She got up from the bed, went into the bathroom and washed, then she put on her clothes and left. I tried to arrange another tryst. “No,” she said. “You have to ask Mr. Nazeeh.” When I asked her what her name was, she told me to choose a name for her.
“Najma,” I said.
“Najma,” she repeated. “That’s a pretty name.”
“That’s because you’re a star, my Najma. Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Ask Mr. Nazeeh,” she replied.
So I started asking Nazeeh for her. She would come over and I would pay. I didn’t know anything about her family. I tried to find out once, but she cupped her little white hand over my mouth and silenced me.
“But why are you doing this?” I asked her. “You’re so young.”
“It’s better this way, and we’ll live well.”
“What about your parents? What do they think of this?” She covered my mouth again. “And what about love?” I asked. She threw her hands up in the air, smiling. And I led her to the bed.
Nazeeh al-Tabesh suggested I try someone else besides Najma. He had lots of girls, of every age and color. All I had to do was choose. But I told him I liked Najma.
“You’ve fallen for her, man,” he said, chuckling through his chipped teeth.
“God forbid! It’s just that she’s beautiful!”
And so Najma kept on coming to my place, and I paid. It took more than half my salary to keep her coming! But, honestly, how had Nazeeh al-Tabesh got hold of such a stunning bunch of girls? I asked him if he wasn’t afraid of the authorities, of… you know. . being caught.
“And what authorities would those be?” he replied. “We are the authorities, we’re in charge,” he said. He explained he was under some sort of protection and that I was to be discreet.
And then the problems started. . bad, bad problems… I got this anonymous phone call at the paper. The guy said he was Najma’s brother. I played dumb, pretending I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then he came to see me in person. He was this fortyish-something man, with deep-set eyes, telling me he knew everything and that Najma was his sister and I had to marry her.
That was ridiculous! How could Najma be his sister? Since Najma wasn’t Najma at all, it was just my name for her-I didn’t even know the girl’s name. Najma didn’t exist as Najma, and it was obvious that I had been the object of some sort of extortion racket — right from the get-go. I was about to tell him that he was lying, that Najma wasn’t Najma, but then I saw the gun bulging under his jacket, and I held my tongue. He said he’d give me five days, or else. .
“Or else you know what’ll happen, don’t you?” he added before leaving the room.
Then he started to call. He’s been phoning every day, both at home and at the office, “to remind me,” he says. And the five days are up tomorrow, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t marry her! That’s out of the question! Whom would I go to and ask for her hand anyway? To Nazeeh al-Tabesh?. . And start pimping for him, maybe? No, sir, I will not marry her. Let them kill me! This time tomorrow I’ll be dead. Tomorrow, they will kill me!
When I went to see Nazeeh al-Tabesh, he acted as if he didn’t know me, the bastard! He’s the one who got me into this mess! Can you imagine, pretending he didn’t know me or the girl. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said! And all that time, he was pocketing the money! He’d be waiting at my door for his 400 lira, like a panting dog… And now he knows nothing! I’m telling you, I won’t give in, I will not marry her. What can they be thinking of, me marrying a prostitute? I wouldn’t marry anyone — the very idea of marriage is abhorrent — and I certainly won’t marry a professional whore! Let them kill me! I’d rather die than marry her!
I could see that Dr. Abu Suleyman was very distraught. I told him I thought the problem was simple. “All you have to do is pay up: that’s what extortion is about. They just want your money.”
“What do you mean just pay? Suppose I offer her ‘brother’ money and he then considers it an insult to the family honor and kills me!”
“Let’s go and see Nazeeh,” I suggested.
“If he knows ‘nothing about this,’ how am I supposed to give him the money?”
I told my friend I’d go with him. The truth is I wanted to go, partly for his sake, but also partly because I found all this talk about young, nubile girls titillating. I thought it was pretty hot stuff, especially if the girls were virgins. So we went together.
Nazeeh al-Tabesh greeted us courteously and asked what he could do for us, acting for all the world as if he really had never seen my friend, Dr. Abu Suleyman. We took Nazeeh to one side, I did all the talking.
“It’s about Najma, Mr. Nazeeh,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Sir, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
For a minute, I believed him. Perhaps he didn’t know, perhaps this friend of mine Dr. Ajjaj Abu Suleyman was playing games with me. Maybe he was making the whole thing up, like he did with his teeth fantasy, and his work as a journalist, and his. . But I quickly dismissed the idea… it’s not possible, I thought.
“I know that it’s nothing to do with you, but we’d like you to act as a go-between, a go-between who will help bring about a positive outcome,” I said.
“Go on.”
“We’ll pay.”
“It’s nothing to do with me.”
“One thousand,” I told him.
“See you around, sonny. We’re busy here.”
“Three thousand. What do you say?”
“Three thousand isn’t worth discussing. Sorry, but the brother won’t be impressed.”
“Four thousand then.”
“. .”
“Alright, five thousand. .”
“A little bit more than that,” he urged.
“Five is all we can manage. It’s five thousand or. . or, do as you please!”
“We don’t stop at murder.”
“And we don’t have any more than that.”
“Alright then, it’s a deal. Let’s have it.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Uh-uh. Now.”
“Tomorrow. We’ll be here, with the money, early in the morning. OK?”
“OK.”
Dr. Abu Suleyman asked, “I have your word?”
“Absolutely. My word of honor, Doctor.”
“That means the phone calls will stop.”
“That’s right. The whole thing will be over, and with 5,000 lira we’ll make sure the girl has a decent future.”
As we left the café, Dr. Abu Suleyman grumbled that he didn’t have that kind of money. I urged him to get hold of the necessary sum by the next morning.
“And what if I don’t?”
“You’re a dead man. Don’t you understand, we’re at their mercy! They run the show round here. Pay up and you’re safe.”
The doctor was of course able to get the money together somehow, the threats stopped, and Najma disappeared from his life exactly as she had appeared.
Still, what I find difficult to understand in all this is how these people manage to set up such specialized prostitution rings. Maybe it’s because there are so many refugees, and a general breakdown in family relations — actually, that’s not true, because family ties have, if anything, strengthened during the war. So how are they doing it?
My friend Dr. Ajjaj Abu Suleyman could no longer bear to even hear about the subject. One day, he announced that he was planning to go overseas.
“I’m going to Mexico,” he said. “I’ve got relatives there, and I’ll start a dental practice.”