by Nihad Sirees
Amid the silence that descended upon the three of us while we ate, I was able to get a good look at the old man’s face. Now he looked less old than he had seemed to me the night before: he had a warm, familiar face, a shiny head with thinning hair, faint wrinkles spreading along both sides of his face. His eyes were honey-coloured and hadn’t completely faded yet. The old man was easy on the eyes, gentle, whereas I found the servant more mysterious and even hostile. Listening to the sounds he made as he greeted me, I realised that they were the same sounds I had heard while I was in bed the night before. I shivered slightly.
We had coffee in the living room beside the wood-burning fireplace. After the servant served us and then left us alone, the old man continued telling his story. In his soft, deep voice, he said:
“I mentioned I’d tell you something more about Khojah Samah. The story wouldn’t be complete without her.”
“That’s great. I’m all ears. And I’m honoured that you would take so much time to talk to me.”
And he said…
“Khojah Samah was a real threat to Khojah Bahira. They competed for singing gigs at the fanciest and best-known houses in town. They were friends with women belonging to the most influential families in Aleppo so that they wouldn’t miss the chance to perform at engagement parties and weddings. They would conspire against each other, each trying to prevent the other from getting to some event so that she could take her place. They would also compete with one another to be the first woman to perform the most beautiful and hottest songs. They angled for the newest records from the Egyptian ‘Gramophone Limited’ label. On one occasion, Khojah Samah was even able to get her hands on the latest record by ‘Maestro’ Shaykh Sayed El Safti before the agent in Damascus, which enabled her to sing his hit song, ‘My Heart, Who Told You to Love Me?’ at a party attended by the governor himself before anyone had even heard it, which impressed everyone so that they were raving about her for days. This, of course, elicited the resentment and envy of Khojah Bahira.
“Samah was more beautiful than Bahira, who looked like a man. She was feminine, white-skinned and curvy, with a round face, unlike Bahira, whose face was more rectangular. She always wore a white rose in her hair, which made her look even more lovely and womanly. She had also been blessed with a wide mouth and full lips, which gave the impression that she was constantly in a lustful mood. Although their appearances were quite different, they were strikingly similar in other ways. Samah also had a thing for women. She had refused to get married because of these feelings, and she would also steal young women and sweethearts from Bahira, her singers and dancers as well. Bahira would do the same thing, and her latest conquest was to steal the blonde zither player from Samah and turn her into her girlfriend. When Badia showed up, she took her place in Bahira’s life and heart. The zither player was so intensely jealous that she left and went back to Samah, her first ablaya.
“So Badia’s arrival was a stroke of good fortune for Khojah Bahira. She showed up at just the right time because Samah had recently scored a few victories against Bahira. Samah surrounded herself with a number of talented women in high demand among elite circles. Her band boasted talented and beautiful female musicians, and despite the fact that she had lost the blonde zither player for a time, it was hardly a catastrophe since there were other women who had similar skills or were even more talented. Things were going in the opposite direction for Bahira. She wasn’t in a good spot, and the blonde zither player didn’t much improve her standing with the public despite Bahira’s valiant attempts to perform fashionable songs that were coming from Egypt, especially those written by Muhammad Effendi Othman and Dawud Husni…”
Interrupting the flow of the story, I asked:
“But why were things better for Khojah Samah than for Khojah Bahira? Why were all those beautiful women in her band and why did Bahira’s group have so few?”
“It might have had something to do with how bossy Bahira was. She treated her girls very harshly. She was prickly, and loved to be in charge. In charge of what? Other human beings, which made girls run away from her. She used to monitor their every move.”
“She’s really more like a man. Then again, I’d say that kind of spirit is pretty common among women, too, so why didn’t…”
“There’s something else, though, that set Khojah Samah apart, like I said. She was beautiful and blonde and looked like a real woman, even though she was one of the banat al-ishreh. Apparently the women who were with her wanted their ablayas to be women in every sense of the term.”
“Was Badia comfortable working alongside a singer who had homosexual tendencies?”
Returning to the story, the old man said:
“Bahira continued to take an interest in Badia until she had turned her into a dancer who met her standards, someone she could show off at gatherings held in private homes or at weddings. She transformed her from a young woman who had run away from her mother’s rules in some backwater town into a beautiful woman and a professional dancer. If that man had run into Badia again after Bahira was finished with her, he would never have believed that she was the same woman. She took care over her clothes, her hair and her skin. She had been taught how to walk properly after Bahira noticed the way she would throw her feet in front of her like a peasant, a gait that was looked down upon in the city. Badia’s dancing became more balanced and she was taught how to create movement out of rhythm, to constantly change things up. Bahira always advised Badia to show off her slim figure and not to be ashamed of doing so. She wanted her to become a real dancer who would be cheered by both men and women alike, just as she wanted her to become an exceptionally beautiful woman who stole hearts and drew gasps of wonder from anyone who saw her. The more Bahira realised how valuable Badia was, the better she became at planning, including how to get her out into public and introduce her to the scene. Before Bahira allowed another woman to meet her she would invite Badia into her bed, caress her and feed her the taste of love for the first time. That country girl had no idea what a woman like that could do to her.
“Badia was happy about everything that was happening to her. Bahira had rescued her from an unpredictable fate in the starving city streets. The best she thought she could hope for once those conditions of war and hunger had abated would be to get sent back to her mother. But Bahira had saved her from that dark future, giving her the opportunity to enjoy creature comforts most people couldn’t dream of, not least the innocent rural girl she once was. She promised her love and silk clothing and gold. She promised her fame and her name in lights. She promised her all that and more, but only as long as she remained faithful to her ablaya, only as long as she didn’t cheat on her with anyone at all, but especially not with Samah the woman stealer. She warned her that as soon as she stepped into the limelight she would hear gentle whispers and tempting promises and endless expressions of wonder. She also told her that a lot of women were going to fall in love with her, but those feelings were worthless because there was no one on earth who loved her the way Bahira did. Bahira had moulded her and brought her back to life. Therefore she had to listen and forget about all the horrible things she had been through. There was nothing truer than Bahira and her promises, her love and her touch. Then there were the men. They were fearsome savages. She had to be careful around them, stay away from them. They stirred up women’s worries, put fetuses in their wombs, which was precisely why she had to stay away from them. Men were Bahira’s mortal enemies. A bint al-ishreh girl could steal a young lady right out from under Bahira’s nose and she’d quickly win her back. But if a man snatched away Bahira’s lover, there’d be no hope of getting her back once she got married and lost her virginity, once her belly had swollen and she became busy taking care of children. Bahira never tired of telling her about men, how vile they were, about their disgusting penises. Badia started to despise them. Bahira described them as fearsome savages who had giant snouts they used to tear out women’s insides. The angelic antidote was Bahira’s touch
in bed late at night. She would hold Badia in her arms and kiss her, then take off her clothes and pleasure her until she started to gasp. Badia loved what happened to her in Bahira’s bed. One time Khojah Bahira left her there without touching her, just left her there to sleep, as if she were punishing her for some kind of sin she had committed. But Badia had become used to her touch and wouldn’t go to sleep without being touched. Bahira could hear her moan and toss and turn in bed. Bahira knew that Badia was ready. She wasn’t worried at all about presenting her to mixed company. And that’s what happened.
“Khojah Bahira wanted her to be a bombshell in the Aleppo scene. She didn’t just want to bring her out at some run-of-the-mill wedding where a surprise like this wouldn’t be noticed. She presented her at a party hosted by the Turkish governor’s wife, which was attended by the Turkish and Arab and Circassian wives of the most important men in high society. Khojah Bahira was expected to sing for them at the governor’s house, and it was customary for her dancer to go with her. It never occurred to any of those people in attendance that an angel in a dance costume would come out to see them. While Khojah Bahira sang, she watched more than a hundred eyes suddenly widen as they became fixated on the extremely beautiful Badia, who danced so gracefully that it melted their hearts. All at once the ladies, young and old, felt as if they had been taken prisoner by that white beauty moving so smoothly and rhythmically. Some of them moaned silently and some of them moaned out loud. The next day the whole city was talking about Badia, the dancer, and requests for her to perform at parties in the salons of the most important houses in town started pouring in to Bahira, to the extent that the Khojah’s house lost its tranquillity because of the sheer number of visitors arriving to meet bodacious Badia and see her up close. Many of them tried to impress her, having fallen in love the moment they’d seen her dance. But Khojah Bahira greeted all visitors and female admirers and made sure that Badia sat next to her, close enough to touch. Most of the time she would hold her palm between her hands to make clear that she was Bahira’s girlfriend and that their chances of winning Badia’s affections were nil. Bahira even asked Badia to kiss her in front of those visitors whenever she felt like it. She would announce to the public that she was her ablaya, even asking her servant to tell all the visitors and female admirers that Bahira and Badia were still asleep in bed, and make them wait in the salon. A little while later, the two of them would show up in their house clothes and welcome the guests, looking as if they had just made love, and had been interrupted in the middle of a steamy moment.
“When they heard from their wives what a revelation she was, men would also come over to Khojah Bahira’s house in order to meet Badia: Turkish officers, associates of the governor, high-profile businessmen, civil servants, even a German marshal, a Turkish pasha and Arab notables. Bahira would willingly show her off in front of women and female dignitaries, but in front of men she did so only because she had no other choice. She was afraid of men. Khojah Samah, Bahira’s main competitor in singing and women’s affection, would fume as she kept track of what was going on. She dispatched a few spies to bring her back a precise description of this well-known courtesan.
Samah tried to seduce Badia. She made her promises through her emissaries but Bahira kept a close eye on them. They confronted her with stern, mannish faces and an iron will, ready to go to war for Badia’s sake. Over the course of more than two years, Bahira dominated women’s entertainment in the city, and was the happy lover of its most beautiful and graceful dancer. Badia had no real equal, and Bahira was able to protect her, leaving all the other courtesans no other choice but to sigh from a distance.
“No matter how careful we are, though, we all eventually forget about the misfortune we’re so afraid might befall us. Bahira was afraid that other women like her were going to steal Badia away. She was also afraid of men with malicious intent. She assiduously worked to make Badia hate them. They were the root of all women’s misfortune, in her opinion. On one occasion, when some respectable men were visiting, Badia fell in love with one of them. The man was Captain Cevdet, the handsome Turkish officer who stole Badia’s heart, and broke Khojah Bahira’s as well. He was a strapping young man with irresistible charm. He came to Bahira’s house in the company of a high-ranking Ottoman officer, and sat there silently waiting for the chance to steal a glance at Badia’s beauty without anyone else noticing. He might have seemed bashful, but deep down inside he was a courageous adventurer. He fell in love with Badia at once. His eyes were sharp and deep-set, like those of an eagle; Badia felt a pleasant ripple wash over her whenever she looked into them. She fell in love with him, too, but she didn’t dare tell anyone about it or let her ablaya know. He would come to Bahira’s street and stand on the corner for hours. As soon as Badia noticed he was there, she would stand by the window and gaze down at him, allowing him a clear view of herself. He confessed his love for her through gestures, and invited her outside to meet him. She began thinking about him whenever she was awake and dreaming about him whenever she was asleep, until her resistance grew weak, and she started to invent excuses to go outside to see him. She would take a servant with her, one she could easily bribe to say nothing. So Cevdet was able to meet her and become her lover. Badia learnt that not all men are bad, and that some parts of their bodies even taste good.
“One day she started to feel nauseous. It had been a while since she’d last had her period. She was pregnant with Widad. What was she going to do? Cevdet took her to see a shaykh who married them right away. She had to tell her ablaya, Bahira, but she was too scared to do so until the day the war grew so fierce that they claimed Damascus was about to fall into the hands of the Arab and British armies. At that point Captain Cevdet had to accompany his senior officer to the south in order to defend against the advance of those armies. It was a tearful goodbye, and Badia cried out of fear for her beloved Turkish officer, fear for her unknown future. Cevdet left her alone and worried about her growing belly, worried that Bahira might find out. Thankfully the celebrations came to an end now that the Ottomans had been defeated—who would celebrate with singing and dancing under such circumstances? When Badia heard that Damascus had fallen and Ottoman soldiers were retreating to Turkey by train, she ran away from her ablaya Khojah Bahirah. She also went by train, hiding out in Maydan Ekbas Station as she watched the trains coming from the south, so that her beloved Turkish officer would be able to find her and the two of them could then live together as they had planned. But the war came to an end, and the entire Turkish army left Syria. The English army arrived and Captain Cevdet never showed up. Khojah Bahira had to endure that devastating loss, the loss of Badia, as well as the schadenfreude of Khojah Samah.”
CHAPTER TWO
How Khojah Bahira Introduced Widad to Her First Kiss
THE OLD MAN STOPPED TALKING and asked if he could take a break. I got up to toss some more wood onto the fire. I had really taken a shine to him, waiting for any reason to rush to his aid. I’d tuck in the blanket that he kept on his lap to help with his arthritis. Whenever he fell silent in order to rest, I kept quiet, too, so that I wouldn’t encourage him to keep talking and become even more worn out. When he was quiet, his hands would tap, and he’d watch his fingers tremble even as he tried to keep them still. I prayed to God he didn’t have Parkinson’s, which my father suffered from. I know how bad the physical and psychological pain is for those unlucky enough to have this terrible disease. I learnt from the doctor who treated my father that Parkinson’s afflicts men who have lived a very active life. He told me that the boxer Muhammad Ali had it, which really hammered home for me what he meant by an active life.
So had the old man also lived a full life? And how did he know so much about the women in this story? Did he have some kind of relationship with them? Had he known them or even lived with them? Was the old man actually telling me the story of his own life, I wonder? Questions swirled around inside my head as I added more wood to rekindle the fire and help keep the old man
warm. Glancing over at him, I noticed that he was still tapping, staring down at his trembling hands. Instead of sitting back down, I drew closer to the window and gazed out at the barren fields that stretched into the distance and had been washed vigorously with rain. Just then I heard something, a movement, or possibly some breathing behind the door next to the window. I started to have all kinds of doubts about the servant, particularly because of his inscrutable and stern face, his dusky eyes which were darker than those of the old man. I repeatedly thought about the noise I thought I had heard in my room which had been locked from the inside. If I hadn’t been so soundly asleep that my mind refused the possibility of anything bad happening, I would have got up to switch on the light and seek out the source of the sound. At this point, dear reader, I’d like to confess that, in that moment, standing by the window, I felt a little bit afraid, especially since the house was shrouded in mystery, its furnishings and lighting as well as the way the servant behaved and the way he looked at you. The most mysterious thing about the house was its very existence there. I calmly moved closer to the door, still looking outside, and then suddenly turned back to the old man and found him still fixated on his hands. Then I looked back at the door and opened it confidently, instinctively, without a plan. My suspicion was correct. The hallway was dimly lit and the servant was quickly turning from me, trying to get away, though he continued to stare right at me. We stood there for a couple of seconds before the servant fully wheeled around and scurried away without any obvious confusion or a smile. Once he had rounded the corner and disappeared, I shut the door and walked back to the window.
