by Fadia Faqir
Silent Shafiqa posed another problem for Aziza. Most of the prisoners objected to her presence, despite feeling sympathy for her, because she was so filthy and insisted on wearing the bare minimum of clothing, even in the depths of winter, resisting all attempts made to provide her with something to cover her body. But Aziza was banking on their accepting her and rejoicing with her after she had been bathed; her body would be well scrubbed with a loofah and her heels rubbed with a pumice stone until they became as smooth as the satin of her rose-coloured dress with its slightly décolleté neckline and full skirt, gathered in at the waist and made with Sonia’s expertise. Then Adli the hairdresser would comb her beautiful soft hair and arrange it in an amazing plait at the back, fixed by a large hairpin made of ivory and studded with diamonds. By this time she would be a totally different woman, bearing no resemblance to the filthy dispirited girl that she was now. Perhaps she might even resemble the beautiful Shadia in the film, with the song called “Search and you will find”, which Aziza had seen in the Metro cinema in Alexandria one day with her lover. Her mother had urged him to take her out and cheer her up a little after she had spent ten days in bed with a fever from severe inflammation of the colon which at first the doctors thought might have been typhoid. On that day he had held her hand in the dark and planted occasional kisses on her cheek.
Aziza was sometimes kept awake at night, terrified by the thought that the prison governor himself might notice the chariot and try to stop it when he realized it was going to ascend to that beautiful place in heaven where there is grace and favour, everlasting, supreme happiness and true, deep love between human beings and where they would not be kept awake by continual quarrels and strife. Aziza pondered at length over this problem and how to confront it should it really occur. Accordingly, she decided that take-off would be at night when the governor would not be in the prison and the operation could proceed with secrecy, calm and speed. She would beg the horses not to attract attention to the chariot by neighing in their lovely way or making the magical sound from flapping their powerful golden wings until the whistle was blown. She would then be able to rouse the sleeping prisoners and get them onto the chariot. The order would be given to everyone who had been chosen for the ascent to proceed quickly, carefully, and with calm before the prison governor arrived, discovered the affair and tried to ascend with it, only complicating matters.
This fear kept Aziza awake all night after she had stopped thinking about her lover, her mother and the passengers of the chariot ascending to heaven. Her insomnia drove sleep from her eyes so that she was awake to hear the cock crow and the dawn call to prayer on the day before the last night of her life. That night she recalled as many memories as possible which had remained her close companions for all those long and desolate nights in prison and she made all the final arrangements for the ascent of the golden chariot to the heaven. But first she called her selected passengers, one by one, secretly in a voice only audible to her, and dressed each one in her own magnificent tailor-made outfit. She instructed Adli, the hairdresser, to arrange their hair and adorn their heads to make them look as beautiful as possible. At this point the preparations for the ascent, which she had planned down to the last detail in her imagination, were now complete. Aziza wore her long black velvet dress with long sleeves and a bodice made of lace covered with little diamonds, sparkling with all the colours of the rainbow in the shape of beautiful flowers. Then her hair was arranged in her favourite way, which Adli was so expert at doing; on this occasion he did it to perfection, better than any other time. He gathered it and rolled it at the nape of her neck, tying it in a beautiful black satin bow with a little pearl attached to it. Only after she had inspected all the women one by one, and was sure that their attire was everything that it should be – that they were as beautiful and enchanting as possible – did she allow them to mount the chariot. Aziza carried the prison cat, Mishmisha, under her arm, having placed a dark brown velvet collar with a little silver bell around its neck, while her black friend was carried by the peasant, Umm El-Khayr who was as pleased as punch, as if she had stumbled over some treasure. After Aziza had tied a red silk ribbon round its neck, not forgetting to hang a little bell on its collar, the cat looked beautiful and glossy in her shining black coat. When each one had taken her place on the chariot, Aziza signalled to the heavenly band, engaged for the ascent to heaven, to strike up the glorious music which made her tremble with emotion. She had instructed them to play the same tune, engraved in her memory since the time she first heard it played by one of the military bands at the music pavilion in the beautiful Antoniades Gardens, the day the British Evacuation was celebrated. No one played tunes there anymore, perhaps because the time for celebrating the Evacuation had passed.
Before the dignified ceremony of the heavenly ascent there was a splendid dinner, better than anything you would get in a five star hotel, and a dance which equalled the wonderful dancing Aziza had done with her lover on the floors of the superb city nightclubs at Christmas and on New Year’s Eve. Aziza gave a long, farewell look, tinged with scorn, at the whole inhuman world of that fearful prison, the building and its administration, its warders and food, the sleeping quarters and clothes, then she ordered the doors to be locked and gave the signal for take-off. The beautiful, powerful white horses spread out their splendid golden wings like sails of legendary ships about to plough through the billowing waves.
Aziza was surprised when suddenly, and quite inexplicably, the prison governor and the warders, whom she had always hated, arrived in front of the chariot and obstructed it as they climbed on.
At that moment, alone in her cell, Aziza’s blood pressure rose dramatically until one clot after another formed in her brain. The brain raced on over times past, the life which had crept along the alleyways of fate and the years of joy and sadness she had experienced, until the very end. Not a solitary star looked down on Aziza as she lost consciousness for the last time and began the final struggle with death. She saw her chosen women rushing to get down from the chariot, jostling with those trying to seize and board it. Once the women had succeeded in repelling them, hurling them beneath the horses’ hooves, Aziza struggled to raise her hand for take-off and the horses began to flap their wings in readiness for the ascent.
Aziza’s heart began to beat at an alarming rate but she held onto her last breath of life until she was convinced that the women were safely back in the chariot and the windows and doors securely locked. Only then could the white horses lift their hooves and start to fly, with their golden wings, up to heaven.
Salwa Bakr
Salwa Bakr was born in Cairo in 1949. She gained her BA in Business Management from ‘Ayns Shams University in 1972 and a second BA in Literary Criticism in 1976. She worked as a government rationing inspector from 1974 to 1980, before moving to Cyprus with her husband and pursuing a career as a freelance film and theatre critic for several Arabic language publications. She returned to Egypt in 1986 and has since concentrated on creative writing. She has published four collections of short stories, the first, Zinat fi Janazat al-Ra’is was published at her own expense but its critical acclaim assured the success of future works. A collection of her work, The Wiles of Men, has recently been translated into English while two of her stories have been published in Marilyn Booth’s collection of works by Egyptian women My Grandmother’s Cactus. She has also written another novel, Wasf al-Bulbul.
Fadia Faqir
Fadia Faqir was born in Jordan in 1956. She gained her BA in English Literature, MA in creative writing, and doctorate in critical and creative writing at Jordan University, Lancaster University and East Anglia University respectively. Her first novel, Nisanit, was published by Penguin in 1988 and her second novel, Pillars of Salt, is forthcoming. Fadia Faqir is a lecturer in Arabic language and literature at the Centre for Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies, Durham University. She is at present working on her third novel, The Black Iris Crossing.
Dinah Manisty
> Dinah Manisty graduated in Arabic from the School of Oriental and African Studies in 1989 and obtained her Ph.D. in 1993 with a study on the woman’s novel in Egypt. After teaching Arabic–English translation at the University of Tunis for a year, she is currently teaching Arabic at the Oriental Institute, Oxford.
