The Occasional Virgin

by Hanan al-Shaykh

  The feelings of the past: violence and moral rectitude, violence mixed with affection and melancholy, to which she was a witness in spite of herself; her parents’ abstemiousness in this life, and their longing for the next life, to the extent that when her father was enjoying eating spinach pastries, he used to say to her mother, ‘They are as good as if the houris in Paradise prepared them and the angels brought them to us!’

  Huda remembers being fascinated by the neighbours’ peacock, how she took to standing in front of it for hours, feeding it bread and chickpeas, until her mother said ‘The peacock in Paradise is much more beautiful than the neighbours’ peacock. Its tail is like an endlessly flowing river.’

  The religious studies teacher described life in Paradise to his pupils: ‘No work, no hardship; no sickness, pain or poverty; a life of comfort and ease, delicious food and lemonade on tap, lots of restaurants and the smell of kebabs wafting through the air; men sitting with houris under trees, watched by stars pale and bright, not to mention the waterfalls of wine cascading down.’

  She used to say to herself, Why is almost everything allowed in Paradise, and forbidden and taboo on earth! And the biggest bargains ever are in heaven, so no expensive weddings, no rent to pay or washing machines to buy and no midwives’ fees, school fees or medical costs. Everyone is equal. So will Japanese people there understand me when I speak, and will I understand Russian?

  She put her hand up, aged thirteen, and asked the teacher: ‘If the houris are the men’s reward, what about the women, sir?’ ‘Rest,’ answered the teacher. ‘Their reward is rest, daughter, peace of mind and rest for the body and the soul. They will not be responsible for anything. They will lie in the gardens of Paradise and all varieties of fruit will hang from the trees and they won’t even have to stand up to pick them. They won’t have to do the laundry or wash the dishes, iron the clothes or cook or hoover. In short, my little daughter, in Paradise a woman will be a princess.’

  She told him she didn’t think her aunt would allow her uncle to sit with a houri because she was very jealous. The teacher nearly burst out laughing, but he controlled himself and replied smiling, ‘Your aunt will grow slimmer and more beautiful in paradise and become a strong, slender, charming young woman again, with skin as smooth as marble.’

  She wasn’t convinced by what he said, for God knows everything and He knows that there are a lot of people praying and fasting and following His commands in order to enter Paradise rather than hellfire, so their obedience to God is based on their fear for themselves; that is, on selfishness and hypocrisy. The whole human race should follow the example of the Sufi poet, Rabia al-Adawiyya, who said, ‘When I die, I will set Paradise on fire and pour water into Hell, so Heaven and Hell will no longer be reasons for people to worship God.’

  All of it made her lie awake thinking confused thoughts, and feel indolent and apathetic in the daytime. Some days she stayed away from school and spent the time in the vegetable markets, or in the meat markets watching the chicken and fish being sold, then went home as if she had been at school all day. When that started to happen frequently, the head teacher asked to see her father. Huda lied and claimed it was her father who stopped her going to school and that she was there today without him knowing, because he had gone on a trip outside Beirut. The truth was that Huda had come to school that day because she missed the pigeons on the roof of the house next door to the school, and the pigeon fancier calling each of them by name: Taj al-’Arus, Malikat Saba, Umm Kulthum. Huda continued to fabricate numerous excuses and lies about how busy her father was and why he was unable to come to the school to meet the head teacher, until finally the head teacher decided to visit Huda’s house herself. At this point, Huda gave in and was honest with her: ‘Why should I bother to waste my time studying in this life, when I’m supposed to focus on the next life, like my parents?’ The head teacher, whose family came from Iran, understood Huda’s excuse and began to warm to her and walk her home from school most days, since Huda’s home wasn’t far from the school. On the way, she bought her candy floss and pistachios and talked to her about Sufism and Sufis. One thing she said stuck in Huda’s mind, a phrase that the head teacher urged Huda to repeat to her parents: ‘Those who are abstemious in this life for fear of punishment are like incense, giving off the sweetest, purest fragrances when lit, then ending up as smoke and ashes.’

  When I was born … says Huda to herself, looking at the artificial flowers in a Nescafé jar in Hisham’s room, I was glowing, not dark and gloomy like my parents, because I wasn’t nourished on their words, but on the fresh air filtered by my lungs. All the same, their blood ran through my brain and heart and eyes. Then, as time went by, instead of clinging on to them, I learnt to confront them, a separate human being, not joined to them by anything more than the love we exchanged, which I only gleaned from a word here and there or from seeing the care with which food was prepared for me.

  How can one person think for another? How could they have expected her to surrender her mind to them? Yet she was still sometimes in doubt when she heard sayings in her childhood like ‘Love of life is a sin’; ‘Your body must remain out of sight in the dark shadow of clothes so that the sun does not stain it.’

  ‘My daughter is sinful and dresses in an immoral way and I am a religious man who gives spiritual guidance to others,’ wailed her father tearfully, while her mother tried to sniff out the smell of the sea on her daughter. Meanwhile Huda only had to put her head on the pillow to feel the earth whirling her around, showing her the North Pole, Eskimos in their igloos, the skyscrapers of New York, and the house in China belonging to the characters from the novel The Good Earth. And only in bed did Huda sing the song that for some reason her mother had objected to the neighbours’ girls singing: ‘I’m thirsty, lads, show me the way.’

  Strange how her pious, conservative mother had agreed to her going to Canada, to the unknown, without it occurring to her that there Huda would be completely free with no one to keep an eye on her, sleeping with anybody she wanted! And how she thought her brother would be with her day and night, as if he was his sister’s guardian, even though there was an hour and a half’s train ride between them.

  When schools and colleges closed their doors in the clamour of the civil war, it was her mother who borrowed money to send her to Canada so that she could complete her education: ‘That’s what your father would have wished. He believed that girls should be educated just like men. He wanted you to become important: a lawyer or a political adviser, like in the days of the Prophet, peace be upon him.’

  How often her father had defended Huda when her mother screamed at her and threatened her, forcing her to help with the housework. He used to say, ‘Let her focus on her studies. Let her immerse herself in the treasures of knowledge and learning. School is more important for her now than domestic duties. Let her safeguard her future.’

  Huda used to think that the war had taken place, harvesting the souls of the young men, the kidnap victims, the fighters, for her sake, so that everyone would forget that she had caused her father’s death. Then she had changed her mind, for war is war. She was afraid of it, afraid of the shrapnel. Death was around her, searching for new victims every day. The neighbours’ son, Hassan, went to his aunt’s house to fetch a dress for his mother and on his way home he was struck by a piece of shrapnel and died on the spot. The same thing with the greengrocer, their neighbour and her children, and her brother’s friend.

  In peacetime, when the butcher slaughtered a chicken, she used to feel sad to see it flapping around in terror with the blood spouting from its neck, or rolling in the earth in the garden or running down the street with the children after it. Huda wished she could pick it up and hold it in her arms, but she had to make do with writing in chalk on the ground at the spot where the chicken had finally expired, ‘The tree of forgetfulness does not grow where blood flows’, a phrase she had learnt at school that stuck in her mind.

  Isn’t it strange that H
isham told her that the hens who cry like roosters should be slaughtered, and here’s the hen now, lying in the rooster’s coop that he himself opened for her!

  Huda hears a knock at the door. She wakes up abruptly from a deep sleep, still suffering from jet lag. She sees Hisham standing some distance away in the corridor.

  ‘Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. I was fast asleep. Give me a few moments and I’ll be gone.’

  ‘Has your friend come home?’

  ‘I told you before that she won’t be back before midnight, but I’ll leave anyway. Thanks. I’ll never forget how kind you’ve been.’

  ‘Thanks is due to God alone. We should all be charitable.’

  She hurriedly picks up her bag from the chair and sits on the bed to fasten her shoes, while he waits outside. She puts on her jacket and comes out into the corridor.

  ‘Thank you for everything. Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye.’ He goes into his room and closes the door.

  After a few steps she turns back and knocks on his door. ‘My phone. I think I may have left it here.’ She enters the room in a leisurely way, removes the blanket from the bed with deliberate movements, slowly stands upright again. ‘I’ll take the blanket with me to wash it, then I’ll bring it back to you.’

  ‘No. There’s no need for that.’

  When she doesn’t find the phone, she bends down to look under the bed, consciously remaining in that position for some time.

  ‘What’s your number? I’ll call it.’

  ‘I don’t know. I bought it here in London and I haven’t learnt it yet.’

  He searches with her, muttering ‘In the Name of God’ exactly like her mother and father used to do, the difference being that they quickly found whatever they’d lost, completely trusting that God would respond to their prayers, she thought.

  ‘Did you go to the bathroom?’

  Huda claps a hand to her head, feigning embarrassment, and hurries to the bathroom, waiting inside for a few moments before exclaiming petulantly, ‘God, what have I done to deserve this?’ Then in a louder voice, ‘God help me. Help me, Lord.’ And she breaks into a fit of sobbing that rises to a wail.

  He asks her to make less noise in case people hear and think she’s being attacked. Hastily she opens the virginity pack, looking at it and whispering, ‘Come on, help me become a virgin again so he loses his mind,’ and pushes the strawberry up between her legs. She puts the empty packet in her bag then changes her mind, opens the window and puts it on the outside window ledge, but doesn’t emerge from the bathroom until he whispers, ‘Sister Huda, sister Huda.’ When he sees that she is still sobbing loudly, he asks her to come back into his room, placing a finger on his lips to indicate that she should calm down.

  ‘I don’t know what’s happened to me. Since I went to Speakers’ Corner this morning, I’ve had nothing but problems. First there was the crow that dropped its filth on me, then you shouted in my face and insulted me. I lost thirty pounds in the restaurant, left my key at home, the friend you saw with me didn’t take me to Oxford like she promised. Then I had a dizzy spell and fainted in front of you at the bus stop, and now I’ve lost my phone. I can’t take it any more.’

  She flings herself at him, sobbing noisily, and the more vigorously he tries to fend her off, the more tightly she clings to him. She feels the vein in his neck throbbing violently even as he wriggles to free himself from her. When he finally manages to push her away, he says with some irritation, ‘Please control yourself, sister.’

  ‘Do you think I have a self to control? I feel that I’m nothing, that my self has abandoned me, I feel …’

  ‘You must be in this state because of the bad thoughts I had about you this morning when I was so angry with you. Forgive me, Lord.’ Then raising his voice, ‘Forgive me, sister.’

  You think you’re so pious. Let’s see how pious you are in a minute, she thought.

  Out loud she said in as weak and feeble a voice as she could muster, ‘God must have responded to these thoughts of yours because you’re so devout and He wanted to teach me a lesson. Sorry, I meant to say Almighty God. Please forgive me so that I can be free of this evil that pursues me.’ She lunges at him like a bloodsucking mosquito, then flings her arms around him, clinging to him, holding him tight in both arms. She can hear his heart beating.

  ‘Sister, sister.’ He pushes her off him. ‘What you’re doing is haram. It goes against our true religion. You’re spoiling my ablutions and my prayers and making me fall into sin.’

  ‘But God Almighty knows that my intentions are pure. And deeds are judged by their intentions, aren’t they?’

  His voice takes on a warning note as if he is at Speakers’ Corner: ‘Have you gone mad? I don’t care about intentions. What you’re doing is completely wrong. Please, I don’t want to regret my good deed. You must chase the Devil away.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she mumbles, staring at the ceiling.

  Then she catches him off guard and throws herself at him again and holds him tight, saying, ‘Sorry, brother. Don’t be angry with me.’

  He disengages himself from her, raising his hands heavenwards and saying in a loud voice, ‘Forgive me, Lord. There is no power or strength save in Almighty God.’

  He rushes to the window, opening it violently as if he is a prisoner, calling for God’s help, asking to be rescued from his tribulations. But only the noise of the cars and the roar of the city surge into the room. He clutches his head, muttering, ‘God protect me from the Devil. Control yourself, Hisham. Haste is the Devil’s work. Slow down. You’ll regret it. You’ll become the lowest of the low. The hereafter lasts longer than fleeting pleasure!’

  He punches the wall, the fridge door, the opposite wall, trying to calm himself down and relieve his agitation, while Huda stands there in amazement as if she’s watching a scene from a play, stranger than any she’s ever witnessed. Although she expected him to reject her advances, she hadn’t imagined his resistance would be so frenzied and finds her eagerness to seduce him growing, the more he resists. He moves violently away from her, waving his hands around in the air like a helicopter’s propeller to prevent her coming near him.

  ‘I’m really sorry, brother Hisham. Trust me, I didn’t mean what … In any case, I’m going, and if you come across my phone please throw it in the rubbish bin.’

  She opens the door, pretending to leave, but is surprised to find two maids wearing blue overalls trying to drag a heavy carpet along the corridor, making it impossible for her to pass.

  ‘We’ve caught you in the act. Trying to steal the carpet, were you?’ jokes Hisham. Then he introduces Huda to them: ‘This is my sister Huda.’ He looks at Huda. ‘Ah, I forgot something. Come back in.’

  She follows him, suddenly cheerful. ‘I thought Muslims didn’t lie or dissemble, “Brother”!’

  ‘I didn’t lie. You really are my sister in religion. And this is why we triumphed over Satan when he tried to tempt us and lead us astray. Thank God, we blocked his path.’

  ‘I thought you misunderstood me, or thought badly of me. It’s true I held you close, but I had no impure feelings. I just needed to be reassured and to feel safe, nothing else, trust me. Anyway, I’m so happy you consider me your sister in religion and a true Muslim.’

  He doesn’t reply, his face remaining expressionless, so she makes as if to leave.

  ‘Never mind. I must go now, to make sure the Devil leaves the building!’

  ‘Please don’t make fun of me. I have good intentions towards you. Will you marry me?’ He frowns as he speaks, evidently expecting a quick answer.

  ‘Did you really say what I think you said?’

  ‘Yes. Will you marry me?’

  Completely taken aback, she has no idea how to reply. Rather than ‘You must be out of your mind’, she answers, ‘My father was a religious man, and he hoped I’d marry a pious and decent young man. He always used to say to me “Don’t fear those who fear the Lord”! Perhaps you would have been the idea
l husband for me in his eyes. But I’m sorry, I’m not thinking of marriage at present.’ She takes a deep breath before continuing, ‘And also, we don’t know each other. You don’t know me nearly well enough to marry me!’

  ‘What I do know is that I find you very attractive. Let’s get married this minute. I say to you “I have married you before God and His Prophet” and you say the same thing to me, then you’ll be my wife and I’ll be your husband.’

  Huda sighs deeply. So it’s to be a marriage of a few moments, an hour, a day or two!

  She hasn’t expected her plan to run so smoothly. He sleeps with her, discovers she’s a virgin and regrets calling her names and treating her so hatefully, is maybe even sorry that he tried to shut her up, subdue her, sorry for believing that every Muslim woman who didn’t cover herself was a fallen woman with no place in society.

  ‘What do you say? Do you accept?’

  ‘Slow down. It must be the Devil tempting you to offer me temporary marriage. You’re trying to trick me into thinking that this is a real marriage, even though there are no witnesses and we’re not in front of a cleric. All this just so that you can sleep with me.’

  ‘Can we possibly compare the two witnesses, Almighty God and His noble Prophet, peace be upon him, with ordinary human beings?’

  ‘You’ve convinced me. I accept.’