The On-and-Off Stage

I don’t know how to describe this period that lasted about two years. It was filled with the sweet and the bitter, with hope and a sense of threat, with connection and separation. Rafa was neither an ideal I aspired to, nor the person I dreamed of, but the light that he sparked within me melted away all other images and conceptions, stripping me of any desire to withdraw. Rafa kept making me feel like our relationship was temporary, always remaining uncertain and hesitant. He clung only to his freedom and was preoccupied only with fleeing to the far reaches of the earth that allowed him to create art as he aspired. Something prevented him from living in harmony with Baghdad and its restrictions. And, despite this, I found myself utterly swept away with love for him.

After that special first evening we spent together alone, he told me he’d be away from Baghdad for a few days on a short trip. Yet, he surprised me the next day by opening the door to my office and standing before me, his eyes drifting to the open space beyond the window. I was delighted by his unexpected appearance. Without my asking, he explained, “I cut my trip short because I forgot some papers.”

Then he added, “And I also returned for another reason,” and fell silent. I didn’t ask him what it was. Silence ensued, and then he hesitantly asked if I could visit his studio to see his latest work. His request was quite a surprise, if I don’t say odd, for I knew his studio was in his family home. “One day,” I replied, “why not?”

Many days passed before I heard from him again and he asked to meet. When we did, I found myself facing a different person. He was provocative, tumultuous, and aggressive. I felt as though I were being tested, that there was something contrived about his behavior. I kept calm and ridiculed his trifling talk.

We continued to meet, both in groups and alone. Baghdad’s many cultural events also brought us together, and we spent much time conversing on the phone. Whenever he’d draw close to me, he’d then distance himself, and his behavior perplexed me. His calls would start off cold and indifferent, which I’d ignore and go on talking, and then he’d take off in lively enthusiasm. I never understood his hearty laughter, and as for his contradictory statements, they could raise to me to a peak and then crash me to the deepest depths. We had long conversations in which I purposely focused on his work and projects, what each of us were reading, and what we were doing. As we listened to each other, we happily discovered the points where our taste converged on the smaller details of life. I grew certain of his uniqueness among everyone I’d ever known.

I wanted to hear more from him and discover who he was, and the telephone was the best way to pull him into speaking. Through our conversations I learned that he