Haidar’s friends in turn would flare up in his face as they defended the people’s art and the crowds, except for Nahida. Her ideas were close to his and she often defended the views he expressed at the meetings held at Hekmat Aziz’s house.
It was probably Nahida al-Said’s defence of his views that attracted him to her. A new sensation was impelling him. As she approached him with her pure, fair complexion, her clear eyes and slim arms, he was in flames. Looking into her eyes or smelling her scent, he was overcome with both terror and infatuation. He felt completely numb in front of her. Were they involved in a relationship at that time?
All the evidence points to the fact that the composer spent most of his day at her apartment. He also spent most of his nights with her when his wife Tahira travelled to Moscow. The only surviving piece of evidence for this relationship is the painting that she produced of the composer. He is completely naked and holding his violin in his arms like a woman. The warm colours and technique of the painting represent the playing of music as a kind of sexual encounter. These were naturally Haidar Salman’s views of music. In one of his letters to Farida, he described the half-naked Nahida painting in her studio while he lay on the couch drinking vodka.
Almost everyone knew of their affair. Haidar Salman even felt that his sick wife tolerated the relationship. This was what most of the people that we met confirmed, particularly those who knew the two of them at that time. But what we were looking for was the reason behind Haidar’s admiration for Nahida al-Said. Was he attracted to her anti-revolutionary ideas or the way she was influenced, like him, by bourgeois aesthetics? In fact, all events point to differences in their views regarding the revolution. All those whom we asked about Nahida al-Said and her life confirmed that to some extent she believed in the revolution. But her thoughts were vague and inconsistent (incidentally, Nahida al-Said was a committed communist). Haidar’s own ideas were clear. In his view, revolution destroyed harmony. It was a violent blow that disturbed peace and serenity. No fruitful or consistent change could possibly happen in the midst of overriding chaos. He thought of revolution as the serum to cure us of a minor illness. Instead, it destroyed the harmony between our bodies and nature, leaving our bodies weak and exhausted. We should point out, however, that Haidar Salman never completely broke with the Communist Party, unlike Al-Sayyab, who abandoned the Party altogether and attacked it. The Party preferred at that time to keep Haidar within reach, even when his ideological stand was different from theirs. That was deemed much safer than engaging in a headlong confrontation with him, as happened with Badr Shaker al-Sayyab, who opened fire on the Party and published a series of articles entitled ‘I was a communist’.
Did Haidar Salman intuitively understand certain things that others didn’t? The events of the evening preceding the 1963 coup suggest that he did. All the guests who attended Hekmat Aziz’s party at his house in Al-Adhamiya that night agreed that Haidar’s behaviour was very strange. It was February and the cold had descended on the wet trees in the garden, while the warmth of the living room inside the house made the artists who were sitting in a circle around the fireplace woozy. None of those who were present knew anything about what the next day would bring. Haidar stood near the fireguard with a glass in his hand, while Nahida al-Said stood beside him, also drinking. When he came too close to her, a horrified scream flew out from Nahida’s mouth as he flung the wine at her face and clothes.
There was a blazing row between Nahida and Haidar, which disturbed all the guests. In a little while, at the request of Hekmat and his wife Widad, they both went upstairs to resolve their problems quietly. Almost an hour later, a tearful Nahida ran down the stairs, but none of the guests were aware of her leaving until she slammed the front door behind her. When he rejoined his friends Haidar was totally drunk. Everybody was in high spirits that night. They roasted lamb cutlets on the fire, sang loudly and danced; at one table, there was a card game going on. Then Haidar screamed. It was hard for those present to understand the meaning of this scream until he told them that Baghdad stood on the edge of a precipice: a volcano of burning lava was erupting and the city was concealing a new weapon, ready for a new day and a new era.
So how did Haidar Salman know about the coup? Who told him that the following day would usher in a huge turning point in the history of the country and that there would be an unstoppable eruption? Did Haidar have any contacts with the insurgents? That was impossible. Everyone who knew him confirmed that his name was on the list of people to be liquidated by the coup.
Nevertheless, Haidar Salman awoke the next day to the clarion call of the coup. He had a hangover and a splitting headache. He was stunned to see the tanks of the nationalists and the Baathists on the streets. He trembled to see the populist trend in Baghdad at its most extreme. The winter sun was casting its slanting rays on the wall opposite, and a deathly hush had filled the house. Tahira was still in Moscow and Hussein was with his grandfather, Ismail al-Tabtabaei. At that moment, Haidar felt a vague anxiety. He had a strong sense of déjà vu as horrific images passed through his head. The country he was longing to return to reminded him once again of the events of 1941 when he was a child.
The phone rang. He ran to pick up the receiver. Hekmat’s voice came over the line, warning him against staying in Baghdad, for the nationalists and the Baathists had issued statements vowing to crush all communists. Orders were given to the youngsters carrying machine guns and wearing National Guard armbands to kill and hang the communists. He hung up, his hand trembling. He couldn’t get any detailed information from Hekmat because the whole country was under curfew. What he could hear was the sound of bullets going from house to house and street to street. Two images haunted his mind and would not be dispelled. He saw Nahida’s face, tearful at his behaviour the previous night, and he saw her coming out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. As she changed her clothes, he looked at her beautiful body, totally entranced by its grace and firm roundness.
The phone in the corridor rang. He raced to it, his heart beating fast. It was Ismail al-Tabtabaei informing him that he had sent him a car to take him away from Baghdad for his own safety. His name was on the list of communists to be liquidated that was being distributed by the insurgents. He felt disturbed and shaken by all the terrifying images around him. He heard constant screams and shouts, and he could not stop trembling and moaning. It was almost ironic that the insurgents wanted him dead while a day earlier he’d been criticising the revolution. The whole thing had no connection with ideologies or ideas, but only with bloodlust and mob mentality. He wasn’t wide of the mark, for as soon as he arrived at his father-in-law’s house, he heard of the massacres and violence that was being carried out against the communists. On his way, he saw military personnel leading blindfolded, handcuffed young men in pyjamas. They were taking them on large trucks out to the desert where they would be executed and buried. After darkness fell, he found Ismail al-Tabtabaei standing in front of the door. ‘Haidar,’ he said, ‘I know about your affair with that artist!’ He spoke in a firm, unwavering voice as he looked downwards.