Omar trembled with fury and fear as he struggled to contain himself. "Yes, Uncle," he said in a tight voice.
"And because I do not trust you, I shall telephone Yasmina every day. I shall visit her once a week, and she will be free to come here with the baby whenever she wishes. You will not stop her, you will not intervene. Is that understood?"
He bowed his head. "Yes, Uncle."
As Camelia watched them go, her heart went out to Yasmina, because now she had been labeled, even in the eyes of the law—she was nashiz, freak. And suddenly Camelia saw that their situations were very much the same. I, too, have been labeled a freak, she thought, because of an unfortunate accident; I, too, am condemned to a prison because of ignorance and prejudice.
Camelia felt a strange new emotion stir within her. It was almost like an awakening, as if she had been asleep these past four months and was only now opening her eyes. She wanted to run after her sister and bring her back, but the law was on Omar's side. Camelia's feelings of utter helplessness drove her to search for her grandmother, whom she found at her vanity table, preparing for bed.
"I ask permission to speak with you, Umma," she said respectfully. "I am upset about Yasmina and Omar."
Amira sighed. The burdens of family! "They will work out their differences, God willing."
"But the laws are unfair to women, Umma," Camelia said, sitting down on the bed. "It's wrong to force a woman to stay in an unhappy marriage."
"The laws were created for a woman's protection."
"Protection! In all honor and respect to you, Umma, but every day the newspapers are full of accounts about the inequities suffered by women. Only today I read about a young woman here in Cairo whose husband took a second wife. He left the country with her, leaving the first all alone with a small child. The husband has no intention of returning to Egypt, but he refuses to give this woman a divorce. She even tried petitioning the court for a divorce, so that she might be free to marry again, but they will do nothing unless her husband agrees to it. She has written countless letters to him and he does not answer. So this young woman is condemned to a lonely life and all because of that selfish man."
"An isolated case," Amira said, brushing her hair.
"But it isn't, Umma. Look through the paper yourself. You only listen to the radio, but the papers are full of such stories. There was another one about a man who died recently. At his funeral it was discovered that he had three other wives besides his first one, each in a different quarter of town, none of them knowing about the others. Each widow had thought she was going to receive his full inheritance, but instead the four had to divide what little he had left them."
"He was not a good man."
"But that is my point, Umma. He was not a good man, but it was his legal right to have several wives without informing any of them that there were co-wives! The law is unfair to women. Just as it is unfair to Yasmina. What about all those poor women who don't have a family like ours to see to their interests and stop a sadistic husband from beating them?"
"By the mercy of God," Amira said, setting down her brush and facing Camelia, "I have never heard you talk like this. Who has put these ideas into your head?"
Camelia was startled to realize that she had been echoing Dahiba's words. During the months that she had been taking secret lessons from the great dancer, Camelia had picked up her mentor's politics and philosophy as well.
Amira said, "You don't understand, Lili. You're too young. Our laws are based upon God's laws; we are therefore guided by God's commandments, and God can only do good, blessed be He, Lord of all creatures."
"Show me where it is written that we must endure torture."
Amira's tone turned hard. "I will not have you questioning the revealed Word of God."
"But the House of Obedience Law is not based on God's word, Umma! The Prophet tells us that no woman should be forced into a marriage she does not want."
"It is written that a wife be obedient to her husband."
"That's a law for women. There are laws for men, too, Umma. But the ones governing men are ignored."
"What are you talking about?"
Camelia searched for an example. "All right, you make us dress modestly and act modestly because it is so written in the Koran. And yet when we were growing up, you allowed Omar and Zakki to dress and act any way they desired."
"It is their right as men."
"Is it?" Camelia went to the Koran that stood beneath a portrait of Ali Rasheed, lifted the heavy book from its wooden stand, and thumbed the pages. "Look, Umma, read here. Chapter twenty-four, verse thirty."
Amira gazed down at the page.
"Do you see what I mean?"
Amira said quietly, "I can't."
"But it's very plain." Camelia read the passage: "'Tell the believing men to lower their gaze and be modest. That is purer for them, God is aware of what they do.' You see? It's the same law as for women, but it is only enforced when it comes to women." Camelia realized to her amazement that she was further quoting Dahiba as she said, "The laws of God are just, Umma, but the laws of men, which they have subverted from the Koran, are not just. Look, I'll show you another example."
But as Camelia went through the pages, Amira said again, "I can't."
"Shall I fetch your glasses for you?"
"I mean, Camelia, that I cannot read. I never learned how to read."
Camelia quickly sat down, a stunned expression on her face.
"It has been my shame," Amira admitted as she rose from the vanity table. "It has been my ... deception. But your grandfather taught me the Word of God, even though I could not read, and therefore I know God's laws."
"There is no shame in not knowing how to read," Camelia finally said. "Even the Prophet, God's blessing upon him, could not read or write. But in all honor and respect to you, Umma, perhaps Grandfather Ali did not teach you all the laws."
"Quickly say a prayer, child. You dishonor your grandfather, who was a good man."
When Camelia saw the look on her grandmother's face, the pride shimmering in those dark, lively eyes, she was immediately repentant. But, as Umma had always said, words once uttered could not be called back. More quietly, Camelia said, "I respect and honor God's laws, but the laws made by men are wrong. I am only eighteen years old and I have been sentenced to a life that is more of a death than a life, because I cannot have children. I am being punished for something I had no control over. For something that has nothing to do with honor but with physical disability. You always taught us that the Eternal One is compassionate and wise. The Lord said, 'I wish ease for you.' Umma, Yasmina should be allowed to divorce Omar."
"When a woman divorces her husband, she brings dishonor upon her family."
"But Auntie Zou Zou was divorced, and so is Auntie Doreya and Auntie Ayesha."
"They are only related to Grandfather Ali, they are not his direct descendants. It falls to the grandsons and granddaughters of Ali Rasheed to preserve the family honor."
Camelia reached for her grandmother's hands and said passionately, "And so we must suffer in the name of honor? Yasmina must stay in a terrible marriage because of family honor? And because that woman on 26th of July Street infected me, I must live a useless life in the name of honor?"
"Honor is everything," Amira said softly, her chin trembling. "Without it we are nothing."
"Umma," Camelia said, "you were the mother who raised me, who taught me about God, who taught me right from wrong. I have never questioned or doubted you. But there must be more to life than just honor."
"I cannot believe that a granddaughter of Ali Rasheed speaks these words. Or that she thus addresses her grandmother. I fear for these corrupt times when a girl contradicts an elder, and twists the word of God to suit her own ends."
Camelia bit her lip. Then she said, "I ask your forgiveness and your blessing, Umma. I have to find my own life in my own way. I am leaving this house tonight, I must find where I belong. Pray for me."
Lo
ng after Camelia had left the room, Amira stood hidden behind the mashrabiya screen, and as she watched her granddaughter disappear down the street with a suitcase, she thought of the little baby she had brought into the world on a windy night such as this, eighteen years ago.
The night Ibrahim had cursed God.
TWENTY-ONE
Z
ACHARIAH SAW ANGELS.
At least he thought he did. But the graceful beings who seemed to float around him in soft golden light were only Amira, and Sahra, the kitchen woman. It was the final week of Ramadan, the month of fasting, and the last thing Zachariah remembered was the unbearable heat in the kitchen.
He felt a hand beneath his head, and something warm and sweet-scented touching his lips. "Drink this," he heard his grandmother say.
After a few sips, Zachariah's head cleared. And when his eyes focused and he saw Umma's worried look, he said, "What happened?"
"You fainted, Zakki."
When he saw the cup in Amira's hand and realized he had just drunk tea, he struggled to sit up. "What time is it?"
"It's all right," she said gently. "The tea is permitted. It is past sunset. The family is in the salon, eating. Come, you will join them."
He sat up and realized he was in his own bedroom. Then he saw Sahra, his old wet nurse, hovering behind Amira. "You fainted in the kitchen, little master," she said. "We brought you here."
Amira stroked his head and said, "Have you been fasting too much, Zakki?"
He sank back into the pillows. I am not fasting enough, he thought, and wished now he hadn't even ingested the tea, sunset or not. Realizing that the month of Ramadan would be over soon, and this period of fasting and atonement would end, Zakki was gripped with panic. So little time was left for him to save himself!
Every day of the fasting month, from sunrise to sunset, the seventeen-year-old had tried to fulfill this Fourth Pillar of the Faith by abstaining from food, water, tobacco, and even cologne, in order to defeat the passions that were Satan's weapons. Since everyone knew that eating and drinking strengthened the devil's arsenal, then abstinence kept God's enemy at bay. But there was more to the Ramadan fast than keeping food and drink out of the body, there was also the fast of the mind, which Zachariah had tried faithfully to practice. Earthly thoughts were part of abstinence, as all concentration must be upon God, and so, just as swallowing a piece of bread voided the physical fast, so did an impure thought invalidate the spiritual fast.
And on every single day of this holiest of Islam's months, Zachariah had annulled the fast of his mind.
Amira said, "You are too zealous, child. It is forbidden to fast continuously, and yet I believe that is what you have been doing. God requires only that we purify ourselves from dawn to sunset, after which we may eat to our heart's content. Remember that God is the Merciful and the Nourisher."
Zachariah turned away. Umma couldn't possibly understand. He wanted to be pious, he wanted the Lord to fill him with grace, but how worthy could he be if he couldn't keep lustful thoughts about Tahia out of his mind? Food and water were easy to avoid; but his mind betrayed him every time he looked at her and remembered their one kiss on the night of Yasmina's wedding.
"What is it, my dear?" Amira said. "I sense that something troubles you. Is there a problem at school?"
He leveled his green eyes at Amira and said, "I wish to get married."
Amira gave him a surprised look. "But you are not even eighteen, Zakki. You have no profession, you would have no way of supporting a wife and family."
"You let Omar get married, and he's still in school."
"Omar has his father's inheritance. And he is only one year away from graduating and obtaining a job as a government engineer. Your situations are different."
"Then Tahia and I can live here, with you, until I finish school."
She sat back. "Tahia? Is she the one you want to marry?"
"Oh, Umma," he said with passion, "I burn for her!"
Amira sighed. These boys, always burning! "You are too young," she said again. And then suddenly she remembered: Zachariah was not really a Rasheed. Could he possibly be allowed to marry Tahia?
After Amira left him, she went up to the roof and saw the winking stars. Up there, she thought, was Zachariah's birth-star, but no one knew which one it was. Just as I do not know my own birth-star.
How can we chart our courses, she wondered, as the sounds of celebration from all over the city reached her. How can we know our futures if we do not know our stars?
She thought of the dreams that still troubled her, their remarkable intensity and sharpness of detail—the camp in the desert, the mother losing her child, the tall Nubian in a scarlet turban—and she wondered yet again what they were trying to tell her. It is a lonely feeling, not to know one's ancestry.
Zachariah wanted to marry Tahia, but was it wise to permit such a union? Was it not possibly inviting calamity by marrying Tahia to a boy whose ancestry was unknown, whose fortune could not be read? Amira felt sorry for him and wanted to make him happy, but she also recognized a greater duty to her daughter's daughter. Tahia needed a secure, dependable man, who was already known, whose honor was beyond reproach.
And Amira knew exactly who that man should be; she had already read Jamal Rasheed's stars when she had chosen him to marry Camelia.
Canons and drums sounded all over the city, and when the official gunshot announcing the end of Ramadan was broadcast over Cairo Radio, people launched into the streets in new clothes to go calling on relatives, taking presents for the children. The joyous three-day celebration of Eid al-Fitr had begun.
Zachariah and Tahia sat in the garden on the same marble bench where they had experienced their first kiss, nearly a year ago. They did not share in the happiness of the festival—Tahia was engaged to marry Jamal Rasheed before a month was out; she would be moving into his house on Zamalek. She was not excited about the prospect, but, unlike Camelia and Yasmina, it would not occur to her to disobey Umma and refuse to marry Mr. Rasheed.
They sat in silence beneath the stars and the slender crescent of the new moon, holding hands and inhaling the fragrance of jasmine and honeysuckle. Finally Zachariah said, "I will always love you, Tahia. I will never love another woman. I will never marry, but instead will devote my life to God." He said this without knowing that he echoed the words his own father had spoken to Sahra beside the Nile, nearly eighteen years ago.
Ibrahim looked at the woman in his bed and decided that she was going to be the last prostitute he saw. After he had had his fortune read by three different fortune tellers, with all three promising that the child Alice was carrying was a son, Ibrahim decided that he had paid his debt in prison, God had forgiven him for his past signs and was granting him a new start in life.
The first thing Nefissa noticed about the man was his hair. It was slightly thinning but unmistakably blond. And each time their eyes met, Nefissa tried to gauge the color of his—were they gray or blue? The guests were attending a reception for a well-known journalist, and Nefissa, being a close friend of the hostess, a socialite she had known during the Farouk years, had been invited. She wanted to meet the intriguing gentleman, but she was still recovering from Hassan's humiliating rebuff, even though it had happened a year ago. As she was wondering what she should do, the hostess, a keeneyed woman who dabbled in matchmaking and who had not failed to notice the game of eye-contact tag going on between two of her guests, came up to Nefissa and said in a quiet, conspiratorial tone, "He is a professor teaching at the American University. He is quite good looking, I think, but what makes him even more attractive is the fact that he is single. Shall I introduce you to him, darling?"
Inside the Cage d'Or, Camelia was backstage, making final adjustments to the white satin galabeya she was going to wear for her dance debut. It crossed her mind briefly that she wished her family could be here to see her first public performance. But the night she had left Virgins of Paradise Street, she had been taken in by Dahiba and Hak
im; they were her family now. And when she finally made her entrance onstage, joining Dahiba for their new act together, Camelia felt her soul soar up to the glittering chandeliers. The audience applauded and shouted "Y'Allah!" She smiled and began to dance.
As Yasmina cuddled Mohammed against her breast, she pored over the biology book Zakki had given to her on her birthday. She barely looked up when Omar came from the bedroom, the fragrance of his cologne preceding him. And when he said he was going out again, she nodded and turned the page. She was no longer afraid of him. Whatever her father had said to him in private, it had brought him in line. He spent his nights out now, with friends, but she didn't care. She had Mohammed, the center of her universe, and she had her books. Someday, she was determined, she was going to return to school. She was going to find independence. Which was one reason why, on those few occasions when Omar came home drunk and called her to bed, Yasmina had secret insurance against further pregnancies: contraceptives obtained from one of President Nasser's new birth-control clinics.
Alice arranged flowers in vases in the salon, peonies and roses collected from her garden. As she studied the effects of pink with yellow, she contemplated the new life growing inside her, what she hoped would be a new little Eddie. He would be blond and blue-eyed like her brother, and she would take him to England and teach him about his English heritage.
Amira gave the large moving van a wistful look as the last of Maryam's furniture went into it. Suleiman had sold the big house on Virgins of Paradise Street and now the Misrahis were moving to a small apartment near Talaat Harb Square.
Amira looked at the woman who had been her best friend and neighbor for many years, ever since they were both young brides. They had raised babies, shared secrets, comforted each other, and danced the beledi together. Where had the years flown?
Virgins of Paradise Page 26
