The new headmistress was spiteful, and bent on ensuring that she had no competition in the running of the school. Madeleine pitied Jesus for having to put up with this particular nun in his harem. At the time all nuns wore a plain wedding ring on the ring finger of their right hands, a sign of their virginity and chastity, and the ardour of their relationship with the Son of God, for they were the promised brides of Christ. But in Damascus there was always a touch of the harem about the nuns’ rings, making Jesus appear in a rather dubious light.
59. Mirages and Oases
School friendships are usually like mirages and melt away at the end of your schooldays. If they survive the seventh grade, however, they are oases for ever.
Claire was surprised to find how many calls the girls from her old class seemed to have on their time these days, so many that they could hardly stop to be glad of their friend’s return from Beirut. Many of them hadn’t even realized that she had gone.
In my three years away, Damascus has changed, she thought on her first walk after that last miscarriage. There were guards stationed everywhere these days — tall Africans in French army uniforms much too small for them. And the streets that had seemed so lively and familiar when she was a child were strange now that she had lost touch with the girls who were once at school with her.
But a few days after her return she met Madeleine. While they were in Beirut Claire’s mother had told her that her friend was married to the stonemason Rimon Rasmalo now, and they had bought a huge house. “An enormous apartment building with two entrances on different streets,” said Lucia. She had gone to congratulate Madeleine on the birth of her first and second children, but stayed away after that. “The place is chaotic, and it stinks,” she said with revulsion.
“Is Rimon still boxing?” asked Claire.
Her mother laughed. “No, you know what Madeleine’s like. Rimon is a successful building contractor, And the last I heard of it they had another little girl.”
The first moments of their reunion were disappointing. Madeleine seemed calm as ever, almost stoical. Her mother, her mother-in-law, and her two older unmarried sisters-in-law looked after her three little girls. She herself wasn’t especially interested in what went on in the house, where there were constant comings and goings.
“He wants a son so much, but I only have daughters. I’m pregnant again, and I know it will be another girl,” she said, almost with indifference.
Madeleine didn’t even absorb the information that Claire had suffered three miscarriages. She was in love with her new radio set, she listened to music all the time, whistled the tunes, chain-smoked, and otherwise hardly seemed to notice anything.
She liked her life with Rimon, but she could just as easily imagine life without him. “What matters is having my music every day,” she said, and fell silent as the voice on the radio announced Mozart’s Magic Flute. Claire didn’t understand a word of what the announcer was saying, but Madeleine was so captivated by the opera that when the music started it was obvious that her guest was a nuisance and in the way. Claire said goodbye and left.
It was more by accident than on purpose that she and Elias moved into Saitun Alley six months later, early in 1939. You could see into the Rasmalo house from the stairs leading up to the second floor. Only a low building, an aniseed warehouse, separated the two houses.
From then on their old friendship slowly revived — but now it was more mature and easy-going. Madeleine had always been passionately fond of music, and was the only person in Claire’s immediate circle of friends to own a modern gramophone. Claire enjoyed visiting her, but she was even happier to invite Madeleine to see her, because the Rasmalo house really was a chaotic place, full of children, grandmothers, and old maids. Her friend lived among them all like their queen. She delegated the jobs to be done early in the morning, and then went shopping. Besides music, shopping was her favourite occupation.
Claire’s new home was a jewel. There was plenty of room for a childless young couple, and no one else lived in it, which was unusual for that part of the city, where almost every building accommodated several generations of the same family, or at least a few neighbours. Most people lived crammed together at close quarters. But Elias had managed to buy the whole house at a good price through his connections with diplomatic circles. To do so, he increased his debt to his mother-in-law to two hundred thousand lira in all, staking everything on his success in his business, and indeed it didn’t let him down. He supplied sweetmeats to the richest Christians in the city, and soon it was considered good form in the Christian quarter to say that you served your guests cakes, cookies, and other sweetmeats from Elias Mushtak. Elias charged twice as much as other confectioners, but he never stinted on the quantity and quality of his ingredients.
Before three years were up he was even supplying the presidential palace. As ever, he was generous and made the palace staff many small presents. He once told Claire, later, how he had managed to remain confectioner to the palace despite the constant changes of government. They needed a great deal of confectionery there, and his profits were unusually high, because civil servants weren’t bothered about the price, and the vain dictators were happy to hear their diplomatic guests enthuse over these Syrian specialities.
“Presidents come and presidents go, but not the head of the palace household, or the head of reception in the palace, or the palace cook either. And I have them all in the hollow of my hand,” explained Elias, laughing. Then he added quietly, “But you mustn’t tell anyone I said so, even under torture.”
Three years after he last asked Lucia for credit, and in the presence of his wife, Elias Mushtak put two hundred thousand lira down on her drawing room table, with a small extra stack of banknotes. “Your money back, with my thanks,” he said ceremoniously, “and this is the last of the interest, for the month of May.”
“A true Mushtak,” said Lucia, feeling sure that her daughter had done well in marrying this capable man. She pressed his hand warmly.
But that wasn’t until June 1941, and a few things happened before then, that must be briefly mentioned here.
Claire’s miscarriages meant that she had to spend weeks in hospital. It was boring there, so she looked forward to Madeleine’s daily visits. Madeleine came laden with magazines and candy, and spent half the day with her. Claire found that she enjoyed her friend’s sense of humour just as she used to.
“Rimon weeps every night because he wants a boy. Men are such children, they always want boys because they don’t know how to play with girls,” Madeleine told her.
“It doesn’t matter to my husband which we have, so long as I hang on to the baby for nine months, and I’ve never yet managed that.”
“Oh, it will be all right, and the way I see it you’ll have another twelve healthy, beautiful children. I’m afraid all mine take after Rimon. But never mind, I’m sure there are enough short-sighted men around to marry my daughters,” said Madeleine, laughing.
Claire was heavily pregnant again, and Elias prayed for her every night. Then, at last, Farid was born. He was healthy, and only a few days after his birth he looked like a little copy of Claire’s father, which did not particularly please Elias Mushtak.
And it was Nagib who urged Lucia to sell the expensive villa in Arnus Avenue and move into the old Christian quarter, so that they could live close to their only daughter. Lucia gave way to him, and with Elias’s help they found a handsome house in quiet Misq Alley. Nagib was delighted; only a walk of five minutes now separated him from his daughter, or rather from his grandson Farid. But to her dying day Lucia lamented her loss of status in moving to what she thought a far too modest part of town.