{"product_id":"frankenstein-in-baghdad-isbn-9780143128793","title":"Frankenstein in Baghdad","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eInternational \u003c\/b\u003eBooker Prize finalist\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWinner of the International Prize for Arabic Fiction\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Brave and ingenious.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Gripping, darkly humorous . . . profound.” —Phil Klay, bestselling author and National Book Award winner for \u003ci\u003eRedeployment\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Extraordinary . . . A devastating but essential read.” —Kevin Powers, bestselling author and National Book Award finalist for \u003ci\u003eThe Yellow Birds\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the rubble-strewn streets of U.S.-occupied Baghdad, Hadi—a scavenger and an oddball fixture at a local café—collects human body parts and stitches them together to create a corpse. His goal, he claims, is for the government to recognize the parts as people and to give them proper burial. But when the corpse goes missing, a wave of eerie murders sweeps the city, and reports stream in of a horrendous-looking criminal who, though shot, cannot be killed. Hadi soon realizes he’s created a monster, one that needs human flesh to survive—first from the guilty, and then from anyone in its path. A prizewinning novel by “Baghdad’s new literary star” (\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e), \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad\u003c\/i\u003e captures with white-knuckle horror and black humor the surreal reality of contemporary Iraq.\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003eWinner of France’s Grand Prize for Fantasy\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWinner of The Kitschies’ Golden Tentacle Award for Best Debut\u003cbr\u003eLonglisted for the International Dublin Literary Award\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This profound, gripping book refreshes a centuries-old scary story into today’s landscape.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Today Show\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The book I can’t get out of my head? The haunting, brutal and funny \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad.\u003c\/i\u003e” —\u003cb\u003eJohn Schwartz, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“In the 200 years since Mary Shelley wrote \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein,\u003c\/i\u003e her monster has turned up in countless variations—but few of them have been as wild or politically pointed as the monster in Ahmed Saadawi’s \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad.\u003c\/i\u003e” —\u003cb\u003eGregory Cowles, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Intense and surreal . . . Assured and hallucinatory . . . funny and horrifying in a near-perfect admixture . . . Saadawi blends the unearthly, the horrific and the mundane to terrific effect. . . . There’s a freshness to both his voice and vision. . . . What happened in Iraq was a spiritual disaster, and this brave and ingenious novel takes that idea and uncorks all its possible meanings.” —\u003cb\u003eDwight Garner, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A striking portrait of life during wartime.” —\u003cb\u003eEmily C. Hughes, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Brilliant . . . Crisp, moving, and mordantly humorous . . . Like \u003ci\u003eCatch-22\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eSlaughterhouse-Five, Frankenstein in Baghdad\u003c\/i\u003e plays the absurd normality of war for dark humor. . . . The monster is a powerful metaphor, but the real reason the novel works is because Saadawi writes with a rare combination of generosity, cruelty, and black humor. He has a journalist’s eye for detail and a cartoonist’s sense of satire.” —\u003cb\u003eRoy Scranton, \u003ci\u003eThe New Republic\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[It] startles and stuns . . . Like the best science fiction, fantasy, and horror, \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad\u003c\/i\u003e . . . stretches the fabric of logic.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Atlantic\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Powerful . . . Surreal . . . Darkly humorous . . . Cleverly conscripts a macabre character from a venerable literary work in the service of a modern-day cautionary fable . . . An excellent English translation.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eChicago Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A remarkable achievement, and one that, regrettably, is unlikely ever to lose its urgent relevancy . . . Surreal, visceral and mordant . . . An acute portrait of Middle Eastern sectarianism and geopolitical ineptitude, an absurdist morality fable, and a horror fantasy . . . Strange, violent, and wickedly funny.” —\u003cb\u003eSarah Perry, \u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Come for the fascinating plot; stay for the dark humor and devastating view of humanity.” —\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Fascinating . . . Strikes a feverish balance between fantasy and hard realism . . . The fabric of the city’s neighborhoods couldn’t be more sharply etched. . . . Saadawi . . . delivers a vision of his war-mangled city that’s hard to forget.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Seattle Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The [\u003ci\u003eFrankenstein\u003c\/i\u003e] conceit proves surprisingly apt. . . . Saadawi’s novel . . . is more than an extended metaphor for the interminable carnage in Iraq and the precarious nature of its body politic. It also intimately depicts the lives of those affected by the conflict [and] offer[s] a glimpse into the day-to-day experiences of a society fractured by bloodshed.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Economist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What do you get if you cross the spiritualism of \u003ci\u003eLincoln in the Bardo \u003c\/i\u003ewith the sci-fi-cum-action-movie oomph of \u003ci\u003eThe Terminator\u003c\/i\u003e? Possibly something resembling \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad. . . . \u003c\/i\u003eIt’s as much of a crossbreed as its ghoulish hero—part thriller, part horror, part social commentary. . . . Saadawi . . . captures the atmosphere of war-torn Baghdad with the swiftest of penstrokes, and picks out details that make the reader feel, and even taste, the aftermath of the explosions that pepper the book.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eFinancial Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Hallucinatory and hilarious . . . Surprising, even jolting . . . Saadawi’s satirical bite . . . means that any jokes come garlanded with darkness. Laughter often catches in the throat. . . . Jonathan Wright’s elegant and witty translation . . . reaches for and attains bracing pathos. . . . This remarkable book [is] funny and disturbing in equal measure.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Observer\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sinister, satirical, ferociously comic but oddly moving . . . Nightmarish, but horridly hilarious . . . A fable that puts a cherished Romantic myth to urgent new use . . . In their bicentenary year, Mary Shelley’s scientist and his creature will take plenty of contemporary spins. Surely, no updated journey will be more necessary than Saadawi’s. . . . Frankenstein’s monster is more frightening than ever.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Spectator \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e(London)\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Darkly delightful . . . A lively portrait of a teeming, cosmopolitan Baghdad . . . The humor is sometimes laugh-out-loud. . . . Jonathan Wright’s superb translation conveys the novel’s contemporary, urban edge as well as its light and witty style. . . . [The] novel moves as much as it entertains.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNew Statesman\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Very readable and darkly humorous; it has well-observed characters . . . The translation by Jonathan Wright is first rate.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Times Literary Supplement\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ingenious . . . Hugely engaging and richly satisfying . . . Tells a vital story in a masterful way . . . One of those rare novels that manages to juggle literary ambition, political and social metaphor, and pure page-turning readability.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe National\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“One of the best novels to emerge from the catastrophe of the Iraq War . . . Extraordinary . . . Earthy and vibrant . . . There are striking continuities with the original Shelley novel. . . . Saadawi’s monster in \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad \u003c\/i\u003eis a hybrid creature for our times. It is a desperate marker of the brutal violence that has taken countless lives in the wars unleashed in the region. . . . But \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad \u003c\/i\u003eis also a sign that the imagination can still survive in these conditions, literary works flowering in the cracks of the rubble.” —\u003cb\u003eRoger Luckhurst, \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Powerful . . . Saadawi and his fellow Iraqi writers depict Baghdad as a space where the absurd is not a function of Islam or the ‘backward’ Arab mind but rather the product of the United States’s imperialist encroachment.” —\u003cb\u003eMark Firmani, \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Exemplary . . . Comedic and irreverent . . . A glimpse of Iraq that can’t be gleaned from traditional war reporting or policy memos . . . Offers both an escape from the reality of present-day Iraq as well as a new way of reflecting on it . . . Saadawi has sutured together a dystopian universe that confronts the horrors of reality, rather than offering an escape from it and, in doing so, has provided American science fiction lovers—readers and writers alike—a new and refreshing template for dystopian fiction fitting to our time.” —\u003cb\u003eSam Metz, \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Illuminating and arresting . . . Extremely funny.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePublic Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Suffused with macabre humor, this novel captures the bizarre reality of life that is contemporary Baghdad. . . . An important piece of political literature to emerge out of Iraq.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Week\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“\u003c\/i\u003eThe war novel after Iraq is alive in America, and an Iraqi perspective here gives a shot of high voltage to a reanimated discussion. . . . Saadawi’s sentences are smooth, crisp, and McCarthy-esque; translator Jonathan Wright does an incredible job of bringing the haunting, brooding rhythm of the words to life.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eRain Taxi\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A surreal, funny and horrifying look at people trying to deal with the absurdities of war.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Virginian-Pilot\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This adroitly written work of literary fiction ingeniously blends absurdist horror with a mordantly funny satire about life in a war-torn city. . . . Seamlessly moves between the surreal and the intensely real. Extraordinary in its scope and inventiveness.” —\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eThe Irish Times\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A haunting allegory of man’s savagery against man and one of the most essential books to come out of the Iraq War, or any war.” —\u003cb\u003eElliot Ackerman, National Book Award finalist for \u003ci\u003eDark at the Crossing\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad\u003c\/i\u003e is a quietly ferocious thing, a dark, imaginative dissection of the cyclical absurdity of violence. From the terrible aftermath of one of the most destructive, unnecessary wars in modern history, Ahmed Saadawi has crafted a novel that will be remembered.” —\u003cb\u003eOmar El Akkad, author of \u003ci\u003eAmerican War\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This gripping, darkly humorous fable of post-invasion Baghdad is a profound exploration of the terrible logic of violence and vengeance.” —\u003cb\u003ePhil Klay, bestselling author and National Book Award winner for \u003ci\u003eRedeployment\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An extraordinary piece of work. With uncompromising focus, Ahmed Saadawi takes you right to the wounded heart of war’s absurd and tragic wreckage. It is a devastating but essential read, one that I am sure I will return to again and again.” —\u003cb\u003eKevin Powers, bestselling author and National Book Award finalist for \u003ci\u003eThe Yellow Birds\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad\u003c\/i\u003e courageously confronts the bizarre events set in motion by the violence after the American occupation of Iraq. . . . It’s a painful and powerful story that goes beyond the limits of reality, in an attempt to reach the essence of the cruelty of war. . . . [Saadawi’s] lively style is reminiscent of horror movies and detective stories, with touches of black comedy.” —\u003cb\u003eHassan Blasim, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Corpse Exhibition\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Horrifically funny and allegorically resonant, \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad \u003c\/i\u003ecaptures very well the mood of macabre violence that gripped Baghdad in 2005.” —\u003cb\u003eBrian Van Reet, author of \u003ci\u003eSpoils\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Weaving as seamlessly from parable to realism as a needle weaves a tapestry,\u003ci\u003e Frankenstein in Baghdad\u003c\/i\u003e perfectly captures the absurdity, mayhem, and tragedy of war. Mahmoud the hapless journalist, Hadi the unwitting Dr. Frankenstein, and Elishva the mother are all profoundly human and appealing, our guides to a rare glimpse of the human beings on the receiving ends of our wars. Funny, bizarre, and captivating, this is a must-read for all Americans who are curious to see the war at last from an Iraqi point of view.” —\u003cb\u003eHelen Benedict, author of \u003ci\u003eWolf Season\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eSand Queen\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Ahmed Saadawi has divined a dark, rapturous metaphor within the landscape of post-9\/11 Iraq and, channeling Gabriel García Márquez, has written a love song to the humanity that endures even amid the ruins of war.” —\u003cb\u003eLea Carpenter, author of \u003ci\u003eEleven Days\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A remarkable book from the heart of terror, where violence dissolves the divide between reality and unreality.” —\u003cb\u003eThomas McGuane, author of \u003ci\u003eCrow Fair \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eCloudbursts\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A haunting allegory for sectarian violence.” —\u003cb\u003eAlexandra Alter, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Matter-of-factly, Saadawi sets out a reality—Baghdad in 2005—so gothic in its details . . . that, when the novel makes a turn to the supernatural, it barely shocks.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Expertly told . . . A significant addition to contemporary Arabic fiction.” —\u003cb\u003eJudges’ citation, International Prize for Arabic Fiction\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This haunting novel brazenly confronts the violence visited upon [Iraq] by those who did not call it home. A startling way to teach an old lesson: an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A harrowing and affecting look at the day-to-day life of war-torn Iraq.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Highly recommended . . . An incisive look at local life in Baghdad in 2005. The multiple narratives . . . intersect to form a complex whole.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eLibrary Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Captures the chaos, absurdity, and inhumanity of the recent Iraq War, leaving readers, like the characters, stunned.” —\u003cb\u003eHelen Benedict,\u003c\/b\u003e \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eLiterary Hub\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A scathing critique of the U.S. invasion by way of front-row seats to its disastrous, lingering consequences.” —\u003cb\u003eZahra Hankir, \u003ci\u003eLiterary Hub\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Fantastically original and deeply macabre.” —\u003cb\u003eNussaibah Younis, \u003ci\u003eLiterary Hub\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“There is no shortage of wonderful, literate Frankenstein reimaginings . . . but few so viscerally mine Shelley’s story for its metaphoric riches. . . . In graceful, economical prose, Saadawi places us in a city of ghosts, where missing people return all the time, justice is fleeting, and even good intentions rot. . . . A haunting and startling mix of horror, mystery, and tragedy.” —\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eBooklist, \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003estarred review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As with any great literary work, this novel doesn’t just tell a story. Rather, it unfolds across multiple dimensions, each layer peeling back to reveal something new. . . . Exquisitely translated by Jonathan Wright, this novel breaks through the superficial news stories and helps us see more clearly what the American invasion has wrought, how violence begets violence, and how tenuous is the line between innocence and guilt. Brilliant and horrifying, \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad \u003c\/i\u003eis essential reading.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eWorld Literature Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A poignant and painful portrayal of a country whose ghosts have yet to be exorcised.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eLiterary Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eAhmed Saadawi\u003c\/b\u003e is an Iraqi novelist, poet, screenwriter, and documentary filmmaker. He is the first Iraqi to win the International Prize for Arabic Fiction; he won in 2014 for \u003ci\u003eFrankenstein in Baghdad, \u003c\/i\u003ewhich also won France’s Grand Prize for Fantasy. In 2010 he was selected for Beirut39, as one of the 39 best Arab authors under the age of 39. He was born in 1973 in Baghdad, where he still lives.Chapter One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Madwoman\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The explosion took place two minutes after Elishva, the old woman      known as Umm Daniel, or Daniel's mother, boarded the bus. Everyone      on the bus turned around to see what had happened. They watched in      shock as a ball of smoke rose, dark and black, beyond the crowds,      from the car park near Tayaran Square in the center of Baghdad.      Young people raced to the scene of the explosion, and cars      collided into each other or into the median. The drivers were      frightened and confused: they were assaulted by the sound of car      horns and of people screaming and shouting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Elishva's neighbors in Lane 7 said later that she had left the      Bataween district to pray in the Church of Saint Odisho, near the      University of Technology, as she did every Sunday, and that's why      the explosion happened-many of the locals believed that, with her      spiritual powers, Elishva prevented bad things from happening when      she was among them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sitting on the bus, minding her own business, as if she were deaf      or not even there, Elishva didn't hear the massive explosion about      two hundred yards behind her. Her frail body was curled up by the      window, and she looked out without seeing anything, thinking about      the bitter taste in her mouth and the sense of gloom that she had      been unable to shake off for the past few days.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The bitter taste might disappear after she took Holy Communion.      Hearing the voices of her daughters and their children on the      phone, she would have a little respite from her melancholy, and      the light would shine again in her cloudy eyes. Father Josiah      would usually wait for his cell phone to ring and then tell      Elishva that Matilda was on the line, or if Matilda didn't call on      time, Elishva might wait another hour and then ask the priest to      call Matilda. This had been repeated every Sunday for at least two      years. Before that, Elishva's daughters had called irregularly on      the land line at church. But then when the Americans invaded      Baghdad, their missiles destroyed the telephone exchange, and the      phones were cut off for many months. Death stalked the city like      the plague, and Elishva's daughters felt the need to check every      week that the old woman was okay. At first, after a few difficult      months, they spoke on the Thuraya satellite phone that a Japanese      charity had given to the young Assyrian priest at the church. When      the wireless networks were introduced, Father Josiah bought a cell      phone, and Elishva spoke to her daughters on that. Members of the      congregation would stand in line after Mass to hear the voices of      their sons and daughters dispersed around the world. Often people      from the surrounding Karaj al-Amana neighborhood—Christians of      other denominations and Muslims too—would come to the church to      make free calls to their relatives abroad. As cell phones spread,      the demand for Father Josiah's phone declined, but Elishva was      content to maintain the ritual of her Sunday phone call from      church.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e With her veined and wrinkled hand, Elishva would put the Nokia      phone to her ear. Upon hearing her daughters' voices, the darkness      would lift and she would feel at peace. If she had gone straight      back to Tayaran Square, she would have found that everything was      calm, just as she had left it in the morning. The sidewalks would      be clean and the cars that had caught fire would have been towed      away. The dead would have been taken to the forensics department      and the injured to the Kindi Hospital. There would be some      shattered glass here and there, a pole blackened with smoke, and a      hole in the asphalt, though she wouldn't have been able to make      out how big it was because of her blurred vision.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e When the Mass was over she lingered for an extra hour. She sat      down in the hall adjacent to the church, and after the women had      set out on tables the food they brought with them, she went ahead      and ate with everyone, just to have something to do. Father Josiah      made a desperate last attempt to call Matilda, but her phone was      out of service. Matilda had probably lost her phone, or it had      been stolen from her on the street or at some market in Melbourne,      where she lived. Maybe she had forgotten to write down Father      Josiah's number or had some other excuse. The priest couldn't make      sense of it but kept trying to console Elishva, and when everyone      started leaving, the deacon, Nader Shamouni, offered Elishva a      ride home in his old Volga. This was the second week without a      phone call. Elishva didn't actually need to hear her daughters'      voices. Maybe it was just habit or something more important: that      with her daughters she could talk about Daniel. Nobody really      listened to her when she spoke about the son she had lost twenty      years ago, except for her daughters and Saint George the Martyr,      whose soul she often prayed for and whom she saw as her patron      saint. You might add her old cat, Nabu, whose hair was falling out      and who slept most of the time. Even the women at church grew      distant when she began to talk about her son—because she just said      the same things over and over. It was the same with the old women      who were her neighbors. Some of them couldn't remember what Daniel      looked like. Besides, he was just one of many who'd died over the      years. Elishva was gradually losing people who had once supported      her strange conviction that her son was still alive, even though      he had a grave with an empty coffin in the cemetery of the      Assyrian Church of the East.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Elishva no longer shared with anyone her belief that Daniel was      still alive. She just waited to hear the voice of Matilda or Hilda      because they would put up with her, however strange this idea of      hers. The two daughters knew their mother clung to the memory of      her late son in order to go on living. There was no harm in      humoring her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nader Shamouni, the deacon, dropped off Elishva in Lane 7 in      Bataween, just a few steps from her door. The street was quiet.      The slaughter had ended several hours ago, but the destruction was      still clearly visible. It might have been the neighborhood's      biggest explosion. The old deacon was depressed; he didn't say a      word to Elishva as he parked his car next to an electricity pole.      There was blood and hair on the pole, mere inches from his nose      and his thick white mustache. He felt a tremor of fear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Elishva got out of the deacon's car and waved good-bye. Walking      down the street, she could hear her unhurried footsteps on the      gravel. She was preparing an answer for when she opened the door      and Nabu looked up as if to ask, \"So? What happened?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e More important, she was preparing to scold Saint George. The      previous night he had promised that she would either receive some      good news or her mind would be set at rest and her ordeal would      come to an end.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Elishva's neighbor Umm Salim believed strongly, unlike many      others, that Elishva had special powers and that God's hand was on      her shoulder wherever she was. She could cite numerous incidents      as evidence. Although sometimes she might criticize or think ill      of the old woman, she quickly went back to respecting and honoring      her. When Elishva came to visit and they sat with some of their      neighbors in the shade in Umm Salim's old courtyard, Umm Salim      spread out for her a woven mat, placed cushions to the right and      left of her, and poured her tea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Sometimes she might exaggerate and say openly in Elishva's      presence that if it weren't for those inhabitants who had      \u003ci\u003ebaraka\u003c\/i\u003e—spiritual power—the neighborhood would be doomed and      swallowed up by the earth on God's orders. But this belief of Umm      Salim's was really like the smoke she blew from her shisha pipe      during those afternoon chats: it came out in billows, then coiled      into sinuous white clouds that vanished into the air, never to      travel outside the courtyard.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Many thought of Elishva as just a demented old woman with amnesia,      the proof being that she couldn't remember the names of men—even      those she had known for half a century. Sometimes she looked at      them in a daze, as though they had sprung up in the neighborhood      out of nowhere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Umm Salim and some of the other kindhearted neighbors were      distraught when Elishva started to tell bizarre stories about      things that had happened to her—stories that no reasonable person      would believe. Others scoffed, saying that Umm Salim and the other      women were just sad that one of their number had crossed over to      the dark and desolate shore beyond, meaning the group as a whole      was headed in the same direction.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 3\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Two people were sure Elishva didn't have special powers or      anything and was just a crazy old woman. The first was Faraj the      realtor, owner of the Rasoul realty office on the main commercial      street in Bataween. The second was Hadi the junk dealer, who lived      in a makeshift dwelling attached to Elishva's house.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Over the past few years Faraj had tried repeatedly to persuade      Elishva to sell her old house, but Elishva just flatly refused,      without explanation. Faraj couldn't understand why an old woman      like her would want to live alone in a seven-room house with only      a cat. Why, he wondered, didn't she sell it and move to a smaller      house with more air and light, and use the extra money to live the      rest of her life in comfort?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Faraj never got a good answer. As for Hadi, her neighbor, he was a      scruffy, unfriendly man in his fifties who always smelled of      alcohol. He had asked Elishva to sell him the antiques that filled      her house: two large wall clocks, teak tables of various sizes,      carpets and furnishings, and plaster and ivory statues of the      Virgin Mary and the Infant Jesus. There were more than twenty of      these statues, spread around the house, as well as many other      things that Hadi hadn't had time to inspect.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Of these antiques, some of which dated back to the 1940s, Hadi had      asked Elishva, \"Why don't you sell them, save yourself the trouble      of dusting?\" his eyes popping out of his head at the sight of them      all. But the old woman just walked him to the front door and sent      him out into the street, closing the door behind him. That was the      only time Hadi had seen the inside of her house, and the      impression it left him with was of a strange museum.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The two men didn't abandon their efforts, but because the junk      dealer usually wasn't presentable, Elishva's neighbors were not      sympathetic to him. Faraj the realtor tried several times to      encourage Elishva's neighbors to win her over to his proposal;      some even accused Veronica Munib, the Armenian neighbor, of taking      a bribe from Faraj to persuade Elishva to move in with Umm Salim      and her husband. Faraj never lost hope. Hadi, on the other hand,      constantly pestered Elishva until he eventually lost interest and      just threw hostile glances her way whenever she passed him on the      street.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Elishva not only rejected the offers from these two men, she also      reserved a special hatred for them, consigning them to everlasting      hell. In their faces she saw two greedy people with tainted souls,      like cheap carpets with permanent ink stains.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Abu Zaidoun the barber could be added to the list of people      Elishva hated and cursed. Elishva had lost Daniel because of him:      he was the Baathist who had taken her son by the collar and      dragged him off into the unknown. But Abu Zaidoun had been out of      sight for many years. Elishva no longer ran into him, and no one      talked about him in front of her. Since leaving the Baath Party,      he had been preoccupied with his many ailments and had no time for      anything that happened in the neighborhood.","brand":"Penguin Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302839537893,"sku":"NP9780143128793","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780143128793.jpg?v=1767727646","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/frankenstein-in-baghdad-isbn-9780143128793","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}