With childish glee Aisha said, as though she knew nothing about it, "My brother’s a man of property… How lovely to hear that… Are you really rich, Mr. Yasin?"
Khadija said, "Let me enumerate his properties for you. Listen, lady: the store in al-Hamzawi, a residence in al-Ghuriya, the house in Palace of Desire Alley…"
Shaking his head and lowering his eyes, Yasin recited, "And from the evil of the envious person when he envies…" (Qur'an, 113:5)
Khadija continued her comments without paying any attention to his interruption: "And valuables like jewelry and coins worth even more than the real estate".
Yasin cried out with genuine sorrow, "That all disappeared, by your life. Stolen. That son of a bitch stole them. Father asked him if she had left jewelry or money, but the thief said, 'Search for yourselves. God knows I paid her expenses during her illness from my own money.' What a man! His 'own money'… that son of a washerwoman".
Aisha said sympathetically, "The poor dear… sick, confined to bed, at the mercy of a man who wanted her money… without a friend or a loved one. She left the world without anyone to grieve for her".
Yasin asked, "Without anyone to grieve for her?"
Khadija pointed through the half-open door at Yasin’s clothes hanging on a rack. She protested ironically, "And this black bow tie?… Isn't that a sign of mourning?"
Yasin said seriously, "I really did mourn for her, may our Lord be merciful to her and forgive her sins. Didn't we become reconciled at our last meeting? May God be merciful to her and forgive her and the rest of us".
Khadija lowered her head a little and raised her eyebrows to gaze at him, as though looking over the top of a pair of spectacles. She said, "Ahem, ahem… listen to our revered preacher". She cast him a skeptical look and continued: "But I suspect that your sorrow was not too deep?"
He looked at her furiously and replied, "Praise to God, I did not fall short in my duties to her. I received people and had the Qur'an recited for three nights. Every Friday I visit the cemetery with fragrant herbs and fruit. Do you want me to strike my face, wail, and spread dirt on my head? Men grieve differently from women".
She shook her head as though to say, "You have assisted me. May God assist you". Then with a sigh she remarked, "Oh, the grief of men!.. But tell me, by my life, didn't the shop, apartment, and house alleviate some of the torment of your grief?"
He grumbled, "The person was right who said, 'An ugly tongue bespeaks an ugly face.'"
"Who said that?"
Smiling, he replied, "Your mother-in-law!"
Aisha laughed. Fahmy laughed too and asked Khadija, "Haven't relations between you improved?"
Aisha answered for her, "Relations between the English and the Egyptians will improve before theirs do".
Khadija for the first time spoke resentfully: "She’s a strong-willed woman. May our Lord hold it against her. By God, I'm innocent and falsely accused".
"We all believe you," Yasin commented sarcastically. "There’s no need for an oath. We'll testify to that before God on Judgment Day".
Fahmy asked Aisha, "How are you doing with her?"
Glancing apprehensively at Khadija, she replied, "As well as could be hoped".
Khadija shouted, "Fie on your sister Aisha. She knows when to lead and when to bow her head. Fie…"
Pretending to be serious, Yasin said, "At any rate, may God be merciful to your mother-in-law and my sincere congratulations to you".
Khadija observed sarcastically, "God willing, the real congratulations will soon be for you when you're escorted to your second bride. Isn't that so?"
He could not help but laugh. "May God hear your prayer," he said.
Aisha asked with interest, "Really?"
He thought a little. Then he said somewhat seriously, "The Believer does not put his hand back in the lair to be bitten a second time, but who knows what the morrow will bring? Perhaps second, third, and fourth brides".
Khadija exclaimed, "That’s what I expect. May God be compassionate to your grandfather".
They all laughed, even Kamal. Then Aisha said sadly, "Poor Zaynab! She was such a fine girl".
She was… and also stupid, with a father as unbearable as my own. If she had been content to live with me the way I wanted, I would never have renounced her".
"Don't admit that. Protect your honor. Don't give Khadija a chance to gloat over your misfortune".
He said scornfully, "She got what she deserves. Let her father brew her up and drink her down".
Aisha muttered, "But she’s pregnant, poor dear. Are you pleased that your child will grow up in someone else’s custody until returned to you as a boy?"
Oh, she had drawn blood. His child would grow up in the mother’s custody the way Yasin had before him. Perhaps he would suffer misery like Yasin’s or even worse. He might grow up hating his mother or father. In any case, it was miserable. Frowning, he said "Let his fate be like his father's. There’s nothing that can be done about it".
They were quiet for a time until Kamal asked Khadija, "And you, sister, when will your baby come out?"
Laughing and feeling her belly, she answered, "He’s still in his first stage".
Studying her face, he told her innocently, "You've really gotten thin, sister, and your face has become ugly.
They all laughed, covering their mouths with their hands. They laughed so much that Kamal felt embarrassed and confused. Khadija was unable to take offense at Kamal and was inclined to flow with the current. Laughing, she agreed: "I confess that during this time of special cravings I have lost all the flesh that Umm Hanafi worked hard for so many years to create. I've grown thin, my nose sticks out, and my eyes are sunken. I imagine my husband’s looking everywhere in vain for the bride he married".
They laughed again. Yasin commented, "The truth is that your husband has been wronged. Despite his obvious stupidity, he’s good-looking. Glory to God who united a stallion and a jenny".
Khadija pretended to ignore him. Pointing toward Aisha, she told Fahmy, "Both her husband and mine are slow. They hardly leave the house by night or day. They have no interests or jobs. Her husband squanders his time smoking or playing the lute like those beggars who go to people’s houses at the festivals. My husband is always lying around smoking or chattering so much it makes me dizzy".
"Aristocrats don't work," Aisha said apologetically.
Khadija sneered. "I beg your pardon… It’s right for you to defend that life. The truth is that God never united two such identical people as when he united the two of you. When it comes to laziness, mildness, and indolence you're the same person. Mr. Fahmy, by the Prophet, her husband spends the whole day smoking and playing music while she adorns herself and flits back and forth in front of the mirror".
Yasin inquired, "Why not, so long as what she sees in the mirror is pretty?" Before Khadija could open her mouth, he quickly asked, "Tell me, sister, what will you do if your child looks like you?"
She was fed up with his attacks and answered him seriously, "With God’s permission he will resemble his father, grandfather, grandmother, or aunt… If…" She laughed. "If he insists on resembling his mother, then he'll deserve to be banished even more than Sa'd Pasha".
With the tone of a man of experience, Kamal told her, "The English don't care about beauty, sister. They like my head and nose a lot".
Khadija struck her breast with her hand and cried out, "They claim to be your friends when all the time they're making fun of you… May our Lord send another zeppelin after them".
Aisha cast a tender look at Fahmy and said, "How your prayer would please some people".
Fahmy smiled and muttered, "How can I be happy when they have gullible friends in our house?"
"What a pity your influence has failed with the boy".
"Some people aren't helped by good influences".
Kamal protested, "Didn't I ask Julian to bring back Sa'd Pasha?"
Khadija laughed and said, "Next time have him swear by that head
of yours he likes so much".
More than once Fahmy had felt they were trying to draw him into the conversation and distract him every chance they got, although that did nothing to dissipate his feeling of alienation, which for a long time had come between him and his family whenever he was with them. He would feel alienated or alone no matter how crowded the coffee hour was. He would withdraw into his heart, grief, and zeal when surrounded by giddy, laughing people. When they could, they even made a joke out of Sa'd’s banishment.
He glanced stealthily at each of them in succession and found they were all happy. Aisha was flourishing, although a little tired because of the pregnancy. She was happy about everything, even her fatigue. Khadija was bouncy and quick to laugh. Yasin’s health was outstanding, and he looked blissful. Who among them cared what was happening nowadays? Who among them was concerned whether Sa'd was in Egypt or in exile and whether the English left or stayed? He felt like a stranger or at least estranged from these people. Although this feeling was usually blunted by his magnanimous spirit, now he felt angry and resentful, perhaps because of what he had been going through over the past few days. He had frequently expected to hear that Maryam was getting married. He had been concerned and troubled about that, even though he had already resigned himself to it in despair. As time passed he had almost accepted the idea. Even his love had retreated from center stage in his emotions while he was distracted by weighty concerns. But the incident with Julian had been like an earthquake. What was the meaning of her flirtation with an Englishman she could not hope to marry? Would anyone but a shameless woman do such a thing? Was Maryam a shameless woman? What had happened to the object of his dreams?
The first chance he had had to be alone with Kamal he had asked his little brother to tell the story again, insisting on all the details. How had he observed what took place? Where was the soldier standing? Where was Kamal standing? Was he certain that it was Maryam herself who was in the little window? Was she really looking at the soldier? Did he see her smile at the man? Where…? Was…? Did…? Clenching his teeth as though trying to crush the distress that was tormenting him, Fahmy had asked, "Did she act scared and leave when she saw you?"
Afterward Fahmy had visualized the whole episode, gesture by gesture and scene by scene. He imagined her smile at length until he could almost see her lips parting, the way he had seen them the day of Aisha’s wedding when the girl was following along after the bride in the courtyard of the Shawkat family residence.
"It seems Mama won't join us today," Aisha said sadly.
Khadija commented, "The house is full of visitors".
Yasin laughingly remarked, "I'm afraid the soldiers will become suspicious of the number of people coming here and think a political rally is being held in our home".
Khadija said proudly, "Papa’s friends are so numerous they could hide the sun".
Aisha observed, "I saw Mr. Muhammad Iffat himself at the head of the procession".
Khadija confirmed her sister’s statement: "He’s been his best friend since before we saw the light of day".
Shaking his head, Yasin said, "Papa accused me falsely of destroying their friendship".
"Doesn't divorce separate even the dearest friends?"
Yasin smilingly replied, "Not your father’s friends!"
Aisha boasted, "Who would ever want to oppose Papa? By God, there’s no one in the whole world who’s equal to him". Then with a sigh she continued: "Whenever I think of what happened to him last night, my hair turns gray".
Khadija had finally had enough of Fahmy’s despondency. She decided to attack it directly, after indirect methods had failed. She turned toward him and asked, "Brother, do you see how gracious our Lord was the day you were denied your wish with regard to… Maryam?"
Fahmy looked at her with astonished embarrassment. All eyes were immediately focused on him with concern, even Kamal's. Profound silence reigned, revealing the existence of a stifled sentiment that had been ignored or concealed until Khadija expressed it so boldly. They looked at the young man as though awaiting his reply, almost as though he was the one who had asked the question.
Yasin thought he had better end the silence before it got any worse and caused more pain. Pretending to be happy, he commented, "The reason is that your brother’s a saint, and God loves His saints".
Fahmy, suffering from anguish and embarrassment, said tersely, "This is an old issue that’s been forgotten".
To shield him, Aisha said, "Mr. Fahmy wasn't the only one to be deceived by her. We were all taken in".
Khadija defended herself as best she could against this alleged oversight: "Well, I was never convinced for a moment-even when I believed she was innocent-that she was worthy of you".
Pretending to dismiss the whole affair, Fahmy said, "This is an old issue that’s been forgotten. An Englishman, an Egyptian, it’s all the same thing. Let’s skip all this".
Yasin found himself thinking once again about the "issue" of Maryam… Maryam? He had never looked at her in the past if she came into view except in a cursory fashion. Fahmy’s attachment to her had increased Yasin’s desire to ignore her, until her scandal had been broadcast in the family. That had aroused his interest, and he had wondered for a long time what sort of girl she was. He would have liked to study her carefully and observe the girl who had aroused the desire of an Englishman sent to fight, not flirt. Yasin’s anger at her was only a conversational device. He was actually enraptured by the presence nearby of a daring "fallen woman," separated from him by a single wall. His broad, sturdy chest was pervaded by a bestial intoxication bringing out the hunting instinct in him, but he held back in honor of Fahmy’s sorrow, for he loved his brother. He limited himself to a passive, emotional delight, although no one in the whole district so stirred his interest as Maryam.
"It’s time to leave," Khadija remarked as she rose. She had heard the voices of Ibrahim and Khalil, who were coming in from the hall. Everyone stood up. Some stretched while others adjusted their clothing. Only Kamal remained seated. He looked at the door of the sitting room mournfully, his heart pounding.
67
Al-Sayyid Ahmad sat at his desk bent over his ledgers, immersing himself in his daily tasks, which helped him forget, if only temporarily, his personal worries as well as the bloody public ones that were in the news all the time. He had grown to love the store as much as his evenings of fellowship and music, because in both situations he successfully freed himself from the hell of thinking. Although the store’s atmosphere was full of haggling, selling, buying, making money, and similar concerns of ordinary, daily life, it restored his confidence that everything could return to normal, to the original condition of peace and stability. Peace? Where had it gone and when would it be ready to return? Even in his store there were distressing, whispered conversations about bloody events. Customers were no longer content just to bargain and buy. Their tongues kept belaboring the news and bewailing events. Over the bags of rice and coffee beans he had heard about the battle of Bulaq, the massacres at Asyut, the funeral processions with tens of coffins, and the young man who had wrested a machine gun away from the enemy, intending to bring it back into al-Azhar Mosque, only to be killed before he could get there as swarms of bullets sank into his body. News like this, tinged crimson with blood, assaulted his ears from time to time in the very place where he had taken refuge, seeking to forget
How miserable it was to live constantly in the shadow of death. Why did not the revolution achieve its objectives quickly before he or any of his family was harmed?… He was not stingy with money and did not begrudge it his emotional involvement, but sacrificing a life was another matter. What kind of punishment was God inflicting on His flock? Life had become cheap and blood was flowing… The revolution was no longer a thrilling spectacle. It threatened his security whenever he came or went and menaced the life of his rebellious son. His enthusiasm for it, but not for its goal, had dwindled. He still dreamt of independence and the return of Sa'd, but withou
t a revolution, bloodshed, or terror. He chanted slogans with the demonstrators and was zealous with the zealots, but his mind was attached to life and struggled to resist this current, like a tree trunk in a flood, its branches torn off by storms. Nothing, no matter how great, would weaken his love for life. Let him keep his love for life to the end of his days. If only Fahmy felt that way too, so that he would not sacrifice his life; Fahmy, the disobedient son who had thrown himself into the stream without a life preserver.
"Is al-Sayyid Ahmad here?"
He heard the voice and sensed that someone was hurtling into the shop like a human projectile. He looked up from his desk and saw Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad in the middle of the room blinking his inflamed eyes, futilely trying to peer toward the desk. Al-Sayyid Ahmad’s spirits rose. With a smile he shouted at the visitor, "Make yourself at home, Shaykh Mutawalli. We are blessed by your presence".
The shaykh appeared reassured. He advanced, his torso swaying backward and forward as though he were riding on a camel. Al-Sayyid Ahmad leaned over his desk, putting out his hand to take his visitor’s and press it firmly, saying gently, "The chair’s to your right. Please sit down". Shaykh Mutawalli leaned his stick against the desk and took his seat. Putting some of the weight of his shoulders on his hands, which were placed on his knees, he said, "May God preserve you and sustain you".
The proprietor responded wholeheartedly, "How fine your prayer is and how much I've needed it". Turning toward Jamil al-Hamzawi, who was weighing rice for a customer, he advised him, "Don't forget to prepare the parcel for our master the shaykh".
Jamil al-Hamzawi responded, "Who could forget our master the shaykh?"
The shaykh spread out his hands and raised his head, moving his lips in a quiet prayer of which only an intermittent whisper could be heard. Then he returned to his former pose and was silent for a moment. By way of invocation he said, "I begin with a prayer for the Prophet, our guiding light".
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