her away from this chattering she loved and was so good at, to induce her gradually to ask about his affairs. He’d plant a bomb for her, and he’d nail it. He intended to see Marina that evening. But seeing Marina required cash, and Salaam had the cash.
Salaam made coffee, still running at the mouth: “Poor Lurice! She said she saw the Albino in her dream. He was staring at her wide-eyed, and when she asked him what was the matter, he didn’t answer. He didn’t utter a sound. In the end, he came over to her and started smoothing her hair and caressing her face until both his hands were around her neck, and he began squeezing so hard she felt she was choking.”
Salaam’s dress was sticking to her butt. The hem, which had been tied up, went up further to reveal little purplish-blue veins in the crease of her knees. She stood in front of the sink, cleaning off the plates and rinsing them. The lines of her underwear were visible. They pressed into her butt cheeks in the attempt to hold them in, giving the appearance of four distinct sections. Salaam actually had two butts: one inside her underwear and one outside.
Salaam was cleaning the dishes, and her butt was talking vigorously. Luqman was sweating. His partner stood straight up to reply to Salaam’s butt.
What’s wrong with you that you get excited and stand up without permission? Take a good look, Partner, and make no mistake: what you see in this kitchen is only Salaam!
So what? Put one of the thick plastic bags over her head to hide her face. Then you can imagine she is some other woman.
Is that how you express your deep gratitude? Fine, and then what, Partner?
Shove her against the sink, lift up her skirt, tear her panties in half, and—
Take it easy, Partner! If you did her just once, Salaam would never again leave you in peace. She’d suck your blood until you dried out and withered, and all life left you for good. Or would that make you happy? Is that what you want?
I know it’s all too much and you’re fed up, but doesn’t patience have its limits? I’ve been in torment since dawn, and whose fault is it but yours?
And how is it my fault, Partner, that the blond broadcaster was a vile slut and a lowlife whore? Come on! Forget Salaam and her butt. Even if I gave you what you wanted, you’d be disappointed. Listen, if you stay worked up—
“Luqman, I won’t be long. I’ll take Lurice a tray of food. Then I’ll come right back,” Salaam said as she went out.
Luqman grabbed his partner, and the two of them went into the bathroom.
CHAPTER 5
She flashed her wide smile as she threw him the car keys. He hated her. How he hated her! If only he hadn’t gone to her this morning. She knew exactly why he had come, and she was leading him on. She kept making him wait in order to test how long he could endure.
An ugly spinster, but cunning. That’s how Luqman saw her now. He wanted to accelerate as fast as possible, open the door, and jump out. The car would follow its course through the trees and crash into the stone wall. It would bounce into the air, and Salaam’s body, trapped inside the iron frame, would be pulverized on the jagged rocks and dried grass below. If only...
Salaam jammed a cassette into the jaws of the tape deck and pressed play. A woman started singing, lethargically at first, but then she set in with vigor.
Luqman had closed the window against the thick traffic and dust, but he opened it now. A wind blew over him. The air had become slightly cooler after filtering through the stone pines that passed by on the shoulders of the winding road going up the mountain.
If it weren’t for these dense clouds, Luqman’s mood would have shifted entirely. He would even have felt something that resembled joy. Not bad. His mood had lifted a little. Now he was looking over at Salaam, and the wink he sent her didn’t betray the animosity he had felt just moments before.
He demanded a lot of her, and he got mad at her when she acted like a woman. It’s okay, Luqman, if she’s stubborn sometimes. No matter what she is, Salaam will always be a woman, and she’ll have a woman’s moods. Let her indulge herself from time to time. What if she were a dog? Wouldn’t it be her right to ask you for a bit of attention and tenderness? It’s good you were willing to go with her. An orphaned woman with no one looking after her. It’s a fine thing you’re doing, something she’ll repay with a handful of dollars, hopefully. Hope for the best, and it’ll come your way. Smile, and the world smiles with you. So does Salaam.
Luqman breathed deeply. He hummed along to the song coming from the tape player. Then he looked at Salaam and said, joking and flirtatious, “Salaam, oh, Salaam!”
--
With obvious irritation, the director said, “Only doctors can bring their cars into the sanatorium.” She turned to Salaam and continued, “If your fiancé doesn’t park the car outside, you won’t see Saleem, and I’ll cancel your weekly visits!”
They didn’t respond.
Salaam didn’t respond out of fear for Saleem, her younger brother. Every Sunday, she came to visit him in this free, government-run institution. She brought different kinds of sweets and food. She gave him clean clothes and brought home with her the clothes that had gotten dirty. If only she had been in a position to put him in a private clinic, or to take him to be treated in a foreign country equipped with better techniques! If only...
As for Luqman, he was afraid that Salaam, if the director prevented her from visiting, would take her brother out of the state asylum. It had taken him long weeks of suffering to persuade her of the need to commit him. Taking Saleem out would mean bringing him back to the house, which would require hiring a private nurse to keep him safe and care for his needs. More particularly, that would mean an additional expense and money set aside out of reach, just to benefit that idiot, Saleem.
Salaam leaned over the trunk of the car and took out some bags. She headed towards the entrance, saying, “Why don’t you come with me? He’d be happy to see you.”
Luqman replied that he had no desire to run into that slut of a director again, otherwise he’d end up doing something he’d regret. He went on to say he’d wait for her in the garden. Salaam agreed and said she wouldn’t be long.
Luqman’s mood became sullen again after he saw her head up the stairs and go inside. God alone knew what Miss Salaam—Spinster Salaam—would force him to do. Why didn’t she give him what he wanted and let him go his own way? Why did she insist on torturing him like this? Goddamn her and her handful of dollars that she doled out to him with an eyedropper! A miserly spinster who forced him to come to the insane asylum! What did she need the money for? She didn’t pay rent since she had inherited her apartment from family. Did she have any expenses other than food, drink, and some clothes? Fine, what about the rest of her salary? Why didn’t she give it to Luqman? In order to spite him. She wanted to bust his balls every time he came to her. So she could suck his blood, wreck his way of life, ruin his good moods.
The whore! All women were whores, no exceptions. Even his mother had been a whore. She would beat him for the most trivial reasons, even for no reason at all. She would beat him until blood ran from his mouth. And when his father came home, she would go complain about him. Then his father would beat him too and tie him to the tree for hours.
Why all the beating, Luqman? Because you killed a mangy cat, or you threw a rock through a window, or you hung a rabbit. Your parents cherished animals above you, and they would beat you rather than blame the neighbors and villagers who brought complaints.
When you left them a little before the war broke out, you went away unapologetic, not looking back and fervently hoping to be gone forever. The only permissible motive for going back would be revenge.
And during the war, when your star was rising, they didn’t leave you alone. Instead, they started coming to you, time after time, to seek your help: Your brothers are naked...the earth is parched...the rains haven’t come...your mother is sick...your father needs treatment...the dirt roof of the house is about to collapse, and so on without end. Pay for it, Luqman!