He told her that he had no experience in that field. He was amazed at mankind’s power of self-deception, more powerful than the atom itself. She told him stories about the stars, and he had no idea of where she got them from; this was all to convince him that she was worthy of the bright lights and that it was a question of luck—no more and no less!
“You should be looking for a producer’s or director’s flat,” he told her with a laugh, “so that you can share it with him!”
Since the nights were so long and he refused to go to bed before dawn, she taught him various kinds of card games. She gambled with him a great deal and won some money from him, but this was the only money from him that she ever put in her pocket.
Once it occurred to him to ask her what she knew about politics, which had swallowed him as a hero and then spat him out as a corpse. So he asked her about some names and events, but she shrugged her shoulders and did not bother to answer. He was amazed that there could be a human being in existence who did not care about the world of politics. “What do you know about the constitution?” he asked mockingly.
Her eyes showed no signs of understanding.
“What are your views on independence?” he continued.
Her look did not change.
“I mean the departure of the English,” he said by way of explanation.
“Oh!” she shouted. “Let them go if you want them to. But I’ve heard a lot about how good things were in their day. My mistress, the café proprietress, opened her café on their money!”
For her, he thought, real independence meant being rid of the need for me and others like me.
She opened her heart to him and told him about her past with an unusual frankness. “I have a mother, aunt, and sisters,” she said. “The only male relative I have left is an uncle in his nineties. So I don’t expect to be killed for honor’s sake.” She had been a devil since she was young. Her father had died when she was ten, and her mother had been unable to control or discipline her. She could not keep her daughter away from the boys and no amount of scolding or beating was of any use. “I loved a boy before I had even reach maturity and became proverbial in the village for that reason…” Then the inevitable thing had happened. “My mother hit me, then slapped her own cheeks until she fell to the ground as if she were dead.” She had run away with the boy to Alexandria where he was going to finish his education. He got rid of her after a few months and she had found herself alone. It was then that she had begun this life.
“You’re a small girl,” he said with a smile, “but a big devil…”
“An old khwaaga24 in Al-Azarita3 loved me,” she said proudly, “and took me on, to stay as his servant. He had an old, bedridden wife.”
“But you weren’t as good at making good use of opportunities as your mistress, the café proprietress.”
“I seek nothing but shelter,” she replied simply.
He laughed loudly and told himself that it might be useful if we could find something to convince us that we are not the most miserable of all God’s creatures. “What do you expect from the future?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows for a few moments. “Our Lord is great,” she mumbled.
“You sound religious!”
She smiled at the sarcastic tone in his voice and took refuge in silence.
“But you admit yourself that you’re a devil, don’t you?”
She laughed heartily. “The time for sleep came along,” she said, “and that’s better than wearing your head out for nothing.”
He became increasingly convinced of similarities that joined him and this girl together. He conceded that she was absolutely necessary and indispensable to him in his loneliness, especially when things were really bad. The ax had fallen on the leaders and the hearings were over. He felt ill at ease, like a drug distributor when he hears all of a sudden that the big operators have been arrested. He denied the world and refused to acknowledge it any longer. He was not astonished anymore by the blustery days when the harbor was closed and the angry waves in the raging sea flew up in the air and battered the Corniche. The clouds were as dark as parts of night itself and the lightning flashed incredibly like rockets. The rain came down in torrents like little creatures running away from the wrath of the heavens. It seemed blind stupidity to stay in Alexandria, and he longed to be back in Cairo and the warm corner at El Bodega.
“I wonder where you are!” she said to him. “You’re not with me and you’re not anywhere in the world either!”
He came back down to earth again. His expression looked tired from all this wandering around in oblivion. He gave a weak smile but said nothing.
“You’ve been like this for days,” she said.
“Yes, I have,” he replied angrily. “All you listen to on the radio is the songs!”
“Are you a notable?” she asked, in an embarrassed tone.
“Or unemployed!” he said with a dry laugh.
“You? Oh no! But you certainly are a mystery.”
“They unravel mysteries.”
“Tell me, how long are you going to stay like this?”
“Let me ask you the same question.”
“My life isn’t in my hands.”
“Nor mine.” He continued with a smile. “When spring comes, we’ll each be on our own way.”
“I won’t go,” she said with an unexpected intensity, “until you have me thrown out.”
Blasted emotions! Sincere or false, God damn them all! Her affection for him inspired exactly the opposite reaction in him—he became almost angry. He concentrated on the song that was being broadcast. Then a program on economics was announced: a group of economists were going to hold a discussion. When, listed among the participants, he heard the name Hasan ad-Dabbagh, he rushed over to the radio and turned it off. She asked him why he was annoyed.
“I said you only listen to the songs!” he replied angrily.
On the clear winter days, he wandered around the different places in Alexandria that he loved. He did not take her with him even once, but neither did he prevent her from exercising complete freedom to move around as she wished. In her eyes he could read a desire to go out with him, even if only for a short walk on the Corniche, but he hated the very idea.
“Don’t you think,” she said, “that you’re treating me as though I were…”
“Stop looking for trouble,” he interrupted firmly.
Her face flushed with obvious emotion. When he noticed it, he felt sorry for her and fondled her short hair. “Stop looking for trouble,” he repeated tenderly.
She no longer expressed her feelings in words, but rather in the effort she made to serve him and tend to his comforts. He received these gestures with a gratitude mixed with distrust. Winter would soon be over, he told himself, and then he would be rid of this attachment that had infiltrated his flat. Even from his bitter experience with Salwa, there was only a surface wound left, and that may have been pride rather than love. He realized that the void which politics had left in his heart would have to be filled by some amorous escapades for a while and that might prove troublesome.
As the days passed, he was amazed to see the girl’s health getting noticeably worse. She looked terrible: pale, weak, and exhausted. How could this happen when she was getting food and comfort which she had never even dreamed of? He thought she might have a cold, but none of the symptoms of a cold was apparent. The ailment stayed with her to a degree that both worried him and kept him occupied. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked her. “Have you ever had anything like this before?”
She replied that she had not and kept moving away when he followed her, until suddenly she had to give up and lie down on the bed. He stood there looking at her, alarmed and angry. “I’ll have to call a doctor,” he said.
She gestured to him not to do that. “No,” she said. “It’s just that I’m exhausted by the humidity.”
Tears were pouring down her face and she looked like an inexperienced child. Sud
denly he felt fear gripping him for some unknown reason. “No doubt you’ve something to say,” he said.
She shut her eyes in despair and pointed to her stomach without saying anything. His heart gave a violent thump, something it had done only during the terrible events that had finished him off. His fear turned to pure anger. Now it was quite clear what the sly little minx was after! “You poisonous little snake!” he yelled at her. “Is this how you pay me back for giving you a home?”
“I didn’t realize it until some time had passed,” she wailed.
“You little devil, are you pretending to be that naïve?”
“No, never,” she replied, “but it happened in spite of all the precautions I took.”
“You liar! Even if I believed you, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid! I was so afraid, I couldn’t!”
“Even devils are afraid of people like you!” he yelled. “What are you waiting for then? When are you going to do something about it?”
“I can still remember a friend of mine,” she pleaded, sobbing as she did so, “who died while doing that….”
“So?” His voice was blocked because he was so angry. “Well then,” he yelled, “reveal your cunning plan! Now, just listen to me.” Then, warning her with his index finger, he said, “Don’t let me see your face from now on, or ever again!”
“You haven’t wasted the opportunity to get rid of me now it’s come,” she pleaded, “but at least be kinder than that.”
“From now on,” he yelled like a demon, “I understand you! From now on! Never again.”
SEVENTEEN
Loneliness began to weigh heavily on him. He could no longer bear returning to the flat before late at night. However, his fear of the girl was even greater than all the tortures he was going through. He started wondering whether she was going to create a public scandal. Would he soon be standing in disgrace in front of the public prosecutor? How the newspapers would relish the thought of exposing him! What a wonderful opportunity it would be to expose the others as well, and his entire era! These anxious thoughts preyed on his mind like mosquitoes in a swamp.
However, days went by without any of his fears being realized; nor did a bill for an abortion come from the girl. He knew he should return to Cairo, but for some incomprehensible reason he was determined to stay in Alexandria. Every time he felt safe as far as the girl was concerned, he clung still closer to his own sufferings. The storms no longer disturbed him so much as fascinated him, and loneliness worked its cryptic and deadly magic on him. The atmosphere of living among foreigners, with its own strange aroma, gave him dreams of emigrating forever to the mountaintops painted with green fields; there he could spend the rest of his life far away from anxieties.
He was very fond of Ramla Square;30 it was a permanent stage for elegantly dressed women with golden tresses wrapped up in their raincoats. Every time a tram came, flocks of beautiful women would emerge; it made Isa feel more relaxed and almost drunk as their legs seemed to play all kinds of tunes to him. When a policeman noticed him staring at a gorgeous girl and getting ready to follow her, their eyes met, and the policeman smiled. Isa suddenly came to himself as he remembered the awe that he had inspired in all ranks of policemen in the old days. He took a seat behind the window in ’Ala Kaifak1 which looked out onto the square, where streams of humanity kept crashing into each other. From his vantage point, he could live among them as he liked without getting tired. In his past life, weighed down by ambition, he had had no chance to sit down like this, even though all he was really doing now was sitting there like some discarded foam left behind on the beach by a wave for the municipal workers to come by and scoop up. Where were the key power figures who had been forced to go into hiding? When would people stop crying about them? These days, the game could only be undertaken on impulse, without relish or real human contact. When time did allow some human relationships to be formed, the hurricane would rage and everyone standing up would be blown away.
The sky was getting darker now. Some unknown force was swallowing up all the daylight; clouds were gathering, and human beings could be seen scurrying away like ghosts. Alexandria! Your winter is as fickle as a woman! The wind blew hard, like bad news. People wrapped their coats around themselves. Newspaper vendors closed up their stands; it became the ultimate in blessings to take refuge behind the window of ’Ala Kaifak and sip hot tea. The thunder rumbled, and people started. Down came the rain, but with a certain grace to it; the space between the sky and the earth seemed to be fixed to electric wires. The square was empty, and the people huddled together gave him a warm feeling; he felt relaxed and at ease.
He heard a slight cough and turned to his left. There was Riri, sitting at a table only one away from his! He quickly looked toward the square, but, in his churning thoughts, she was the only thing he could see, wearing that old orange coat of hers. She had only turned around for a moment, but her smiling eyes were full of tragedy. Was she following him on purpose, or had she simply wandered aimlessly across his path? Would it all end peaceably, or burst into a public scandal? Had she got rid of the thing, or was she still determined to keep it?
He decided to leave, but when he looked outside he saw that the storm was still raging, and resigned himself to remaining a prisoner inside the café. He resolved to leave Alexandria at the first opportunity, the next day if he could. Then he put on a careless air and rested his cheek on his fist as though he were pondering dreamily. Suddenly, he thought that her presence there might be part of a plan she had arranged with the police so as to arrest him, that now his name would be added to those of all the outstanding members of his generation who were being thrown outside the walls one after another. That might lead to something even worse too, for they would undoubtedly examine his bank account, and then they might start asking him where the money had come from. But before he realized it, the girl was sitting down at his table. “I thought I’d invite myself over,” she said, “since he doesn’t want to do it himself!”
He stared at her coldly so as to hide his alarm, and said nothing.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “We can sit together for a while, as old friends should.”
This was the first step in the trap, he told himself; maybe the other people involved were watching too. He decided to defend himself to the death. “What are you talking about?” he said in a voice loud enough for the people who were sitting nearby to hear. “I don’t understand a thing!”
His feigned ignorance surprised her, and the jovial look went out of her eyes. “Is that all you can say?” she muttered.
He stretched out his left hand in a display of bewilderment.
“Well, now,” she said in amazement, “so you don’t recognize me?”
“I’m sorry. Maybe you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
Her disappointment made her look sad. Then she closed her lips in anger, and her whole expression changed. She looked so threatening that he expected something terrible to happen in front of all the people sitting there. However, she simply got up.
“I suppose you’re going to say God creates forty people who all look exactly alike, aren’t you?” she said in a sarcastic and defiant tone.
He was so worked up that he felt giddy. He never thought it would end that way. Every time he remembered her changing expression, he shuddered, and felt sure that, under a happy girl’s skin, a tigress was always lurking. He stayed in this daze for a long time; he had no idea how long. Eventually he noticed that the rain had stopped and a gap was opening up on the horizon. A ray of sunshine was bursting through, even though it looked thoroughly washed. He got up without delay, put his coat on, and left without looking in her direction.
It was after midnight when he got back to his building. He found a telegram waiting for him from the family saying that his mother had died.
EIGHTEEN
The funeral would be held at Al-Qubbat al-Fidawiyya on the following afternoon. Isa got there early to welcome the
mourners, and his arrival coincided with that of Hasan, his cousin, in his Mercedes. Naturally the car was no surprise to Isa, but the sight of it irritated him. He was amazed at the sudden and obvious improvement in his cousin’s health; an air of superiority gave him an upright bearing, and his eyes had a look of authority in them. They shook hands and stood there waiting in the shade of a tree. Hasan started looking him over. “You don’t look as healthy as I would have expected!” he said.
“Perhaps the weather doesn’t agree with me,” Isa replied, reviewing his sorrows in a single fleeting moment.
“That was a meaningless trip to Alexandria,” the young man said in a decisive and official tone of voice, “but then, you’re a stubborn man.”
Hasan was still hanging on to his old dream, Isa thought, of marrying him off to his sister. Then Isa’s friends, Samir Abd al-Baqi, Ibrahim Khairat, and Abbas Sadiq, arrived with various former senators and representatives. Countless groups of people came to offer their condolences to Hasan, and the tent was crowded with them all, even though it was huge. There was an anxious moment when Ali Sulaiman got out of his car. Hasan welcomed him, and Isa saw no way out of greeting him too. They shook hands with each other and Isa accepted his condolences, but neither of them looked at the other once. The traditional stages in the ceremony followed, one after the other. Isa lost his composure only at the burial itself, when his eyes filled with tears in spite of the effort he made to control his emotions. He had supervised the entire proceedings himself. Unable to resist the eternal temptation, he looked at the grave pit for a long time. He wanted to be left alone to say some important things to her. He suddenly remembered the last time he had said goodbye to her in the old house. She had kissed him on the forehead. “Do whatever you want,” she had said. “May the good Lord protect you wherever you are. I’ll hold back my tears so that you can leave in peace!”