Khaled Khalifa - In Praise of Hatred

I related this to Zahra, and was frustrated by her indifference to my eagerness. I was surprised by her lethargy and her ardour for her mother’s letters, which she still carried with her. She spent whole nights reading them, full of longing, wishing they would never end. I used to adore our house, but now I began to hate it. It was ruled by indolence, by silence, by a wait for men who never returned and about whom we never heard anything. The few hours Bakr had spent with us on his last visit were like a warning, or a dream we all craved. We knew that he had fled from us to the unknown; we had to accept it resolutely. During those hours, Bakr withdrew with Zahra and Maryam herded us into her room so we wouldn’t hear their moans. We kept away, like silly children who didn’t know what would take place between a husband and wife who knew this was their last meeting. Bakr later kissed my head and asked me to abandon Ghada and stay away from her. I informed him about the trial, and conveyed its details in their entirety, including the judgement to shave Anoud’s head and banish her from our circle. Anoud had cried and sworn that she would never again swap nude pictures with her fallen friends. She was put under observation; Alya watched her at university, her sister Samia watched her at home, and God watched her everywhere else. In the same way, He watched us all and I sensed He was very close to me; I could feel His breath, and it calmed me.

Zahra reminded me of Hajja Radia and how I hadn’t visited her for a long time. I said to myself that I didn’t love her any more, but I remembered how kind she had been when she used to sit me beside her so I could dream of Rabia Adawiya, crossing the barzakh like a white lark flying in a black sky. I thought of how stupid I had been when I believed that we needed hatred to enter Paradise. I saw her from afar: a calm woman with a heart full of fear, as opposed to Hajja Souad who illuminated a path of hatred before me, given meaning by cruelty. Her steady eyes dazzled me as they looked coldly into every person she spoke to.

* * *

I didn’t know why Ghada had begun to avoid me once more. She suddenly withdrew from me and wandered through the school courtyard with Nada, and at leaving time she would climb into the death squad officer’s car with her. My studies suffered. I wanted to escape from Ghada’s remorseful glances whenever she approached me. I knew she wanted to cry and talk about how her lover persevered in humiliating her, how she hoped to be saved from the desires which made her crazy during those long winter nights. She would get up to smash everything within arm’s reach — vases, ornaments, frames containing photos of the family — and afterwards, she would gather up the scattered glass silently. Her father, a well-regarded employee at the Ministry of Finance, wept in front of her lover, who laughed at him and asked him to leave, threatening to ruin his reputation and prosecute his daughter for debauchery.

I had my revenge on her when I saw her pale face; she could speak only a few fragmented, disconnected words. Finally she returned to me, but emptiness filled her existence. She was grateful to me because I greeted her during the morning roll call as we went into class. The other girls at school shunned her after news spread that her father had gone to that man; the officer’s men circulated stories about the police’s secret files on her, which confirmed that she visited cattle traders and slept with them in exchange for money. Alya definitively and firmly told me to stay away from her. I had no compassion for Ghada when I saw her expelled from school; she was vacant-eyed, and had lost all her sparkle. I was indifferent when she kissed me, or when I caught the scent of her perfume when she came close to me. I thought that ridding ourselves of those we loved had a similar function to our transformation into barren beings; it would give us strength, which we expected would turn into resplendent hatred.

I saw my future clearly in front of me. My feeling of strength made my presence at the rites marking births in friends’ families, or at any other little celebration, into a gift I would give to them. I would intervene harshly when Maryam accepted such invitations, and I would limit the type of presents we took with us. Most of the gifts were copies of the Quran edged in gold leaf. When our acquaintances accepted the gift, I would ask them to kiss it and hold it to their foreheads and hearts in a show of humility. Back at home, I walked in the courtyard like an officer who has mislaid his troops. I ordered Radwan peremptorily not to leave his room at night, and he obeyed me silently and muttered something incomprehensible. I guessed that he was sighing after my old self when I was his companion who would join him to sing nashid in praise of the Prophet. I wished he had sight, so he could see my new image and know that everything I had left behind me was pale, unnecessary for a woman who wanted to become the emira of her group, who wanted to throw her weight behind things, and weave her own myth so that others would narrate it like a tale worthy of consecration.

I didn’t like Zahra’s silence, nor her wry glances at my ponderous footsteps that suited the dignity that possessed me after I received the decision that I should take on the role of an emira , princess and leader among these other students. Hajja Souad’s voice trembled when she read out the decision and blessed it, enumerating my qualities and the force of my allegiance to my group; I swore to give my life to further our battle and to obliterate blasphemy from the face of the earth. The girls blessed me coolly, amid covert accusations that Bakr was the reason for my appointment as emira .

Before I became a princess I avoided going to meetings of the group for two months. I was immersed in my studies, determined to realize my aunts’ dream. My mother was depressed, and didn’t believe that Hossam was all right despite the letter from him I took to her. He asked her to pray for him and described my father as a great man, me as everyone’s greatest hope, and my little brother Humam as a pure-spirited bird. I loved his neat, regular handwriting. ‘I miss him,’ I said to Maryam, who nodded and continued reading the Sura Yusuf as if carrying on what she had started forty years earlier without interruption and in the same tone. She enunciated the ending of each word with the solemnity appropriate for the holy text.

I saw Hossam twice more. Bakr had agreed to a meeting after being assured of my perseverance and hearing about my cruelty, my zeal, and my requests to kill infidels. The first time, before he left us, Bakr asked me to go down to the cellar with him, gave me a wrapped-up bundle of papers, and told me to take it to Hajja Souad. Then he informed me of the predetermined time and location for my meeting with Hossam — in front of the Cinema Opera at three o’clock — and asked me to buy two tickets and pretend that we were a boy and girl fleeing school to spend a few furtive hours exchanging loving glances and brushing our hands against each other. I overdid the camouflage and wore vivid red lipstick like a doll who knew nothing of feminine secrets. My heart was beating hard as I stood and waited by the door. At that time, I knew that my brother hadn’t yet been discovered by the Mukhabarat; overwhelming caution was required to keep him hidden. I looked at my watch; I lost hope. I was about to tear up the tickets and walk away when a young man approached me and looked into my eyes, almost penetrating them through the veil. He smiled at me. I knew him from his voice when he apologized for being late, like any young man wanting to get rid of the sweetheart chasing after him, hell-bent on marrying him. He took hold of my arm and we went into the half-empty cinema, where we sat at a distance from the few audience members idly watching Spartacus liberating Roman slaves and leading them to burn down their masters’ palaces.