“And how old is he?”
“Fifty-six.”
“Do you love him?”
“I love him and he loves me. It’s over, Ralph. You have to understand.”
They were sitting in the living room, in the same place they were drinking whiskey and eating a light supper before going to bed.
She told him Constantine had always been in love with her and she had always turned him away. She couldn’t understand how he, her husband’s friend, could dare to talk to her about his love for her.
“But I was faithful. I never went out with him once. I let him hold my hand a few times, but never let it go beyond that.”
“Then what happened?”
“My husband died in the war, and he started calling me every day. We’d meet once a week. I’d go to his house in Ashrafiyyeh because he was afraid to come here.”
“And do you love him?”
“I told you I love him. It’s not a game.”
“Have you been sleeping with him?”
“What kind of question is this? Of course.”
“You’re sleeping with him and with me at the same time?”
“It’s different with you. Him I want to marry. You’re something else.”
“You’re a whore; come over here.”
Nuha didn’t move. Ralph was being careful not to look at her. The entire conversation had taken place without him looking at her. Nuha hadn’t told Constantine anything about her relationship with Ralph, but she had intentionally wanted to sleep with Ralph before going to see Constantine. She didn’t sleep with Ralph every night, as Ralph had told Rima, or as he had remembered. She refused him many nights, but the night before she was to go see Constantine Mikhbat in Ashrafiyyeh she made a point of sleeping with Ralph. She’d wake up the next morning radiant and beautiful, smelling like soap.
Ralph didn’t know where the night had gone. They were in the living room and it was getting close to one o’clock in the morning. Madame Nuha was yawning. He moved over next to her and held her hand.
“No, Ralph. No more.”
“What do you mean, no more?”
“It’s over, I told you. We’re over. You have to go home now. Get up. Come give me a kiss. Good night.”
He went close to her and she kissed him on the cheek. He tried to hold on to her but she pushed him back. He fell onto the couch, sitting down. He tried to stand up and almost fell.
“You’re tired. Shall I make you a cup of herbal tea?”
“No. I don’t want anything.” He tried to get up. He stood up and the whole world started to spin.
She told him he could sleep there. “It’s all right. You can sleep here if you want.”
She went and got some sheets and a blanket for the sofa in the living room. Ralph took off all his clothes and threw himself naked onto the couch and covered himself with a green wool blanket.
She sat next to him and kissed his forehead.
“You know I love you,” she said.
“And I love you.”
He grabbed her by the hand and tried to pull her toward him.
She said no and went to her room, her three cats following behind.
One week later the smell started to seep from the house, and people found out that Madame Nuha Aoun had died of a sharp blow to the head, which caused internal bleeding and eventually led to her death. No one came to her burial. Even Mr. Constantine didn’t come. He was in Greek Orthodox Hospital with an inflamed liver, which would eventually lead to his death, in his own bed, all alone.
Rima was listening to Ghassan’s story and trying to get closer to him, but he kept moving farther away. His distance was comforting to her in a strange way.
“There’s comfort in betrayal,” she said to him once. “You’re unfaithful to me and I feel I’m free. Freedom is betrayal.”
He would look at her as if she were far away. He could never get close to Rima. He’d go out with her and spend the night out with lots of different friends, but he never once felt that kind of overwhelming love he felt with Nuha. He didn’t know how he lost touch with Nuha’s scent in the days that followed, but he became distant. At the salon he could hardly work, and Master Ahmad started looking at him differently, as though he were afraid of him.
Alice told Gandhi that Husn’s story wasn’t shocking.
“Men are like that. He’ll forget everything. The best thing about us is that we are capable of forgetting. This is human nature. The important thing is to take care of your daughter.”
How could he take care of his daughter, when he knew nobody wanted her? His wife, Fawziyya, was silent about the matter. She never talked about anything, that’s how she always was, from the day they got married. When Gandhi would come home, she’d come in, quiet, always yawning, not say a word. He’d discuss their daughter’s situation, but she wouldn’t respond or seem to care. Nothing moved her, nothing, as if she were unconscious. Even the dog she made no objection to. When it was brought to their house in Nabaa, all she said was “It’s filthy” and spit. But she put up with it. Gandhi knew that every time the dog came into the house she’d mop up after it, but she never protested. And when Gandhi killed the dog, following the advice of the Reverend Amin, she bathed and told her children and husband to bathe, as if the deceased were one of the family.
She said she was cleansing herself of the impurity. “God protect me from the dog and its filth.”
Her relationship with their daughter frightened Gandhi. She wouldn’t talk to her or feed her, as if she wanted to kill her. If Gandhi hadn’t stuffed his daughter like a chicken every night she would’ve died of starvation.
Gandhi didn’t know what he should do. Days became black. They’d taken Madame Sabbagha, the Reverend Amin had been smitten with senility and Alice took him to the nursing home, and Alice was different, and bombs were everywhere. The smell of the city became like the smell of dogs. Stray dogs filled the city streets and their barking increased night after night, as though they were standing right below the windows, barking. And the people walked, not hearing anyone or liking anyone. “Nothing. This is the city of nothingness.” That’s what Dr. Atef said when he ran into him that morning. Dr. Atef had changed a lot. He said he was suffering from toothaches and that his doctor, Dr. Gidigian, advised him to have them removed and replace them with dentures. He opened his mouth and Gandhi saw a mouth that looked like an abandoned cave.
“Oh my God, Doctor.”
“What can we do, my son? This is old age. What’s left of my life is less than what I’ve already used up.”
“But the dentures don’t look good. I’ve heard about implants. Why don’t you have new teeth implanted and look like a young man again,” Gandhi said.
“A young man, hah. You think this’ll make us live forever? We’ll finish removing the teeth and before we put in the dentures, we will have gone.”
“Where to?”
“To there, on the road to no return.”
“No big deal, Doctor.”
“What do you mean, no big deal, my dear Gandhi? We’re going to die and you tell me no big deal? It is a big deal. This is a university. You think of it as a university and a hospital. But, hey, what can I say to you? Mr. Gandhi, I swear shining shoes is better than what we do. A shoe shiner works with paint, and paint is color, and color is art. Your work is nicer than ours.”
“But I quit and you’re still a doctor. Tomorrow what do you say I’ll pass by. This daughter of mine isn’t getting any better.”
“Tomorrow you’ll go back to your work, don’t worry. Do you think the situation is going to stay like this, with all these stupid committees and crap and tasteless war? We’ll have a new government and you’ll go back to your profession.”
“And what about my daughter, Doctor?” Gandhi asked as he watched the doctor continue on his way.