i s h t a r r i a........

Given their relatively closed society, the majority of Iraqi females, particularly those in their teens and twenties, were, by and large, less instructed in the ways of life than their peers from the more liberal western countries. Nevertheless, being excessively innocent and unduly bashful by nature, I did not necessarily typify a trend among Iraqi females. Underestimating the rigorous hand of culture, tradition, and religion could take one down an injudicious path to no light moral crime. Stories about throwing religion and conventions to the wind were by no means scarce. As a response to such audacity, households resorted to various inhibitory measures, in order to salvage honour and reputation. A hasty coercion into kin marriages, mainly cousins for Muslims, or to any other opportunely available suitor, was the usual fate in store for any audaciously venturesome female. In the ‘unfortunate’ absence of either, escape from home confinement lay in the hope that providence would bring...

فليكن امن الرب وسلامه معكم ويده فوقكم تحفظكم وتحرسكم من كل شر يا اهلي يالعراقيين قلبي وروحي معكم وصلواتي من اجلكم مسلمين كنتم... او مسيحيين عربا وكردا أم تركمان سنة أوشيعة أوصابئة أوكلدواشوريين أزمة وراح تعدي وترجع شمسنا تبرج بسمانا وتلالالي فوك ارضنا ارض الحب والتسامح ارض العراقيين اهل القلوب الطيبة يلي ما شفت ولا راح اشوف احلى واطيب وارحم من قلوبكم العراق امانة برقبة كل عراقي شريف رضع من صدر أم حرة عراقية اعمالكم وافعالكم لازم تظل طاهرةونقية بطهارة حليبكم العراق يالعراقيين امانة برقبتكم

For over two weeks now, I have been struggling to carry on with my writing. Drafting, deleting and revising have become frustrating but habitual idiosyncrasies. While my pen has succumbed biddably to my will, my mind seems to be exasperatingly void. Having finished well nigh two thirds of my narrative now, I wonder if what I have been experiencing is some sort of a despondent escapism that my mind has deliberately designed, only to shun going about the few remaining chapters. For what’s coming is the most harrowing. But then, that having become my ineluctable destiny, how would I ever get away from what has also been my sanctuary and my hallowed refuge? How could I ever set one foot out of what has always been the blazing haven, to whose incinerating flames my whole being has been agreeably addicted. It seems, however, that I am lacking the strength, perhaps even the capacity, to come anywhere near the pain that I have been mollifying for years, and which has gnawed at my susceptible e...

With eyes riveted on me, he placed his cup on the copier, and he maintained a steady pace towards me, which pushed me into stepping further backwards, my helpless hands pleading and warning. Suddenly, I realized that I hit something. It was the wall now right behind me. I was trapped. But he wouldn’t stop. ‘Please… Martin… please stop… stop please…’ I murmured, imploring fervently. On realizing the futility of my pleas, I impulsively held up my arms, both palms facing him, so that they formed a ‘protective’ shield, but apparently not protective enough to produce the desired result. It seemed that he stopped only when he sensed the tip of his shoes touching mine. ‘Martin, don’t, please don’t’, I pleaded in a breath of a sound that was barely audible. Powerless in the face of his looming impetuousness, I swiftly covered my eyes with both my hands. Such a defensive move seemed the wisest spontaneous reaction my artlessness could come up with to ward off danger. Well, I thought if he’d...

It was around eleven when he showed up. He had, as was usual for him, picked upon the most perfect time. A short while earlier, Gerhard, the last of the advisors, had left the offices; I was on my own, working behind my desk, with only Fury on the other side across the glass panel. ‘Morning gorgeous’, he saluted, as he stood at the doorway, hands in pockets, seemingly yearning for whatever would make up for his one-day away, perhaps a smile, or a tender word, or, hopefully, an affectionate gesture. But the lioness in me was in a completely different valley now, immersed in her preparations for a court hearing, and, on the face of it, not the least interested in any form of love or salutation. ‘I missed you’, he murmured softly as he drew closer. I just ignored him, head down, busy working, or feigning business rather. “Hey kiddo, what’s up?’ he uttered in a mirthful tone as he approached my desk. …………. ‘Mad at me for not coming yesterday?’ …………. ‘Something wrong I have done?’ he said ...

Assaying to ease up the aggravating tension, my splendidly thoughtful friend Fury instantaneously assumed the role of Sherlock Holmes and plunged fervidly into the action of verifying the identity of the ‘alien’ voice. Fifteen minutes of artful chitchat with Martin’s assistant and she was back holding the banner of triumphal success. If she had persisted with her ‘research’ a bit longer, she would have, I reckon, traced the woman’s roots several antecedents back. She joyfully gave me the facts in a nutshell: ‘She’s the housemaid. Her name is Jocelyn. She’s Assyrian and goes there twice a week’. Well, the name and ethnicity of the alleged housemaid seemed to make a perfectly logical match. Apart from Christian names shared by both denominations, Iraqi Assyrians tended to favour Western names, unlike their fellow Chaldeans who were inclined towards Arabic names. I had, yet, one more reason for accepting Fury’s anecdote. The majority of Iraqi Assyrians spoke English adequately enough to ...

While the cigarette functioned as a discreet cover for expressing my bashful love, jealousy, in its turn, scooted zealously into action, trumpeting it. Thinking of Fattin ? No, no, it wasn’t Fattin. For she had altogether melted into the background once I stepped into Martin’s life. Back then, however, I was still on shore, and hadn’t waded as deeply yet in the stormy sea of love. Who was it then this time? Well, who else would it be other than Jocelyn? The most ‘wonderful’ Jocelyn, who, while she truly wrecked my nerves, inadvertently did Martin a great favour. It started during one of Martin’s rare mid-week absences. Early morning, on the way down to the office, I was surprised to find that his car wasn’t in its usual parking spot. A sweeping glance around the parking lot obliterated my fervent hope that such vanishing was a mere shift of location compelled by someone having taken prior possession of his customary parking spot. An immediate sensation of dispiritedness and disquiet s...