13
Abd al-Rahman and Ismail often staggered home drunk after a night of low pleasures at a nightclub. When they reached the top of the street, they slowed their pace until they reached Shaul’s shop, then vomited in front of the door, wiped their mouths with their sleeves, and ran off. Shaul used to run after them brandishing a broomstick, but they always managed to disappear around the corner of the street as quickly as exploding sticks of dynamite.
Sometimes the two men would stop at the end of the street, where there was an abundance of bordellos with long queues of gentlemen waiting to pull down their elegant pants. Some of the women in question appeared in corsets, while others poured their bath water at the thresholds of their rooms, laughing noisily.
14
Abd al-Rahman and Ismail went out daily, either in a taxi, or a carriage drawn by two gray horses for a fare not more than one dirham. They liked to use a carriage to take them from the nightclub near the Roxy cinema to King Ghazi Street and back. Each would sit in a corner of the carriage as they rode through the crowded streets of the residential areas, between the heavily scented eucalyptus trees, talking with the driver about bootleg arrack and imported whiskey. The narrow streets surrounding them were filled with women in black abayas, imitation jewelry shining under their sleeves. When the carriage reached Zubayda Square, it made its way with great difficulty, as it was hampered by throngs of people, especially children playing in the streets. Women sat on the thresholds of their quarters or peered from their half-open windows; others sat on the roofs. The carriage driver, who wore a scarf tied over his head and whipped the horses’ flanks, quarreled with the grocers, silk merchants, and rabble who lined the street before he took Abd al-Rahman and Ismail to Grief Adab, where Dalal Masabni was waiting for them.
15
Dalal Masabni was the most famous dancer of her time. She was born in Baghdad of a Lebanese mother named Aida Qastali and an Iraqi father. The mother was known for her impetuosity and adventures, but the father’s identity was unknown. Some believed that he was a tradesman of great repute in Mosul and was hiding in Baghdad under the false name of Abd al-Hamid al-Hashemi. After the departure of his wife and his fifteen-year-old daughter to Lebanon, he left the house he had rented for them and went to Iran. There, traces of him disappeared forever. Aida didn’t like living in Beirut, so a year later she went to America with a man she had met in one of the gambling halls. She placed her daughter Dalal in the care of a famous drug trafficker who called himself Sami al-Khouri. He was none other than the well-known drug kingpin who was featured on the pages of the international press in the sixties and who gave Interpol a run for its money with his capers and large-scale trafficking. He had a special inclination for beautiful women and finally fell in love with the French singer Maria Vincent, whom he met at the Cordon Bleu nightclub in Istanbul.
The fact is that Dalal had met Sami on al-Hamra Street in Ras Beirut long before he had become famous. She was fifteen years old and had just arrived with her mother. It was Samira Shuwayri, Beirut’s most famous belle at the time, who introduced her to Sami. Despite her youth, Dalal worked as a professional dancer at the Masabni nightclub. She soon left her job at the club to live in the luxurious apartment that Sami owned in the Roche. Her long blond hair, thin figure, narrow waist, and calm gaze attracted much attention. All of Beirut was talking about the new girl who went riding around with the drug dealer in his Cadillac and ate dinner with him at the Cave restaurant. They used to sit in a dark corner drinking champagne. After midnight they’d go to the casino to gamble. She stood near him holding two glasses of whiskey, one for her and one for him. She gave his whiskey to him to drink one sip at a time, still holding the glass. Two years later Dalal’s photograph appeared on the front page of the local Lebanese papers, and other Arab newspapers as well, standing close to Sami after he was caught in the largest-ever hashish smuggling operation to Cairo.
16
Dalal was arrested at the Regent Hotel in Cairo. She was a nervous wreck, trying to control her shakes with a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air. She was anxiously watching the door when two men from the Egyptian secret service knocked. They asked whether she was Dalal and after she confidently acknowledged her identity, she left with them. The servants and hotel employees watched her being led to a large black Mer-cedes in front of the hotel, that drove off at a high speed.
Dalal sat before the prosecutor on a comfortable chair. His desk had an inkwell, pencils, and a small case that she recognized as Sami’s. She faced the heavyset interrogator, who asked her boldly but politely about the drugs that Sami had smuggled into Cairo, all the while staring into her beautiful sad eyes. She did not reply. Soon Sami was brought in, and when she saw him, she stood up to hug him. He was quick to inform the police that she had had nothing to do with the drugs and served only as a cover. Dalal looked at him affectionately, but he covered his face with his hands without saying a word.
After an intensive investigation the prosecutor could not implicate her and was forced to release her. She was sent back to Beirut, and Sami was condemned to two years in an Egyptian prison. Dalal returned to their apartment in Beirut to wait for her lover, and rarely went out. She was attended by a Greek maid whom Sami trusted fully. As she spent the days recalling the sad moments of his arrest and the good times they had spent together, the old maid informed her that it was the first time that he had been caught and that it had happened because he feared for her life. Sami’s willingness to sacrifice himself for her strengthened her love and attachment to him.
One day she learned from the maid that Sami had returned to Beirut. She waited for him at the apartment, but he did not show up that day or the days following. His friends asked her to be discreet because he feared for her life. She became suspicious, especially when she learned that he had traveled to Istanbul for a new deal. She waited for him again, until months later she heard that he had married the French singer Maria Vincent. That was the last she heard of him until one day a friend of his brought her a packet of money with a message from Sami, informing her of his marriage to the French singer and freeing her from any commitment.
Dalal returned to the same nightclub where she had met Sami and joined a group of belly dancers performing there. She performed with them for some time but was soon fed up with this exhausting job. She couldn’t compete with professional dancers who had trained in the top dance studios and with the best teachers in Beirut and Cairo. She decided to return to Baghdad and, with the money the smuggler had left her, she opened the Grief Adab. It did not take long for her to become well known throughout the city, especially after the philosopher became one of her customers. This connection gave her a reputation as a patron of writers and culture. She had a table permanently reserved for Abd al-Rahman with a sign that read “reserved for the philosopher.”
17
The philosopher was excited by Dalal’s voluptuous red lips, which held her white cigarette tightly. The smoke she was in the habit of blowing in his face smelled of alcohol and her favorite perfume. Knowing her was liberating and tickled him provocatively, especially when her body quivered left and right and she chewed gum. He was very attached to her because of the sense of freedom he felt with her — no jealousy and no moral or social responsibility. With her he was not concerned with values, especially those related to honor. Dalal had the capacity to free him of responsibility, and this freedom was the reason he was so attached to her. He was well aware that she had known many men before him and that she would know many after him, but she was fair, balanced, and had common sense. In a distorted kind of way, she was philosophical.