There were those in the square who swore that Omar’s concoctions were better than Western drugs and could cure any disease known to man. As was to be expected, the true believers tended to be the older residents of the square and its nearby alleyways, while the younger generation, and those with more formal education, generally dismissed these claims as quackery. Omar was aware that Dr Jabril and Dr Sofia were not always happy when he talked their patients out of the Western painkiller, cough medication or antibiotic they had suggested in favour of one of his potions. It was, in Omar’s mind, a bit of a game to see who had the most influence in the square. So far he believed it was split fifty-fifty, which afforded him a certain amount of pride.
With regard to the perceived magic or otherwise of his own wizardry, Omar was a true believer up to a point. Of late he had felt death’s hot breath on his burning skin and was wise enough to know there was no miracle potion to be found in his beautiful cabinets for the creeping sickness destroying his body. He also knew that if Dr Jabril or Dr Sofia knew what ailed him they would be greatly concerned and most certainly would prescribe a concoction of Western drugs, which happened to be the main reason he hadn’t mentioned his illness to anyone.
It was not so much that Omar wanted to die but that he acknowledged death’s inevitability. The thing he found hard to accept, though, was that it had arrived a little too soon for his liking. Sometimes the thought of his imminent demise saddened Omar a great deal, but whenever he felt that sadness in his heart he would take a little more of his special ‘draught’ and force himself to smile. While it eased the pain, Omar had long ago understood that a smile lit your heart. It was an even stranger thing to discover that the great men of science in the West supported Omar’s self-evident truth. Smiling rewires your brain’s circuitry to override its natural tendency to think negatively, they proclaimed in their learned journals, as if they alone had discovered a new truth. It made Omar chuckle. All those years of learning when all anyone needed to do was sit in the middle of Shaahir Square and watch their friends. For the square had become Omar’s university, an ever-changing tableau he watched with equal measures of amusement, confusion and enlightenment, and at times great joy and great sadness, but always with eternal interest. He would miss it when he was gone.
Just as Omar was beginning to think about how he wished he could find a way of bottling some of this truth found in a smile, his eyes flew open. Had he been dreaming? He blinked and blinked again to know he was truly awake before looking around the square, reassuring himself that all was as it should be until he saw Behnaz and Sofia out the front of Behnaz’s gate and he remembered the night letter he had taken off that gate that very morning when he had been returning from the mosque. Carrying it back to his bed, he had taken the time to consider its contents in private. Unfortunately, he had been unable to find enlightenment.
Perhaps it was time to investigate, Omar thought. With his rheumatic old bones taking a while to warm up these days, and the pain in his limbs making movement less pleasant, Omar rose slowly and made his way over to the two women.
7
‘AND HOW ARE you this morning, my friend?’ Sofia asked when Omar joined her, Behnaz and the donkey droppings by the gate.
‘I have not long for this world, Dr Sofia,’ he said, careful not to step into the mess. His words made Sofia smile, as they always did.
‘You know you’ve been saying that to me for the past five years, don’t you? I’m convinced you’re going to live forever.’
Omar placed his hand on his heart. ‘That, Dr Sofia, would not be my wish. Not forever, but maybe for just a little bit longer.’
‘I require you to live to a very old age, Omar. What would Shaahir Square be without you?’ Sofia hitched her laptop and tote bags higher over her shoulder ready to head off across the square as Behnaz mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. Sofia turned to her. ‘And I’m sure Behnaz agrees with me too, don’t you? Shaahir Square wouldn’t be the same without Omar, would it?’
Omar knew Dr Sofia was teasing Behnaz, trying to get her to say something nice about him, but Behnaz retreated into one of her silences so Sofia said her goodbyes before setting off across the square to her surgery.
It had become Omar’s habit to ignore Behnaz’s general displays of disapproval over the latest mysterious offence he had committed. On this morning he did what he had done a thousand times before and turned his back on Behnaz to make his way back to his chair and its beckoning patch of sunlight, only to discover she had followed and was now standing over him, blocking out his sun and its warmth. Omar sighed. What had he done to deserve the abuse that was surely about to rain down on his head? When he remembered the night letter his heart gave a leap, sorely testing the fragile organ.
‘She’s out of your reach,’ Behnaz snapped.
Omar looked up, but with the sun behind her he was finding it hard to see Behnaz’s face. It was probably not a bad thing, he thought, squinting. ‘Who?’
‘Dr Sofia.’
‘Ah,’ Omar said, nodding as he relaxed back into his chair, relieved that she didn’t know about the night letter. ‘As always, you’re right.’
Omar shifted in his chair so that he might see Behnaz’s face more clearly and gain a little more sun. He could see now that she was still glaring down at him but also looking confused. Omar tried to hide his satisfaction. He knew Behnaz well enough to understand that she was not entirely sure how to take his words. It was so satisfying to still have the ability to unsettle her. Teasing Behnaz had always been one of the more pleasurable pastimes of his youth.
Throwing a ‘humph’ in Omar’s direction, which was as near a perfect sign of disapproval as she was able to muster in the circumstances, Behnaz marched back across the square to her famous gate, making a point of slamming it shut behind her.
Chief Wasim would soon need to fix those hinges again, thought Omar with a smile.
Changing position once more in the chair to relieve the ache in his right hip, Omar’s amusement began to fade as it was replaced with a familiar sadness. Why did Behnaz have to be like this? They were old now and he was not long for this world. Why could she not find it in her heart to forgive him?
Omar was aware that many in the square said Behnaz was not a friend of happiness, but he remembered the young Behnaz who had come here as Chief Wasim’s bride. She had been a young girl bursting with happiness, but over the years someone, or something, had stolen that happiness from her. With all his heart Omar hoped it had not been him, for such a burden was not something he wished to take with him to his grave. He thought again of the self-evident magic of smiles and knew that if he possessed a jar of smiles he would have given them all to this woman he had once loved.
Noticing the old stirring between his legs, Omar could only feel gratitude. It was thinking of the young Behnaz, with her raven black hair and laughing dark eyes, that had given him this gift, just as it had all those years ago. Omar wondered how long it was since he had felt this pleasure and thought back to the last of his three wives, who had died fifteen years before. Or was it sixteen? Omar could not rightly remember, and in truth it no longer mattered. He had loved the last one just as he had loved the two before her, even if they had all so grievously failed him. Each of his three wives had produced only daughters, seven in total, all of whom had married and moved away. He should have kept that last one so she could look after him in his illness, he thought, but at the time the bride price of two goats offered by his old friend back in the village had proved far too tempting.