Golden Chariot

by Fadia Faqir

  Unfortunately Shafiqa’s sister didn’t notice the intruder who took a good look at her and perhaps the matter would have ended there if only she could have brought herself to accept his proposal. She knew perfectly well that should her father ever discover her affair, she would die. But because she did not see him she unwittingly sealed her own miserable fate when the business man carried out a shameless act of revenge. He weighed up the pros and cons and came to the conclusion that she would continue to reject his proposal because of the other man, who in his view was a pig who had obstructed him, inflicting a terrible wound to his pride, now scarred for life. Thus he took it upon himself to inform the father that he had seen her sitting with a strange man in Abu Manjal’s, a coffee house of ill repute, mainly known as a retreat for lovers. She was seen sitting with her legs crossed, hand in hand with the man who had his other arm around her, whispering words full of love and passion.

  When the father learned of his daughter’s behaviour, he considered it the height of shame and depravity and unthinkable for a woman who had been given the best possible conservative upbringing according to the tradition of the Saïd. To make matters worse, and as her brother confirmed through his own investigations, the man she was seen with was from a different religion. On a cold winter’s night following this revelation, the austere old man calmly took his momentous decision. He consulted first with his son who was no less angry and took a similar hard line towards the behaviour of his widowed sister who, in his view, had sullied the family’s honour. One day after sunset, the brother tricked his sister into accompanying him on one of the shopping expeditions they often went on together, suggesting they should go and choose him a shirt and some socks. After she had quietened her three young children, who were screaming because they wanted to go with her, and had promised to bring them back a carton of their favourite fruit juice, she kissed them goodbye and her brother whisked her off in his car. This was the same sister who had so often held him by the hand after her mother died, washed his clothes for him and had even suckled him at her little breast devoid of any milk. She attempted to give him the security of his mother’s breast which he had been denied during the critical nights immediately following her death – nights in which the silence was broken by the baby’s heart-rending screams for his mother’s milk. The brother did not take her as expected to Umr Effendi’s shops, recently renovated to suit the mood of the times, and which had started selling the most magnificent shirts instead of the cheaper clothes made from winceyette, coarse cotton and poplin. Instead he took her to her destined fate in an area of remote desert, a few kilometres from the city and its suburbs. Waiting for her there, under the cover of darkness, was a hired assassin with whom the father had previously made an agreement. Her brother cruelly dismissed all her entreaties and pleas to spare her for the sake of her little children who at that moment were longing for the cartons of juice she had promised to bring them when she returned.

  The son returned to the solemn house and with a heart as hard as stone and a cold and deathly look in his eyes, like that of the assassin himself, he announced the successful completion of his mission to his father who was sitting, waiting impatiently for news of the outcome of his plan. He was reassured that he had been cleansed of his shame as soon as the announcement, which soothed his heart, had been delivered. He called the younger sister, who was none other than Silent Shafiqa and told her, as he lay stretched out on his bed, what had happened to her sister, the children’s mother, threatening her on pain of death if she so much as breathed a single word on the matter to anyone.

  That night Shafiqa, whose name up to that moment was Taghrid, lay stretched out on her bed like a stiff corpse waiting to be washed, eyes wide open, weakened by the mad burning force which rose from within her and incapable of making the smallest movement, even closing her eyelids. By the time the sun rose, she had lost eight kilos in weight as if she were a small piece of butter which had melted one hot night. When the children of her deceived sister woke up to find their mother was not by their side at home, they began to cry bitterly. She could not think what to say to them except that their mother had gone to stay with her aged paternal aunt who was very ill. But as evening set in, the suddenly bereaved young girl was totally unable to face up to the situation and was transformed into an oddity only a metre and a half tall and weighing just forty-five kilos. At around midnight, when she was sure that everyone was asleep, including her father and brother, the wretched young girl tiptoed out to the front door of the apartment and opened it cautiously and quietly. Her father was snoring and only discovered her escape when he was awakened later by the sound of a metal saucepan lid falling on the floor. A stray cat had knocked over the saucepan while trying to remove its lid.

  The girl, who from this moment became known as Silent Shafiqa, ran and ran as if propelled by the headstrong will of a young filly. Finally, running on and on in an attempt to erase the image haunting her mind, she collapsed against a wall, exhausted. It was one of the high brick walls outside schools, a relic from the time of the colonial missionaries in the last century. She remained in this position until just before daybreak when she was noticed by someone on his way to seek additional blessing from God at the morning prayer in the mosque, close to the school. As soon as he caught sight of her he begged God’s protection from the Devil because in all the sixty years of his life, he had never witnessed a human being so thin and with such eyes, staring blankly into the distance, at this time of the night when most people were asleep. When he returned with some fellow worshippers immediately after the end of the prayers to show them the sight he had just witnessed, the terrifying creature had fled. He was mocked by his companions who told him that what he had seen must have been a figment of his imagination.

  From the time she spent her last night in her father’s house, Shafiqa never uttered another word. Day and night she wandered aimlessly about, scrounging from rubbish dumps and sleeping against any wall she could find, even if it was a graveyard wall. She spent most of her time on the move in an attempt to avoid attracting people’s attention, never returning to the same place, cutting through the streets and alleyways from one end of the city to the other. Only a few months had passed before her features were transformed into those of another, bearing no resemblance whatever to her old self. After she was told about her sister’s murder, her hair had turned white overnight and she took on the appearance of someone at least twenty-five years older than she really was.

  A few months later, Shafiqa was convicted for begging, a sentence she was to receive repeatedly in the future until she became one of the permanent inmates of the prison.

  Aziza only decided to include Silent Shafiqa amongst the troop of women going on the golden chariot to heaven because she felt so sorry for her. She was moved by the terrible degree of wretchedness and pain which was evident from her appearance as well as her austere demeanour, denying herself, in the way that the Sufi mystics do, all earthly things which people usually covet in life. Aziza was particularly attracted by the tenderness she showed towards the little sparrows and the gentle way she fed them by placing bits of bread for them on the window ledge. If Aziza had known Shafiqa’s story she would have placed her directly and without any doubt or hesitation at the top of the list of passengers in the chariot. And for the sake of Shafiqa, Aziza decided to include Hajja Umm Abdel Aziz in the chariot, not because Aziza felt Umm Abdel Aziz was pitiable and did not deserve to be imprisoned nor because she was one of the victims of life whom fate had tossed into this dreadful place, just as the waves of the sea toss the corpses of the drowned onto the deserted shores. Aziza was neither swayed by the prayer rituals she performed day and night and her incessant reading of righteous verses nor, for that matter, by the long periods she spent tuned into the station which broadcasts the Glorious Qur’an on a small transistor radio stuck close to her ear. This radio was made by Telemasr, a testimony to Egypt’s failed attempt to enter the field of manufacturing and become self-rel
iant in the days when there was tumultuous propaganda about the rocket known as Qahir and its brother Zafir, both of which failed to secure any kind of victory in the 1967 war. The reason Aziza decided to admit her to the chariot was because of the compassion she constantly and generously showed towards Silent Shafiqa and the tenderness and concern she displayed for her condition. She also took charge of Shafiqa’s ration of food, handing it to her herself and had it not been for her perseverance in watching over her, this wretched creature would have perished long ago.

  Umm Abdel Aziz tried to keep an eye on Silent Shafiqa, especially when she had sudden attacks of nervous convulsions which took her by surprise from time to time. On these occasions the skinny young girl was transformed into a rigid block of wood; sometimes she threw herself on the ground and her unfocused eyes would bulge in a frightening way as she turned her head like a young calf about to be slaughtered, the white froth trickling from her mouth in a thin stream. All the prisoners and warders who came across this spectacle by chance were at a loss as to what to do at which point Umm Abdel Aziz would approach muttering the two Qur’anic formulae followed by the verse, “Say, I take refuge with the Lord of men”. She would bend down to the girl who had thrown herself on the floor, and with her mouth close to her right ear, call her to prayer in a beautiful voice. This would be followed by a recitation of some of the ninety-nine names attributed to God which came to her mind. She would ask the Prophet’s forgiveness for the girl – Peace be upon Him – and would stay with her until the life returned to her body. Hugging her to her large breast which could have accommodated another besides the tiny Shafiqa, she would hasten to give her a drink of water and soothe her tenderly as the girl’s hot tears flowed onto her cheek.

  Shafiqa reminded Umm Abdel Aziz of her son who was martyred in the 1973 war, because of their strong physical resemblance, especially her thick arched eyebrows and wide-set eyes and the gap they both had between their front teeth which is meant to bring good luck – although time had already disproved this maxim. The wretched girl’s luck had only landed her in prison; as for the apple of Umm Abdel Aziz’s eye, his luck had landed him under the ground. Because she did not even know the whereabouts of his grave she was unable to go and visit it and honour him, as a martyr of the Sinai war, by erecting a headstone to immortalize his name. The bitterness and perpetual grief she suffered from being separated from him would never diminish. Following his recognition as a martyr, she received a considerable amount of money in compensation. After selling a pair of gold snakes left over from her wedding jewellery, she was able to add two floors onto her old house, but not before paying the municipal officials to give her the necessary authorization – a violation of the law although not the one which landed her in prison. She was convicted for the money she received from renting out private rooms when the profit she made from her combined building and renting transactions jumped to at least 300%. The exploited people who were renting from her were civil servants on meagre salaries who could only pay their deposit to Hajja Umm Abdel Aziz with great difficulty, after tightening their belts and setting aside the necessary monthly sum from their salary to participate with their colleagues in the self-styled cooperatives or associations. These provided them with the deposit each one had to pay. The civil servants brought a complaint concerning the money Umm Abdel Aziz had extracted from them and the law considered she had committed a serious crime. But this did nothing to help the tenants with their problem which came to a head when the flats were sold off privately instead of being rented out. Umm Abdel Aziz was duly sent to prison, but she did not object because she was given a short sentence. The judge who passed sentence took compassion on her because of her age and the esteem he had for her as the mother of a martyr in the war.

  Umm Abdel Aziz was a model prisoner in every sense. She was intelligent, self-possessed, well turned out. She kept a civil tongue and showed consideration for the lowly over the exalted. The prisoners and warders had a certain respect for the kind of offence she had been charged with since, in their view, it was not without distinction and didn’t in any way put them off being her friends. Her only fault was her continual snoring which started as soon as her head touched the pillow and sounded like water dripping from a leaking tap. The combined snoring of Umm Ragab and Umm El-Khayr formed a deafening symphony when added to that of Umm Abdel Aziz who slept in the same ward. Apart from this Umm Abdel Aziz commanded a position of respect, especially since many of the inmates had formed the view that she was a pious woman, one of those who had attained spiritual communion with God. She prayed a great deal and fasted every Monday and Thursday, as well as during the month of Ramadan, the six days which follow it, the first of Ragab, the middle of Sha‘ban and the first days of the holy months. Likewise she was respected for the obvious blessing that had been bestowed on her and her ability to restore Silent Shafiqa to her former self. She would bend over her right ear to call her to prayer when she was overcome by fits of devilish madness, believed to be no more than severe epileptic fits which had never been treated. As a result of the trust and belief the prisoners as well as the warders placed in Umm Abdel Aziz, she spent hours making amulets for the prisoners, commiserating with them, stroking their heads and reading them verses from the Qur’an to soothe them when they were afflicted by severe headaches which they could not cure with any of the array from Bayer or Swiss Pharma pills which claimed to alleviate pain. The real cause of their problems was the increasing weakness in their eyesight due to lack of vitamin A in the food, as well as the chronic constipation they suffered because of a lack of roughage in the prison meals. The faith which Umm Abdel Aziz inspired grew to such an extent that she was encouraged to start interpreting dreams, usually with a group of prisoners collected around her who considered this activity a kind of delicious scandal. Umm Abdel Aziz’s ability to interpret dreams correctly and precisely was established when she told Mahrousa, the warder, that she had a daughter who would soon marry against her wishes. One morning Mahrousa had told her about a dream in which one of her daughters, who was the most beautiful, was eating a large banana. She tried to stop her eating it by convincing her that it was poisonous and might harm her. When the young girl insisted, Mahrousa screamed and cried for help at which point she was awakened by the voice of the fuul seller who was calling out in the alley. She awoke from her sleep, terrified, and went to the kitchen to fetch the Istanbuli porcelain bowl which she had got in exchange for some old trousers which belonged to her son, and went out to buy some fuul. When she returned home that afternoon at the end of her day’s work in the prison, her daughter, who in her opinion was a flighty girl and deserved to have her neck broken, declared that she both desired and intended to marry an electrician.

  The strange thing is that, with time, Umm Abdel Aziz, began to really believe in her special powers to remove the veil from dreams. She extended her prayer routine while continuing to recite parts of the Qur’an in addition to the five prescribed prayers and the prayers invoking God. She also recited from the cheap religious booklets handed to her by Mahrousa, who never tired of having her dreams interpreted. Mahrousa bought the books especially for her from the sellers who lined the wall of the Sayyida Zaynab mosque and the wall of the Hussein mosque, may God bless them. But one night, while Umm Abdel Aziz was sitting on her bed singing God’s praises with her old rosary made from ambergris, bought from the Khan Al-Khalili souk, she was finally convinced that the veil had been removed from her and the path which led directly to God had opened before her. The pampered prison cat was next to her, purring peacefully, when she felt engulfed by a surge of love and longing to see her only martyred son who had been taken away from her. It affected her so strongly that her heart beat quickened, she felt an abnormal rush of blood to her head and her fingers were no longer able to move the rosary beads easily. At the time there was a terrible racket going on in the ward for the old and weak because of a quarrel which had broken out between Umm Ragab and Lula the hairdresser. A box of mat
ches had gone missing which Lula had accused Umm Ragab of stealing. The din was augmented by voices from other quarters which had joined in to try and settle the dispute. But despite all this distraction, Umm Abdel Aziz actually witnessed, with her own eyes, her dearest elder son, Abdel Aziz, with his beautiful features which greatly resembled those of Silent Shafiqa, coming towards her in his military uniform. Then he sat down next to her on the edge of the bed and stroked the head of the cat which enjoyed it greatly, lifting its head a little for him to scratch its neck and chin which were troubling it because of flea bites. Umm Abdel Aziz even heard his voice with her own ears, which despite her age were sharp enough to hear ants crawling. He asked her gently:

  “Do you want anything, Hajja, before I return?”

  Barely a second later he disappeared and the bereaved mother had to open and shut her eyes vigorously several times to convince herself that what she had witnessed was real and not a dream. When she felt the place where he had been sitting on the bed and found that it was warm, as if someone had just left, she was convinced it was not a dream and let out a piercing scream, beating her chest with her hands, calling her beloved son. All this commotion caused astonishment in the ward and halted the quarrel between Umm Ragab and Lula, who gave the cat a strong kick with her foot when it jumped down with fright at Umm Abdel Aziz’s scream and tripped her up.

  After slapping her face and lamenting for some time the grieving mother eventually regained her composure. She was joined by Azima the professional mourner and Umm Ragab, who saw it as a good opportunity to lament her daughter. Hinna expended extraordinary efforts in quietening and calming her, stroking her face with a piece of cotton cloth, soaked in rose water, and wrapping her hair in a different handkerchief to the one she had removed to hold while eulogizing over the moral and various other qualities of her son, now destroyed by treacherous death and swallowed up by the earth. When Umm Abdel Aziz had completely exhausted her strength and emotions and was no longer capable of releasing any more grief, she remained silent and grave-faced, ignoring all questions aimed at discovering what had made her scream and wail in this uncharacteristic way. No one had ever seen her in such a terrible state of collapse and grief before; she had always shown patience and was constantly reading the Qur’an. Even when Hinna asked her a direct question about what had happened, Umm Abdel Aziz chose to keep the secret to herself and hide the matter from everyone. She considered the vision of her dead son, which she had seen with her own eyes, a token of compassion and generosity which God had bestowed upon her and which called for inward thanks, praise and self-restraint.