Read Rain over Baghdad: A Novel of Iraq for Free Online

wasn’t there. I had left it three weeks after graduating from college. My friends had left for the Gulf or to Europe. I followed up the publication of my articles on Baghdad in al-Zahra magazine. I met Latif Girgis and here I was in the bureau where I had dreamed of working when I read one morning the headline: “Baghdad from al-Zahra Bureau: ‘Writers of the world ask: Do you know a magazine called Lotus ?’”
    I wondered where the bureau was and how to get in touch with it. When I arrive in Cairo I’ll find out all the details and I’ll join it. My mother-in-law encouraged me to leave Yasir behind, telling me not to worry, that her daughters would take good care of him. Besides, the doctor was nearby and he would follow up on him, and a year was such a short time and then I’d come back and take himto Baghdad, that that was better than needlessly creating a problem with my husband.
    I said, “I didn’t come to Egypt of my own free will. I came because I couldn’t get much help from Yasir’s doctor and because Hatim and I stayed up many nights to take care of Yasir. So, why do I have to make that choice?”
    She said, “You’ll have difficulty in the beginning of course. But when you hear his voice on the phone and know that he is safe near the doctor you trust, you will be able to tolerate the pain of separation. Join the bureau that you were talking about. Think of it as an opportunity to enhance your career.” My mother-in-law also said, “What more do you need than encouragement from your mother-in-law and your mother to start working? Don’t waste this opportunity.”
    “But Yasir …”
    “No buts.”
    I left Cairo, saying to myself, “A psychologically healthy mother would work and succeed a thousand times better than a depressed mother.” I remembered the long nights of boredom, the loneliness, the emptiness inside, and the confusion. I couldn’t forget the hours upon hours of small talk with my neighbor. True, Hatim was gentle and affectionate, but where was Hatim? He worked day and night in a factory thirty kilometers away from Baghdad. So why don’t I open the door to a new world that would restore me to life? But, will Hatim accept my new life? I was totally devoted to him for a whole year. Now my life will be turned upside down. Why do I let these questions muddy my life?
    One week later I became a member of the Iraqi press community and Iraqi society. I spent most of the following five years working closely with Hilmi Amin, traveling all over Iraq. We would begin work together in the morning by identifying the news stories we’d work on and developing them into features. Then we would go to the Ministry of Information to follow up on news and events. We would have an early lunch in the cafeteria and meet friends then go back to the office to continue working according to the weekly schedule.
    I gave him one of my poems to read.
    He read:
    The strings of your guitar from my heart
    Cautiously touch my soul.
    “This is not your poetry,” he said.
    I was taken aback and protested strongly, “Of course it’s my poetry!”
    He said, “I’ve noticed that prominent poets nowadays are influenced by contemporary French and English poetry. This sounds like that kind of poetry.”
    I said decisively, “That is not true!”
    He shook his head. I did not argue with him. He doesn’t know much about me yet. Soon he will find out that this spoiled girl has lived the life of a champion athlete, and cannot find a single reason to attribute to herself something she hasn’t done for she is quite convinced that what she does is enough to satisfy her vanity. I smiled, saying with a confidence befitting my twenty-one years, “It is my poetry and I’ll bring you my collection of poems tomorrow.”
    I invited him to my house and introduced him to my husband. My library was how I introduced my real self to Hilmi. I immediately sensed the warmth of his changed attitude toward me. Laughing, I listed the