A Sky So Close to Us

Question

by Shahla Ujayli

Our house soon had two wings. The Eastern wing was antique, built out of old-style bricks and restored as if it were a building from the eighteenth century that had only yesterday dusted itself off. Its ceilings were dotted with Abbasid-style domes and vaults. It had an office, a reception hall, and a vast dining room that opened onto an inner courtyard blooming with flowers and lemon and citron trees planted around a large swimming pool with a blue granite bottom. The West wing was modern. The bed-rooms were divided between two floors, with a little inner staircase connecting them. It went from the attic all the way down to the main door of the house, which opened onto a simple outer garden planted with jasmine, white jasmine, basil, and red roses. There were straw chairs whose seats transformed over time into ones made of colorful plastic wire, one of them blue, the other red, the third green.

All of our household belongings were precious and carefully selected. Each had its own specific memory. The reception halls were decorated in the Louis XV style, the living rooms copied Harrods, and everything was crafted by the best-known furniture maker in Aleppo, Leon Massabki. The chandeliers in the reception halls were made from pure crystal that Baba had brought with him from Austria. The lamps in the other rooms were bronze—three were antique oil lamps, dating back to my great-grandfather’s day, that Mama had found cast aside in the house’s basement. She took them to the Hamawi shop in Aleppo and had them turned into electric lamps. All the carpets were Persian, of course—our family wasn’t open to Chinese or German rugs, no matter how antique they were. We had two very large Persian carpets, three a bit smaller, and five more from Kashan. My father inherited his rugs from my grandfather, who in turn inherited them from his father and grandfather, and so on. The vases, cups, and ashtrays made of silver, white, or colored crystal were carefully arranged on the sideboards and tables and in the windows. My parents brought these things back from their many travels—to Poland, Bulgaria, and Czechoslovakia. The paintings on the walls were also hung with obvious care, originals by Syrian and Arab artists, most of whom were friends whose paintings Baba loved to acquire from exhibitions held in Damascus, Aleppo, and Beirut: Louay Kayali, Fateh Moudarres, Saad Yakan, Waheed Mugharaba, Sharif Muharram, Tammam al-Akhal, and Fawaz Younis, who was from Raqqa.

1 of 3
Question
Use the passage to answer the question.

In paragraph 3, what does the grandfather’s National Bloc walnut-wood wardrobe signify?

(1 point)
Responses

the grandfather’s relationship with Syria
the grandfather’s relationship with Syria

the former glory of Muscat, Oman
the former glory of Muscat, Oman

the grandfather’s extensive travels
the grandfather’s extensive travels

the elevated status of the family
the elevated status of the family

Answer 1

In paragraph 3, the grandfather’s National Bloc walnut-wood wardrobe signifies the grandfather’s relationship with Syria.