Eight Months on Ghazzah Street
From the two-time Man Booker Prize winner, a prescient and haunting novel of life in Saudi Arabia.Frances Shore is a cartographer by trade, a maker of maps, but when her husband's work takes her to Saudi Arabia she finds herself unable to map the Kingdom's areas of internal darkness. The regime is corrupt and harsh, the expatriates are hard-drinking money-grubbers, and her Muslim neighbours are secretive, watchful. The streets are not a woman's territory; confined in her flat, she finds her sense of self begin to dissolve. She hears whispers, sounds of distress from the 'empty' flat above her head. She has only rumours, no facts to hang on to, and no one with whom to share her creeping unease. As her days empty of certainty and purpose, her life becomes a blank – waiting to be filled by violence and disaster.
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Eight Months on Ghazzah Street
Hilary Mantel
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Fourth Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
Paperback edition published by Harper Perennial 2004
First published in Great Britain by Viking 1988
Copyright © Hilary Mantel 1988
The right of Hilary Mantel to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
PS section copyright © Fanny Blake 2004
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A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007172917
Ebook Edition © MAY 2010 ISBN: 9780007354955
Version: 2017-07-26
For Vic and Jeanie Camp
Saudi Arabia employs the Hijra calendar, which starts from the year AD 622, when Muhammed left Mecca for Medina. It is a lunar calendar, and the Hijra year is eleven days shorter than the Gregorian year. The months (with many variations in transliteration) are as follows: Muharram, Safar, Rabi al-awal, Rabi al-thani, Jamadi al-awal, Jamadi al-thani, Rajab, Shaban, Ramadhan, Shawal, Dhu-al-qudah, Dhu-al-hijjah. By a recent Royal Decree, a 365-day year has been instituted for fiscal purposes, and 22 December 1986 became 1 Capricorn. The recalculations involved make the fiscal year some forty years behind the Hijra year. So, not the least surprising aspect of life in the Kingdom is that time can appear to run backwards.
CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM
FROM: Director, Turadup, William and Schaper, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia
TO: All expatriate staff
DATED: 15 Shawal/3 July 1985
I need not remind anyone of this week’s tragic events involving Turadup employees. In order to safeguard the company’s position in these very difficult times, I must request all staff and families about to depart on leave to behave as follows:
A. Refrain from talking to the press – whatever your holiday destination.
B: Refrain from public speculation about the recent deaths – remember that the matter is still under investigation by the Saudi police and Her Majesty’s representatives.
c. Exercise the utmost caution in personal conduct between now and your departure – dispose (carefully) of all items or substances which could attract the interest of the police, and do not leave your compound without your documents.
I feel sure that if these precautions are observed, we may expect a continuance of good relations with the Saudi authorities, and a smooth passage into the next Five-Year Plan.
May I take this opportunity to wish you, on behalf of Daphne and myself, a pleasant vacation and a safe return to the Kingdom after Haj. Sincerely –
ERIC PARSONS
‘Would you like champagne?’
This was the beginning; an hour or so out from Heathrow. Already it felt further; watches moved on, a day in a life condensed to a scramble at a check-in desk, a walk to a departure gate; a day cut short and eclipsed, hurtling on into advancing night. And now the steward leaned over her, putting this question.
‘I don’t think so.’ They had already eaten; dinner, she supposed. So much smoked salmon is consumed on aircraft that it is a wonder there is any left to eat at ground level. The steward had just now whisked her tray from under her nose. ‘You could give me some brandy,’ she said.
‘Two to get you started?’ Hand hovering over the trolley, he seemed to approve her choice; as if what lay ahead were something to brace yourself for, not to celebrate.
‘And one of those nice plastic glasses,’ Frances Shore said. ‘Please.’
Across the aisle grown men were getting drunk on Cointreau. One of them cocked an eyebrow at the steward. He leaned over them; his face, pale and seamy under the late-night lights, showed a kind of patient disgust. Drinks were free of course, but on the Saudi run this standard airline ploy had the status of charity work. His fingers, dispensing the miniature bottles, were as clean and careful as a bishop’s.
