Free Rain over Baghdad: A Novel of Iraq by Hala El Badry Page B

Especially as it’s a new magazine staffed by young journalists, even with the presence of an experienced editor like Amal al-Sharqi, because, as you know, she is only there on a part-time basis. Her primary writing job is with al-Jumhuriya newspaper. They are aware of al-Zahra’s long history in the Arab press. Would al-Zahra play a role in their magazine or not? That, briefly, was what they wanted to find out.”
    We went back the following week and many weeks after that and our relationship with the staff there grew stronger. Amal al-Sharqi invited me to work with them. She said in the presence of Sajida, Ilham, and Naglaa: “Write features for us about each of your trips. Consider yourself a reporter for the magazine.”
    I looked at the three friends and saw that they were smiling and opening their arms for me and gesturing that I should accept. I said, as I received their kisses, “I accept wholeheartedly.”
    Amal al-Sharqi signed my application for membership in the Iraqi Journalists Union. I was elated, wondering when I would get the Egyptian Journalists Union membership.
    I heard some movement. I looked up at the aisle. I saw the stewardess pushing the food carts forward and one steward closing the first-class curtains. Each cart stopped in the front of an aisle and the stewardess began distributing the meals. I leaned my head on the headrest and turned to look through the open window next to Salma. The sky above the clouds was so clear it seemed unreal. Once again I heard the knocks on the door of my memory.
    Hamid Marmarji, director of culture in Erbil, invited us to the inauguration of the new cultural season. It was a rather long jaunt this time, eight days. Before we got on the bus, Hilmi Amin warned me, “Last trip we lost all the Russian correspondents in one fell swoop. Let’s not lose anyone else this time.”
    I had promised myself to write many features on the places that we merely went through in the past. I was happy that Hatim had granted me freedom of movement without resenting my being away.
    I tried to forget the pangs of being away from my son. The director’s words hurt me and put me on notice that I would be under observation, rather than a full participant. I made no comment on his words and throughout the bus trip followed the shepherds in the desert and the herds of camels and sheep. We passed by the sacred fire so I remembered Ur and Sayyidna Ibrahim and also the priestesses of the temple about whom I read with intense interest. Hamid welcomed us very warmly, saying, “The city is teeming with Kurds who feel defeated. Having a dialogue with them is hard, but involving them in a literary gathering is one way the party is trying to reach them and reassure them. The presence of two Egyptian journalists, a male and a female, would be quite attractive for them, especially as Kurdish men and women of letters considerthemselves neglected because they are away from the capital. They feel their works are not getting the attention they deserve.”
    Hilmi Amin said, “Don’t worry.”
    I said, “That is the general feeling of writers from the provinces, even in Egypt, even though being away from the capital gives them greater opportunity to write.”
    He said, “The problem here is more complicated.”
    In the evening Hilmi Amin spoke about Egyptian culture before a Kurdish audience that understood Arabic and spoke it fluently. I spoke about the role of women in Egyptian culture. I noticed that the Kurdish intellectuals followed Egyptian culture closely. We got to discussing Arabic magazines and periodicals and how only a few Kurdish authors’ works were published in them. Hilmi Amin invited them to publish in al-Zahra magazine. Then the discussion got heated and touched upon literature and the struggle for freedom. One member of the audience spoke in response to Hilmi Amin’s presentation, “There are only three pillars of literature in Egypt now and you are forty million. In Kurdistan we