for them by the wagons. Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri proposed that they should go to the teashop of al-Hajj Ahmad Agha to drink a tumbler of heavy black tea after their successful day’s effort and to meet with al-Qurya’s prominent citizens, who could normally be found there, smoking a water pipe. So they all climbed into the first wagon again, and the driver began to spur his horses on with his long, wood-handled goad. The other two wagons trailed along too as everyone headed for al-Hajj Ahmad Agha’s teashop. It soon became clear that there was not much to do in the teashop, since the notables ordinarily frequented it in the afternoon. The men spent about an hour there while each of them drank two tumblers of tea, and Khidir Musa played backgammon with al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji, who beat him. Then Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri suggested that they return to the Chuqor community: “We must carry the good news of the telephone conversation with the king to our people in Chuqor.”
The procession of three wagons went along al-Awqaf Street in the direction of the stone bridge. The wagons had scarcely descended alongside the Citadel on the way to the great souk when the four men were caught off guard by something they had not been expecting. Lined up there were the men who worked in the souk, women shoppers wearing black wraps and veils over their faces, and children who had come out on the street in dirty dishdashas. They lined up on both sides of the street and began to applaud the four men, who responded to their greetings by raising their hands. The three other men insisted that Khidir Musa should at least stand, so that the people, who loved him, could see him. Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri suggested, “Perhaps it would be best if you sat beside the coachman.” So Khidir Musa climbed over the partition, trailing behind him the tail of his striped underwear, to sit beside the driver, raising his hands on high, and saluting the loyal citizens of his city. He was greatly touched by this scene and oblivious even to the tears that filled his eyes.
The Chuqor community experienced a true festival; animals were slaughtered, and the rich distributed alms to the poor. Khidir Musa and the three men with him did not understand how the entire city had learned about his telephone call to al-Zuhur Palace only an hour or two after that historic conversation had taken place. The fact was that the three coachmen had spread the word to passersby when Khidir Musa and the other men entered the post office. Then the news reached an advertising genius, a young man who handled publicity for the films shown at al-Alamein Cinema in an attractive manner, standing in front of a giant poster of a still from the film while acting out scenes from it in a voice loud enough to be heard by pedestrians even on other streets: “Most powerful champion in the world!…Hand-to-hand combat!…Bow and arrows!…Warring pirates!…Tarzan King of the Jungle fights the lion and splits it in two!…Return of Superman!” Deciding to exploit this opportunity to attract the public’s attention, he added Khidir Musa’s call to al-Zuhur Palace to his film promotions: “Attention! Attention! Latest news! Dutiful son of Kirkuk, Khidir Musa, contacts King Faisal II! After an exchange of greetings the king tells him, ‘It will be a big honor for me to receive a man like you!’ Long live Khidir Musa! Fatin Hamama in her finest film yet! Samia Gamal, Queen of Eastern dance, captivates hearts with her extraordinary scenes! Invitation from His Majesty King Faisal II for Khidir Musa to attend the Coronation!” In this way the news was spreading even before Khidir Musa had concluded his conversation with al-Zuhur Palace.
This conversation made a big impression not only in the Chuqor community but throughout Kirkuk. Everyone was delighted, especially the mullahs, many of whom dedicated their Friday sermons to praising the royal concern with defending the sanctity of the graves of the Muslims. They mentioned Khidir Musa’s name directly after those of the king and the governor. There were as well, however, some pessimists, who expected good from no one—not even from the king. In their opinion the king was still a callow youth dominated by his uncle, who collaborated with the English. He was led by Nuri al-Sa‘id, whom they considered, whether correctly or not, England’s number one agent in Iraq.
In point of fact, Khidir Musa faced many problems that he was obliged to handle with the wisdom and patience for which he was known and most of all with his instinctive understanding of human nature and of ways to deal with people. He realized that a single false move by anyone could torpedo everything.
The Communists, for example, stirred up a contrived row, claiming that one community could not represent the entire city. They also spread a rumor that the delegation would include only Arabs and Turkmen, without even a single Kurd, as a deliberate slight aimed at the Kurds, who in turn asserted their right to direct things, since they considered Kirkuk to be part of Iraq’s Kurdistan. This claim was denied by the Turkmen, who thought that Kirkuk was their homeland. Indeed, Shakir Effendi, who published a local newspaper in both Arabic and Turkmen, intentionally wrote an editorial in which he affirmed that Kirkuk had been distinguished by Turkmen characteristics for more than a thousand years. In response to that, some Turkish families with deep roots in the city also decided to raise with Khidir Musa the subject of including in the delegation that would see the king the genuine elite of the city, not hoi polloi like Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri or Headman Salman Hanash, who was actually a secret agent. This was only the beginning, however, for the same animosity made itself felt in the Chuqor community. Khidir Musa learned that the young athletes, perhaps at the suggestion of Hameed Nylon and Faruq Shamil, had met in the zurkhaneh and decided to form a gang, which they called “The Giants.” Its mission was to prevent the municipality, by force, from building the road through the cemetery of al-Musalla. Placing their hands on the Holy Qur’an, they had sworn to sincere and wholehearted defense of the dignity of their fathers and grandfathers.
While everyone was preoccupied with hatching intrigues and conspiracies, using the construction of the road through the cemetery and the Baghdad trip to meet with the king as a pretext for rallying any type of support, even if merely verbal, Khidir Musa stepped from his house after slinging over his shoulders a piece of camel hide embroidered in green and red that the Jiburi tribe’s chief, to whom he was related, had presented to him, even though winter was almost over and the weather was mild. Since he had returned from Russia, he had grown accustomed to wearing this whenever he wanted to be alone. Ideas were surging and clashing in his head as he walked along Piryadi Street, heading for the Valley of Adam’s Horse. It was said that Adam had landed there, mounted on his horse, when he descended from paradise. As he proceeded, Khidir Musa passed by the tannery, which opened onto the street, and its
stench stopped up his nostrils. In the past, that smell had seemed normal, back when he carried skins from his sheep on his back. He had received a quarter dinar for a lamb’s skin and more than that for a ewe’s. He was not in a mood to visit his former friends and greet them, but one of them recognized him and called to him from a distance, “You don’t bring us skins anymore, Khidir. Have your lambs run away from you?” So Khidir Musa replied, without moving closer, “No, I’m the stray runaway. I can’t trust my hand with the knife anymore.” He went along a path that cut through a field of cucumbers. Leaning down, he plucked one and wiped it on his sleeve before biting into it. When he reached the lettuce bed, he returned to the dirt road to avoid the shit that the city’s night-soil men carted to the lettuce patches, whose owners paid them ten fils a barrel.
Khidir Musa found himself outside the city in an area frequented by quarry workers, who cut chunks of stone from the rocky earth and carried them on their donkeys to the city, where these blocks were used to build houses. The quarrymen left behind them many pits, which filled with rain water and became dangerous ponds where children from nearby communities swam when it was scorching hot. No summer passed without a child or two drowning. The quarrymen, who were known for their sexual perversions, would stand on protruding boulders to try to attract the most radiant youth. This time there were only a few masons breaking rock with their pickaxes in the distance. Khidir Musa climbed the rocky road, looking at the scarecrows in the fields that lay on the slope of the Valley of Adam’s Horse and at the crows that were scattered over the rocks. He was wondering how to escape from the crisis into which he felt himself slipping. He could simply choose the people he wanted to accompany him to see the king. He realized, though, that this approach might expose him to the wrath of the city’s elite, toward whom he felt a special respect and whose wrath he would definitely like to avoid. At the same time, he was afraid that the zealous young men of the city would resort to violence when confronting the municipal workers or would even clash with the police, thereby calling into question his relationship with the state, which had demonstrated its trust in him. What made him most anxious of all was the possibility that the king might reject his effort, or merely ignore it. He understood from long experience and from his grasp of life’s realities that this was not out of the question. His walk eventually brought him to a fig tree in front of a cave on the flank of the mountain. He removed his camel hide, spread it on the ground, and sat down cross-legged upon it, after taking off his shoes and setting them to one side. Then he began to gaze at the wild flowers that grew from gaps between the rocks to announce the imminent arrival of spring.
The Last of the Angels Page 11
