Golden Chariot

by Fadia Faqir

  “And you, Madame Zaynab, make sure you pack the clothes before we take off.”

  7

  Grief of the Sparrows

  This creature, as white as a turnip heart, who was so thin that half of her seemed to be missing, was the bewildered young girl known by everyone in the women’s prison as “Silent Shafiqa”. Her origins and the sequence of events which brought her to the women’s prison were a complete mystery to everyone. Neither did anyone know who her parents were, nor the name they had originally given her.

  One day she arrived at the prison on a charge of begging and thereafter returned to the prison repeatedly on the same charge, as one of its many short-term prisoners. Anyone with the slightest intelligence would have noticed Shafiqa’s confused state of mind, except for the doctors, that is, who insisted that she was was perfectly sane, thus denying her the honour of entering the state psychiatric hospital. This institution, which had long been one of the landmarks in the country, was a stopping place for those who couldn’t bear the inconsistencies and futility of life, but to enter that institution was merely to jump out of the frying pan into the fire. Perhaps the psychiatrists were justified in their assessment of Shafiqa, since she was an extremely calm person who never quarelled and would never harm a living creature, not even a little ant which could be crushed under her feet as it crossed her path. Above all she was always smiling. It is true to say that she never spoke and never replied to any question put to her, but isn’t silence in a world raging with nonsense a sign of ultimate sanity rather than madness?

  It was quite normal for everyone to find acceptance in the women’s prison, especially a case like Shafiqa who caused few problems apart from the concern and anguish she aroused in others. The other prisoners, who were bewildered by her and sympathetic towards her condition, felt frustrated by their failed attempts to rehabilitate her by getting her to eat and dress normally. She rarely had a bath or took off her shift which she always wore close to her skin, with nothing under or over it. She never asked or shouted out for food, whether it was for bread or for something which was rare in prison like meat, and if one of the prisoners didn’t take it upon herself to fetch her something to eat or drink, she would remain for long periods, sometimes days, eating hardly anything at all. She was often seen throwing her daily ration, which was three flat loaves of stale, brown bread, to the stray cats in the prison courtyard or breaking the bread into crumbs which she left on the window ledge of the cell for the little birds which occasionally flew in from the trees close to the prison.

  Sometimes Silent Shafiqa would be seen bending over on the prayer rug on the floor for long periods, as if she was doing yoga, while at other times she could be seen lifting her frail little hand with its thin worm-like fingers to face the rays of the sun so that she could examine the intersecting lines of her palm. This would go on for long periods without her showing any sign of restlessness; she seemed more like a statue carved out of rock and for that reason she was named “Silent” and lived amongst the other prisoners without quarrelling with them or showing any trace of malice towards them.

  Despite Shafiqa’s state of mind she was perfectly aware of what had happened to her and still suffered from the terrible torment which had made her mute. She chose to cut herself off from the world and renounce communication with other people, despite all attempts to encourage her to talk. The psychiatrists and neurologists, the ear, nose and throat specialists and the speech therapists had all confirmed that her vocal apparatus and hearing mechanisms were in good order and that there was no reason why she should not speak. When they eventually gave up they were inclined to think that her inability to speak was the result of some trauma she had suffered and the story behind her condition remained a secret to all except her. Only she lived through its every detail, moment by moment, suffering unimagined torment. Perhaps this was behind her enigmatic smile, which mystified everyone, and broke from her thin, tightlyclosed lips when a deaf and dumb specialist was brought to try and get through to her during the court investigation, in order to take her statement in the official hearing. It may also have influenced their decision to convict her since this smile, which appeared every time the expert did sign language in an attempt to communicate with her, was tinged with scorn, not for the abortive attempt to reintegrate her into the world but for all the falsehood and evil around her which she discovered through her suffering and which made her resolve never to communicate with others, however much they tried and however important it might be for her.

  The strange thing was that Shafiqa had never, for a single day, been a beggar. She never begged from anyone and never walked the streets with her hand outstretched, asking favours from people, be it money or something to eat or drink. She would simply sit against the wall of the mosque, sleep under a tree in one of the public gardens or walk along the edge of the river until her bare feet were so tired that she would crouch down on the pavement, resting her hands in her lap, completely sapped of strength.

  On such occasions, her pitiful appearance would move the hearts of passers-by, some of whom threw her a few coins or a piece of the semolina cake that lovers eat as they walk along the river bank at sunset. Even though she made no use of the money, except to slip it into a bag made from paper discarded in the street, the officer who led her to the police station considered the paper bag of money evidence that she was a professional beggar who exploited people’s sympathy and this was duly recorded at the investigation.

  The profound grief which Shafiqa continued to suffer was the sum of all that she felt in life and was evident to anyone who had eyes by simply looking at her face. To look at her was to sense the tears flowing continually from her widely-set eyes with their noble, mournful expression, although these tears were never visible. Perhaps this look explained the gentle treatment she received instead of the coarseness, violence and attempted assault which someone in her position could usually expect – the verbal assaults of mockery and rude words or bodily assaults to which a young girl without any protection is exposed. She was probably also saved by her filthy appearance and the fact that she had often spent her nights in dark, deserted places or amongst ruins, all of which added to her estrangement.

  Before her life of vagrancy and solitude, Shafiqa had lived like any ordinary lower middle class girl from a peaceful home. Deprived of their mother, the family was cared for by her widowed sister who was about eight years older than her. She carried out her role as caring mother efficiently and was also an affectionate sister to Shafiqa and her two brothers, one of whom was older and the other who was four years younger. This arrangement meant that their father, who valued the unity of his family and its continued success, decided against marrying again after his wife died, despite his worries and the constant loneliness which made him anxious and nervous. He would lose his temper for the slightest reason and was extremely strict with his family, especially the daughters, for fear that they would run wild without a mother to watch over them. As a true man from the Saïd, who upheld values and traditions stretching back several thousand years, he was determined to preserve the reputation of his family which he placed above any other consideration in life.

  Shafiqa’s widowed sister was very feminine and beautiful. Her features bore clear Circassian traces, a testimony to the fact that the Ottoman authorities of the Sublime Porte had once passed through. These features had attracted proposals of marriage since the time she was fifteen, eventually leading there when she was seventeen. Her husband was a prosperous army officer who left home early one Thursday morning in 1967, never to return, leaving her with three children, the youngest of whom was still sucking at her breast. He was recognized as a martyr and the grieving widow was accordingly entitled to all the distinctions due to the families of martyrs.

  The fatwa issued on her husband’s death, officially recognized this beautiful woman as a widow in the state records, a status she maintained until the last moment Silent Shafiqa saw her. After her husband disappeared and
she lost all hope of his ever returning, she resolved to never repeat the experience and lived for many years without any desire to enter into family life with another man. However, the laws of nature, which are well known, brought her into the arena once more but with one fundamental difference: the new experience was an affair of passion which could never develop into marriage because of the different religious backgrounds of the two lovers. This forced her to shroud their relationship in total secrecy for fear that her father and the rest of her family, particularly her brothers, would discover the affair. This fastidious and conscientious sister, who also worked as a teacher, always used the private lessons she gave to young male and female students as a pretext to meet with her lover out of official working hours. When she returned she would hasten to conceal any trace which might disclose her relationship with him, like the little presents he gave her from time to time. These were nothing more than bracelets or silver rings or a bottle of perfume called ‘Destiny’ which was locally made. The imported perfumes were not well-known at the time due to the economic boycott of the West which had been applied more stringently since the defeat of 5th June but ended like a storm in a tea cup by the mere implementation of Sadat’s new economic policy. She had recently begun to offer these simple gifts to her younger sister as a token of her love and esteem and the strong attachment she felt towards her. Shafiqa was increasingly influenced by her sister and behind the esteem and admiration she felt for her was the surrogate role of mother she performed in absence of the real mother whose womb she came from. But her beauty and her striking femininity made Shafiqa feel she was a young girl lacking in femininity, whose beauty had already faded, and she dreamed of being like her elder sister who was everything that was marvellous and honourable. This widow and lover remained faithful to her love, which became more inflamed with each day that passed, because of her lover’s oath of eternal devotion. He vowed that he would never end the relationship, whatever happened and whatever the pressure from his old mother who arrived every day, crying and kissing his hand, beseeching him to marry as soon as possible because, according to family tradition, his younger brother would never be able to marry unless his elder brother married first. In the zoological garden under a huge tree, which might have been planted as far back as the time of Khedive Ismail, the two lovers swore to be faithful. They carved out the first letters of their two names with a nail file, sealing their secret in a frame which, far from the Pharaonic, was in the shape of a heart, pierced by an arrow. They swore that only death, which destroys sensual pleasure and separates people – as Scheherezade said in the Thousand and One Nights – could stand between them and disrupt the communion of love which extended between their two hearts.

  The unfortunate lover, who suppressed her feelings and anxieties over a long period, fearing discovery of her affair, was under terrible strain because she was beautiful and attractive to men. She turned down many marriage proposals from suitors prepared to take on her children. When she refused, she always adhered firmly to the excuse that she would never relinquish the upbringing of her children to anyone and would continue to care for her father and brothers and sisters. In an attempt to conceal some of her beautiful features and to avoid attracting attention, she wore a veil which covered the lovely coal-black hair adorning her head and her white face, with its perfectly proportioned features. In this way she hoped to give the impression that she was virtuous, just as any young widow from a conservative Saïdi family who is mindful of her martyred husband’s reputation and faithful to her sons might do. However, one day, despite all her efforts, her affair became public knowledge when one of her relations put two and two together. He had been passionately in love with her for a long time, going back to the days before her marriage. At that time he hadn’t dared ask for her hand because he owned a small shop, selling cigarettes, candy and Needlers multi-flavoured boiled sweets which were cheap and popular with several generations of children before the appearance of Chicaboom, Chiclets and other products from the Sima sweet factory. But the flourishing tourist industry improved his circumstances greatly, especially after he converted his shop into a tourist restaurant for fast food, removing its familiar emblem – a kerosene lamp with the number five placed on the glass counter to illuminate the cigarettes on sale. A partner provided the capital for the restaurant which was called ‘The Well-Garnished Table’. His partner had earned several thousand dollars after years of working on an oil station in Saudi Arabia and the shopkeeper’s improved financial status reawakened the amorous feelings which had remained dormant during all the years his loved one had been married and borne three children. For these reasons he made her an offer of marriage on terms which were extremely advantageous, considering the lack of activity in the marriage market at the time. But the bewildered widow rejected the tempting proposal using the same pretext which earned her the increasing respect of her father and brothers – feigning eternal fidelity to her dead husband. She maintained she had a symbolic role to keep the memory of her deceased husband alive and wished to sacrifice herself entirely to the welfare and happiness of her children.

  The shopkeeper, who had begun to call himself a business man since transforming his shop into a restaurant, was able to dabble in other investments because of the profit he made from selling cheap traditional food which the tourists and the foreigners found distinctively eastern. But he still clung to the hope that he might win over the woman he had desired for so long. Indeed his desire had become even more ardent since she had matured, like a tasty fruit ready to be plucked. His determination to marry her was also an attempt to restore his peace of mind and regain confidence the lack of which had discouraged him from proposing when he owned the confectionery shop. But the strongest factor behind his determination was his increasing conviction, formed since entering the jungle of business, that money could buy everything. Indeed he considered money the only source of a meaningful existence in life. Thus the man of business tried every means possible to approach the widow who was passionately in love with someone else. Unable to give her presents directly since she would merely have refused them, he successfully ingratiated himself with her sons and family by giving them presents instead. He also did them favours which, for a family in their circumstances, would have been difficult to obtain elsewhere. He found her eldest brother a job in a tourist agency and presented her father with a hearing aid imported from Switzerland. This was to relieve him from the voices which echoed constantly in his right ear, like the sound coming from the bottom of a deep well. But despite all these attempts the wife he aspired to not only sent him packing without hope but she did it with tight-lipped contempt and a look of utter disdain. It was absolutely unthinkable that someone who was growing balder by the day, with a paunch that swelled as he grew more prosperous, could ever have the same place in her heart as the lover whose face was beautiful enough to be one of the famous Fayoum icons. She was justified in believing that this business man would only treat her sons well and be affectionate with them at the time of his proposal and that his behaviour towards them would change after they were married.

  As a merchant, who had a wide experience of life and of dealing with many different types of people, men and women, the persistent suitor guessed there was something mysterious about the whole affair – that there must be another man involved – since it was inconceivable that a woman, like this beautiful widow, would not want a relationship with someone of the male sex. This was confirmed by the small details which gave her away, despite all her attempts to conceal her desire. She would watch the television soaps and sentimental films with passionate intensity; sometimes he would interrupt one of these sessions by making a surprise visit to her home and she would delay going to prepare tea or coffee for him because she was loath to miss any of the serial. He also noticed that even though she wore a veil, she put on make up and perfume when she went out to give her private lessons. She was also extremely punctual with her appointments, like a soldier going to join his mil
itary unit. He tried to entice her away from the numerous private lessons she gave by offering her a new pupil, the son of a wealthy Arab, who would pay twice what she earned for just one lesson a week in addition to chauffeur-driven transport in a limousine. But she absolutely refused, using the pretext that she was frightened of going to the homes of Arabs from the Gulf, even if the wife and children were there, because she was mindful of her reputation.

  After that he was left with no alternative but to search for the reason behind her decision to refuse him, despite his wealth which was enough to attract a young virgin like the shining moon, in the bloom of youth and ripeness, or a spinster who dreamed of marriage let alone a widow with three children. And this reluctant lover realized full well that he was right in thinking he could have all the young and beautiful women he wanted because most young men were unable to marry and shoulder the cost of furnishing the marital home. The era of middle men had destroyed all possibility of realizing the dreams and ambitions of a better life through job opportunities: from the needle to the spaceship the slogan “industrialize!” had crashed. Without paying anything he could also have married a signora of his choice from amongst the foreign girls blown into his restaurant by the winds of tourism. He decided to spy on the widow’s movements when she was out, especially in the afternoons when she went off to give her private lessons. He would sometimes come to visit a short while before the time of her class on the pretext that he had some work to see to in their house. He then insisted on giving her a lift in his private car to her supposed lesson in order to follow her afterwards. Naturally it didn’t take long before he discovered her secret lover; he followed her to her rendezvous in one of those dimly lit, discreet places usually frequented by lovers who prefer to conduct their passionate exchanges in such romantic settings and where the waiters whisper as they serve their whispering customers.