What on earth would Hadi think of her?
4
Sugared Almonds and Jasmine
Bibi and Hadi’s Wedding
(1916)
IN ADVANCE OF the day of the mahir, the official religious ceremony that was held on a different day to the wedding itself, servants carried huge zanabil from Abdul Hussein’s house to Rumia’s. The enormous baskets were filled to the brim with sugared almonds, pistachios, dates, fruit jellies and mann al-sima, a prized local delicacy made from the boiled bark of trees, mixed with nuts and covered in icing sugar. Each basket was so large that it required two men to lift it. In addition, the Chalabi family sent several trays of shakkar borek, thinly layered sheets of pastry stuffed with almonds and baked. Rumia also received the small gifts of candy that were to be handed out after the mahir to the men.
Ever prone to dramatic outbursts, Bibi was once more beside herself with worry about whether her mother would attend to all the necessary arrangements. She paced the house, pestered Rumia with questions and locked herself in her bedroom for hours at a time, smoking furtively and ignoring her brothers when they tried to talk to her through the closed door. The death of her father had taught her that happiness could be snuffed out in a moment, and she couldn’t stop herself from fretting over what could go wrong.
The cuisine, at least, was no cause for concern. Besides God, Rumia’s passion was her kitchen, and she threw herself into planning the feast. Despite having several servants, she reigned supreme in her kitchen, where she took an active part in the preparations. The formality usually present between master and servant was absent in her house-hold, dominated as it was by women. Several of the servants had been there for such a long time that they had become part of the family. This did not mean that any of them had lost their respect for the unstated hierarchy.
Nevertheless, Rumia barely slept a wink herself the night before the mahir. There was so much to do, and she was exhausted by Bibi’s endless demands and tantrums. She was also depleted by the great efforts she had taken to fund this ceremony. Ever since her husband’s death, money had been scarce. Her wily brother-in-law had laid his hands on his brother’s business and assets. He gave Rumia a stipend, but it was barely enough to feed two, let alone a family of four.
Rumia’s lifestyle had changed dramatically over the past few years. Her house became less and less frequented by guests; she had never been as sociable as her husband. Nor had she shared his enthusiasm for collecting antiques, porcelain, opaline and silver, but now she was grateful for the pieces that remained. They had come to her rescue whenever she found herself with a large bill to pay. To fund the wedding ceremony, she had passed a chandelier discreetly to her brother Raouf to sell on her behalf.
She was loath to ask her brother-in-law for anything. After her husband’s death he had become the financial guardian of the family, taking over his brother’s estate, his shops and his capital, because Rumia was not versed in business and her own boys were still minors. Her father-in-law was officially her children’s moral guardian, as religious custom dictated, but he was old, and left all monetary concerns to his son. It was humiliating enough that her brother-in-law had robbed them of their rightful inheritance, but to have to ask him for what was rightfully theirs … that was simply too much for Rumia. So she lodged her complaint with God, certain that in His infinite wisdom He would see the injustice and punish her brother-in-law accordingly.
In the meantime, she wanted to make Bibi feel as confident in the arrangements as she could, so she had spared nothing to make the banquet as fitting and sumptuous as possible. Rumia was keenly aware that, of her three surviving children, it was Bibi who had felt her father’s loss the most, and she had a deep fear of financial insecurity.
All the ingredients for a splendid celebration were in place. Rumia had prepared all the desserts the day before, with the help of her two servants – Saeeda and Laleh, a pious young Iranian maid from Kuzaran – and a few women who were regular visitors to her kitchen. The kitchen was filled with the trays of burma, dark vermicelli covering glazed pistachio nuts; walnut-and sugar-stuffed pastries; claytcha, date-stuffed round cakes; mihalabi, a rice pudding flavoured with orange blossom essence; as well as her signature halawa, with shaved carrots, cardamom and saffron.
The morning of the mahir, Rumia rose in time for her dawn prayers, but she couldn’t concentrate properly, and knelt three times instead of the required two. Every time she recited a verse, her mind would wander to the kitchen and she would lose the train of the sacred words in her mouth. After her prayers she went to the kitchen, where she was expecting to find Saeeda and Laleh already up and working. But the house was silent. Everyone was sleeping in besides her.
She crept up to Saeeda’s room, which was located behind the kitchen, and stood outside, debating whether she should wake her up or not. She took a deep breath and gently tapped on her door. There was no sign of life. She whispered Saeeda’s name softly. Nothing. Rumia opened the door and gave a gentle cough. Saeeda croaked, rubbing her eyes when Rumia told her the time and urged her to get up as soon as she could.
‘But we worked so late yesterday,’ Saeeda complained. ‘Just once it would be nice to get a proper lie-in.’
A couple of hours later Rumia left the kitchen and walked to her daughter’s room, where Bibi was still sound asleep. She went over to the window and opened the shutters. Mosaics of light flooded in through the shanashil, the wooden lattices that framed the windows. Bibi sat up in alarm. ‘What’s happened, what’s happened?’
Her two mahir outfits hung from the side of her closet. There was the cream embroidered kaftan that she would wear for the actual ceremony, and a light-pink silk dress, with gold embroidery and a round neck, for the lunch afterwards. Lying on the dresser opposite her bed were the ornate metal hair combs, with flowers painted in lacquer, which Bibi had insisted upon and which were to go on either side of her parting. Her custom-made high-heeled shoes were set out on the floor.
Rumia murmured her approval as she ran her hands over the outfits, but Bibi complained that they made her look short. ‘What if they realise how short I am and change their minds?’ she asked. Taking a deep breath, Rumia calmly told her to stop her nonsense: she was going to look lovely, but she should get up now as there was still a lot to do. She paused as she turned to leave the room. ‘Oh! You nearly made me forget to get out the pearl earrings your father – may he rest in peace – gave me. They will go with your outfits perfectly.’
Bibi perked up at this piece of news. She had always coveted her mother’s jewels. She had often thought that if they were hers she would wear them all the time, in contrast to her mother, who never let them see the light of day. Bibi didn’t know how precious the gems were to Rumia; that she was relying on them to save her from dreaded rainy days ahead.
As with all mahirs, many of the ceremony’s details were filled with symbolism for the imminent marriage. Bibi sat on a chair in the loose-fitting kaftan, which had a large round neck. This garment had to be free of any clasps, tied knots or fastenings, which were considered to be symbolic obstacles that might prevent her from speaking the truth when asked if she wanted to get married. Her hair shone and she wore kohl around her eyes, and sibdaj, a paste used as a blusher, on her cheeks. She hated the effect of the strong red and wiped most of it off immediately. However, she didn’t mind the diram, a walnut-based lipstick applied with a finger.
Her feet were in a bowl of water, which symbolized a plentiful life, in which jasmine flowers floated. On either side of her candles burned, garlanded with tiny flowers. Two women stood behind her. They were known to be happily married, and each held a pair of enormous sugar cubes which they rubbed against each other onto a delicate lace cloth that was held above Bibi’s head, so her marriage would be sweet like sugar. Facing her was a mirror so that