The perpetrator of the operation ran in the direction of the traffic lights some fifty metres away. He was followed by a policeman dressed in khaki and carrying a heavy revolver. As soon as the perpetrator entered a sidestreet connecting Murshed Khater to Baghdad Street, the policeman shot him and he fell, drenched in blood. Kamal Medhat came closer and looked at his face. The man writhed and his head fell on the pavement. He was dead. Kamal Medhat passed by the body, his legs shaking.
Did Kamal Medhat have any options? None whatsoever. Damascus was tense and had no need for his talent. So he decided to look for Nadia al-Amiry, or at least get as much information about her as possible. He knew that she lived in Bab Touma, this much was was documented on the card given to him by the man who’d secured his passport in Tehran.
One day, he woke up in his room on Hamdan Street in Al-Bahsa, went out of the boarding house in a hurry without anyone seeing him and walked along several criss-crossing streets leading to Bab Touma. When he arrived at the place, he fell in love with it straight away. The old neighbourhood was the site of many historical events. The white statue in the middle of the square facing the police station seemed to him like the garrison of the city. It was like a minaret that shot up to heaven. When he walked further on, he was amazed to see the walls of the old church with their iron drainpipes that jutted out to the edge of the pavement and its round stone towers that rose high. The neighbourhood was full of winding streets that seemed dormant and forgotten. Along both sides of the streets were old houses, thick trees and hundred-year-old bars. There were squares immersed in mist and lofty drawing rooms with unlit chandeliers.
The dome of the church attracted his attention most of all. He walked on a little, gazing at the houses, and then took a few steps up to a shop. He asked the assistant about Nadia al-Amiry’s house. The man’s moustache was crooked and his paunch protruding. He pointed to a tall, one-storey house, whose black, iron gate stood open. Two large windows looked out onto the street. When he went through the gate, he saw a fountain and a small, well-tended garden filled with leafy buckthorn trees with intertwining branches and thick trunks. A beautiful woman sat on a chair, her face pretty and round, her eyes large.
Feeling confused, he turned away and went back to the market. A butcher’s shop with Kashani tiles stood near the house. The walls of the shop had been scrubbed with shampoo, and the slaughtered animals dangled from hooks, their bellies open.
He took the first bus that he found in the square and returned to the boarding house. When he went in, he saw Umm Tony’s plump body as she smiled at him. He said hello and she told him that someone was waiting for him in his room. Opening the door to his room, he found Noosa sprawled in bed and looking quite different from the drunken girl he’d seen before at the nightclub. Her round face now openly exhibited her lustfulness. Her thighs were full and her hair was black. She walked barefoot around his room, her two small feet looking very beautiful. She went to the table and poured herself a glass of water. She took an aspirin out of her bag, put it in her mouth and downed it with the water.
The conversation between them was brief.
When he asked her why she’d come, she didn’t answer. At the beginning, he thought she was part of a conspiracy against him. But he soon dismissed that idea. He was intrigued by the way a woman became attracted to a man. He knew that she fancied him, without any particular reason. He also fancied her himself. In a few moments, he took off his shirt and trousers and took her in his arms. She soon melted between them.
Noosa in fact stayed in his bed until the evening. She talked to him about herself and told him that she’d married Emad three years earlier and had a child that she rarely saw. She’d spent five years in prison for circulating counterfeit notes and prostitution. Her first sexual experience had been at the age of fifteen, with a man she had loved. But after sleeping with her, he’d vanished. Afterwards, she’d begun to frequent the shop of an elderly man, who offered her everything for free in return for sleeping with her in a small room behind the shop. Although the room was originally intended as a storeroom, it had a bed. Her poor, large family forced her to marry Emad. When he proposed to her, he wasn’t a driver but did a little bit of everything: smuggling, robbery, dealing in counterfeit notes and more. Two months after their marriage, he came to her one evening and told her that he was no longer able to pay the rent or the costs of the child. He also told her that he’d found suitable work for her. Important guests were going to visit them a few days later and she had to look after them. And so she started to work as a currency trafficker in the morning and a prostitute at night. She was arrested and sentenced to five years in prison. There, she became acquainted with Umm Tony, who gave her a job when she came out.
Kamal Medhat spent those days in Damascus hearing the sounds of explosions and watching people rushing around everywhere. Security guards and foot patrols filled the streets, especially after the Russian advisors’ building was blown up by a booby-trapped car. The explosions continued for days and the security patrols frequently clashed with the extremists. In the midst of the chaos, Kamal Medhat managed to contact Nadia al-Amiry. But how did he manage that? How did he tell her about the reality of his situation and convince her that he might be the substitute for her dead husband? What if she thought that he had killed her husband in order to replace him? He never mentioned any of that in his letters or his diary, which he sent to Farida after his departure for Baghdad.
All the evidence suggests that Jacqueline Mugharib had introduced Kamal to Nadia. Jacqueline. arranged a meeting for Kamal and Nadia at a family cocktail party given especially for young people. At the time, they couldn’t have been introduced in any other way. Although the party was given for Jacqueline’s young relatives, among the guests were Kamal Medhat and Nadia al-Amiry.
Kamal couldn’t resist Nadia al-Amiry’s voice. Before meeting her, he wouldn’t have believed that he would become so enraptured by her.
He mentioned in a letter to Farida the effect that their first meeting at that cocktail party had had on him. Walking towards the buffet, Nadia al-Amiry stopped in her tracks when she heard someone calling out to Kamal Medhat. She went up to him and asked, ‘Iraqi?’
‘Yes.’
He heard her lovely voice for the first time when they were standing at the corner of a long corridor, near the foot of the inner staircase. He was captivated from the first instant. Her angelic face and beautiful voice charmed him. She, too, was infatuated by him from the first moment. The first syllable that he uttered elicited an expression of satisfaction on her face. They seemed to be on the same wavelength from the start, for both their hearts were filled with unspeakable sorrow. They’d both lived through difficult times. Kamal Medhat, she felt, was a bright man, whose intelligence was carved into his face. But she detected in him an underlying bewilderment as well as a silent, intense passion. It was his charming smile, however, that quickly won her over. For his part, he felt that this seemingly ageless woman had indescribable charm. With her well-groomed hair and beautiful scent, she was extraordinarily elegant. He also noticed that she was as flattering to him as a young servant. Although she possessed great wealth, she was also the victim of circumstances.