The Bookseller
THE BOOKSELLER
Muhammed Abd al-Hakiim had lived on Al-Mutanabi Street in Baghdad all his life, as had his father and grandfather before him. It was a very special street because of all the bookstores. In fact it was named for the famous poet Abu Taib Al-Mutanabi. In all of Baghdad there was not another street that could claim as many bookstores. To Muhammed, his street was the cultural center of all Iraq, maybe the whole Arab world. There were also several cafes where book sellers and educated people would gather in the afternoon and exchange ideas about books, history, and art while drinking thick black coffee or sweet lemon flavored tea.
Muhammed’s bookstore store was not large, but it provided his family with a decent living. He had even managed to put aside a little money, hoping to be able to send his son, Habib, to university. On Friday afternoons the street was always full of people, in fact, sometimes there were so many people it made walking difficult. They all came there to Mutanabi Street in search of books and intellectual stimulation.
He lived in a small apartment above the store with his wife Saara. Their son Habib had been drafted into the army, and although they hadn’t heard from him for several weeks they weren’t particularly worried. Although the newspapers were full of stories about how the Americans were building up troop strength in Kuwait, nobody believed they were actually going to invade. Muhammed and Saara knew their son was safe as long as there was no war.
At fifty years of age Muhammed was still a vigorous man, although his rugged face and graying beard made him look much older. Every day he awoke early and went to the local mosque for morning prayers. After prayers he would return home to open his store. Saara always had tea waiting for him when he returned.
This morning, Muhammed opened his store as he always did, and put his chair in the doorway and sat down to drink his tea. Mornings were his favorite time of day. The sun was not yet so hot as to be uncomfortable, and as the other shopkeepers on the street were opening their stores one by on
“Good morning, Hasan,” he shouted at his neighbor two doors down to his right. “Good morning, Muhammed,” Hasan shouted back, waving to him. “Have you received any news from Habib yet?” he asked. “No, not yet, but I am sure we will get a letter any day now,” Muhammed replied. “May Allah keep him safe and return him to you soon,” Hasan shouted back. “Are you going to the café this morning?” Muhammed asked. “Don’t I always?” replied Hasan, laughing. “Then we shall go together in about an hour,” Muhammed said. Both men knew they would probably not make any sales until the afternoon, so the mornings were a perfect time for them to socialize and discuss the news of the day over tea and sweetbreads at the Shahbandar café. Just then Muhammed heard the iron door slide open on Ahmad’s store to his left. They had been friends since they were young boys playing on the street together. Muhammed shouted to him, “Ahmad, you old pirate, why are you opening so late?” “Me, old?” he replied, “You are the old one!” “Just look at how gray your beard is!” Actually the two neighbors were almost the same age, but each enjoyed telling the other how old he was getting. Ahmad’s beard was still jet black, and showed no sign of gray yet. “Your beard would be gray also if you didn’t dye it every day,” Muhammed shouted back. “Muhammed, you look like an old goat, and you are just jealous of my beautiful black beard” Ahmad answered, slowly stroking his beard. “Hah! That will be the day, when I am jealous of your dyed beard,” Muhammed replied laughing. Ahmad was not about to let Muhammed have the last word. “Can I help it if Allah has blessed me with a beautiful black beard and you with a scraggly gray one?” he asked rhetorically. “Did Allah give you the black dye?” Muhammed answered back. Ahmad made an indecent gesture with his hand and answered, “Muhammed, my friend, you are just a crazy old man with an ugly gray beard!” Just then their friend Mahmud was returning from the mosque to open his store, which was right next to Hasan’s. “You look particularly happy today Mahmud,” Muhammed said. “Yes, I received news from my daughter Khadiija in Basrah that I have a new grandson,” Mahmud replied. “Praise be to Allah,” replied Ahmad, “that is a reason to be happy!” “How many grandchildren do you have now Mahmud?” Muhammed asked. “This one is my sixth one. Four grandsons and two granddaughters, praise be to Allah,” he answered proudly. “You are a lucky man,” replied Ahmad. “Yes, Allah has blessed me beyond my wildest dreams,” Mahmud replied. Just then Muhammed thought he heard Saara calling him. He stepped into the store and yelled up at her, “Did you call me?” “I am making breakfast and wanted to know if you want to eat now, or if you are going to go to the café with your worthless friends to eat,” Saara shouted down at him. “I am going to the café as soon as it opens,” he shouted up at her. “Well, before you go you should dust off the books and get them ready to put on display,” she said. Muhammed knew she was right. Every day he chose about twenty of his best books and put them on display outside the store on a small cart. That way people walking by the store could see them, and perhaps purchase one or two. He looked around for his feather duster, and finding it began to dust off the books that were still on the cart from the day before. It was amazing to him that even with the doors tightly closed so much dust managed to get into his store. He took seven more books from the bookshelves and added them to those on the cart. In addition to the books in Arabic he always tried to have several books in foreign languages also. When he had finished he shouted up to Saara, “The café should be open by now so I am going.” “Okay,” she responded, “but please don’t stay too long.” He closed the door to his shop and walked to Hasan’s store. Hasan was inside so Muhammed stuck his head in the door and shouted, “Hasan, I am going to the café now, are you coming?” Hasan came walking out from between his bookshelves and said, “I was just cleaning up a bit, but it can wait until later, let’s go.” When they arrived at the café they found their friend Ahmad already sitting at a table drinking tea. They sat down with him and ordered tea and date cakes. The Shahbandar Café was famous for its pastries, and their date cakes with sesame seeds were among the best in the world. After the waiter brought their teas and cakes, Ahmad asked, “Well, what do you two think? Is there going to be a war with America or not?” “I don’t think there will be a war,” said Hasan, “Did you see all those tanks that came through the city last week heading south?” “I don’t think the Americans are crazy enough to take them on in a battle.” Muhammed took a sip of his tea and thought for a moment before saying, “Perhaps you are right. The Americans are probably just making a show of force to frighten Saddam.” “Of course they are,” replied Hasan, nodding his head in agreement, “but Saddam is not easily frightened.” “Well, I for one think there will be a war, after all the Americans invaded Afghanistan didn’t they?” said Ahmad. “That is true,” replied Hasan, “but Afghanistan didn’t have a large modern army like we do.”
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