The Girl from Baghdad Read Online Free PDF

I peeped in from the threshold. Grandma sat on the armchair, wrapped completely in her white dishdashe and veil. The dark birthmark on her right cheek stood out even more in the sea of white. Grandma had always scared me. She scrutinised everyone with squinting eyes from her chair and almost never spoke. My father brought little Linda to her. I heard Bibi say harshly, ‘Another girl.’ And, immediately after, Kasside’s voice: ‘Sorry to say.’

    My mother started studying Arabic after I was born. Taking advantage of the fact Linda was still small, she spent entire afternoons reading the Koran, keeping her youngest daughter on her knee. When the baby started to say her first words, she had fun parroting those that Mum read aloud. They were learning to speak together. Klara and I, who already knew a lot more than the two of them, continued playing and, every once in a while, corrected Mum’s pronunciation, even if she had alreadybecome pretty good. She still preferred to speak English with Dad, but now she understood all the conversations. She frequently spoke a mix of Czech and English with us, even if we responded in Arabic.
    When I was a little older, my parents would take me with them to the parties at their friends’ villas. There were sofas with gold legs, walls decorated with flowers or velvet curtains like at my aunts’ houses. The guests were Dad’s colleagues: men who worked at the embassy and important businessmen from around the world. Many of them had foreign wives, who were either European or Asian. My mother liked that environment; it was a very different world compared to Dad’s family. She got ready for those outings carefully, making herself beautiful. I watched while she made herself up with green eye shadow, a little lighter than the colour of her eyes. When she let down her hair, I helped her brush it. Then she dressed in a long gown and put on her most exquisite jewels. She sprayed a cloud of perfume around herself. To me she looked like a queen. I wanted a little perfume too, so Mum told me to put out my hands and she put a drop on each wrist.
    It was at one of those parties that Mum reunited with an old friend from Prague. Incandescent spotlights illuminated the pool and garden. The children chased after each other, making trouble for the waiters who were serving cocktails before dinner in their liverywhite gloves. I took refuge next to Mum, hiding behind her skirt.
    â€˜Careful, Michelle, or I’ll knock the glass over!’ she scolded. She had just taken a flute of champagne from a passing tray and was talking to a friend of my father’s. Mum hadn’t noticed the elegant woman in an evening gown sneaking up behind her. She felt the light touch of a hand on her arm and turned around. She looked down, thinking it was me, but raised her eyes to see a brunette woman smiling at her. Her eyes widened.
    â€˜Irena! Is it really you? It’s impossible!’
    They embraced each other warmly. Then my mother, still grasping her friend’s hand, added, ‘How long has it been? Let me see you. You look splendid.’
    â€˜I was anxious to see you again, Jana! Adel told me there was going to be a surprise tonight, but I never would have thought it would be you! You don’t know what a joy it is to see you again.’
    â€˜I didn’t know you were in town. When did you get here?’
    â€˜Two months ago. Adel and I got married here in Baghdad. But then we left for our honeymoon and came back a few days ago.’
    â€˜And work? Did you quit?’
    â€˜I had to. But it’s fine this way. The new house has to be completely fixed up. And I still have to getused to this new life. It’s been a big move, relocating here. I imagine it was for you too. You have to tell me everything!’
    â€˜It was tough in the beginning. We didn’t have our own home and we had to stay with Mohamed’s family. But we’ve had an