Late for Tea at the Deer Palace: The Lost Dreams of My Iraqi Family

The Chalabi women were impressed by Rumia’s elegant presentation, and the delicacies they ate sugared their moods. They exchanged glances with each other. Khadja even let slip a smile when she saw the trays of sweets, which were covered with delicately embroidered doilies and decorated with freshly cut rosebuds.

Custom dictated that Bibi remain absent from the room until near the end of the women’s visit, when she could come down to greet them. Having worried all morning about her appearance and fussed over what to wear – opting in the end for a dress in turquoise, that most regal of colours – after an hour Bibi couldn’t wait a moment longer. She knew her fate was being decided as the guests chatted away in the drawing room, and decided to stand behind the door, eavesdropping, until she was sent for.

She became engrossed when Khadja spoke effusively of her grandson Hadi, his good looks and his excellent prospects. Although there had not yet been an official proposal of marriage, the old woman could not help letting Rumia know of the great honour she, Khadja, was bestowing on her with this association.

The door Bibi was leaning on was suddenly pulled open, as a maid came out with a tray of empty tea glasses. Unbalanced, Bibi stumbled into the room. Rumia closed her eyes and covered her mouth in shock and embarrassment, terrified that this display of bad manners might spoil her daughter’s chances of marriage.

The visiting party stared at each other in surprised disapproval, until Bibi’s aunt Fahima chirped up, ‘Ah, you’re here, my dear! I was about to come and get you. Come and meet Khadja Khanum [lady or madam] and Jamila Khanum, and Hadi’s aunts.’ The three aunts pursed their lips in unison, not amused to be introduced after the wretched Jamila.

Bibi desperately willed herself to look demure, and focused very hard on the flower-patterned carpets covering the floor. Her cheeks glowed from embarrassment, although she was by no means a naturally timid girl. But this occasion was different: she had heard of Khadja’s viciousness, and knew that the matriarch had the power to make or break this union. So the best course of action for her was suddenly to become shy. As she greeted each of the Chalabi women she was aware of their scrutinizing eyes roaming over every inch of her, and she silently recited a short verse from the Quran in the hope that it would temporarily blind them when they reached her neck, lest they see how short it was. If there was one thing she really envied her mother, it was her long, thin neck – that, and her height. Rumia was tall and graceful; Bibi was not. As all these thoughts tumbled through her mind, Bibi was so nervous that she nearly forgot to breathe.

When she finally approached Hadi’s mother, Bibi felt some relief. Jamila was warmer to her than the other Chalabi women had been, and asked her to sit next to her, complimenting her on her silk dress. Bibi missed the dark looks exchanged between Khadja and her daughters. However, the tension was broken when another tray of walnut pastries appeared.

Walking back home, Shaouna declared to the others that Bibi was going to be quite a handful. She turned to Jamila and said snidely, ‘You won’t be able to control her. She’ll walk all over you.’ Jamila didn’t reply, but her sisters-in-law started to laugh. Jamila could feel herself burning from all the anger she had stored up inside from the day she had married; she had never yet heard a kind word from any of these women. Her silence irritated them, but so did her words on those rare occasions when she had dared to answer back. Today, she kept her own counsel; she liked Bibi.

After the visitors had left, Bibi asked her mother what she thought of the Chalabis. Rumia was not very forthcoming; she told her that they seemed decent enough, but that it didn’t do to rush into such an important thing as marriage. Bibi was upset by what she took to be her unenthusiastic response. Her mind ran away with her as she imagined what her life would be like as an unmarried spinster stuck in her mother’s house.

The prospect was very bleak. She would always be at the mercy of her grandfather, her uncle or her brothers, and, worse, her brothers’ wives after they married. She would never be able to have a house of her own, or do anything with her life. Everyone would pity her if she was denied the one role that all women were born to take on: that of wife and mother. She burst into tears. She would rather die than end up alone. Hadi has got to marry me, she told herself, he has to!

A few days later, with Khadja’s final blessing and Hadi’s consent, Abdul Hussein paid Bibi’s grandfather Sayyid Nassir a visit to ask for her hand in marriage on behalf of his son.

After Abdul Hussein had left, despite his weathered bones Sayyid Nassir wasted no time in rushing to find Rumia and share the good news. Bibi burst into the room. ‘What is it, Jiddi?’ she asked excitedly. ‘What did the Chalabis want?’ She knew their business of course; what terrified her was the possibility that they had found her wanting. Her grandfather calmly explained that they had come to ask for her hand for their son Hadi.

‘Yes, yes, I accept!’ Bibi grinned. ‘He’s the one with the blond hair and the blue eyes, isn’t he? I saw him once in the market and then another time during a procession at the shrine.’

Rumia was mortified that Bibi could talk to her grandfather with such a lack of respect; she reprimanded her, and Bibi rolled her eyes. Choosing to ignore the look on her daughter’s face, Rumia continued, ‘If you say the boy is of good character …’

‘I believe he is, and I will ask around. You don’t have any objections in principle?’

Before Rumia had time to reply, Bibi butted in, ‘Why should she, unless she wishes me to stay facing her all my life?’

Her grandfather looked at her and said tenderly, ‘All that is good will happen. Have faith.’

Bibi was sleepless from excitement and anxiety. It was a few days before her wedding day and she was worried, although she knew that Rumia had done her best to take care of the elaborate preparations needed to ensure that she went to her new home with all that was required.

Creating the trousseau had proved to be quite a production, from buying the material for Bibi’s new clothes and furniture, to finding seamstresses and embroiderers, to getting the best mattress upholsterer. Locating the necessary wares had been complicated by the wartime shortages, and Bibi was concerned that Rumia had dealt with the details with her usual degree of detachment. Her interest in earthly things was limited, and her enthusiasm for minutiae only went so far. Consequently, Bibi was fearful that she would be judged by her in-laws and their acquaintances as somehow inadequate, and Rumia’s calmness only irritated her further. She bit her fingernails to the quick.

What on earth would Hadi think of her?

4

Sugared Almonds and Jasmine

Bibi and Hadi’s Wedding

(1916)

IN ADVANCE OF the day of the mahir, the official religious ceremony that was held on a different day to the wedding itself, servants carried huge zanabil from Abdul Hussein’s house to Rumia’s. The enormous baskets were filled to the brim with sugared almonds, pistachios, dates, fruit jellies and mann al-sima, a prized local delicacy made from the boiled bark of trees, mixed with nuts and covered in icing sugar. Each basket was so large that it required two men to lift it. In addition, the Chalabi family sent several trays of shakkar borek, thinly layered sheets of pastry stuffed with almonds and baked. Rumia also received the small gifts of candy that were to be handed out after the mahir to the men.

Ever prone to dramatic outbursts, Bibi was once more beside herself with worry about whether her mother would attend to all the necessary arrangements. She paced the house, pestered Rumia with questions and locked herself in her bedroom for hours at a time, smoking furtively and ignoring her brothers when they tried to talk to her through the closed door. The death of her father had taught her that happiness could be snuffed out in a moment, and she couldn’t stop herself from fretting over what could go wrong.

The cuisine, at least, was no cause for concern. Besides God, Rumia’s passion was her kitchen, and she threw herself into planning the feast. Despite having several servants, she reigned supreme in her kitchen, where she took an active part in the preparations. The formality usually present between master and servant was absent in her house-hold, dominated as it was by women. Several of the servants had been there for such a long time that they had become part of the family. This did not mean that any of them had lost their respect for the unstated hierarchy.

Nevertheless, Rumia barely slept a wink herself the night before the mahir. There was so much to do, and she was exhausted by Bibi’s endless demands and tantrums. She was also depleted by the great efforts she had taken to fund this ceremony. Ever since her husband’s death, money had been scarce. Her wily brother-in-law had laid his hands on his brother’s business and assets. He gave Rumia a stipend, but it was barely enough to feed two, let alone a family of four.

Rumia’s lifestyle had changed dramatically over the past few years. Her house became less and less frequented by guests; she had never been as sociable as her husband. Nor had she shared his enthusiasm for collecting antiques, porcelain, opaline and silver, but now she was grateful for the pieces that remained. They had come to her rescue whenever she found herself with a large bill to pay. To fund the wedding ceremony, she had passed a chandelier discreetly to her brother Raouf to sell on her behalf.

She was loath to ask her brother-in-law for anything. After her husband’s death he had become the financial guardian of the family, taking over his brother’s estate, his shops and his capital, because Rumia was not versed in business and her own boys were still minors. Her father-in-law was officially her children’s moral guardian, as religious custom dictated, but he was old, and left all monetary concerns to his son. It was humiliating enough that her brother-in-law had robbed them of their rightful inheritance, but to have to ask him for what was rightfully theirs … that was simply too much for Rumia. So she lodged her complaint with God, certain that in His infinite wisdom He would see the injustice and punish her brother-in-law accordingly.

In the meantime, she wanted to make Bibi feel as confident in the arrangements as she could, so she had spared nothing to make the banquet as fitting and sumptuous as possible. Rumia was keenly aware that, of her three surviving children, it was Bibi who had felt her father’s loss the most, and she had a deep fear of financial insecurity.

All the ingredients for a splendid celebration were in place. Rumia had prepared all the desserts the day before, with the help of her two servants – Saeeda and Laleh, a pious young Iranian maid from Kuzaran – and a few women who were regular visitors to her kitchen. The kitchen was filled with the trays of burma, dark vermicelli covering glazed pistachio nuts; walnut-and sugar-stuffed pastries; claytcha, date-stuffed round cakes; mihalabi, a rice pudding flavoured with orange blossom essence; as well as her signature halawa, with shaved carrots, cardamom and saffron.

The morning of the mahir, Rumia rose in time for her dawn prayers, but she couldn’t concentrate properly, and knelt three times instead of the required two. Every time she recited a verse, her mind would wander to the kitchen and she would lose the train of the sacred words in her mouth. After her prayers she went to the kitchen, where she was expecting to find Saeeda and Laleh already up and working. But the house was silent. Everyone was sleeping in besides her.

She crept up to Saeeda’s room, which was located behind the kitchen, and stood outside, debating whether she should wake her up or not. She took a deep breath and gently tapped on her door. There was no sign of life. She whispered Saeeda’s name softly. Nothing. Rumia opened the door and gave a gentle cough. Saeeda croaked, rubbing her eyes when Rumia told her the time and urged her to get up as soon as she could.

‘But we worked so late yesterday,’ Saeeda complained. ‘Just once it would be nice to get a proper lie-in.’

A couple of hours later Rumia left the kitchen and walked to her daughter’s room, where Bibi was still sound asleep. She went over to the window and opened the shutters. Mosaics of light flooded in through the shanashil, the wooden lattices that framed the windows. Bibi sat up in alarm. ‘What’s happened, what’s happened?’

Her two mahir outfits hung from the side of her closet. There was the cream embroidered kaftan that she would wear for the actual ceremony, and a light-pink silk dress, with gold embroidery and a round neck, for the lunch afterwards. Lying on the dresser opposite her bed were the ornate metal hair combs, with flowers painted in lacquer, which Bibi had insisted upon and which were to go on either side of her parting. Her custom-made high-heeled shoes were set out on the floor.

Rumia murmured her approval as she ran her hands over the outfits, but Bibi complained that they made her look short. ‘What if they realise how short I am and change their minds?’ she asked. Taking a deep breath, Rumia calmly told her to stop her nonsense: she was going to look lovely, but she should get up now as there was still a lot to do. She paused as she turned to leave the room. ‘Oh! You nearly made me forget to get out the pearl earrings your father – may he rest in peace – gave me. They will go with your outfits perfectly.’

Bibi perked up at this piece of news. She had always coveted her mother’s jewels. She had often thought that if they were hers she would wear them all the time, in contrast to her mother, who never let them see the light of day. Bibi didn’t know how precious the gems were to Rumia; that she was relying on them to save her from dreaded rainy days ahead.

As with all mahirs, many of the ceremony’s details were filled with symbolism for the imminent marriage. Bibi sat on a chair in the loose-fitting kaftan, which had a large round neck. This garment had to be free of any clasps, tied knots or fastenings, which were considered to be symbolic obstacles that might prevent her from speaking the truth when asked if she wanted to get married. Her hair shone and she wore kohl around her eyes, and sibdaj, a paste used as a blusher, on her cheeks. She hated the effect of the strong red and wiped most of it off immediately. However, she didn’t mind the diram, a walnut-based lipstick applied with a finger.

Her feet were in a bowl of water, which symbolized a plentiful life, in which jasmine flowers floated. On either side of her candles burned, garlanded with tiny flowers. Two women stood behind her. They were known to be happily married, and each held a pair of enormous sugar cubes which they rubbed against each other onto a delicate lace cloth that was held above Bibi’s head, so her marriage would be sweet like sugar. Facing her was a mirror so that she could see herself speaking the truth. A Quran lay open on her lap.

There was some commotion from the women as the mullah approached the door to the room. He stood outside and asked Bibi loudly whether she willingly accepted Hadi to be her husband. He slowly repeated his question fourteen times, so that she would be sure to consider her answer carefully. Her mother stood near her, counting with her fingers. When he reached the last time, Bibi quickly replied, ‘Yes.’

Two of the women in the room started ululating, but they were quickly hushed. Having obtained Bibi’s consent, the mullah continued the rest of the ceremony in the room next door, the dawakhana.

As was the custom, Abdul Hussein whispered to the mullah the sum of money his family was giving to the bride for her dowry; having agreed to Bibi’s grandfather’s request, he also disclosed the mu’akhar – the amount of money to be paid to Bibi in the event of a divorce. Hadi was standing next to his father, but as he still lived under his father’s roof, it fell to Abdul Hussein to conduct the financial part of the marriage. This having been dealt with, the mullah recited a prayer before finalizing the marriage contract verbally. The groom and Bibi’s grandfather shook hands, and the mullah put his hand across both of theirs while reading a final short blessing.

After greeting all the female guests and receiving gifts, mostly jewellery from the groom’s family, Bibi went up to change into her pink dress before joining the lunch banquet. She felt shattered as she sat momentarily on her bed to catch her breath. She had been very anxious for days now, and her fatigue was finally catching up with her, as was her hunger.

The day was a success, judging from the little food that was left over. Everyone in the household was exhausted but satisfied that all had gone well. Even the servants took Bibi’s marriage personally, wanting to give the groom’s side the very best impression in order to ensure that Bibi’s worth was truly appreciated. Yet the marathon was far from over. Now there was the dowry to prepare, in advance of the actual wedding day when Bibi would move into her husband’s home. Although she was officially married to Hadi, she had still not been presented to him.

Rumia now had the mahir dowry money offered by the groom’s family. The fifty gold coins given by the Chalabis was a generous amount, but she was aware that she would have to exceed it if she was to provide her daughter with the best possible trousseau. A trousseau was often looked upon by in-laws as a barometer of a girl’s background and her family’s ability to provide for her. A luxurious trousseau suggested a cared-for girl, who might be treated with more consideration than a girl who came to her groom without much. A meagre trousseau was like a licence that allowed a husband to get off lightly: he could provide his new bride with little, as she had little to start with. Moreover, the contents of the trousseau would be put on public display as part of the wedding festivities.

Rumia knew all too well that there was still much to do. As she helped her daughter choose the items for her trousseau, she brought out a metal-studded chest she had kept stored for years. In it were several pieces of beautiful silk that her husband had brought back from one of his trips to India. Looking through the unfolded cloth, she reminisced about those lost days when her husband had filled the house with life. Rumia decided to give Bibi the chest and all the silks in it. She would never wear them. She had taken to wearing black ever since her husband died, and would continue to do so.

Of course, tradition also dictated that the bride offer gifts to Hadi, his father and brothers. For the men, a shaving set each was chosen, along with embroidered towels and underwear, as well as silk-embroidered shaving aprons. It was an expensive business, especially in these difficult times.

In the run-up to the official wedding day, Bibi overheard her mother talking to Saeeda in the kitchen. Rumia was asking her to pray that the silver candelabra she had sent to be sold would fetch a good price.