The Long Way Back

by Fuad al-Takarli

  What kind of a night is it going to be with this idiot for company?

  “Abu Kamal, Abu Kamal,” called Abu Nazim.

  Uwanis put his head round the curtain.

  “Yes.”

  “Quarter of arak, please, Abu Kamal.”

  “Right.”

  Would Midhat show up in the end? Surely he couldn’t lose his way.

  “How are you, Abu Suha?” Abu Nazim asked Husayn.

  “Well thanks. And you?”

  “Very well. Tiptop.”

  Abu Shakir whispered something to Abu Nazim, who leaned towards him. They were like two crows in their dark corner. It was uncomfortably hot. Uwanis came in briskly and put a quarter bottle of arak and a glass next to Abu Nazim, then went out with a glance at Husayn’s empty glass. Was Midhat not going to turn up? He lifted his glass and drank the dregs of warm beer in the bottom. His hand was shaking slightly, and he felt almost feverish. He hadn’t eaten since the morning, since the unforgettable meatballs! They had enabled him to have several hours of untroubled sleep in the afternoon. The sleep of the dead, without dreaming or feeling the heat. But then he had woken up sober, and the anxiety and trembling hands had returned. I le knew very well he couldn’t last long like this. He would begin on the arak shortly. He didn’t need to be very cunning to negotiate the price of a quarter of arak, even if it meant being forced to borrow from Abu Nazim. The two men were still whispering together in a dubious fashion.

  “If you two want me to go,” he began, “feel free to say so.”

  “What are you talking about, brother Husayn?” shouted Abu Shakir.

  “We’ve got nothing to hide,” said Abu Nazim. “You know Abu Shakir! He tells thousands of stories with no point to them whatsoever. Let’s drink.”

  He bent to pour himself an arak in a glass full of ice cubes. Can’t the fool see that I don’t have anything to drink? How am I going to manage it with these assholes? Abu Nazim added water and the liquid turned milky in the glass. lie put it on the floor then took a small paper bag out of his pocket, which he opened and offered to Husayn.

  “Roast peanuts. Help yourself, Abu Suha. They’re still warm.”

  I’ve made it!

  “Thanks, Abu Nazim.”

  He heard someone talking to Uwanis in the front of the shop and jumped to his feet, recognizing the voice. He felt cheerful as he brought Midhat back, introduced him to the others, and gave him his seat. Pulling up an empty barrel, he sat down next to him. He realized how isolated and alone a person was without money or drink. He wasn’t used to interacting with drinkers when he was sober. He ordered a quarter of arak and a bottle of cold beer. Abu Shakir and Abu Nazim were engaged in another mysterious conversation: two crows without importance now. Midhat looked young and elegant to him and smelt good. Husayn told him this after two large swigs of the magic liquid. Midhat smiled without replying. It was almost nine.

  “Did they like the books?” he asked.

  Midhat took a quick look at their two companions. “Munira, you mean?” he said in a low voice.

  Husayn nodded. Such a beautiful name, Munira!

  “Yes, she liked them,” said Midhat.

  Midhat took a large gulp of beer, and Husayn did the same. He needed to move on to a different plane. The fact that there were no snacks with the arak didn’t bother him much.

  “I saw Karumi a few days ago,” he said to Midhat. “He looked very weak and pale. How is he now?”

  “Not bad. Well, and not well. You know he was ill. I told you. He was ill for a long time. It was a strange illness. You couldn’t tell what was wrong with him. It was as if he didn’t want to go on living.”

  “Why? He’s better now, I hope.”

  “I don’t exactly know. It’s complicated. He had a friend he really loved. He was knocked down by a car and killed in front of him. It had a big effect on Karumi. He never mixed that much with the rest of us, even when he was a child. A day or two ago he collapsed in the courtyard. It really worried the family I don’t know what’s going on with him ...”

  He was talking slowly forlornly He didn’t complete his sentence and took another big gulp of beer. Husayn, too, raised his glass in silence.

  Midhat seems to have decided to let himself go tonight.

  Midhat lit a cigarette and offered one to Husayn. Abu Shakir and his friend were enthusiastically discussing something incomprehensible. Husayn was afraid of them interrupting his conversation with Midhat, and so he kept his head turned away from them to show that he wasn’t interested.

  “How are things at home, Midhat?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How are you getting on, and the family? Are you happy?”

  Midhat nodded and gestured vaguely: “Sort of.” Then suddenly he demanded, “How are you, Husayn? I mean, how’s your life really? What are your plans?”

  Husayn rubbed his head. not a very good start. I le blew smoke out through his nose. “I don’t think I’ve got any. why should I?” He laughed and saw a depressed look on Midhat’s face. not a good beginning, old son. “Look, Midhat,” he went on. “I know you like me like I like you, and you’re not asking me just because you’re my daughters’ uncle but. ..” he felt himself smiling. “. .. the time’s past.”

  “What are you talking about? The time’s past for what?”

  “Don’t deceive yourself. There’s nothing you feel passing as much as your own life. Don’t tell me life begins at forty, or sixty. Look at me now, the state I’m in, and make me any age you want, then what? Do you think I should go back to my job, to Madiha and the girls? You know neither of those things is going to happen. And there isn’t a job for me since ...” He raised his glass in the air. “Cheers!”

  He took a good long drink. A nice piece of acting! He was almost moved by his own speech. He had never managed to talk to himself so honestly and had not intended to talk to Midhat like this.

  “Listen, Husayn, can’t we leave these domestic and social problems aside for now?”

  “What else is there, Midhat?”

  “You. Who you are, really.”

  He wants to start philosophizing. God help us.

  “Me? This is me. I’m not hiding anything. I’m the dregs of society and the black sheep of the family!”

  “We’re all like that. Everybody in the world. That’s not what I meant. The important thing is ...”

  “There’s nothing important, my dear Midhat,” Husayn interrupted, warming to the topic. “Everything’s the same. Freud, God rest his soul, Freud’s the same in the end as any Iraqi street sweeper from Houider, and The Origin of the Species is the same as ...” Midhat raised his hand to stop him, but Husayn carried on: “Just a second. I’m not a nihilist by nature, or an atheist. It’s just that my life’s a failure. I’ve done nothing. But I’m not desperate. Not at all.” He couldn’t find the words to express the thoughts whirling round in his head. “What have I got to be desperate about? I don’t actually want anything from the world, so why should I be desperate? Take it from me, the world will be the same in a hundred years, two hundred, a thousand. So what does that mean? Anything? If it doesn’t, that’s the end of the discussion, and if it does, then please tell me.”

  He picked up his glass sadly. His evening had just begun. This was the time when he was most himself. He noticed Midhat smoking stiffly, not looking at him. He could face any horrors now, any conspiracies against him. Nobody would be able to get the better of him. At this time of day his intellectual, physical, and emotional powers were at their height. It was annoyingly hot, and their two companions’ noisy debate was disturbing their conversation.

  Midhat turned towards him, looking irritated: “Loo., Husayn, I can’t discuss these ideas with you now I’m thinking about a particular version of the future, and you’re closing all the doors.”

  “What future?” Then he continued, not knowing why, “You want to get married. That’s it, isn’t it, Midhat?”

  Midhat stubbed out his ciga
rette and drained his glass, then sat in silence staring in front of him as if he was alone. Finally he said in a hoarse voice, “The truth is you don’t want a future. You don’t want to have to think about it. That’s easier, more comfortable. Especially if you’re able to do it, if you’re quite happy with yourself.”

  He stopped and Husayn saw on his face in the semi-darkness and through the fog of cigarette smoke something close to anguish. He half turned to Husayn and looked him fiercely in the eye: “You can’t deceive me with this kind of talk, Husayn. What kind of relationship do you have with yourself? That’s twice I’ve asked you the same question.” He suddenly lowered his voice: “How do you react to the voice inside you, Husayn? Tell me, do you have a voice hounding you wherever you go, asking you about everything, commenting on everything? What’s this? Why did you do that? That’s right. That’s wrong. That’s hypocritical. That’s unjust. That’s a mess. That’s a failure. A voice that never sleeps, talks to you whether you’re talking or not, whether you’re alone or with other people. Do you have one of those, Husayn? Do you?”

  Husayn’s heart was beating unreasonably as he tried to avert his eyes from Midhat’s tortured face. What could he answer? Should he tell him about the disappointments and setbacks and the moments of embarrassment and shame? Could he tell him honestly that it was the other person inside him who had done these things?

  “What do you mean, a voice, Midhat?” he said hesitantly.

  “I’ve got nothing to add. Either you understood what I was saying from the start or you didn’t.”

  Had he chosen his life? It was certain crucial moments over a long period of time-that had made it what it was. A word too many or too few A moment of boredom that he hadn’t been able to overcome. The temptation in a glass. The curve of a buttock. A sexual failure.

  “If you mean ... I really don’t know” He stopped. “Why am I talking to myself? I must be stupid. Please, Midhat.”

  Midhat’s eyes clouded over. He turned away to light a cigarette, and Husayn heard him saying quietly, “Have it your own way, Husayn. If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But do you understand why things have got so desperate?”

  Midhat’s dejected tone saddened him. “I told you, Midhat, I’m not desperate. I’ve messed up my life, that’s all. You thought I was being funny or exaggerating. But it’s the truth. What can I do?”

  He raised his glass. I’ll finish this in one go if it’s the last thing I do.

  “I tried to put myself on the dissecting table once. Peel the layers away See who I was.” I His enthusiasm increased as the familiar heat was kindled inside him. “Who am I? What makes me what I am? How have I got like this?”

  The words felt heavy as his slack lips pronounced them. For a moment his head went round, then the spinning subsided. The glass in front of him was empty. He picked up the bottle and poured more arak into his glass, and added ice and water. He felt like saying something original, to surprise Midhat, impress him, but the damn words wouldn’t come. His memory grew dim at times, and he was left in a heap of fragmented sentences, lost and humiliated. He had no desire to repeat such experiences, but here was Midhat sitting beside him, something he’d wanted for years.

  “Do you know, Midhat—how can I explain? In Kuwait, do you know how much I used to think about you?”

  “Are you going to Kuwait, brother Husayn?” exclaimed Abu Shakir. “Bring me some cigarettes, brother. Rothmans. Please!”

  “There is no Kuwait any more, Abu Shakir. Who goes there these days? It’s a changed world.”

  Midhat was turned expectantly towards him, not listening to Abu Shakir at all.

  He takes the thing so seriously.

  “My life in Kuwait was miserable,” he continued. “I wasn’t settled at all. You could drink, of course. But you couldn’t relax in the hotel. Anyway...”

  “Is it true you tried to find out who you were, as you said?” asked Midhat insistently.

  Husayn began searching through his pockets for cigarettes and did not find any. “What a mess I’m in today. I’m hopeless!”

  Midhat offered him a cigarette. He accepted, lit it, and took a long drag. He felt he was about to reach his accustomed peak, when the world was full of joy, life was amazing, truth and fantasy were indistinguishable, and the walls came tumbling down. I le didn’t want to lie to Midhat: “I don’t know. Maybe. One day I went out and didn’t go home. I was working at the Rafidayn Bank at the time, and I’d been married three or four years. I don’t remember exactly. We were all right financially, and I was on the fringes of some progressive political and literary groups. So, I went out, but I don’t know where I was planning on going. There was one thing on my mind—I didn’t want to go on living the life I was living.”

  His friend Faruq had persuaded him to join the famous poker game held in a whorehouse which some of them frequented. Drink, gambling, and most likely women too. They’d left work together with their salaries in their pockets and gone to the place in Karrada. He hadn’t even phoned Madiha to tell her he wouldn’t be coming home. They had been given a warm welcome and were soon playing cards in a group that grew over the course of the evening as more people arrived and joined in.

  “I didn’t have specific plans to take a room in a hotel. I just wanted to be by myself, to feel I didn’t have any ties or responsibilities. I was obsessed by the idea of finding out what I’d be without my job, my family, children, home, friends.”

  It had been a wonderful night. Amazing cards. Money piling up in front of him. Whisky flowing. And Marie. She had squeezed in next to him, her breast pressing against his shoulder, her buttock testing on his chair, whispering flirtatiously to him every now and then, and the hours had passed like minutes.

  “What would I be, I used to ask myself, if I was dropped naked as the day I was born on an island or out in the wilds somewhere? What would I be without my language and my past? And to tell you the truth, it was as if I was imprisoned by these thoughts the whole time, as if thinking had become a disease with me. I went without food or drink the whole night.”

  The cards had been extraordinary all night long, and sweet Marie had stayed at his side pouring him drinks and flirting with him. The hours had gone by, and when dawn broke they had only paused briefly for a light meal, and he had caressed Marie’s breasts and kissed her in a dark corner. When they went back to the table his head had been empty, beating like a drum.

  “I fell asleep and didn’t wake till the afternoon. I stayed in bed without eating or shaving, I saw no one that day. I wanted this solitude.”

  It had got to past one in the afternoon. He had no longer been able to see the cards properly and asked if he could have a rest. He had simply wanted to sleep. It hadn’t occurred to him to go home to his family, or even to make contact with them. Me had been winning a large sum of money—how much he couldn’t remember any more—and wanted to screw Marie. She’d asked him for however many dinars, which he’d given her without hesitation, and taken him off to a room at the back of the house.

  “I paced up and down the room. I can remember it so clearly. It was as if I was chasing a shadow—something I couldn’t quite grasp. And I came to one conclusion: I couldn’t, being the person I was, in that situation and mental state, come to any conclusion, because I couldn’t be certain of anything, and I didn’t know where to start.”

  What a fiasco! For him and coquettish Marie. The soft bed had been like a drug. His body had been unable to keep fighting the exhaustion. As soon as he’d put his head on the pillow, intending to relax for a moment, he’d plunged into a profound sleep, which had taken him away from Marie and her warm body.

  “But these hours of reflection made me feel a kind of peace of mind I hadn’t felt before. It was night time. I left the hotel and went to the nearest bar. I drank and drank, as if I was drinking the spirit of life itself. I was terribly drunk, but I went on drinking till midnight and I still hadn’t had enough, so I bought a bottle of whisky to take back to
the room, and went on drinking till dawn.”

  They had woken him up in the late afternoon, and Marie hadn’t been there. She had gone without leaving anything behind, not even her smell. He had sat at the table feeling, for no obvious reason, that a part of him was missing. He could still remember those few moments before the other players arrived. Through the window the sky had looked clear and blue, full of light and joy, a pure distant world that had suddenly terrified him. When he started playing again, all his luck had deserted him. He had fought back vehemently and hung on to his last bit of cash, but it was pointless: he felt that some stern judgment had been passed on him when he was looking at the sky. The game broke up at dawn, and he left the house empty and drained.

  “I left my room at dawn, feeling empty, and walked alone through the deserted streets. I was beaten, finished. Completely shattered. I knew who I was then.”

  Midhat was still listening intently to him. Smoke filled the room, and the heat was unbearable. Husayn picked up his glass and took a large mouthful of the cold, burning liquid. His body sagged, and something was vaguely irritating him and making him on edge. He wanted to talk to the other two and hear them tell a joke or a dirty story.

  “What’s this rubbish you’re talking?” murmured Midhat.

  Husayn remained composed and kept listening. Perhaps his ears were deceiving him. I le looked more closely at Midhat’s face. He had heard right. It was obvious from the way Midhat was pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes, that he was about to speak again.

  “I thought you were honest with yourself. I thought you’d say something that made sense,” said Midhat in a quiet, angry voice. He picked up his glass abruptly and knocked back what remained in it. Husayn felt a shudder pass from his throat into his chest and back. He waited, silent and apprehensive. There was no way he could take back anything he’d said. No way at all. He wasn’t ready for a fight with Midhat about life and reality.

  “What’s wrong, Midhat?” he asked. “Did I say something wrong? Have I upset you?”