Return of the Spirit

by Tawfiq al-Hakim

  The time passed till only a moment remained before Mustafa’s turn. The nurse came to notify him. He asked him to be patient, saying he would go in directly after the lady who was currently in the dentist’s office.

  Mustafa rose immediately and headed for the hallway. He threw a quick glance at Saniya’s place in the women’s room and did not find her there. He concluded she was in the dentist’s office now, unless she had already left without his seeing her. Mustafa wasn’t agitated or sad, because he knew he would encounter her frequently in this clinic. The nurse came then to ask him to enter. He was a little surprised, since he had not seen anyone leave the dentist’s office. When Mustafa asked about that, the nurse told him the dentist’s office had another door that opened directly to the stairway.

  Mustafa finally went in. He was received by a man whose hair had gone gray and who was wearing something like a white linen overcoat. He realized that this was the dentist and greeted him. The dentist answered him quickly, motioning for him to sit in the examining chair. Mustafa tried to speak to show him the wisdom tooth he was going to complain about. The doctor, however, didn’t give him time and had him open his mouth. Taking a dental probe, he began to dig away at all of his teeth. After a moment he quit probing. Straightening up, he told this new customer that no fewer than twelve teeth needed fillings.

  How had he found these twelve? Who could say! Mustafa vainly attempted to convince him that all his teeth were sound, that he had eaten extremely well with them for years, and that his only complaint was the wisdom tooth. Even this tooth did not trouble him much. All this talk evaporated in the air. Mustafa was finally forced to yield to this dentist, who rolled up his sleeves and turned on the electric drill. He began to test Mustafa’s teeth, both the sound ones and those with cavities.

  When the doctor finished, he led his patient to his desk and began to write up a bill that specified the advance payment, the balance due, and future appointments. The appointments were what principally interested Mustafa. These appointments had to correspond to Saniya’s; otherwise what was the use then? But how could he arrange that when he didn’t know Saniya’s precise schedule? Was it possible or appropriate to say to the dentist, “Make my appointments at the same time and on the same day as those of Miss ___”? So Mustafa was in a quandary and hesitated. The dentist continued proposing days and hours to him while he used work as an excuse to refuse, anxiously and hesitantly. Finally he thought of picking three o’clock, for it was at about this time that Saniya came today. Then he thought that Saniya’s next appointment might be for the day after tomorrow, since you don’t get treatment two days in a row. He asked the dentist at once to make his next appointment for that day, declaring it should be for three o’clock sharp. The dentist paused for a moment and leafed through the appointment book in front of him. Then he looked up at Mustafa and told him that was not possible the day after tomorrow, because the lady who left just before he came in would return then to terminate her treatment begun two months before. If Mustafa wanted, he could come at three thirty, in other words just after her, like today. After that he could come at exactly three and take the place of that lady, since her treatment was ending.

  Her treatment was ending? Whose? How unfortunate! She had been coming here for two months? Had he come here today to take her place?

  Mustafa’s heart throbbed. He was startled by the thought that he would not be able to see her at the clinic and that her treatment was finished or would be finished in a couple of days. He had come in only at the end of the period. He couldn’t keep himself from shouting in surprise, “The young lady who was accompanied by her maid?”

  The dentist looked up at Mustafa with mild astonishment and replied in the affirmative. Mustafa added as though to himself, “Her treatment’s over? How can it be over?”

  The dentist corrected him with a smile. “Day after tomorrow will be the last day of treatment.”

  Mustafa paid the amount requested and accepted the appointment sheet, inattentively, glumly, and gravely. He departed, asking himself like a lunatic why he had agreed. Why would he come? How would he be able to come after she had stopped? What use was there to his coming?

  He had scarcely reached the stairway before he heard the dentist behind him, warning him from the clinic door not to eat any hot foods, or cold or hard food, from now on. He should observe extreme care when he chewed so as not to disturb the roots. He should confine his food, so far as possible, to liquids like broth, milk, and so on. There would be no harm in morsels of fresh bread dipped in the liquids. . . .

  Mustafa was furious. He descended the steps in a rage, saying to himself, “This is what I’ve accomplished today! All I’ve got to show for it is my broken teeth.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Mustafa returned home, sad and dejected. He couldn’t stop wondering how she had been going to the dentist for two months without his knowing. When he did find out, here she was completing her treatment and about to stop going. If only he had not learned about it. He always learned things too late!

  Now what was he going to do in order to see her? What a fine opportunity he would have had to meet her at the dentist’s and to follow her at a short distance going and coming. Now that this was no longer possible, what could he do? Seeing her on the balcony was a matter that could not be guaranteed.

  Mustafa fell asleep. When he got up, these ideas were still in his mind. In the midst of his dejection and despair he remembered that she was going to the dentist for the last time the next day and that no matter how bitter that reality was, he did have before him an opportunity to see her there the next day.

  He felt somewhat reassured by this thought, even though a voice called out to him at once asking what value there was to seeing her a single time when absence and separation for he knew not how long would follow.

  Mustafa trembled a little. He felt a strange emotion arising within him, a desire born of despair. He resolved straightaway to undertake a daring deed. The dentist’s appointment tomorrow was his last opportunity; he had to treat it with great care. Yes, when would circumstances arise again that would allow him to be near her under one roof? By God, if tomorrow did not work out, all his hopes would collapse. So he had better hold tight to this final day. He would strike with desperation and not think of the consequences.

  He went at once to the table and took some paper and a pen. He began to write and write, with sweat pouring down. Whenever he spawned a word or sentence it seemed that a part of himself emerged with it. He spent a large portion of the night bent over the paper revising what he had written. It seemed to him it wasn’t what he wanted to write. He would have liked something else or something more; there were things inside him that he knew, and he felt them overflowing and resounding, but none of them made it onto the page. He was forced, after fatigue and repeated revision had exhausted him, to retain what he had written, despite its defects, and put the letter in a clean white envelope. Then he went to bed. His eyes were bloodshot from staying up so late, from writing, and from his raging emotions.

  When Mustafa rose in the morning, the first thing he did was to take the long letter he had drafted the day before and reread it. He paused a moment, brooding apprehensively. At last he seized it and tore it into pieces, which he threw in the kitchen wastebasket.

  His mind was awake and refreshed this morning. It seemed to him that emotion had almost led him astray. Why was he writing such things to this girl? The pages were truthful. That was right. He was simply informing her of some of his sentiments for her. That was true. But what was all that to her? She might perhaps not be blamed if she said to herself after reading his letter: What does this man want from me? Yes, what does he hope to get with his pages gushing with emotions? He liked her! He couldn’t imagine life without seeing her. So he said. Fine! Then he should marry her! Instead of a long letter like this, he should go to her father or send someone as his deputy to him or to her mother to ar
range an engagement. Who? His maternal uncle’s wife could substitute for his deceased mother and this uncle could stand in for his late father. Then his thoughts moved from all this to his financial situation and how he would live after getting married. Should he take a dwelling suitable for her in Cairo then? Should he liquidate his business holdings in Al-Mahalla al-Kubra? But what would he do if he didn’t find employment in Cairo? What would be his social status? Would she be content with him if he had no occupation? But why should he concern his mind with all this? Was a man like him unable to procure a position? The important thing now was for him to follow the straight path and ask for her hand from her family. There was no place for vacuous letters. This was what his intellect dictated to him . . . his intellect of ten o’clock in the morning when the commotion of life and the activity of the material forces of renewal make all creatures subservient to materialist logic.

  But at noon, with the heat of the sun alleviated only by wisps of breeze from the Nile, the commotion abated a little. People stretched out in the shade with their eyelids half-closed against the glaring light that sketched undulating and quivering shapes in the air. It was a time when the imagination began to awaken and everything once again fell under the sway of emotion. Then Mustafa began to regret that he had torn up the letter. He looked at his watch. Only a short time remained before Saniya was scheduled to go to the doctor. This was his last chance! This was the last day he could meet her there. What had he prepared for this auspicious moment? How could he be lazy, hesitant, and indecisive at a time like this?

  Thus the other, emotional logic returned to him, and he unconsciously followed its dictates. He went immediately to the table and took paper and pen. But he came to a halt when he remembered what he had done that morning. Still he convinced himself by saying that he would not write numerous pages like yesterday. Instead he would make his feelings toward her clear in two words or two lines only. He remembered about asking for her hand from her family. There was nothing to be gained from the letter. He hesitated a little. But soon he felt the need to write his letter to her. Yes, he would ask for her hand and marry her if she accepted, God willing. But all that wouldn’t rule out this letter, which she would surely read. He had a pressing need to tell her how he felt about her and to know what she thought about that. The question wasn’t just one of attaining a material goal by a direct route as stipulated by the intellect. There was also an overriding question of emotion and of his heart, which wouldn’t be at ease or at rest until it learned whether there was a mutuality of sentiment and emotion or not . . . or at least it would not be calm or settled until it explained how it felt and received a reply. Mustafa sensed this need of the heart. Even if the engagement and marriage were arranged, he would still be in a terrifying need of knowing what she thought of him. Thus Mustafa became fully convinced. He seemed to realize that the intellect’s logic differs from that of the heart. Each of them is sound. Each of them is necessary. He bent over the paper to write a number of lines quickly and then placed his letter in an envelope. After that he called his servant and asked for his lunch, which he wolfed down. Then he went down to the coffeehouse to watch for the girl and her maid to emerge.

  As soon as three o’clock sounded, the maid appeared at the door. Mustafa’s heart was pounding. He prepared to rise. But the maid walked alone out to the street and stopped a passing vehicle. Only a moment later Saniya emerged. She headed for the carriage. Before she got in she turned toward the coffeehouse and looked at Mustafa. Then she climbed up. Her maid followed her, and the carriage drove them away.

  Mustafa stood there for a time, almost dumbfounded. He had first of all assumed they would be going by streetcar like the previous time. He hadn’t anticipated the carriage. Second, there was the impact of that look. If the niqab hadn’t hidden her mouth, Mustafa would have seen a smile there. But amazingly enough, he had detected this smile in her eyes. It was an unusual smile. Many elements mixed together in it, if only Mustafa had realized: pleasure, flirtation, and deep emotion. He merely grasped that she was beginning to notice his existence and to remark his interest in her. Mustafa was delighted. The carriage disappeared from sight. He roused himself but was shaking. He ran off quickly to look for a carriage. He was agitated and afraid he wouldn’t catch up with them. But then he remembered he knew where she was going and calmed down a little. All the same, he hailed a carriage so he wouldn’t be late. En route, he kept thinking about her, about that look, and about her taking a carriage today.

  Yes, why had she taken a carriage today? Because she knew he would follow her in the streetcar? Perhaps she got off to a late start today. Perhaps she had always gone in a carriage except the day before yesterday, when she had chanced to go by tram. Or perhaps she wanted to save time. In any case, this wasn’t an important question and didn’t require all this thought. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary in her conduct. What about a lady taking a carriage? Didn’t he want her to ride in a carriage? He continued brooding about all this until his carriage arrived in front of the dentist’s building, where he quickly climbed out and went upstairs. The first thing he did on entering the clinic was to cast a glance at the place where Saniya had been in the women’s waiting room the day before yesterday . . . as though it was impossible for her to change places. He didn’t find her there and trembled. He looked despondently at the other side of the room and saw her sitting beside her maid. She looked at him, and he blushed in embarrassment. He vanished at once from her sight, heading for the men’s waiting room, where he cooled his heels, wondering how he could get the letter to her.

  A beautiful idea finally came to him. It was to ask the nurse to call the maid accompanying the lady to step out of the women’s waiting room. Then he would deliver the letter to the maid for her to give to her mistress, on the understanding that it was from the dentist, for example. But suppose Saniya asked the nurse who was asking for her maid? What would he reply? Moreover, what sense would there be for the dentist to send her a letter just before he saw her? If he gave the letter to the nurse himself to deliver to Saniya, he would awaken the man’s suspicions and expose Saniya and himself to gossip. This uneducated maid was the best messenger, but how could he summon her?

  Mustafa didn’t arrive at a satisfactory solution and feared his opportunity would be lost in this hesitation over strategy. Saniya’s turn would come and she and her maid would enter the dentist’s office to exit afterward by the other door without his seeing her. The opportunity would be lost. He rose resolutely, determined to carry out the idea without regard to the consequences. He summoned the nurse in the hall and asked him to call the maid from the women’s waiting room. He didn’t say any more than that. The attendant went to the maid at once and motioned from a distance for her to come. She hesitated a little and looked at her mistress, who told her, “Get up, Dada Bakhita, and see what the nurse wants.”

  So Bakhita rose and went to him. He pulled her along by her hand in silence until he delivered her to Mustafa, who took a deep breath. He took her aside and removed the letter from his pocket to hand to her. He said, “Give this to your mistress at once.”

  He did not elaborate, convinced that fewer words were better in these circumstances than many. The maid took the letter and said, “Yes, sir.” It didn’t occur to her to ask who it was from.

  As soon as Mustafa saw her take the letter to Saniya, his heart was transported with happiness. He felt he had achieved everything he wanted from this place and left the clinic immediately. He seemed not to be walking on his feet but instead felt transported aloft by imaginary wings. He went down Abd al-Aziz Street, forgetting that his appointment was waiting for him at the dentist’s.

  CHAPTER 20

  Muhsin’s condition grew progressively worse. His teachers, after scratching their heads for a long time, were unanimous that unless a miracle saved him, he would definitely flunk this year. He had grown pale and spoke little. His uncles felt sorry for him and began
to force him out on excursions to try to revive him. They would walk beside him in silence, still not daring to be the first to speak. The contagion had possibly been passed on to Abduh, whose situation also began to resemble Muhsin’s. He tolerated little talk in his presence and especially not any mention of Saniya. Zanuba had recently developed the habit, whenever she learned some news or observed something from her window relating to the neighbors, of rushing to spread the word among the folks when they gathered around the dining table. But Abduh categorically forbade her to do that and forced her to keep totally silent, at least in their presence. Thus the home became like a cemetery, and they were like ghosts, entering and exiting silently. At first this annoyed Hanafi Effendi and Mabruk. Yes, what had Hanafi done? The others had an excuse for keeping quiet. What excuse did he have to let them bury him with them? He tried to talk, joke, and banter with them, wanting to cheer them up, but couldn’t get any of them to listen. They weren’t willing to be amused. So he was obliged to fall silent.

  Muhsin’s grief was certainly so great it had such an effect on those around him. The moment this poor wretch heard from the street the sound of a piano being played in a house, he would turn yellow and then green. His heart would rise and fall. His steps would falter. He would attempt the impossible—to control himself and hide his sudden pain.