“Yes, sir,” I replied, happy to have been given a reason to speak. “I live in Manyal.”
“It’s a nice, peaceful neighborhood.”
Taking more and more of a liking to him, I said, “I was born there, too. My grandfather, Colonel Abdulla Bey Hasan, moved there more than seventy years ago.”
“Abdullah Bey Hasan,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I’ve heard that name before. Was he your grandfather on your father’s side?”
“No,” I said, feeling distressed. “He was my maternal grandfather. My father was from the Laz family.”
“Was he an officer, too?”
Feeling increasingly anxious, I replied, “No, he wasn’t, may he rest in peace. He was a notable.”
Still smiling, he said, “I thought he might have been an officer, since people of the same profession often marry into each other’s families.”
I affirmed what he’d said, then he fell silent, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. As I went over the things I’d memorized, I recalled the critical statement on which my fortune in life hung. However, my tongue was tied and I said nothing. It wasn’t long before I’d gone back to feeling muddled and anxious, and my head was ablaze with embarrassment. At that moment the young servant—the one who knew me well—came in carrying the tea tray. She set it down on a table whose surface was plated with a polished mirror. Then, concealing a faint smile, she withdrew. I welcomed her arrival with the tea, since it rescued me from the awkward silence that was weighing on me almost unbearably. The bey filled two glasses and invited me to take one. I picked up my glass with gratitude and began sipping it unhurriedly while my mind raced. Then, having reluctantly finished my tea, I found myself faced once again with Gabr Bey and the mysterious, cordial smile with which he encouraged me to speak. What had to be done, had to be done. Otherwise, the session would turn into a ridiculous joke. So, I thought: let me feign a bit of manliness in the presence of the person whose son-in-law I aspire to be before I lose his respect.
Gathering my courage, I said in what was, admittedly, a tremulous, unsteady voice, “Sir, I wanted … I mean, the fact is that I’d like to have the honor of becoming your son-in-law.”
The statement I’d written out and memorized wasn’t much different from what I said. I felt muddled after I’d opened my mouth. However, God came to my rescue, and I managed to express what was on my mind with a fair degree of success. I looked over at the man and found him still smiling.
He paused a few moments that were a source of agony to my terrified soul.
Then he said ever so graciously, “I thank you for your high opinion of us.”
He fell silent for a few more pensive moments, then continued, “However, I ask you to give me two weeks to consult with other concerned parties.”
“Of course, of course,” I said. “I can only thank you for your generosity and hospitality.”
I rose to my feet in preparation to leave. He invited me to stay longer, but I declined apologetically, thanking him for his gracious offer. Then I bade him farewell and left. Once outside, I heaved a deep sigh, feeling as though a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Now that the ordeal was over, the task looked like a simple one that shouldn’t have caused me such fear, anxiety, and dismay. I smiled in relief, then burst out laughing.
37
I enjoyed the intoxication of relief and victory until evening. Then back came angst, that old cohort that never tires of my company. Would Gabr Bey agree to let a petty employee like me marry his daughter? Wouldn’t Muhammad Gawdat be the more likely candidate despite my income from our family’s estate? After all, he was an engineer like Gabr Bey, not to mention his being a neighbor and a friend. As for me, I had no such qualifications. On the other hand, Rabab hadn’t taken to him, and if she’d had any interest in him, she wouldn’t have met with me and encouraged me to meet with her father. This thought cooled my burning heart and brought back my intoxication. However, it wasn’t sufficient to eradicate the doubt and anxiety that lurked deep inside me. As the days of waiting passed one by one, I only grew more depressed and pessimistic. Consequently, I kept the matter a secret from my mother, enduring the wait and the bitterness of doubt in a fearsome solitude lest she learn of my failure if that was to be my fate. Strangely, we’d never returned to the subject of marriage since that tempestuous evening. Her behavior reflected an unaccustomed reserve that wasn’t lost on my sensitive radar. There were numerous occasions when she seemed like an angry child who’s gone off to pout. Whenever I came to her with something to talk about, she would receive me with a kind of suspicion that wouldn’t leave her until she’d assured herself of the nature of the subject to be discussed. I was annoyed by the change in her, but I continued to treat her with courtesy and affection.
During this same period of time, a fellow employee at my workplace whispered in my ear that, according to an employee in the personnel department, “somebody” had been inquiring about me. Hence, news quickly spread in the warehousing section that I was planning to marry. Accordingly, they began jovially offering me personal advice, which caused me to feel even more resentful and angry. When the waiting period was over, I went to see Gabr Bey Sayyid. However, I didn’t go to his house this time for fear that the answer I’d receive would be a disappointment. Instead, I went to meet him at the Ministry of Labor, where he gave me a warm welcome and announced his agreement! Thus my torment came to an end and I was reinstated in the land of the living. During this meeting we agreed on a date for the engagement party. If a person’s life is a mixture of misery and happiness, it seemed to me then that my days of misery were over, and that I would be rewarded for my patient endurance, misery, and fear with untainted bliss for the rest of my days. I went home, summoned my mother, and informed her of what had happened.
After listening to me in resignation and astonishment, she asked, “Why did you keep all this from me?”
“I didn’t expect it to turn out the way it has,” I said with a nervous laugh.
“My Goodness!” she said testily. “Did you really think they’d refuse you? What a naive child you are! Don’t you know that there are countless girls out there a thousand times better than yours who’d be more than happy to marry you?”
In a tone that made clear that I had no desire to pursue the discussion, I said, “I’m waiting for you to congratulate me, Mama.”
Leaning toward me and kissing my cheek, she murmured, “I’m the one who ought to be congratulated.” Then she uttered a lengthy prayer of supplication for me.
Being someone who found it difficult to hide her feelings, my mother’s face was an open book. As such, the look in her eyes betrayed a profound disappointment that roiled my peace of mind. I ignored it, however, pretending to believe her words, and before long I’d become too engrossed in my own happiness to worry about her. On that same day I wrote a letter to my brother, informing him of what had happened and inviting him to the engagement party. I visited my sister Radiya as well and invited her too. On the appointed day we all went together, though I honestly don’t know how I got the courage to attend. Linking arms with my brother Medhat, I asked him to be my escort, and I wore him out with my awkwardness, passivity, and shyness.
I didn’t utter a word the length of the entire party. I didn’t even take my eyes off the floor. I was surrounded the whole time by curious onlookers, both men and women, and I didn’t get over my fright until after the relatives had gone and the only people left were immediate family.
Gabr Bey’s wife said to me with a laugh, “You’re so shy, Kamil! Now I know why you hovered around your bride for months as though you were afraid to make a move!”
My heart skipped a beat in response to what she said, and I glanced furtively at my mother to see what impact the woman’s words had had on her. However, I found her engrossed in a conversation with Gabr Bey. I sat the entire time beside Rabab without being able to bring myself to look at her, badly as I wanted to. All I managed to do was to cast a quick, diffident
glance at her as she entered the room surrounded by a halo of light and splendor. Then, flustered and self-conscious, I reverted into a stupor in which I absented myself from everything around me. When the family celebration had dispersed and we were on our way home, my brother Medhat chuckled out loud, saying in amazement, “You need to find a cure for your shyness. I swear to God, I’ve never seen anything like you!”
As for me, I took no notice of his ribbing and criticism. I was too happy.
38
After this, visits became easier for me. In fact, I got used to them and even came to enjoy them. Now I could ring the doorbell without my heart being wrenched out of my chest. I could walk to the sitting room without tripping on the edge of a carpet or piece of furniture, and I could meet with my new family without staring at the floor the entire time and stammering when I spoke. In fact, I could make conversation within the limits of my ability and even laugh if the occasion warranted it. My new family was an amiable and lovable family of which my sweetheart was the embodiment, and this alone was sufficient testimony to its goodness. My relationship with Gabr Bey Sayyid grew into a friendship, and there came to be such warmth and familiarity between Madame Nazli and me that we were like mother and son. The little ones, Muhammad and Rouhiya, charmed me with their bounciness and wit, and even the young servant girl and the black maid won a share of my affection. I loved all of them with a love that reflected the passion in my heart for my beloved, and an unspoken longing for intimate, loving companionship.
Gabr Bey Sayyid was one of those men who only leave home given some urgent necessity. Hence, if he wasn’t at the ministry or on an inspection tour in the countryside, he would be at home with his wife and children. From the first day we met, he struck me as a gracious, likable man. Nor did I fail to notice—despite the fact that I wasn’t the most observant of people—that he was a dutiful, submissive husband and that his wife was the one who ruled the roost. However, this did nothing to undermine his status, and in fact, he may have enjoyed more of his children’s affection than did the mother herself.
Gabr Bey wasn’t without a certain penchant for boasting despite his having passed the half-century mark. This was easily observable if you heard him speaking about his work, his position, and his dealings with peers and subordinates, or making reference to his inspection tours and the things he had observed. He was quite critical of young engineers who had received their educations in England and Germany. He would say that engineering studies were the same in Egypt as they were in Europe and that one could only become well versed in the field through practical experience, which was something young people didn’t understand. During those days he was worried about his position at the ministry. He would complain constantly about the political persecution he was suffering, which, as he saw it, was due to his connection with the former minister of labor, who belonged to the Wafd Party. Once he even went so far as to declare that he was thinking of applying for retirement and getting involved in political activity. However, he didn’t have the chance to expound on his point of view, since his wife objected with a decisiveness that left no room for discussion. All in all, I was ambivalent in my feelings toward him. On one hand, I felt dwarfed by him given the insignificance of my position in the government and my limited education. On the other hand, I felt proud to be related by marriage to a man of such stature, prestige, and professional expertise.
Unlike her husband, Madame Nazli was rather short of stature and exceedingly plump. She was nearly fifty years old, but she was still quite attractive, a fact that indicated, no doubt, how beautiful she’d been in her youth. And in spite of her obesity, she was in a state of constant motion, so vigilant and tireless was she in caring for her household, her children, and her husband. Once her husband complained to me of her extreme concern—a concern that bordered on obsession and exhaustion—for arranging and cleaning the house and overseeing the servant and the cook. However, his complaint wasn’t without a hint of admiration and approval.
Madame Nazli struck me as being charming and unaffected, and she laughed when she thought back on the days I’d spent peering silently up at the balcony and the window. She compared my shyness to the lack of respect shown by other young men, then commented, “Rabab is lucky to have you, and you’re lucky to have Rabab, since she, also, isn’t like other girls these days.”
And it was true. There was nothing and no one like my sweetheart. She was vivacity, intelligence, and beauty all wrapped into one, and with every passing day I grew more attached to her, more enamored of her, and more filled with admiration for her. How sweet her voice was, how graceful her gestures, and how lovely her seriousness and poise. And besides all this, she was the epitome of ideal womanhood. She would look at me with devotion, affection, and candor without any need for some feigned levity or studied affectation. I’d never had the chance to be alone with her since our engagement was announced, though I longed badly to do so. I wanted to be able to take in the sight of her radiant face far from others’ watchful eyes. At the same time, it was a bit daunting to think of this hoped-for solitude given the difficulty I was likely to suffer in such a situation when it came to expressing myself, and the resultant awkwardness and distress. Hence, I contented myself with what had been allotted to me within the family circle, where I was happy and safe, satisfied for the time being with the occasional fleeting glance or brief chat, and with the bliss that filled my heart and soul simply from being in her presence. Contrary to what I’d feared, her way of speaking to me was genial and spontaneous, without a trace of the condescension, philosophizing, pretentiousness, or pedantry that one might find in someone with her education.
It was agreed that the wedding would take place during the summer vacation, and they spared no effort in preparing her trousseau. Madame Nazli suggested that they move to a larger flat so that I could live with them. However, I was put off by the proposal, which reminded me of my mother. When I explained that I wouldn’t be able to do so because I couldn’t abandon my mother, Madame Nazli said, “Your mother is a good and thoughtful woman. However, she doesn’t seem to enjoy other people’s company!”
I understood what she meant. As a matter of fact, my mother had only visited my fiancée’s house once since our engagement, and then only under duress.
With no little chagrin I said, “My mother’s gotten used to being alone, and she’s never really enjoyed visits.”
I had told them parts of my life story, leaving gaps when it came to things that weren’t pleasant to remember.
I can’t deny that Madame Nazli’s observation bothered me, since it reminded me of things I was afraid of, and I entreated God earnestly to spare me the evils of discord both then and in the days to come.
Once when I was sitting with my sweetheart and her mother, I got up the courage to mention the days when I’d been keeping my eye out for Rabab without saying a word, and I expressed my amazement that things had come to this happy conclusion, a conclusion I could hardly have dreamed of.
Laughing, my beloved said, “Even so, you’d hardly taken a single step before everything fell into place in the twinkling of an eye!”
Madame Nazli added, “For so long we wondered what this young man wanted! I used to warn Rabab that you might be one of those fellows who stalk girls in the street. At one point we concluded that you must be busy making inquiries about us the way prospective suitors do. Then when you kept on hesitating, I took offense, and I wondered what it was that you hadn’t liked about us.”
Pained and flustered, I said, “Actually, I didn’t do anything at all. I didn’t even know your names until the last minute!”
In terms of money, I had what to me seemed like a veritable fortune, and I showered my beloved with gifts. I sought out my sister Radiya for advice in such matters while keeping them a secret from my mother. She gave me the sincerest of counsel and guided me in discerning what “duty” required, especially during special seasons like Eid al-Fitr and Eid al-Adha, and thanks to her wise inpu
t, I became a model fiancé.
The relationship between my mother and me remained very good, to all appearances, at least, and I took care to include her in the task of making preparations for our new life so that she would appear to be giving it her blessing. So, for example, I assigned her to look for a new flat for us to live in, and her choice fell on a building on Qasr al-Aini Street three tram stops away from my beloved’s house. She neither said nor did anything that would have upset me. However, she seemed like someone who feels helpless and who’s been relegated against her will to life’s periphery. In fact, she withdrew within herself so completely that I was at a loss to know what to do about it. It broke my heart, yet there was nothing in all of existence that could have dammed the stream of happiness that was flooding my being day and night. And if the truth be told, those were the happiest days of my life.
39
One day after the family had made preparations for the wedding, Madame Nazli said, “Rabab is the first of our children to marry, so her wedding celebration has to be an especially festive one.”
When I heard what she was saying, I was terrified. However, I no longer had any choice but to face the critical issue that I’d avoided for so long out of fear and cowardice.
“Do you really think it’s necessary to celebrate the marriage with a party?” I asked nervously.
She shot me a disapproving look as though she were taken aback by my question.
“Of course!” she said.
“Singing girls, a wedding procession, dancing, and all the rest?” I muttered in dismay.
“It has to be a lavish, unforgettable, evening.”
Gripped with fear, I looked up at her like someone begging for mercy.
“I couldn’t bear to be escorted in some sort of solemn procession in front of a crowd of guests!” I said hopelessly. “It’s more than I could take.”
The Mirage Page 22
