Bahija brought her chair close to the desk and said in a low voice, “Excuse me, al-Sayyid, sir, for this visit. Necessity has its own laws.”
Looking dignified and grave, al-Sayyid Ahmad immediately replied, “Welcome to you. Your visit is an honor and a favor for us.”
Smiling, she answered in a tone that revealed her gratitude, “Thank you. Praise to God I've found you in good spirits and good health.”
He in turn thanked her and prayed that she would be well and strong. Then she was silent for a few moments before saying with concern, “I've come for an important reason. I was told he had consulted you in due time and received your consent. I refer to Yasin Effendi's request to marry my daughter Maryam. Was I correctly informed? This is what I've come to discover.”
Ahma d Abd al-Jawad lowered his eyes to keep her from reading in them his resentment at her words. He was not deceived by her pretense at concern for his consent. Let her try her wiles on some other man unfamiliar with what lay hidden behind them. He for one knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was all the same to her whether he gave his consent or withheld it. Did she not realize why he had not accompanied Yasin on his visit to her? Even so, she had come to force him to proclaim his approval and for some other reason, which would shortly be revealed.
He looked up at her with calm eyes and said, “Yasin told me of his plan and I wished him success. Maryam has always been like a daughter to us.”
“May God grant me the blessing of your being favored with a long life. This marriage tie will be a prestigious honor for us.”
“1 thatik you for your compliment.”
She said fervently, “I'm pleased to tell you frankly that I postponed announcement of my consent until I could be certain of yours.”
“Bitch!” he exclaimed to himself. “She probably announced her approval even before seeing Yasin.”
“Mrs. Umm Maryam, I can only repeat my thanks.”
“For that reason, the first thing I told Yasin Effendi was: 'Let me be sure your father agrees before anything else, for every other consideration is negligible compared to his wrath.'”
“My God, my God!” She had no sooner stolen the mule than she was busy throwing ropes around his master.
“Coming from you, such a noble statement is hardly unusual.”
With triumphant enthusiasm she continued her verbal offensive: “Al-Sayyid, sir, you're a man after our own heart, the best anyone would boast of in our whole quarter.”
The guile of women and their coquetry how fed up he was with both. Could she possibly imagine that he was wallowing in the dust to pursue the affections of a lute player once scorned by drunkards?
He replied modestly, “God forgive me.”
In a sad tone, her voice rising enough so that he was afraid those at the far end of the store would hear her, she said, “I was very sad to learn he had left his father's home.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad shook hishead to caution her not to speak too loudly. Before she could say anything more, he commented with a frown, “The fact is, his conduct angered me. I was amazed he had done such a stupid thing. He should have asked my advice first, but he carried his belongings to Palace of Desire Alley. Only then did he come to apologize to me! A juvenile prank, Mrs. Umm Maryam…. I lectured him, ignoring his alleged disagreement with Amina. That was a silly reason for him to give in an attempt to justify even more foolish behavior.”
“By your life, that's exactly what I told him. But Satan is ingenious. I also advised him that Mrs. Amina is not to be blamed. May our Lord console her for her sufferings. In any case, from someone like you, al-Sayyid, sir, pardon can be hoped.”
With a flick of his wrist he seemed to say, “Let's drop this.”
She commented ingratiatingly, “But I'll only be satisfied with a full pardon and your approval.”
“Pshaw!” If only he could tell her frankly how disgusted he was with all of them: her, her daughter, and the great mule.
“Yasin's my son in any event. May God guide him to the right path….”
She leaned her head back a little and left it there while she savored the pleasures of success and victory. Then she continued in a gentle voice: “May our Lord be gracious to you, al-Sayyid Ahmad. On my way over, I asked myself, ‘Do you suppose he'll disappoint me and send me away empty-handed? Or will he treat his old neighbor the way he used to, in the past?’ Praise God, you always live up to people's expectations. May God extend your life and enjoyment of health and strength.”
“She thinks she's pulling the wool over my eyes,” he told himself “And she's entitled to. You're a failure as a father. Your best son has died, the second's a loss, and the third isheadstrong. This has all happened over my dead body, you bitch.”
“I can't thank you enough,” he said.
Bowing her head, she observed, “Whatever I've said of you is far less t ban you deserve. How frequently I confessed that to you in the past….”
“Oh, the past! Close that door, by the life of the mule whose acquisition you've come to record”. He spread his hand across his chest to express his thanks.
She said dreamily, “Why not? Didn't I love you more than any man before or after you?”
This was what she wanted. Why had he not realized it from the first moment? “She hasn't come for Yasin or Maryam but for me. No, you've come for your own sake, you whom time has not changed in any respect save to deprive you of youth. But not so fast. … Can you really bring back a day that's over and done with?”
He allowed her remark to pass without comment, limiting himself to a smile of thanks. She grinned so broadly that her teeth were visible through her veil.
Somewhat critically she said, “It seems you don't remember a thing….”
He wanted to apologize for his apparent disinterest without hurting her feelings. He said, “I no longer have a mind in my head capable of remembering anything.”
She cried out sympathetically, “You've grieved far more than you should. Life can't tolerate or allow this, when you - if you'll excuse me for saying it are accustomed to a pleasant life. The grkf that would affect an ordinary man one carat has a twenty-four-carat impact on you.”
“It's a sermon intended to benefit the preacher,” he reflected. “If only Yasin was as easily satiated as I am. Why do I find you repulsive? You're certainly more obedient than Zanuba and incomparably less expensive. It seems my heart has developed a will to suffer.”
With a combination of humility and cunning he asked, “How can a grieving heart laugh?”
As though glimpsing a ray of hope she quickly said with enthusiasm, “Laugh so your heart may laugh. Don't wait for it to laugh first. It's out of the question to think it will laugh all by itself after it's suffered from depression for such a long time. Resume your old life. Its joy, now slumbering, will return to you. Search out the things that delighted you in previous times as well as your former lovers. How do you know that there are no hearts that have stayed true to you, yearning for you, despite your long avoidance of them?”
Despite his better judgment hisheart was transported by such delight that his thoughts strayed. This really was the way people ought to speak to Ahmad Abd al-Jawad. Words like these, accompanied by the tinkling of glasses, had caressed his ears during their parties. If only the lute player heard praise like this, perhaps she would curb her excesses. “Too bad it's someone you loathe who is praising you,” he brooded.
In a tone that gave no hint of his secret delight, he said, “Those days have passed.”
She reared back in protest and said, “By the Lord of al-Husayn, you're still a young man…”. Smiling modestly, she continued: “You're a camel and as handsome as the full moon. Your time isn't up and never will be. Don't consider yourself old prematurely. Or let others make that decision, for they may see you in a different light than you do yourself.”
He replied politely but in a tone that graciously expressed his desire to terminate their conversation: “Rest assured, Mrs. Umm Mary
am, that I'm not killing myself with grief. I've found various amusements to distract me from my sorrow.”
Her enthusiasm waning a little, she asked, “Does that suffice to raise the spirits of a man like you?”
“My soul aspires to nothing more,” he answered contentedly.
He seemed to have flustered her, but she pretended to be at ease as she said, “Thank God I've found you with the peace of mind and tranquillity I wish for you.”
Then there was nothing more to say. She rose and held out a hand covered with the end of her wrap. They shook hands and, preparing to depart, she said, “J hope I leave you in good health.”
She left, averting her eyes because she was unable to conceal their disappointed look.
85
THE SUARES omnibus went down al-Husayniya Street, and then its two emaciated horses began to traverse the asphalt of al-Abbasiya Street, as the driver goaded them on with his long whip. Kamal was sitting at the front of the vehicle at the end of a bench close to the driver. With a slight turn of hishead the boy could see al-Abbasiya Street stretching out in front of his eyes. It was wider than the streetshe was used to in the old part of town and so lengthy that it appeared to have no end. The surface was level and smooth, and the houses on either side were huge with spacious grounds and lush gardens.
He admired al-Abbasiya greatly, and the love and respect he harbored for that area bordered on reverence. The underlying reasons for his admiration were the district's cleanliness, its careful planning, and the restful calm reigning over its residences. All these characteristics were alien to his ancient and noisy district. His love and respect were attributable to al-Abbasiya's being the homeland for hisheart and the residence for his love, since it was the location of his beloved's mansion.
During the past four yearshe had come this way repeatedly with an alert heart and fine-honed senses. Thushe had everything memorized. Wherever he looked, he found an image that was familiar enough to be the face of an old friend. All of the region's landmarks, sights, side streets, and many of its residents were associated in his mind with thoughts, emotions, and fantasies which in their totality had become the central focus of his life and the hub of his dreams. Wherever he turned he found an invitation for hisheart to prostrate itself in prayer.
He removed from his pocket a letter he had received two days earlier. It had been sent by Husayn Shaddad to inform him of his friend's return from the beach. Hasan Salim and Isma'il Latif had also come home. Kamal was invited to meet them at Husayn's house, and the Suares was taking him there. He looked at the letter with an eye that was dreamy, thankful, loving, reverent, adoring,and devoted, but not merely because it had been sent by his true love's brother. Kamal assumed that before Husayn wrote this letter the paper had been placed somewhere in the house. Her beautiful eye might have seen it as she passed or her fingers could have touched it, even accidentally. His hunch that the paper had lain near her transformed the letter into a symbol of something divine, which his spirit desired and hisheart sought.
He read through the letter for the tenth time until he reached the sentence: “We returned to Cairo on the evening of October first”. Without his knowing it, she had been in the capital for four days. Why had he not realized that? Why had he not sensed her presence there, whether by instinct, emotions, or intuition? How had the desolation that had enveloped him all summer long been able to spread its dark shadow over these four blessed days? Had his unbroken despair rendered him insensitive and dull? At any rate, hisheart was throbbing now, and his spirit was soaring blissfully. He was looking down from a towering pinnacle. From that vantage point the world's features seemed encircled by diaphanous and luminous halos, like reflections of things in the angelic world. His mind was aflame with vital energy, intoxicating delight, and drunken exaltation. But even at this moment he was haunted by pain, which for him was as constant an accompaniment to the happiness of his love as an echo is to sound. In the old days when hisheart was empty of love and oblivious, the Suares had carried him along this same route. What feelings, hopes, fears, and expectations had he experienced then? All he could remember of life before love was a set of bare-bones memories, which seemed worthless to him now that he had recognized the value of love. But he also longed for them whenever the pain was too great. Yet his mind was so overwhelmed by love that these previous memories almost seemed figments of his imagination. He had begun to date his life by love, saying, “That happened before love, or B.L., and this took place after love: A.L.”
The vehicle stopped at al-Wayliya, and Kamal put the letter back in his pocket. He got out and headed for Palaces Street, his eyes fixed on the first mansion on the right, at the edge of the desert. Viewed from the exterior, this two-story mansion seemed a massive, lofty structure. It fronted on Palaces Street, and behind it there was a spacious garden. The tops oftall trees were visible over a iaray wall of medium height that surrounded both the mansion and its garden, tracing out a vast rectangle, which extended into the desert. This image was imprinted on the pages of his mind, for he was captivated by the residence's majesty and enchanted by its magnificence. Its grandeur appeared to him to testify to the worth of the owner. Some of the windows that he could see were shuttered and others were hidden by curtains. This seclusion and reserve seemed to symbolize his beloved's distinction, purity, inviolability, and mystery, ideas reinforced by the expansive gardens and the desert, which stretched out to the horizon. Set here and there through the garden were towering palm trees. Ivy vines scrambled up the sides of the house, and intertwining jasmine branches sprawled over the garden walls. This vegetation besieged hisheart with clusters of memories like fruit on a tree. They whispered to him of ecstasy, pain, and devotion. They were a shadow of the beloved, a breath from her spirit, and a reflection of her features. Joined to what he knew of the family's exile in Paris, they provided an atmosphere of dreamy beauty. They were comparable to his love in their lofty sanctity and allusions to the mysterious world of the unknown.
Ashe approached the gate of the mansion, he saw the doorman, the cook, and the chauffeur sitting together on a nearby bench, as they usually did in the afternoon. When he reached them, the doorman stood up and announced: “Husayn Bey is waiting for you in the gazebo.”
Kamal went in, greeted by the blend of fragrances from the jasmine vines and from the carnations and roses in pots arranged on either side of the steps, which were a short distance inside the gate and led to a large veranda. Kamal veered off to the right on a side path between the mansion and the garden wall. It conveyed him to the top of the garden near the back porch of the house.
The walk through these sacred precincts was an ordeal for his pounding heart. He was treading underfoot a surface her feet had once traversed. His reverence was so great he could scarcely continue. He would have liked to stretch his hand out to the wall of the mansion to seek its blessing, as he had once at the sepulchre of al-Husayn, before he learned it was nothing but a symbol. In what area of the mansion might his beloved be disporting herself at the moment? What would he do if she favored him with one of her fascinating glances? If only he would find her in the gazebo, then his eye would be rewarded for all its forbearance, longing, and sleeplessness.
He looked around the garden and back to the rear wall, where the desert began. From the street side of the house, the afternoon sun was striking the tops of the trees, the palms, the sprays of jasmine covering the walls in every direction, and the circles, squares, and crescents of assorted flowers and roses, which were separated by paths of stone mosaic. Kamal went down the center walk that led to the gazebo in the middle of the garden. Husayn Shaddad was visible in the distance along with his two guests, Hasan Salim and Isma'il Latif. They were sitting on rattan chairs grouped around a circular wooden table on which glasses were set beside a water jug. Hearing cries of joy from Husayn, Kamal realized that they had noticed his arrival. His friends immediately stood up to greet him, and he embraced each of them, for they had been separated all summer
long.
“Praise God for your safe arrival.”
“We've missed you a lot.”
“How brown your faces have gotten. Now there's no difference between you and Isma'il.”
“You're the European among us darker types.”
“Soon everything will return to normal.”
“We were asking ourselves why we don't get tans from the sun in Cairo.”
“Who is brave enough to expose himself to the sun in Cairo -except someone wanting to get sunstroke?”
“What's the secret of this tanning process?”
“I remember we had an explanation of it in one of our courses; yes, perhaps in chemistry. Over the years we studied the sun in different subjects like astronomy, chemistry, and physics. In which of those do we find an explanation for tanning?”
“This question is moot. We're done with our secondary studies.”
“So give us news of Cairo, then.”
“No, you've got to tell me about Ra's al-Barr, and then Hasan and Isma 'il need to tell us about Alexandria. Just wait. There's time for every topic.”
The gazebo was nothing more than a round wooden roof supported by a massive post. The ground there was covered with sard and encircled by pots of roses. Its furnishings were limited to the wooden table and the rattan chairs. The young men sat near the table in a half circle facing the garden. They were obviously happy to be reunited, as the summer had separated them, except for Hasan Salim and Isma'il Latif, who usually spent the summer in Alexandria. They laughed at the slightest provocation and occasionally just on looking at each other - as if recalling comic memories. Kamal's three friends were wearing silk shirts and gray trousers, but he had on his lightweight gray suit. He considered the visit to al-Abbasiya a formal occasion. In his own district, he roamed everywhere content to put a jacket over his ankle-length shirt.
The Cairo Trilogy Page 79
