“Where are you going?”
“It’s none of your business.”
She tried to say something, but he pulled her forcefully by the hand to push her away. She lost her balance and fell on the edge of the bed. He went out and slammed the door hard. After a little while she heard the sound of his car pulling away.
Chapter 11
How Shaymaa has changed!
She followed meticulously all the instructions in the recipes on the program Sitt al-Husn (Lady of Beauty) broadcast every Wednesday on the Egyptian satellite channel. She got rid of the pimples on her face by using a rub of salt and olive oil. Her complexion became soft and radiant thanks to the yogurt and cucumber mask she used. She started penciling her eyebrows carefully and patiently put up with the sting of Egyptian kohl that burned her eyes and caused her tears to flow copiously before it settled on the eyelids, giving them that captivating look. Even her modest shar‘i clothes underwent a transformation: she embroidered the sleeves with sequins and crystal beads and took the dresses in a little, just enough to show the contours of her body (at least her ample bosom, which she consciously and appreciatively put forward). She no longer walked in a straight military-style line: she started to zig and zag and twist her gait ever so slightly, treading a fine line between coquettishness and modesty. Even her glasses, those marks of seriousness and studiousness, she let slide down her nose then suddenly adjusted them with her finger, creating a feeling of gaiety and a hint of naughtiness. All of that was for Tariq. Tariq. She pronounced the name so lovingly, as if kissing it. God be praised! She had waited for her kismet in Tanta and then given up, only to find him here, on the other side of the world. God, may he be praised, sent the scholarship her way and made her persist in trying to get it for her own good. Could she have dreamed of a bridegroom better than Tariq Haseeb? He was a medical school faculty member like her, who would not be jealous of her academic achievements and would not tell her to quit her job and stay home as others had done. He was the right age, and his looks were okay (despite being too thin, having a long nose and bulging eyes); all her life she had not liked excessively handsome men. A beautiful man to her was like too much sugar, which made her queasy.
To attract her, a man had to be rough around the edges, thorny. She loved Tariq, cared for him, and looked after him as if she were his mother. She knew his schedule by heart and lived with him moment by moment. She would look at her watch and smile thinking: now he is out of the lecture hall. She imagined him walking to the lab. She called him on his cell phone several times a day, and when longing got the best of her, she sent him messages to assure herself that he was okay. She cooked for him on Sundays and knew by heart all the dishes he loved: rice pilaf, okra, meat and potato casserole, and baked macaroni. For dessert he liked Umm Ali, mahalabiya, and rice pudding. Thank God she had learned to cook from her mother, winning his admiration. Several times as he was enjoying her cooking and devouring the food he told her: “May God bless your hands, Shaymaa.”
How this sentence made her happy! She gladly forgot the hours she had spent in the kitchen. She would thank him, blushing, looking at him at length as if saying, That’s a drop in the bucket of what I’ll do for you when we get married.
At night, when she went to bed, her fantasy would take her far away: she would see herself sitting on the dais in her white wedding gown. What would the wedding be like? A big affair with famous singers and dancers attended by dozens of guests? Or a quiet dinner with relatives only? Where would they spend the honeymoon? Sharm al-Sheikh or Marsa Matruh? People said Turkey was beautiful and inexpensive. Where would they live after the wedding: in Cairo or Tanta? How many children would they have, and would she be allowed to name them Aisha and Muhammadi after her mother and father?
Despite the joy she felt because of Tariq’s presence in her life, she couldn’t understand the way he behaved sometimes. He cared for her and insisted on seeing her and treated her gently; then suddenly, for no reason or preliminaries, he turned into a gruff person as if possessed by a devil, yelling at her and scolding her for the slightest reasons. When that happened, she would fall silent, never talking back, following her mother’s advice: a wise woman does not go into combat with a man like his peer, rather she contains him with her kindness and provides him with rest, as the noble Qur’an put it. That does not detract from her dignity. If she responds to an insult with an insult the argument turns into a fierce battle, but if she holds herself back, his conscience will make him sleepless at night and he will come back to her and apologize.
It was not his fits of anger, however, that worried her the most. She felt somehow that he was not resenting her, but rather his feelings toward her. It was as if he were resisting his love for her by quarreling with her. She also took some comfort in the quarrels, for after all, they were rehearsals for married life; since they were happening, then it was possible also for marriage to take place. What really worried her and kept her awake at night was something else: their relationship had lasted for a long time and they had been close in all respects, but to date he had not uttered a single word about love or marriage. And despite her total lack of experience in matters of love (with the exception of her silent, unrequited love for the next-door neighbors’ son when she was in her first year of secondary school), she was certain that Tariq’s attitude was unnatural. If he loved her, why didn’t he tell her? He was serious, brilliant, and religious and couldn’t be just after having a good time. He was also respectable and respectful; he hadn’t touched her body at all except twice (actually, three times) when they rubbed against each other, accidentally, in the crowded train. Why didn’t he say something then? Was he afraid of the responsibility? Or was he an inexperienced boy who didn’t know how to deal with women? Did he want to put her to the test before committing to her? Could he have a fiancee in Egypt and he was keeping the engagement secret by taking off the ring? Worse than that: could he be unsure that she was fit to be his children’s mother? Like her he came from a conservative religious family. Did he take their spending time together as proof that she was loose?
That would really be a catastrophe! He must understand that she went out with him only because of the exceptional circumstances of her being away from home. Had he met her in Egypt he wouldn’t have got from her anything but a casual conversation like any other colleague. Why didn’t he say anything? She had hinted and encouraged him several times, but he ignored the hints. O God, all she was hoping for was one sentence: “I love you, Shaymaa, and I want to marry you.” Was that too much for him to say? She had been assailed by apprehensions and worries since yesterday, so she woke up this morning having made up her mind. She had to stop at the college lab to check the samples of her research, and then catch up with Tariq in Lincoln Park, where they had lunch together every Saturday. I won’t accept any more stalling. Today I bring everything to a definitive resolution, she said to herself as she carried her palm-frond bag. She raised her chin and pursed her lips and quickly went to the L station, where the train took her in a few minutes to the park. Tariq was there, sitting as usual on their favorite marble bench close to the fountain. He welcomed her warmly, but she responded in a reserved manner. She sat next to him and spread a blue tablecloth, and then placed the sandwiches and dessert carefully on paper plates next to the thermos filled with mint tea. Tariq devoured two large pita sandwiches filled to the rim, one with chicken bologna studded with olives and the other with scrambled eggs with basterma. Then he took visible delight in sipping a cup of mint tea. Then, looking with interest at the bowl of mahalabiya garnished with raisins and coconut, “May God save your hands, Shaymaa. The food is fantastic, as usual.”
She immediately began carrying out her plan.
“Have you read Sheikh Shaarawi’s commentary on the glorious Qur’an?” she asked. “I used to follow it on television in Egypt.”
“You must read it. I brought it with me and I read it every night.”
“Sheikh Shaarawi was a great sc
holar.”
“God have mercy on his soul. God gave him the ability to explain the greatness of Islam.”
“God be praised.”
“Islam has not neglected any aspect of life, great or small.”
“Of course.”
“Would you believe that Islam has spoken of love?”
Tariq turned toward the fountain and began to study the water gushing from its openings. “Islam encourages love so long as it doesn’t lead to sin,” she went on.
Tariq sighed and looked somewhat worried, but she kept at him. “Sheikh Shaarawi has issued a fatwa that if a young man and a young woman were to feel love for each other it would not be forbidden so long as they intended to get married.”
“That stands to reason, of course.”
“What do you think?”
“By the way, Shaymaa, I’ve discovered a very inexpensive pizza place on Rush Street.” She fixed him with an angry look and said, “Why are you changing the subject?”
“What subject?”
“Shaarawi.”
“What about Shaarawi?”
“He asserts that love is not forbidden so long as it leads to marriage.”
“You’re repeating what you’ve said already. I don’t understand what this has to do with us,” he said sharply. A profound silence ensued, interrupted only by the sound of the water in the fountain and the shouts of the children playing nearby. She got up suddenly and said as she gathered her things in the bag, “I am going back to the dorm.”
“Why?”
“I just remembered that I have an exam tomorrow.”
“Stay a little. It’s early and it’s so nice out here.”
She looked at him irritably, then adjusted her glasses with her finger and said in exasperation, “Enjoy it all by yourself.”
“Wait a minute, Shaymaa,” Tariq shouted to stop her, but she moved away quickly. He got up and almost hurried after her, but a few moments later he returned to his seat and followed her with his eyes until she disappeared in the crowd.
Chapter 12
Despite the fearsome aura that surrounded Ahmad Danana, a closer look would uncover an ambiguously feminine side to him. This doesn’t mean that he is a hermaphrodite, God forbid, for he was born fully male, but there are various traits that make him look more like a shrewish woman than a stern man: his soft body is chubby with no visible muscles; the way he raises his eyebrows when surprised; the way he purses his lips and places his hands on his hips when angry; his fondness for details and secrets and his passion for gossip and use of expressions that have double meanings; his always kissing those he meets on their cheeks; and his use of womanly terms of endearment such as “darling” and “my heart’s love.” This feminine side came as a result of the influence his late mother, Hagga Badriya, had on him. For even though she was illiterate, she was a strong-willed and intractable woman who ruled with an iron fist a large household of four boys, two girls, and their father. One glance from her was enough to confound any member of the family, beginning with her husband, who with age had turned into something akin to a private secretary or an obedient underling. Danana had so internalized his mother’s personality that, unconsciously, especially when he became tense, he started adopting her mannerisms in expression, emulating the tone of her voice, her glances, and all her gestures.
Thus, after he quarreled with Marwa and slapped her, he began his machinations: he shunned her and whenever he saw her he would pout and glance at her contemptuously or sigh and throw his hands up in the air and ask God’s forgiveness in an audible voice. Or, after performing his ablution on his way to the prayer rug, he would pass by her as she watched television and throw a loaded expression at her, such as saying, for instance, “God suffices unto me, He is my best defender. May God enable me to withstand my misfortune.” Or he would say, “I hereby recite the Fatiha for my mother’s soul, she was a model wife.” This was his way of punishing his wife. Someone might ask, why was he punishing her to begin with? Shouldn’t he be apologizing to her because he slapped her?
The answer is that Danana belongs to that class of people who never blame themselves. He always thinks he is right while others make all the mistakes. He believes that the only blemish on his character is the excessive goodness of his heart, which the wicked — who were so numerous — exploited to further their own interests at his expense. He was convinced that Marwa had wronged him, that it was she who had behaved insolently toward him, forcing him to hit her. Besides, what was wrong with administering to her, from time to time, one slap of moderate strength to return her to her senses? Didn’t the unimpeachable canon law permit a man to beat his wife to discipline her? And what was wrong in his borrowing money from her father? Wasn’t it a wife’s duty to stand by her husband? Didn’t Khadija, may God be pleased with her, help her husband, the noblest of all creation, prayers and peace be upon him, with money? His wife had committed a terrible wrong against him for which she had to apologize. Were he to go easy on her this time, she would continue in her misguided ways until he lost control of her.
As for her complaint about their sexual intercourse, he considered that, with total confidence, a kind of woman’s coquettishness, no more and no less. Pleasure and pain for a woman were so intertwined that at the peak of her pleasure she cried, as if someone were beating her up violently. Hence, everything that a woman complained about in sex was, most likely in reality, a source of happiness for her. Danana once heard from one of his friends something that he came to be convinced of: that every woman’s deepest desire was to be violently raped. That indeed was what women wanted, even if they pretended otherwise. So that made woman a mysterious, incomprehensible, and contradictory being that said no when she meant yes! Didn’t the old poet say, “They show reluctance when [in fact] they desire it”? It is true that women are lacking in reason and religion, and a true man has to subjugate a woman in life as he does in bed; he should control her and lead her and, at the same time, never give her his full trust. The good ancestors handed down to us several sayings to this effect:
“Consult women, then do the opposite.”
“Fools are known by three signs: playing with lions, drinking poison to try it, and trusting women with secrets.”
And, “Avoid evil women and be cautious with good ones.”
That was how Danana viewed women, even though his experience with them before marriage had been confined to the few occasions when he had slept with maids and female farmhands for measly sums, which he had agreed to beforehand but which, once he’d had his way with them, he haggled hard to pay less. Perhaps the fact that his experience was limited to prostitutes could explain his understanding of sex not as a two-way human interaction, but rather as a violent, one-sided male act during which a woman enjoyed being raped.
Danana tightened the siege of his wife and intensified his campaign of innuendo, waiting for the moment when she would cave in and offer him an appropriate apology. But days passed and she still avoided him. In fact, the slap she had received, despite being a horrendous insult, liberated her from any feeling of marital commitment, and the shunning spared her the physical torture she had suffered several times a week. That reprieve gave her a chance to think carefully about her life with him: What did she intend to do? Her hatred of Danana had reached its utmost, but she hadn’t told her mother yet that she wanted a divorce. She was waiting until she sorted out her thoughts and knew exactly what she was going to say, like a lawyer giving herself time to study a case so that she could organize her documents and brief in such a way as to guarantee that she would prevail. She was certain of her parents’ support if they were convinced of her suffering. Her father, who burst into tears as he saw her off at the airport, and her mother, who couldn’t sleep at night if she had a simple common cold, wouldn’t leave her in that hell. She was going to call them the following Friday, when Danana would be at the Student Union meeting and her father would be just coming home. She was going to talk to them at length and tell t
hem everything in detail. Even that private matter, she would hint at. She was giving them one option: separation and return to Egypt at once. As soon as she made up her mind she calmed down. She no longer paid any attention to his insinuations, sighs, or provocative comments. Why should she waste her energy on a new quarrel? In a few days she would leave this torment behind.
Something unexpected happened, however. The first of the month came and Marwa didn’t give Danana the thousand dollars that her father had sent. She had forgotten the matter in the midst of the problems, but Danana had not. When several days of the new month had passed, his worries increased and he was beset by apprehensions. He even suspected that she had initiated the problem between the two of them deliberately to withhold that monthly sum or to blackmail him with her demands or, more dangerously, to establish the principle that her father’s money was negotiable, that she would give it if she was happy and withhold it if she was not. All those considerations made him change his methods; so he stopped his harassment and whenever he saw her would say right away “peace be upon you,” then look at her with an understanding, loving glance tinged with a little reproach. Yesterday he took a further step and sat next to her in front of the television. She was watching an Adel Imam movie and he began to laugh out loud as a prelude to speaking with her. But she ignored him completely, as if he were not there. So he gave up and went to bed.
In the morning he got up, washed, and performed his ablution and his prayers, then sat in the living room drinking tea and smoking. After a while Marwa appeared and no sooner did she see him than she turned around to leave, but he said right away, “Please, Marwa. I want to talk to you about an important matter.”
“May it be good, God willing,” she said with an impassive face. He got up, got close to her, and held her hand. She jerked her hand away and shouted, “Don’t touch me.”
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