Contemporary Iraqi Fiction by Shakir Mustafa

Author:Shakir Mustafa
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780815654452
Publisher: Syracuse University Press
Published: 2018-02-10T00:00:00+00:00

Sexual Complacency

Was she going to call somebody today? Certainly, the telephone had been one way to break her isolation. Then it dawned on her that it cost more to call during the day now, thanks to Mrs. Thatcher’s free-market policies, and she squelched the urge to dial. Calls were much cheaper at night, but when a truly understanding husband or the kids came home at night, who would bother about calling? Had she tried to explain that to Mrs. Thatcher, she might have convinced her to change that particular policy. Self-deprecating humor was her way of evading her helplessness.

When she had come to London thirty years ago, other women could talk on the phone for hours. Not she. For her, then, the phone was a dead machine as she took care of the kids, not to mention adjust to a new city and learn English. Socializing was not for her. She used to watch television only after dinner with the children, contentedly—cartoons or soap operas to pick up conversational English. The acting, however, was often superior to what she sometimes saw in Baghdad, the city they came from, where a turban alone was supposed to invoke the revelry of a Haroun al-Rasheed or the righteousness of one of the Prophet’s companions, Abu Dharr al-Ghifari.

But that was an entirely different thing. What was important for her now was that she had ended, just yesterday, all physical ties with her husband. Completely. Wait, don’t rush me. Yes, she simply had told him she wanted to sleep that night in the other room. Why? If you bear with me a moment, I’ll tell you. She was determined about that when she saw how rigid he was, shutting her up all the time. That was something she wouldn’t accept. She’d just sleep in another bed. I don’t want you to get close to me or hug me; I don’t want you or need you. Not at all. I need someone who’ll listen to me when I explode or complain or argue or reproach. Someone who accepts me with all my faults, for I’m not always sweet and smooth like candy. Not without blemishes and lines and sagging flesh. It comes with the territory. I have a lot of scratches, and the heavy legacy of centuries. I need to groan. What should I do, the way you see it? Go on the street and scream at the people? Somebody has advised a British magazine’s female readers to go to a remote train station and vent their frustration by screaming as the train passes, the noises becoming indistinguishable. That’s because their companions won’t listen to them. Should I do that, too?

This whole thing really began yesterday after she read a harsh book review in the Guardian. The book, by a wealthy and beautiful Arab widow, had been recently translated into English, and the reviewer berated both the original and the translation. She completely agreed with the reviewer, but perhaps not with his sarcasm. It was his

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