She laughed her heart out when he told her that, and asked him, “Do you always base your decisions on how you think I’m going to react?” Qrunful got upset with her insinuation that he was weak-willed, so she hugged him in front of me and said, “I never imagined myself married. But you, because you’re so mindful of my feelings and thoughts, will be my one and only husband. After I divorce you, I’ll stick to casual sex.” We laughed.
He died a month later.
And she got an abortion.
She got an abortion and left for Paris.
She had a lot of sex there, but it was revenge sex. Once, I called her to wish her a happy thirtieth birthday and to tease her about her old age, of course, and we got onto the topic of sex “at this age,” and she laughed and said, “I have sex to justify my screaming in the middle of the night.” I didn’t believe her then because I was confident that she loved sex for the sake of sex, as one loves art for its own sake. But I now know that her sexual relations after Qrunful’s death didn’t come from a healthy place. Her body ached. Everything inside her ached.
And here she is today, reading the news and Interpol website. She doesn’t want death to surprise her anymore.
. . .
“Allo?”
“Allo, bonjour madam. This is Graziella from the company Read Read Read. We sell encyclopedias, and our team has recently produced a series of them that include all the information on the lives of our political leaders: General Michel Aoun, al-Sayyid Hassan Nasrallah, Sheikh Saad Hariri and his father Sheikh Rafic Hariri—God rest his soul—the bishop Mar Nasrallah Boutros Sfeir, Sir Nabih Berri, Walid Beik Jumblatt . . .”
“Well done!”
“Merci madam. We also deliver all our encyclopedias to your home free of charge. And if you purchase two leaders, we’ll throw in the third for free. And if you purchase three, we’ll throw in the fourth free along with a big poster of your favorite leader, signed by him personally . . .”
“Personally? But what if my favorite leader is Sheikh Rafic Hariri, God rest his soul?”
“We’ve thought of that; his son Sheikh Saad will sign it! Madam, we have a team of experts from the best universities in Europe, and we use glossy paper for our encyclopedias. Each encyclopedia covers the leader’s childhood, his youth, studies, dreams, his idols, his disciples, the highlights of his career, his memorable speeches and quotes, and graphs showing his favorite colors, music, and books. And I repeat, we will deliver them to your home, or to any other address you prefer, free of charge!”
“Graziella, your call woke me up.”
“Oh, sorry!”
“It’s okay, Graziella, it’s no big deal. But the thing is, your call startled me, so now I can’t remember the name of my leader.”
“It’s not a problem, I’ll tell you what it is. What’s your religious sect?”
“My religious sect? Oh, I refuse to follow a specific sect; these things in this country get on my nerves. To be honest, I’m a leftist. Do you have another way to remind me of his name?”
“Sure. Where do you live?”
“Nope, that won’t help. I live in Ras Beirut. A mixed area.”
“What’s your name, madam?”
“No names, please, I prefer to maintain my privacy.”
“Okay, then, which leader do you remember the name of and want to know more about?”
“. . .”
“Allo?”
“Yes, yes, I don’t know. I don’t care for any of them, really. I honestly would’ve preferred the encyclopedias to be about artists like Fairuz and Shadia and Abdel Halim . . .”
“Madam, we’ll take your suggestion into consideration. But for now, does this mean you’re not interested in purchasing any of our encyclopedias this year?”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I can’t make up my mind. What about you, have you bought any of them?”
“Of course not! I get to read them whenever I want.”
“Oh, lucky you! Okay, can you please read me excerpts from each encyclopedia? Maybe one of them will call out to me and I’ll remember the name of my beloved leader.”
“That will be difficult to do, madam. I work in management and we don’t have any encyclopedias here for me to read from.”
“Okay, it was a long shot anyway. I’ll be realistic. Can you call me again in the morning; maybe I’ll remember the name of the lucky guy then?”
“Ha ha, okay. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“You have my number, right?”
“Yes, yes, madam. I have your number.”
“Merci.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
Click.
Now I’m up.
I ask myself why I let the conversation drag on. My having had enough of these consumerist sales pitches and their phone calls demanding my purchasing something is not an excuse for doing what I just did to her. Is it even the saleswoman’s fault? I know I wasn’t rude but I’m confident that I will not buy anything, so why did I keep talking to her and making fun of her and asking her to call me again tomorrow? But then again, isn’t dragging the conversation on better than yelling at her and being mean? She should expect a negative reaction from me when she calls in the morning and wakes me up. Yeah, sure, talking is always better than yelling. So, I’m going to call Graziella tomorrow and tell her that my leader died forty years ago.
. . .
One day, a
