Virgins of Paradise

by Wood, Barbara

  Memories of disturbing dreams came back, visions of dark, liquid eyes, ripe, sensuous lips, and long slender fingers that caressed him in secret places—the impure, forbidden thoughts he would not allow himself to entertain when he was awake, but with which his treacherous brain mocked him at night.

  What was he going to do? How could a man remain pure in this culture that seemed to be both obsessed with sex and yet repulsed by it? A person couldn't walk down a Cairo street without seeing advertisements for movies about love, or hearing coffee-shop radios blaring out songs of passionate embraces, or overhearing ribald conversations about virility and fertility. Sex, love, and passion, it seemed to the very proper Edward, were as intricately woven into Cairo's daily tapestry as coffee, dust, and the hot sun. And yet earthly lusts, even innocent flirtations or affectionate hand-holding, were forbidden to all except the virtuously married, and even then confined to the privacy of their bedrooms. It was worse, Edward thought, than the puritanism of his own Victorian-style upbringing. Certainly the rules of sexual conduct were as specific in England as in Egypt: virtue and chastity were applauded, fornication and adultery condemned. But at least British society did not constantly flaunt in your face what you could not have. England had not created women who veiled their faces and yet who undressed you with temptress eyes. England had not invented the provocative belly, or beledi, or whatever-it-was dance. And certainly no English family proudly displayed the bride's virgin blood the morning after the wedding night! Even the perfumes were different here. Yardley's English lavender was a demure lady's fragrance, but the women of the East assaulted the nostrils with aggressive, sex-filled perfumes reeking of musk and sandalwood. The food, too, was spicier, the music livelier, the laughter louder, tempers quicker. Dear God, was even lovemaking wilder and more passionate in Egypt? How was a man to maintain his equilibrium and keep his appetites under control?

  Edward had hardly slept. His head had been filled with the cloying odors of honeysuckle and jasmine, and the heat of the night had forced him to toss off his sheets and sleep naked, the scented breeze kissing his body. And now, with dawn bringing another hot new day full of sensual seduction, Edward already detected the rich breakfast aromas of eggs, fried beans, hot cheese, and sweet coffee.

  He laid down the gun and rang reluctantly for his valet. He had agreed to go to Alexandria today with Nefissa. And he was dreading it.

  His heart began to pound, and he started to sweat. What madness had possessed him to agree to such a folly? This was not what he had come to Egypt for, to fall victim again to his vices! After all, one of the reasons he had come in the first place was to get away from a disastrous liaison before his father had found out, not just to see Alice and the ancient monuments. One hint of scandal, and the earl would have cut him off without a penny. And now here he was again, hurtling headlong toward another sexual abyss.

  Hearing servants in the hall, and knowing that at any moment his valet would be bringing in tea and brandy, along with hot water for shaving, Edward put on his silk dressing gown and went into the bathroom. He examined his face in the mirror. The injury he had received at the Turf Club had healed without a scar. He was, in fact, looking particularly healthy, thanks to Amira's care, some bracing tonics, and vigorous exercise. Edward was thankful the January riots hadn't gotten as far as Gezira Island, an exclusive club where the British continued to carry on their privileged pursuits, albeit on a quieter level. Edward had obtained membership in the club, where he went every day to play tennis, swim, and keep himself in shape. He knew he was attractive, and he knew that when women looked at him they saw not only fine, regular features crowned by pale blond hair, but a perfect physique beneath the impeccable clothes of the conscientious English gentleman.

  The dark, liquid eyes flashed in his mind again and he wondered what they saw when they looked at him?

  He groaned. How could he have agreed to drive to Alexandria with Nefissa! In Alexandria the seduction would be complete, and he would once again descend into the abyss. He should stay here, on Virgins of Paradise Street. He was safe in this house, safe among Amira's strict rules of moral conduct.

  When his valet came in, Edward quickly slipped the revolver into his suitcase. It was for protection on the long drive. As the valet prepared the shaving cream, Edward drank the brandy, refused the tea, and ordered more brandy. He held the glass with a very shaky hand.

  Amira had just finished leading the women, female servants, and children in the morning prayer. After closing the prayer by looking over each shoulder and saying to their guardian angels, "Peace be upon you and the mercy of God," they dispersed, the servants to their household duties, the women down to breakfast, Zachariah and Omar running off behind them. Amira remained in the bedrooms with Yasmina and Camelia and Tahia who, although only six and seven years old, were learning to make beds. It was part of their training for when they grew up and got married; first they made their own beds, and then their brothers', then they picked up Zachariah's and Omar's strewn clothes and toys, and tidied the room the two boys shared. The girls worked fast because they were hungry; the house was filled with delicious aromas and they wouldn't be allowed to eat breakfast until these early-morning chores had been attended to.

  "But we have servants, Umma," said Tahia, who, at seven years and two months, was the eldest of the girls. "They can make the beds."

  "But what if you don't have servants when you marry," Amira said as she straightened Omar's bedspread. "Then how will you take care of your husband?"

  Camelia said, "Are Auntie Alice and Uncle Edward bad because they don't pray with us?"

  "No, they are Christians—like us, people of the Book. They pray in their own way." Amira had heard Edward's valet go up the stairs toward the men's side of the house, carrying the usual tray of tea and brandy. For the first time since the house was built, alcohol was allowed. Amira had protested, just as she had when Alice had once wanted to bring wine into the house. Then, Amira had prevailed. But in this case, as it was her son's brother-in-law's desire to have it, she had had to accede.

  Elderly Auntie Zou Zou came clumping into the room on her cane. There were dark shadows under her eyes. She had not been sleeping well, she declared, her dreams were haunted by premonitions and omens. "I dreamt of a blood-red moon, and I saw jinns playing in our garden. The flowers had all died." Amira shooed the girls from the room, in case the old woman frightened them, and said, "It is written that nothing shall befall us save that which God has decreed for us. He is our Protecting Friend. Don't worry, Auntie. The king and Ibrahim are in God's hands."

  But Zou Zou, who had been young and wild in the days of the great khedives of Egypt, said, "And it is also written that God does not change people until they change themselves. There is bad business coming, Um Ibrahim, and it is not right that your son is not here. What's a man for, except to protect his family?" When Zou Zou had begged Ibrahim not to go to Alexandria with the king, he had cheerily assured her that everything was all right. How could he be so blind? In the six months since Black Saturday, King Farouk had changed his government three times, and the latest rumor was that he planned to place his brother-in-law—a man whom the army despised—in charge of his cabinet. And so once again tension gripped Cairo. "I am fearful, Amira," she said. "For your son's safety, and for the safety of the family. With him in Alexandria, what protection have we, after all?" She turned and followed the children in the direction of breakfast.

  In the breakfast room on the first floor, where the family was noisily addressing plates of eggs and beans, Nefissa stood by the open window, watching for Edward's car. She was wearing a lightweight linen traveling suit and carrying a crocodile make-up case. Alice came up to her. "I've made something for you." She handed Nefissa a beautiful corsage from the garden, made of crimson flowers that matched the girl's crimson lips and brought out the sparkle in her dark eyes.

  Nefissa glanced over at Amira, who was helping to feed two very small children, and whispered excitedl
y to Alice, "If she only knew! Mother would lock me up and throw the key into the Nile!" Nefissa was planning to commit a shocking indiscretion: she was going to dismiss the chauffeur and drive the car to Alexandria herself. Months of secret driving lessons had finally rewarded her with a freedom and power she had never known before. "It's bad enough I've given up my veil and refuse to wear black," she whispered as she pinned the corsage to her linen suit, "but if Umma knew I also drove a car! Does Edward know I'm going to be driving?"

  "My poor brother hasn't a hint! He thinks you'll be chaperoned by a driver. Will you stop along the way?" Alice was as anxious for the seduction to take place as Nefissa was. She would do anything to get Edward to stay in Egypt.

  Suddenly they heard the gate bell ringing frantically, and a moment later a servant admitted Maryam Misrahi into the room. "Do you have your radio on, Amira? Turn it up! There has been a revolution! During the night, while we slept!"

  "What? But how?"

  "I don't know! The streets downtown are filled with tanks and soldiers!"

  They tuned to Radio Cairo and heard a voice they didn't recognize, belonging to a man they had never heard of, Anwar Sadat, who was talking about Egyptians governing themselves at last. Others came into the room, all the women and servants, gathered around the radio.

  "He doesn't mention the king," a cousin said, listening carefully to Sadat's speech. "He doesn't say what they've done with him."

  "The king will be killed," cried another, "and so will Ibrahim!"

  As the others suddenly panicked, embracing one another and crying and wailing, and as little Tahia burst into tears, Amira hid her own alarm and said calmly, "We cannot let fear rule us. Remember that understanding comes from God, and that we place ourselves in His safekeeping." She turned to a servant and said, "Telephone everyone, tell them to come. We will follow the news together here, and pray. Round up all the children. Keep them occupied with games, and reassure them." Then she gave instructions to the cook to start boiling water for tea, and to prepare large amounts of food, as relatives would be arriving soon to await news of Ibrahim. Finally, she said to Nefissa, "You will not be going to Alexandria today."

  "This is preposterous," King Farouk said, waving a hand of dismissal toward Sadat. "How can you claim a revolution when only a few guns were fired, a few drops of blood shed?"

  But a nearly bloodless revolution had indeed taken place. Within three days of taking over Cairo, the Free Officers had stunned the world by seizing control of all communications, government offices, and transportation, bringing Egypt to a virtual standstill. Farouk had been cut off; the British were unable to send help because the revolutionary army controlled the trains, airports, harbors, and major roads, and although the American military attache in Cairo said that Washington demanded an explanation of what was happening, no military assistance was offered from that quarter. Farouk was helpless. A few shots had been exchanged between his royal guard and the revolutionary forces that surrounded the palace, but Farouk had called them back, locked the gates and sealed himself inside. Finally, one of the Free Officers, Anwar Sadat, came and offered the king an ultimatum: leave the country by six o'clock that night, or suffer the consequences.

  When the king started to protest, Sadat politely reminded him of the Black Saturday riots, in which every movie house, nightclub, casino, restaurant, and department store in Cairo's European section had burned to the ground—over four hundred establishments in all. It was being said that had Farouk taken action just two hours earlier, had he not been so concerned with his own pleasures, all this could have been prevented. But now, the soft-spoken Sadat added, the king was a very unpopular man.

  Farouk was also aware of another uncomfortable fact: that the majority of the Free Officers wanted him executed, but that he had been spared by a single vote, that of General Abdel Nasser, who wanted no bloodshed. "History will sentence him," Nasser had said. Farouk decided that the longer he stayed in Egypt, the shorter his life would be.

  He gave Sadat his decision on the spot.

  It struck Ibrahim that this might be the last time he would be in this palace, or even in Farouk's company, which was hard to believe after so many years of existing in the royal shadow. Was it really possible that there would be no more midnight calls summoning him to Abdin Palace? Farouk had never read a book, never listened to music, never written a letter; movies were his entertainment, along with gossiping on the phone at all hours of the night. As his personal doctor, Ibrahim was one of the few who knew that Farouk had been raised in a harem until he was fifteen, pampered by an iron-willed mother, so that he had remained childlike, preferring toys to politics, and was completely unequipped for survival. When he had been warned days ago about the Free Officers, he had shrugged them off as "pimps," and on the night of the coup itself, when he had been told of unusual troop movements in Cairo, he had dismissed the news as insignificant. Ibrahim realized that this was no man to rule a country as great as Egypt. The revolutionary officers were right, the time had come for Egypt to have a real leader.

  And now, stranger, more confusing thoughts tumbled about in Ibrahim's mind. Was this truly the end of the king's reign? Who was going to take his place? And where did the royal physician fit in? Ibrahim found himself gazing at the heavy black velvet drapery over an arched doorway and was startled to find himself thinking: that is what my future looks like.

  Finally the document of abdication was brought, and in a vast, sunlit marble hall that, with its towering and breathtaking friezes, resembled an ancient Roman palace, Farouk stoically regarded the paper. It contained two sentences in Arabic: "We, Farouk the first, whereas we have always sought the happiness and welfare of our people ..." Nearly weeping, the king took out his gold pen, and as Ibrahim watched Farouk sign the abdication, he saw that the monarch's hand shook so badly that his signature was illegible. And when he signed a second time, in Arabic, the king misspelled his name, because he had never learned to write the language of the country he ruled.

  Ibrahim helped Farouk bathe one last time, and dress for the final voyage in his white Admiral of the Fleet uniform. Then the king sat for the last time on the jeweled throne of Ras-el-Tin Palace and said good-bye to his close friends and advisers. To Ibrahim he said in French, "I shall miss you, mon ami. If you or your family come to any harm because of your association with me, I pray to God for forgiveness. You have served me well, my friend." Ibrahim accompanied him down the great marble staircase and out into the palace courtyard where, beneath the hot afternoon sun, the royal band played the Egyptian national anthem, and the Nile-green, crescent-moon flag of Egypt was lowered, folded, and handed to the king as a farewell gift.

  But Ibrahim stayed at the foot of the gangway as Farouk walked up to the deck of the Mahroussa. For the first time in years, he would not be in close proximity to the king, and it made him feel curiously naked and cut adrift. Farouk made a calm, dignified farewell as he stood with the three princesses, his sisters, his seventeen-year-old queen and six-month-old son. The moorings were cast off and, as the yacht began to sail, twenty-one guns boomed a salute from a nearby naval frigate.

  As he watched the Mahroussa sail away, Ibrahim could recall only the good memories: when he had brought Camelia, Yasmina, Tahia, and Zachariah to the palace to meet the king, and Farouk had given them candies, and sung his favorite song to them, "The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You." He recalled Farouk's wedding day, when millions of peasants had poured into Cairo for the event, and there was such a warm feeling for the king that Cairo's pickpockets had taken out ads in the newspapers, announcing a one-day moratorium on stealing in honor of the royal pair. And farther back, a night in 1936 when the Rasheeds had been vacationing in Alexandria, and Ibrahim had seen the new monarch arrive to claim his throne, a trim, exotically handsome young man on a ship gliding among a flotilla of thousands of candlelit boats and feluccas. All of Egypt had gone wild that day for Farouk, whose name in Arabic meant "one who knows right from wrong."

 
Finally, as the Mahroussa moved slowly out of the harbor, Ibrahim recalled the day his father had introduced him to the young king, and how Farouk had taken an instant liking to Ibrahim, appointing him to the post of royal physician. He was overwhelmed with sadness. Tears stung his eyes as he realized that the Mahroussa was sailing away with more than Egypt's deposed monarch. It was taking Ibrahim's memories, his past, the reason for his existence. And the image of the heavy black velvet drapery returned.

  TEN

  A

  LICE COULDN'T BELIEVE HER EYES.

  She had just come into the garden with a basket, tools, and a wide-brimmed straw hat to keep the Egyptian sun off her fair skin; when she saw what had happened against the eastern wall, she exclaimed aloud, dropping to her knees and leaning forward for a closer inspection—just in case her eyes were deceiving her.

  But this was no illusion. At the ends of the dark green stems, tiny buds were indeed starting to open up; three had already blossomed into large, crimson flowers. Finally! After four years of nurturing and watering and weeding, of building a shady shelter, of watching and waiting and digging up her failures and starting again—after so much work and so much hope and the fear that she might never bring English flowers to this hot Mediterranean garden, Alice had succeeded in bringing to bloom her favorite crimson cyclamen.

  She couldn't wait to show them to Edward. They were just like the ones that grew at home. But as she started back toward the house, Alice remembered that her brother had left that morning with Ibrahim and Hassan to go to a soccer match, and they wouldn't be back till afternoon. Alice had not been invited, of course, because women did not attend such events. She told herself that she didn't mind. She had adjusted to so many customs when she came to live on Virgins of Paradise Street; although she still sometimes stood in the garden and contemplated the high wall surrounding the estate, wondering if it was there more to keep the occupants in rather than intruders out, and although there had been moments when she had resented having to stay with the women in one room while Ibrahim and Eddie joined the men in another, Alice decided that Egyptian society had not been as difficult to get used to as she had at first expected. "I am so fortunate," she had written to a friend back in England, "I am married to a wonderful man, and live in a beautiful big house with more servants than I think we had at home!"