Alum be damned!
004
BAGHDAD!
The jeweled cityat the end of the Arabian rainbow. Soar there on a magic carpet. Ali Baba stands at the gates to pass the word: “Open sesame!" And inside a jinni grants three wishes: A Sultan's seraglio; a feast fit for Allah himself; gold, gold, gold!
Baghdad?
Like hell!
The capital city of Iraq is the foulest sinkhole in the Middle East. Compared to Baghdad, Damascus seems like a seminary schoolyard. Damascus at least has a modern business section and new apartment house projects to screen the filth and perversion of its native quarter. Baghdad has only decay, degeneracy and squalor.
Except for the decay, the centuries have left it unchanged. Domes and minarets still shine in the sunlight, but up close they prove gray and crumbling reminders of a bygone day. It's a city of alleys, narrow and winding. It's a city of disease, typhoid and pellagra and the ever-present syphilis. It's a city that thrives on the venereal vices, a city that lives off its flesh and leaves its bones to rot in the gutter, a city where children are bought and sold, where to adults sex is the only way of life, where camel dung has more value than an aging human being. It's a city where lust is the only way of life and living is done in the shadow of death between putrefying corpses.
Baghdad!
Spit and you hit a pimp. I spat. "What‘s the best brothel in town and how do I get there?" I asked the cab driver on the way from the airport to my hotel.
“How fortunate that you took my cab, sir." He beamed at me in the rear-view mirror and took both hands off the steering-wheel to rub them together by way of showing me that he was an expert of experts when it came to the bordellos of Baghdad.
I shut my eyes tight, sure that he was going to run right up the back of a peddler’s cart in front of us, but he grabbed the wheel just in time and veered around it, shouting a curse at the Arab pulling it. Cab drivers, I reflected, are the same the world over. He wouldn't have been out of place in Paris or New York.
"Now sir," he continued, his voice syrupy with the knowledge that he'd landed a live one, "if you will give me some idea of what your pleasure might be, then I shall delight in being of service to you."
“What have you got to offer?" I asked.
"Virgin maidens, young boys, two girls at once, around the world, a circus, the touch of the whip, or a whip to wield, upside-down pleasures, suckling delights, backdoor experts . . .”
“Whoa!” I interrupted. “Let’s keep it simple."
“A girl then," he said. "One experienced in the joys of love. Ah, you are indeed lucky. I can see that you are a man of culture, traveled, distinguished, a man who will truly appreciate the finest that Baghdad has to offer. And so, my dear sir, I shall do what I have never done for any other. I shall take you home to my very own sister. Even in Baghdad there is none can compare with her."
“Your sister?"
"For you, sir, nothing but the best."
“l don’t believe you have a sister," I told him flatly.
“By Allah, I do!"
"And this girl you want to take me to is really yours sister?"
“They are all my sisters," he said with a chuckle.
“Then you don't have a sister! You really shouldn't take the name of Allah in vain that way."
“But I do. I didn't lie. I do have a sister. You wouldn't like her though, sir. She is very ugly. She is so ugly it is all I can do to take her to bed myself.”
The grin he flashed me was so droll that I couldn’t help bursting into laughter. He was an engaging scamp and I found the frankness of his roguery appealing.
“Let's start from the beginning," I said. “First of all, what's your name?"
“Basra, sir."
“All right, Basra. Now, my name is Steve Victor. And I want to rent you and your cab by the night. I don't know how many nights. How much will you charge to be at my disposal from sunset to sunrise?"
He threw back his head and counted, on his fingers, ignoring the traffic around us. Finally he nodded once to signify that he had arrived at a price.
“How much?" I asked.
He told me.
"Outrageous!" I exclaimed.
We haggled and settled for roughly half. He didn't try to hide the grin on his face. It said I was a prize patsy. I didn't care. I was buying insurance among other services. I wanted to be sure he'd be where I wanted him when I wanted him. If overpaying him was the way to be sure of that, it was money well spent. Still, I wanted him to know that I expected more for my dough than just to be chauffered around Baghdad.
“One of the things I expect, Basra," I told him, "is answers to some questions I'll ask you. I want true answers. If you lie to me, the deal is off."
“I will tell the truth." He shrugged. “Why not?"
He had a point. There really was no reason for him to lie to me. "Okay," I said. “First question: Have you ever heard of Sheikh Taj-ed el Atassi?"
“No, sir."
"You’re sure? He's supposed to be very active in the Baghdad sex businesses."
“Everyone in Baghdad is active in the business of sex. It has been said that commerce in Baghdad is a matter of merchants prospering by selling their wives to each other.
I ignored this bit of local color. “This Sheikh el Atassi," I told Basra, “is supposed to be mixed up in a white slave operation that works out of both Damascus and Baghdad. Do you know of any such ring?"
“I know of at least six offhand. And I can probably think of more if I try. Baghdad is a clearing-house for many such operations in the Middle East."
“Speaks well for the local Chamber of Commerce, attracting all that outside business," I said drily. Then, back to the matter at hand-—“I presume they all have some sort of brothel setup in Baghdad as well?"
"Of course."
“And are you familiar with these brothels?"
“Yes, sir."
“Then, Basra, tonight, you will call for me at nine-thirty and we will visit each of them."
"Each of them?" He looked at me with awe. I couldn't tell whether it was real, or he was just pouring some more honey over me. “Sir, I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you were indeed a formidable man. However, even so, sir, I believe that one of the places under discussion would alone be enough to tax your strength for an evening. Might I suggest that a more leisurely approach might in the long run prove more rewarding. Perhaps a night apiece at each of the establishments . . ."
“And six nights of larceny for you driving me around," I interrupted. "No thanks, Basra. We’ll cover as many of them as we can in one night. And don't worry about my staying powers. I'm young and virile.”
"Magnificent," he said, scurrying back into my good graces. “A ram has come to Baghdad."
I grinned at the compliment. It stemmed from an old Persian legend about a god who descended to earth in the guise of a ram and allegedly futtered ewes, women, animals, vegetables, minerals and everything else in sight. "Thanks," I told him as we pulled up in front of the hotel. “And remember, be here at nine-thirty."
I went up to my room, got out of my clothes and took what passes for a bath in Baghdad. There's no running water in the city, so this meant scrunching up in an old tin tub while a platoon of bellhops filed back and forth with buckets of hot and cold water. One of them started to scrub my back, but I chased him away; I'm the shy type.
After the bath I stretched out on my bed and tried to catch a few winks. But I was too het up to sleep, and so I dressed and went down to the dining room and had an early dinner. I topped it with a couple of drinks in the bar. I still had plenty of time to kill and I was restless, so I struck out for a walk around Baghdad.