A Land Without Jasmine Page 6

  I reflected that Jasmine would leave her apartment shortly and rushed to the kitchen. Standing, I ate large helpings of the red beans that my mother excels at cooking and drank a glass of milk so hot it burned my tongue. I washed off in the kitchen sink despite my mother’s protests and, waving goodbye to her and my young brothers, ran toward the door of our apartment. I picked up the brush and a shoe, which I began to polish, standing up while looking through the peephole.

  My mother suddenly emerged from the kitchen and I squatted down and busied myself with the shoe. She cast me a concerned look and entered the bathroom. So I stood up again and began to watch the door of Jasmine’s apartment through the peephole. My tiresome younger brothers rushed out of the kitchen too and began to jump and punch each other all around me, but I ignored them.

  Despite the mayhem surrounding me I heard the rattling of the door facing us. Then I heard the creaking of the door’s hinges and saw Jasmine emerge from her apartment, walking haughtily and holding her head high like a queen.

  With extraordinary speed I finished polishing the other shoe. I put my shoes on without any socks because I had forgotten to wear any and there wasn’t time to get them from under the bed. My mother appeared from the bathroom and called to me (apparently she wanted me to run some errand to the store) but I closed my ears and departed, unintentionally slamming the door behind me because my nerves were on edge.

  I followed her, panting from excitement. My head was hunched down between my shoulders and the raised collar of my shirt because I was expecting my mother to call after me from the window of the parlour, but she didn’t, thank God.

  I fixed my eyes on Jasmine and began to devise such a blissful sexual union in my imagination that my forehead ran with sweat, even though it was a chilly morning; my blood was boiling with lust.

  This wasn’t an ordinary morning. Before I had walked behind Jasmine very far, some unruly boys chased me and began to throw stones at me. A short distance from there, dirty water spilled on my head from the downspout of an abandoned building. At a corner, a speeding car almost ran me down. When I was trying to cross a crowded street, a motorbike coming from the opposite direction hit me, threw me to the ground and scattered my books. My palms were scratched as they dragged along the pavement.

  Despite these ill omens I resolved to follow Jasmine to our normal parting place where she turned left for the Faculty of Science and I turned right toward my secondary school. At that juncture I was overcome by a weird sensation of desolation. For the first time in my life I felt painful twinges in my heart. I stopped and turned back, following her with my eyes until she entered the gate and vanished.

  That was the last time I saw her.

  I spent a troubled day in the classroom where the teachers picked on me and scolded me. Even my classmates, who normally didn’t act like this, made fun of me. I seemed to be inside a bubble that attracted other people’s insults.

  February 14th was the longest school day of my life; each class seemed as long as a whole academic year or more. I seemed to be carrying around some invisible weight. Chunks of stone, each weighing a ton, rested on my shoulders. By God, I almost died that day!

  When the final bell rang I heaved a sigh of relief and raced off, happy to have ended my toughest school day. Anyone watching me would have been astonished and thought I was fleeing from a ghoul that wanted to rip me to shreds.

  Once I neared our building I glanced at Jasmine’s room. Then I noticed that the blue curtains were drawn and the window closed. I realized she hadn’t returned from the university yet.

  I ate a little rice and fish but didn’t feel as hungry as usual; even my mother noticed and begged me to eat more. I rebuffed her brusquely and went to my room.

  I wasn’t able to concentrate on my homework: lines of text ran together and the books disgorged dreadful beasts. Lascivious female jinnis ran riot behind the pages.

  A whistling wind whirled round in my brain and there was a bitter taste on my tongue. I stretched out on my bed and drew a cover over me.

  I stroked my little friend but he didn’t respond. Cursing him privately I withdrew my hand, which I placed as a pillow beneath my head, and dozed off. The afternoon call to prayer roused me and I went to the bathroom to wash. In the shower I remembered that I hadn’t jerked off yet and stroked my tool again, vigorously, forcing him to obey my passions.

  I know it’s bad for my health to ejaculate when bathing but I wanted to take revenge on him and to vent my hostility against myself so I would feel better!

  I dried off my body without touching my organ (that’s what the jurisprudence instructor had taught us in order to retain our state of ritual purity) and performed the afternoon prayer hastily and distractedly. I don’t know how many genuflections I performed. I don’t even remember whether I eulogized the Prophet or not. What I do remember is daydreaming for some minutes and then standing up and folding the prayer rug.

  I took 100 riyals from my mother and went down to Hajj Sultan’s store. This wretch, who has grown more ill-tempered with the passing days, at first refused to serve me, coldly ignoring me as if I weren’t there while a fly buzzed round the rim of the cup of qishr,3 which he sucked through his decaying teeth.

  I threatened to expose him in the community and to tell the adult men that he was shameless and pressed against girls and boys from the rear when they headed to the freezer for ice cream. His eyes grew red and he stormed with rage. He may have been tempted to pick up his cudgel and bash my head, but he had to factor in my father. So he meekly handed me what I had requested, even though he was puffing and shuddering like a viper.

  I settled down in my customary spot on the bench and looked up. Then I was thunderstruck to discover that her window was closed and her blinds down. This meant she wasn’t in her room.

  When she is there she raises the curtains and opens the window, which has a metal grille. When her spirit feels oppressed by the walls, she opens the grille, pokes her beautiful head out and looks right and left.

  I thought I had come too late and that she had most probably left her room for a family visit or to attend a wedding. I stayed there till the sunset call to prayer. I went home, peed and did my ritual ablution. Then I performed the sunset prayer, ate a boiled potato and returned to my bench.

  I looked at Jasmine’s window and felt disappointed because her room was dark. Hunger gnawed at me and the cold stung me. All the same, I decided to remain resolutely in my spot until I obtained some sign that would reveal that Jasmine had returned safely to her throne. My heart was aching and I felt apprehensive.

  At 8 p.m. my mother sent one of my little brothers to summon me to supper. I told him to tell Mother that I had dined. My hapless brother kept going up and down the stairs while I kept repeating the same response until my mother gave up on me.

  A few minutes later, Salih, Jasmine’s eldest brother, appeared wearing his military uniform and went upstairs to his family’s apartment. Jasmine, who is the youngest child, has three older brothers. The eldest is Salih, whom I have just mentioned, the middle brother is Jamil and the youngest Hamdan. They have all enlisted in the armed services. Salih graduated from the War College and is now an officer with the rank of first lieutenant. Jamil graduated from the Air College and is now stationed at the military airport in al-Rub‘ al-Khali – the Empty Quarter. Hamdan is still a student at the War College.

  Their father enrolled these three brothers in military service when they reached puberty at thirteen or fourteen so they would get used to a rough life and become accustomed to it. Later, they continued their education in different army camps. If women had been allowed to enlist, Hajj Nashir would probaby have forced his daughter into military service too.

  The sound of wailing from the staircase of our building reached my ears. My chest quivered and I sensed that my nerves were tense with dread. I saw Jasmine’s mother rush into the street covered in a Sanaa veil, sobbing and wailing. Jasmine’s father and brother caught up with
her and overpowered her, preventing her from running any further. Weeping feverishly she collapsed to the ground on her knees.

  I felt my heart was in tatters and beating irregularly. The father and son were exchanging insults and abuse. From their screams I gathered that Salih held his father responsible for Jasmine’s tardy return and contempt for the family’s honour. Picking Jasmine’s mother up by her arms they carried her back to the apartment.

  Her words kept ringing in my ears, ‘My daughter Jasmine is lost. Only God knows whether my daughter Jasmine is dead or alive. My daughter is off limits to you. Let me search for her. Let me go. Let me go!’

  Cold sweat trickled down my limbs and I froze where I was, incredulous and thunderstruck. Jasmine’s brother Hamdan, the student in the War College, arrived and bounded up the steps to the second floor.

  Shortly thereafter two cars arrived. The first had a military plate and the second a civilian one. The two drivers remained in their vehicles. Moments later, the three men of the family had descended, leaving Jasmine’s mother in the apartment by herself.

  Salih rushed off in the military vehicle heading east, Hamdan and his father climbed into the other car and took off west. I thought I would go to the second floor to get the news about Jasmine straight from her mother. But I was too cowardly to take this step. Instead, I started to pace back and forth in front of the building’s door, not knowing what to do.

  At about 9 p.m. my father returned from his evening’s work, scolded me for staying out this late and dragged me upstairs by my coat sleeve.

  I went with him grudgingly and by the time we reached our apartment I was so anxious my guts were in knots. He lectured me for ten minutes that seemed like ten years to me, but fortunately his mobile phone rang. So he left me and retreated to the parlour, where he chatted and gabbled on and on.

  I seized this opportunity and wrote a note on a scrap of paper to tell him I was going to search for the neighbour’s lost daughter and wouldn’t return until I found her. I asked my family not to worry about me.

  I slipped away like a cat without anyone noticing. On the staircase I decided I would begin my search at the last place I had seen Jasmine heading for, the Faculty of Science.

  I went out to the street where Hajj Sultan looked at me askance and followed me with his glances. At that moment I felt like hurling a rock at him and taking out his eye. I walked along quickly, examining every woman I passed as I told myself that perhaps this or that one was Jasmine.

  When I reached the Faculty of Science I found its gate ajar. I shoved it a little and entered. There was no one at the guards’ booth; they were inside watching television.

  I inspected every inch of the faculty, even the restrooms, and looked inside the vehicles parked in the garage. I scaled the drainpipes to peer into the second-floor windows of the classrooms, the administrative offices and the library. I circled the buildings and went around the wall dozens of times but turned up nothing.

  No one noticed I was there, although an inquisitive bird – I thought it was a hoopoe – kept following me from place to place. I headed to the garden and sat on a bench in a central location that allowed me to see in all directions.

  I didn’t feel tired but my feet hurt from six hours of nonstop walking. I removed my shoes and socks and stretched out on the bench. I looked up at the dome of the heavens where the stars were twinkling more brightly than usual and assuming meaningful geometric shapes. Do you suppose I just imagined it?

  The hoopoe landed on the yellow grass and spread its royal crest. Then it began to dine on worms and larvae, ignoring my intrusion into its kingdom.

  The gentle rustling of the trees in the night’s still calm attracted my attention. What a sweet and delicate sound! Its music soothes the nerves. The garden was full of clamorous life, because insects and reptiles come out at night, when there are no people around, to search for a bite to eat and to get on with their lives.

  An army of ants, crickets, beetles, grasshoppers, lizards, rats, moths, gnats and other flying pests whose names I don’t know, inhabit the garden and create their evening world there. Who would believe this after the morning’s light has dawned and people have made their way to this place? By this time, all those creatures, which fear men, will have hidden and taken refuge in their various resting places.

  I heard footsteps on the ground. Trembling, I leapt to my feet and turned. Twenty steps away I noticed something that made me freeze with fear. Even my tongue felt so heavy it might have been made of iron.

  I saw a clean-shaven man of medium build with a round face. Clad in an elegant suit of buttery beige, he wore white shoes and carried in his right hand a thick book with a white cover. He gazed at me steadily without moving. His look was filled with peace and love.

  My fear of him gradually faded away. I felt relaxed and secure. I told myself, ‘He seems to be one of the professors of the Faculty of Science, but the strange thing is, what brings him here at this late hour?’

  He was watching my eyes silently as I raised my gaze toward him and then lowered it in order to memorize his shape and appearance, although the garden’s meagre light wasn’t much help. I thought the person standing before me was linked in some way to Jasmine’s disappearance; at this point, doubts about him began to assail me. My suspicions reached the point that I thought he was mentally deranged and committed sadistic crimes against women. I imagined he had lured Jasmine to some isolated spot where he had strangled her. Then he had copulated with her corpse, which he had subsequently tossed into the boot of his car.

  The man smiled as if he were reading my thoughts and took a few steps toward the pomegranate tree. Then he circled its trunk. I waited a whole minute for him to appear on the other side but he didn’t.

  I guessed he had hidden behind the tree trunk and shifted my position but couldn’t see him. I called to him, ‘Uncle! Uncle!’ but he didn’t reply. He had disappeared.

  I approached the tree very slowly feeling terrified at the idea that I had seen a jinn. I’m a Muslim and the Holy Qur’an attests to the existence of the jinn. I recited to myself the Throne Verse from the Qur’an dozens of times while I walked forward at the speed of a tortoise. Then I recited it out loud in a low voice three times.

  Finally, I summoned my courage and touched the tree trunk, praising God that it, at least, was real not imaginary. I walked round the tree a number of times and scrutinized its branches. It was inconceivable that he could have climbed the tree without my noticing.

  I came to the conclusion that my recitation of the Throne Verse had incinerated the jinn. I patiently felt around the trunk, while my heart told me that something was waiting for me there. I discovered a crevice at the bottom of the trunk, approximately at ground level. My heart raced because the hole was dark and I’m instinctively afraid of reptiles and bugs.

  The scaredy-cat lurking deep inside me began to warn me that venomous serpents might inhabit the cavity. I raised my head to look at the sky’s face to appeal to it for help. Fortunately for me, a green shooting star appeared, splitting the dome of the heavens in two. I immediately felt better, as if the meteor had incinerated the coward inside me.

  After saying ‘bismillah’ I poked my hand into the hole and my fingertips struck something. At first I was alarmed and drew my hand back. Then I renewed my attack and cautiously felt an object, which I grabbed and pulled out. It was a woman’s black handbag. Looking at it carefully, I recognized it belonged to Jasmine. I moaned with delight and clutched the bag to my breast, kissing it and bringing it close to my nose to sniff. It still retained the fragrance of the perfume Jasmine invariably used.

  I stretched out my hand and searched the hole again. I discovered something else, which I also pulled out. It was her notebook with the blue cover.

  I don’t know why but a strange feeling swept over me; the bag and notebook were presents from the man or jinn who had materialized in front of me; he had given them to me as a reward for my sincerity and perseverance in
searching for the princess of hearts.

  It suddenly occurred to me that the tree’s spirit had shown itself to me in the guise of a human being. So I kissed the pomegranate tree to thank it for its gift.

  Seizing my spoils I headed to the faculty exit. The guards were asleep and the gate was locked. I climbed its iron bars with ease and walked back toward my house.

  No one saw me. The streets were deserted, just a few dogs barking in the distance.

  Halfway home, loudspeakers suddenly split the air with the call to the dawn prayer. I realized it was 4.30 a.m. and quickened my pace to avoid running into people setting off early to perform their prayers in the mosques.

  The whole way home, suspended in the void before me, I imagined an ancient wooden door with an iron knocker on which Jasmine’s face was embossed. I wondered whether this door would open, where it led to, where it came from and what my relationship to it was.

  I was so tired when I reached home that I almost collapsed on the ground, but the door to the building was closed. I pressed the intercom button and my mother answered. I asked her to come down and let me in. I heard a din I couldn’t understand and then she hung up.

  My father opened the door, his face glowering. He jerked me by the collar of my coat and hoisted me up, even though I’m heavy. I walked up two steps and then sailed through the air over the third.

  My weeping mother greeted and embraced me to protect me from the anticipated punishment. My father brought out a knotted electric cord and prepared to beat me with it. I pulled Jasmine’s bag and notebook from under my coat and threw them on the ground.

  My father, whose eyelids were dark from his night’s vigil and from rage, asked me, ‘Dog, what’s this?’

  Raising my arms to ward off any blow I replied, ‘This is Jasmine’s handbag and that’s her course notebook.’

  My mother groaned in alarm, but my father’s mouth fell open. He didn’t say a word. He went pale and his pupils began to revolve in his eyes in a way that made me pity him.