Nevertheless, I noticed how he resumed his exuberant manner as soon as we entered the restaurant, calling out to the waiter there and addressing him by name—“José!”—who, together with another friend, responded with a similar affability and intimacy. My father directed me toward a seat at a table in the farthest corner of the dining room, next to the window that overlooked the alley. Meanwhile, he stood with the men at the counter and explained our lunch order, jumbling the pronunciation and the sequence of the Spanish words and resorting to gestures at the menu or samples of the dishes on display.
There, in the corner illuminated by sunlight coming through the window — the clock facing us pointed to nearly four o’clock in the afternoon — we partook of our food, drink, cigarettes, and conversation slowly and deliberately.
We went back to fill in the details of what we had covered in our earlier discussion and to finish up numerous episodes. He expressed his overpowering desire to call Azad to let him know that he had found me, saying, “This would make him very happy.”
He followed that by saying, “But I can’t do that because we agreed that I would only call him when I had carried out my goal. At that time, I will call him without making any indication, implicitly or explicitly, about what I have done. Just the call by itself will mean that I have completed the task. We will simply exchange greetings, ask how things are going, and talk about other, normal things. Do you know, we also agreed to make the pilgrimage to Mecca together, as soon as we are free from the tyrant’s regime. Then, we will repent before God, be purified for our sins, and pursue righteousness.
“I tried to convince my brother Azad more than once that he should marry and start a new family. He’s in a position to do that from the standpoint of health and finances. But he continued to refuse, saying that he had taken an oath upon his soul to marry and bear children only after the tyrant falls. He doesn’t want to bring other children into the world who will be subjugated by the dictator or the mere sight of his face.”
Then I told my father what I had heard and read in the news about the intention of the United States to assemble a coalition and attack Iraq if it didn’t allow inspections and the removal of weapons of mass destruction.
He exclaimed, “What weapons of mass destruction? What is there that’s more destructive than the dictator himself, who kills and drives out millions? Why don’t they just take him out and save us?”
We argued about politics after that. I rejected an attack on Iraq under any pretext, and he said that salvation from the dictator was something for which we ought to pay the highest price. I told him, quite deliberately, that Germany, for example, refused to participate in an alliance like this.
His answer surprised me: “Of course. The Germans are a great people, civilized and respectful of the laws. And a filthy affair like a dictator needs an opponent to match, such as the American president. The Americans put the dictator there, and they ought to take him away. Afterward, we’ll know how to take care of them, for it is easier to fight the thief who is a stranger than the thief from inside your own house.”
The political discussion not only revealed to me another side of my father, but it was also a view of the bitter state of affairs there in Iraq, where the long-suffering hope for a release from oppression was now exhausted. Up to this point, the conversation had revealed to me how much my father held on to his other personality, to vengeance, and to the demands of religious obligation. Now I sought to call forth the other side of him so that I could see both sides together at the same time, or at least, so that I would be able to sense the power of each, relative to the other.
I asked him whether he had spoken to Rosa on the phone, and how she had responded. The enthusiasm in his voice fell a little, and he lit another cigarette. He said she was very angry with him and that he hadn’t been able to understand anything except her refusal. He couldn’t hear everything she said because she was sobbing violently on the phone as she cursed him.
Then he commented, savoring the carefully enunciated words, “She seems like a wounded bull, to use a Spanish expression. Or like a wounded lioness, to use an Iraqi one. She’s like that. I understand her. And I don’t hold it against her.”
There was silence for a few moments, and he began to stare out the window. I asked him what he was thinking of doing. He sighed and shifted in his seat, putting his hands on the table and shifting his gaze to scrutinize my face in a serious and direct way. He said, “I don’t want to take you away from your private life and drag you into my affairs. But I need you. I need your help. Can you do it?”
I had been slouching on my side of the table, but now I sat up straight in my seat, alert and curious.
He went on, “Rosa is very angry with me. And she’s right to be angry. I understand. But I’m also certain of her love for me, and a passionate woman is always ready to forgive. Indeed, she wants to forgive and looks forward to it. But at the same time, she’s waiting for some creative or special apology. That’s the price she feels will earn her forgiveness. Gifts, flowers, and special words are appropriate, of course, but with every new falling-out, it’s necessary to search for a new and fitting apology.
“Therefore, I was thinking that you could go to her. Yes, you! Tomorrow you could go to her house in Barcelona. I could give you her address, her telephone number, the location of the flower shop and the type of flowers to buy, the words to say, and the appropriate time. That way, it would all be a big surprise for her. She knows how important my children are to me, and you in particular. This would also be a way for me to acknowledge my love for her in front of my family, which is important to every woman. A woman feels more confident whenever she sees her lover introducing her and acknowledging her in front of people she knows are important to him. This arrangement would also be a good opportunity for the two of you to get to know each other better.”
(At that moment, I thought again about asking him what his relations with women were like after what had happened to him when he was tortured, but I didn’t dare.)
My father demonstrated his characteristic tone and fluency in putting forth his wisdom, as well as with his persuasive style. To a certain extent, this presentation surprised me, and to the same degree, I liked how intelligent it was. A certain feeling of satisfaction came over me because he was restoring our close relationship in a significant way. Or maybe because I felt that he needed me. So I wasn’t refusing, and indeed, the matter intrigued me. But I told him I had to work, and that it wouldn’t be easy to go to Barcelona, solve the problem, and return, all in the same day, then go to work immediately. For that reason, we had to think of some way to arrange a suitable schedule for it, or he needed to give me time to ask for a few days off.
And here came my father’s final surprise, which he expressed with more certainty and desire than the previous two. He said, “What do you think about leaving your job and coming to work with us in the club? We — no, I need you to be there. We’d pay you a better salary, and you’d be free to choose your hours. You would be one of the managers, not one of the regular employees.”
I smiled, and I may have gasped like someone who had been splashed in the face with cold water. I responded, again not refusing, but with an answer like my previous one, saying, “But I don’t understand the least thing about your work. I don’t have any experience in it at all!”