She tried to wrest herself from his arm, but he tightened his grip on her waist and clung to her. He pushed her gently, walking slowly beside her. A feeling of suffocation weighed heavily upon her chest, and she kept wondering what she had done with herself.
Gradually she became accustomed to the darkness and in the obscurity she perceived the shapes of several chairs, a cupboard, and a few other things which she could not identify. Slowly and cautiously they crossed the hall. Then, as he stretched out his free hand to open a door, it creaked, breaking the dreadful silence. Holding her on both sides of her waist, he pushed her inside, and shut the door with his foot. Quickly, she escaped from his hands.
“Light the lamp! I can’t bear the darkness!” she said sharply.
His voice reached out to her, gentle, cautious, and apologetic. “I am sorry, my darling. My uncle’s flat is next to ours. So I’m afraid some member of his family might see the light and come to knock on our door.”
“Are we going to remain in the dark?” she asked him, astonished and angry.
“The light of your beauty is enough,” he answered in a cajoling tone.
“Let me leave,” she entreated him.
He kept groping for her hand in the dark until he found it. Then he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it, twice.
“No, you sit down and rest. Once you’re used to the darkness, it will not disturb you,” he said, somewhat agitated.
Leaning toward her, almost leaping upon her, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the end of the room. He seated her on a sofa and sat very close to her. She was too astonished to resist him. Then he said, “Let’s stop arguing. We should be sitting and chatting calmly. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get here, and it makes no difference whether we are in the dark or the light. It doesn’t matter where we stay and it shouldn’t disturb our peace of mind,” he said.
He took her arm. She was quivering, trying in vain to collect her scattered thoughts as he covered her arm with kisses from his coarse lips. She moved away from him to catch her breath, and he leaned toward her; but she stopped him with her hands.
“Leave me alone. I’m tired,” she said breathlessly.
He drew in his breath.
“Have no fear. Why are you so frightened? You’re quivering. You’re in your own home—your husband’s home,” he said laughingly.
She heard her throbbing heart beating in her ears, all through her head. She drew in a deep breath. She felt his hand taking hers, and was about to withdraw it, but as though realizing her own foolishness, she changed her mind. So he kept her hand between his.
“Everything is nice and quiet. I can see your beauty even in the dark.” His tone changed.
“I’m not beautiful,” she said almost unconsciously.
“Leave it for me to judge. I am not mad about you for no reason,” he said as he stroked her hand with his palm.
In the deep silence she focused her attention unconsciously on her palm, as if he were devouring it with his hands.
A feeling of numbness crept into her palm, spreading to her arms and breast. “That’s enough,” she whispered, trembling.
“Give me your lips so I can kiss them. I shall press so many kisses on them, a hundred or even a thousand kisses. I shall keep kissing them until I die,” he said, sobbing.
He thrust himself greedily upon her, planting a long and passionate kiss on her lips, pressing her head into the back of the sofa.
He lifted his face and moved it away from her.
“Kiss me. I want to feel your lips devouring mine!” he whispered excitedly.
She was too tired to disobey him. Raising her face a little, she kissed him.
“We didn’t come here to do this,” she murmured.
“To do what, then?”
“To sit and talk.”
He pressed his lips very hard on hers. Then he turned his face and placed his cheek against her mouth, and whispered into her ear, “That’s better. We have talked much. I am telling you once more that you are my wife; my wife even if the whole world ostracizes me. It’s only a matter of time; it won’t be long.”
Perhaps he believes that I am anxious and in a hurry to marry him, she thought. Let him keep this illusion. My family’s circumstances being what they are, maybe waiting is better. Right now, my family neither welcomes my marriage nor is prepared for it. There is no harm in waiting. She kept these thoughts to herself, however.
“It’s only a matter of time. But in the meantime, how much we need to have a little fun,” Soliman said again.
Stretching his left hand around her back, he grasped her breast with his right hand, feeling her firm, large, blossoming bosom under her arm. The blood boiling up in his veins, he embraced her savagely, and his hot breath streamed down her cheek and neck. She felt amazed and numb, and her desire and fear returned to her. She felt at once a mixture of anxiety, pleasure, and despair. The surrounding darkness became thicker than ever. It was as if this profound and eerie darkness stretched its wings in an infinite void, free from the limitations of time and space.
“You’re unusually late,” her mother said to her.
“I wanted to finish my day’s work, and I did,” she answered grimly. Putting seventy-five piasters in her mother’s hand, she continued, “They gave me all my wages. I shall keep the rest of the pound for myself.”
Samira kept silent. Nefisa entered her room and began to undress. In the utter silence of the place the voice of Hassanein, reading aloud, struck her ears and left a curious impression; whether it was fear or unmitigated sadness that flowed over her, she could not tell.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“To me, the splendor of Bahia and the splendor of the sunset are the same,” Hassanein told her as he pointed to the setting sun, and gazed upon her shining, moonlike face.
Opening her mouth, with her teeth sparkling in the sun like gems, she said, “You’ll keep following me to this roof until someone sees us together.”
“I’m your fiancé and have my rights!” he said proudly.
“No. You have no rights at all.”
Incredulous, he laughed cheerfully from the bottom of his heart. He feasted his amorous eyes on her body, wrapped in a red overcoat, its opening at the neck revealing a gray dress underneath, and two thick plaits of hair flowing down the back. The intense red color of the overcoat made her white complexion and blue eyes appear still purer and increased their splendor. She is so small, he thought. If I came very close to her, the crown of her head would touch my chin. But she is fresh and plump and her skin is delicate. Damn this overcoat; it hides her exquisite body, all its outlines and features. She is careful and conservative, and she appeals to me as much as she irritates me.
“I have no rights at all!” he said, surprised.
“Of course not,” she answered with a calm that showed strength.
Does she really mean what she says? he wondered. How beautiful she looks! When she stands on this roof it lifts her above the whole world, and turns the horizon into a mere frame for her own beautiful image. Nothing becomes her more than this frame, so serene, pure, and remote. Nefisa says her disposition is unattractive. It’s true she doesn’t have a sweet temper. But that doesn’t detract from her beauty. I love her with both my heart and my mind. Perhaps I am overpowered by my senses. Does she really mean that I have no rights? How strange. I thought my engagement to her would entitle me to so many rights!
“Sometimes it seems to me that you are heartless,” he said with astonishment.
Her face flushed, and she lowered her eyes shyly. Then, raising them again, she challenged him, “What should I do to prove to you that I have a heart?”
“Declare that you love me,” he said enthusiastically, “and—”
“And?”
“Let’s exchange a kiss.”
“Then I really don’t have a heart,” she said sharply.
“I wonder! Don’t you love me, Bahia?”
Confused and annoyed, she took re
fuge in silence. “If not, why did I agree to the proposal?” she finally said with a sigh.
His burning chest was relieved. “I want to hear it with my own ears,” he cried hopefully.
“Don’t ask me to do what I cannot.”
Half desperate, he sighed in his turn. “If you can’t bring yourself to speak of it, a kiss won’t bother you.”
“How horrible!”
“How rosy and honey-sweet. Without this kiss, I shall die in misery.”
“Then may God have mercy on your soul.”
“You can’t even bear a kiss? It will be no trouble to you. Stay where you are. Then I’ll take a step toward you and put my lips on yours. It will animate my soul!”
“Or cause our final separation!”
“Bahia!”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
“You don’t mean what you say.”
“I mean every word of it.”
“But it’s a kiss, not a crime!”
“It’s a crime to me.”
“I’ve never heard such a thing!”
She pondered a little. “But I’ve heard it frequently,” she said.
“Where?”
She pondered again. Clearly hesitating, she proceeded to speak with candor and naiveté. “Don’t you read what Al Sabah magazine publishes about girls who are deserted because of their recklessness? Don’t you listen to the wireless?”
His mouth fell open. “Who says that a kiss is recklessness? Haven’t you read what Al Manfaluti, though he was a turban-headed sheikh, said about a kiss?! You forbid what pure love licenses. Al Sabah, the wireless! What nonsense!” he shouted, laughing.
She watched him warily and suspiciously. “Don’t laugh at me. It’s true. My mother told me once that any girl who imitates lovers in films is a hopeless prostitute.”
That bitch, that daughter of a bitch, he fumed, silently cursing her mother. Then it was she who told you this. That short, cunning woman. She is turning the girl against me and spoiling our life. The anger almost suffocated him. What use is this engagement for which I was bitterly scolded?! No use at all! My fiancée is hopelessly obstinate, and all because of this woman, this daughter of a bitch, this contemptible carrier of dry sticks!
“Are you really so puritanical?” he asked her in desperation.
“Of course.”
“Then your love is only a name.”
“Let it be so.”
Casting a long scrutinizing look at her, he saw that she was as obstinate and unyielding as ever. His eyes roved up and down her delicate neck, imagining how it looked beneath her dress. He went further, and imagined her naked shoulders and blossoming bosom. Overcome by his heated, uncontrollable passion, he leapt upon her, stretching his mouth toward her lips. Surprised by his sudden assault, she retreated in terror, stopping him with the palms of her hands.
“Hassanein, stop it!” she shouted breathlessly.
As he saw the burning anger in her eyes, his passion subsided, and he withdrew in shame and confusion.
“Be careful. I might change my opinion of you,” she said, and added, “I think it is time for you to leave.”
“All right, on condition that you won’t be angry,” he murmured, hiding his confusion with a short laugh.
She remained silent for a while.
“And also on condition that you don’t do that again,” she said gently.
He turned away in heavy steps, obviously desperate and confused. Her heart softened and, without thinking, she said to him, “My happiness lies in preserving for you—”
Catching the word before it slipped from her tongue, she bit her lips and fell silent.
TWENTY-NINE
The arrival of the great feast day of the year, the Bairam celebrating God’s intervention in the sacrifice of Abraham’s son, focused the family’s thoughts and sentiments on their shared memories. On the eve of the feast day, the members of the family, Hassan included, assembled in the hall. A burning desire to celebrate the feast surged up in their breasts as nostalgic recollections of former feasts passed unspoken through their minds. On such an eve in the past, the sheep bought for the occasion was tied to the balcony of their former flat, craning its neck between the bars and bleating, thus announcing to the alley the family’s celebration of the feast. Hussein and Hassanein never left the sheep, giving it fodder to eat and water to drink, playing with its horns, or excitedly dreaming of the delights of the forthcoming day.
After slaughtering the sheep in the morning, the family hurried to roast and devour it. Samira busily distributed alms to poor folk such as the street sweeper and the baker’s apprentice, while her husband, after eating some of the roast meat on the table, retired happily to his room to take up his lute and play on its strings. In addition, they all received presents of money and new clothes. On the feast day, they went out for a walk in the open air in the morning and to a cinema in the evening. During the interval between the morning outing and the evening film, they enjoyed sweetmeats, games, and fireworks.
Today, however, the family assembly was fatherless, and given their circumstances, they saw no prospect of celebrating the feast. Nor were they delighted by its arrival. With anxious and solicitous eyes, they sneaked furtive glances at their mother, still dressed all in black. No. There was no sign of the feast, no prospect of celebrating it. Is it possible, Hassanein thought, that the feast day will pass like any ordinary day?! There will be no feast. I know it. It is finished. Finished.
Hassan was the only member of the family who still had hope. Perhaps his frequent absence from home estranged him somewhat from the kind of life his family was leading. Furthermore, like the rest of his brothers, he thought that his mother was omnipotent. In his laziness and dissipation, he found consolation in telling himself that his family had the pension and Nefisa’s earnings. It was his habit, on returning home, to approach Nefisa alone and ask her, “How are things going with you?” Her answer was always one of bitter complaint; but her heart could never ignore him when he stretched out his hand to ask for a few piasters. He was hopeful in spite of his grim circumstances. He hoped for a large share of meat that would compensate him for his long days of deprivation. Annoyed with the prevailing gloomy silence, Hassan leaned toward Nefisa and asked her in a whisper, “What have you prepared for the feast?”
The mother understood the purpose of his whisper. Instantly, she attacked him with this question: “As the head of the family, what have you prepared for the feast?”
“We have an admirable mother, nice, witty, and charming. What should I say, Mother? God has not yet ordained that I should have earnings. However, it is enough that I have relieved you of the burden of sustaining me. You can count the number of times I’ve eaten at your place since my father’s death,” he said with a laugh.
Realizing the futility of blaming him or giving him advice, she sighed mutely.
Hassanein was encouraged, and pursued the subject, inquiring, “What shall we eat on the day of the feast?”
“Meat, of course. This is God’s commandment and it cannot be ignored,” Hassan replied.
Nefisa gave a laugh, but quickly stifled it lest she be accused of encouraging him. “It’s God’s commandment, indeed, but how can we fulfill it?”
Flattering his mother, Hassan said, “We depend on your extraordinary merits to fulfill it. You are a blessing to our home. Your firmness and judiciousness can always be counted on. Besides, you are the greatest cook in the world. How is it possible for the feast to pass without our filling our bellies with all sorts of meat, with roasted meat, boiled meat, fried meat, cutlets, sausages, and shin? How sumptuous the table of Lady Umm Hassan always was, filled with delicious foods!”
His words released a pleasant breeze of merriment into the atmosphere of pervasive gloom. A faint smile appeared on his mother’s stern face. But she said sorrowfully, “A good cook whose hands are cut off!”
Nefisa cast a meaningful look at her mother. “Listen. We have learned that Farid Ef
fendi will present us with half a sheep,” she said to her brothers.
Stunned, they all looked at her. Finding it impossible to keep silent, Samira described how Farid Effendi had discreetly suggested it, and how she had thanked him but declined his present. Farid Effendi had been upset, even angry, and reminded her, among other things, that they were one family. A somber look appeared in Hussein’s eyes and Hassanein seemed to find it difficult to swallow, but Hassan was pleased, and praised his virtue and faithfulness.
“It’s impossible. We cannot allow this to happen!” Hassanein shouted, pained and suffocated. “It doesn’t detract from our dignity. It’s just observance of tradition. Anyhow, Farid Effendi is no stranger to us,” Hassan replied, and Nefisa began to fear that her revelation might cause an argument.
“There is no need for you to quarrel. If you decline the present, we shall buy some mutton,” she said.
“How much?” Hassan asked sharply.
“As much as we can afford. Let’s say ten pounds of mutton.”
“Only ten pounds for the four days of the feast! You cannot decline the present. Remember, our Prophet accepted presents. Besides, do you want to anger a family that wishes their daughter to marry into ours?” Hassan cried in alarm.
“This is begging!” Hassanein shouted at him.
“No. Begging is something else; I can tell you all about it. This is definitely a present,” Hassan said with assurance.
“A present such as those we used to give to the street sweeper and the baker’s apprentice on feast days,” Hussein replied, unable to keep silent any longer.
This retort angered Hassan, who had hoped to win Hussein over to his side, or at least prevent his opposition.
“Don’t confuse presents with alms. What you give to the street sweeper is alms, but what you give to a friend is a present,” he said indignantly.
Hassanein knew that Hassan’s argument was specious, and objected. “It is the duty of a fiancé to give presents to his future bride,” he said, lowering his eyes with pain and shyness.