Then they heard their father's voice asking, “What doeshe want?”
Silence reigned for a short time, although it seemed long to the eavesdroppers. Then the woman said gently, “Fahmy, sir, is a fine young man. He has gained favor with you through his seriousness, success in school, and good manners, may God protect him from the evil eye. Perhapshe has entrusted his request to me hoping that his status with his father will be an argument on his behalf.”
Their father responded in a tone the girls thought showed his pleasure with their mother's proposal so far: “What doeshe want? … Speak.”
They leaned their heads against the door. Each of them was staring at the other, but hardly seeing her. They made out the feeble voice saying, “Sir, you know our excellent neighbor Muhammad Ridwan?”
“Naturally.”
“He is a fine man like you, sir. It's a good family and they're exceptional neighbors.”
“Yes.”
She continued after some hesitation: “Fahmy asks, sir, whether his father will allow him… to become engaged to Maryam, the daughte r of our excellent neighbor, so that she will be under his supervision until he is ready to get married.”
The father's voice grew louder and his tone was harsh with anger and disapproval: “Get engaged?… What are you saying, woman?… He's only a boy!… God's will be done…. Repeat what you just said.”
Khadija imagined that their mother had recoiled in alarm. The tremblir g voice said, “All he did was ask. It was just a question, sir, with the decision left entirely to you
He replied in an explosion of anger: “What is this spineless pampering? I'm not accustomed to it and he shouldn't be either. I don't know what could corrupt a schoolboy to the extent that he would make such an outrageous request…. But a mother like you could well ruin her children. If you were the kind of mother you ought to be, he would never have dared discuss such insolent nonsense with you.”
The two girls were seized by fear and anxiety, but for Khadija these were mixed with relief. Then they heard their mother say in a trembling, subservient voice, “Don't burden yourself, sir, with the trouble of getting angry. Nothing matters except your anger. I certainly did not intend any offense, nor did my son when he innocendy conveyed his request to me. He came to me with the best of intentions; so I thought I would present the matter to you. Since this is what you think, I'll tell him. He will submit to it totally, just as he obeys all your commands.”
“He'll obey me whether he wishes to or not. But I want to tell you that you're a weak mother and nothing good can be hoped from you.”
“I'm careful to see they do as you command.”
“Tell me: What led him to think of making this request?”
The girls listened intently and anxiously. They were surprised by this unexpected question. They did not hear any answer from their mother but imagined she was blinking her eyes in confusion and fear. They felt great sympathy for her.
“What's struck you dumb? … Tell me: Hashe seen her?”
“Of course not, sir. My son doesn't lift his eyes to look at a neighbor girl or anyone else.”
“How can he want to get engaged to her if he hasn't seen her? I didn't know I had sons who were sneaking looks at the respectable women of our neighbors.”
“God shelter us, sir. God shelter us…. When my son walks in the street he turns neither to the right nor to the left. When he's at home he scarcely leaves his room unlesshe has to.”
“So what made him ask for her, then?”
“Perhaps, sir, he heard his sisters talking about her…”
A tremor passed through the bodies of the two girls. Their mouths were gaping open in alarm as they listened.
“Since when are his sisters matchmakers? Glory to God, am I going to have to leave my store and job to squat at home in order to patrol it and rid it of corruption?”
The mother cried out in a sobbing voice, “Your house is the most respectable one of all. By God, sir, if you hadn't got angry so quickly, the matter would be over and done with.”
The man yelled in a threatening voice, “Tell him to mind his manners, have some shame, and know his place. The best thing for him would be to concentrate on his studies.”
The girlsheard some movement inside the room. They rose cautiously and tiptoed away.
Mrs. Amina thought it best to leave the room, according to the policy she followed whenever she accidentally let something slip out that stirred his anger. She would not return unlesshe summoned her. She had learned from experience that for her to remain when he was angry and try to calm him down with gentle words only made him more furious.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad found himself alone. The observable effects of his anger, like the rage apparent in his eyes, complexion, words, and the gestures of his hands, subsided, but the anger deep within his chest lingered on like dregs at the bottom of a pot.
It was an established fact that he got angry at home for the most trivial reasons and not merely because of his plan for the management of his home. He was also affected by his sharp temper, which was not held in check at home by the brakes of civility that he employed to perfection outside his household. His domestic rage presumably granted him some relief from the effort be exerted with other people, when he suffered in the interest of self-control, tolerance, graciousness, and concern for other people's feelings and affection. Not infrequently he realized he had gotten angry for no reason at all, but even then he did not regret it He believed that getting angry over a trivial matter would prevent serious offenses, which would truly merit his anger.
All the same, he did not consider what he had heard concerning Fahmy that afternoon to be a minor error. He discerned in it an unseemly turbulence that should not be agitating the soul of a schoolboy from his family. He could not imagine that the world of the emotions had infiltrated the atmosphere of his home, which he vigilantly strove to keep one of stern purity and immaculate innocence. Then it was time for the afternoon prayer, a good opportunity for spiritual exercise. He emerged from his prayers with a calmer heart and a more relaxed mind. He sat on the prayer rug, spread out his hands, and asked God to bless him with both offspring and money. He prayed especially that he have reason for pride in his children's good sense, integrity, and success.
By the time he left the house his frown was merely a device intended to frighten his family. At the store he told some of his friends about the event as though it was a silly prank, not a calamity, because he did not like to bore people with calamities. They made some humorous comments about it of the kind they enjoyed, and before long he was joining in their jokes. When they left, he was roaring with laughter. At his store, the event did not seem as serious to him as it had in his room at home. He was able to laugh about it and even sympathize with the request. He ended up telling himself happily, with a smile, “There's nothing wrong with a kid who takes after his old man.”
21
WHEN KAMAL darted out of the door of his house, evening was beginning to darken the streets, alleys, minarets, and domes. His happiness at this unexpected excursion at a time he was rarely allowed out was matched only by his pride in the message Fahmy had entrusted to him. It was not lost on him that Fahmy had chosen him instead of anyone else. That the atmosphere had been one of circumspect secrecy lent the message and therefore Kamal a special importance. His young heart felt it and danced with excitement and pride. He wondered with amazement what had shaken Fahmy enough to plunge him into a sad and anxious state, making him seem a different person, one Kamal had never seen or heard before.
Fahmy was known for his self-control. Their father would explode like a volcano for the most trifling reason. Yasin spoke sweetly but was prone to sudden outbursts. Even Khadija and Aisha had their moments of irrational behavior. Only Fahmy was exemplary in his self-control. His laughter was a smile and his anger a frown. Yet his profoundly calm character did not diminish the sincerity of his emotions or the steadfastness of his zeal.
Kamal could not remember seeing his broth
er in such a state. He would never forget Fahmy's condition when they talked privately in the study: eyes wandering, soul troubled, and voice trembling. For the first time in his life Fahmy had spoken to him in a tone of warm entreaty, totally shocking Kamal, who had memorized the message and repeated it over and over again to Fahmy.
From the tenor of the message itself he realized that the affair was closely linked to the strange conversation he had overheard and conveyed to his sisters, stirring up an argument between them. It all related to Maryam, that girl with whom he frequently exchanged taunts. There were times when he liked her and others when she annoyed him, but he did not understand why there should be an important connection between her and his brother's peace of mind and welfare. Mary am! Why was she, rather than any other person, able to do all this to his dear and wonderful brother? He felt there was a mystery to the situation like that surrounding the existence of spirits and ghosts, which had often aroused both curiosity and fear in him. Thus hisheart resolved eagerly but anxiously to get to the bottom of this secret.
His anxiety did not prevent him from repeating the message to himself the way he had gone over it with his brother, so he could be sure not to forget a single syllable of it. He was reciting it when he passed the home of the Ridwan family. Then at its corner he turned into the alley where the door was located.
He knew the house well, for he had often slipped into its small courtyard, where a handcart, missing its wheels, was pushed into a corner. He would climb in, relying on his imagination to supply the wheels and make it go wherever he wished. He had often wandered through the rooms uninvited to be greeted and petted by the lady of the house and her daughter. Despite his youth, he thought of them as old friends. He knew the house its three rooms arranged around a small sitting room that had a sewing machine below a window overlooking Hammam al-Sultan - as well as he knew his own house with its big rooms surrounding the large sitting room where their coffee hour washeld evening after evening.
Some aspects of Maryam's house had made a lasting impression on him, like the dove's nest on the roof of the enclosed balcony of her room. Its edge could be seen above the wooden grille at the corner adjoining the wall of the house, looking like a semicircle to which a mat of straw and feathers had been attached. Sometimes the mother dove's tail stuck out, sometimes her beak, depending on how she happened to be sitting. As He looked at it, he would be torn between two desires. One, based on instinct, urged him to destroy it and snatch the babies, and the other, acquired from his mother, would have him sympathetically investigate the life of the dove and her family.
There was also the picture of the Ambassadress Aziza, a flamboyant character from popular literature, which hung in Maryam's room. The colors of the print were brilliant. The heroine's complexion was radiant and her features pretty. She was even more beautiful than the belle whose picture gazed down at him eveiy afternoon at Matoussian's store. He would look for a long time at the picture, wondering about her. Then Maryam would tell him as much of her story as she knew. Even things she did not know would slip easily from her tongue, enchanting and fascinating him.
Thus there was nothing strange about the house for him. He made his way to the sitting room without anyone noticing him. He cast a fleeting glance into the first room and found Mr. Muhammad Ridwan lying in bed as usual. He knew the old man had been sick for years. He had heard him described as “paralyzed” so often that he had asked his mother what the word meant. She had been alarmed and had begun to seek refuge with God from the evil suggested by this term. He had shrunk back in retreat. From that day on, Mr. Muhammad Ridwan had aroused his pity and a curiosity mixed with fear.
He passed by the next room and saw Maryam's mother standing in front of the mirror. There was a doughlike substance in her hand which she was stretching over her cheek and neck. She pulled it off in rapid, successive motions. Then she felt where it had been with her fingers to assure herself that the hair had been pulled out and her skin was smooth. Although she was over forty, she was as extraordinarily beautiful as her daughter. She loved to laugh and joke. Whenever she saw him she would greet him merrily, kiss him, and ask him, as though her patience was exhausted, “When are you going to grow up so I can marry you?” He would be overcome by embarrassment and confusion, but he enjoyed her jesting and would have liked even more.
He was curious about this procedure she carried out in front of the mirror from time to time. He had asked his mother about it once, but she had scolded him, reprimanding him for asking about something that did not concern him. That was the most extreme form of discipline she employed. Maryam's mother had been more indulgent and gracious. Once when she noticed he was watching her with astonishment, she had him stand on a chair in front of her. She stuck on his fingers what he at first thought was dough. She held her face out to him and said laughingly, “Go to work and show me how clever you are.”
He had begun to imitate what she had been doing and established his cleverness to her satisfaction and his delight. He had not been content with the pleasure of doing it but had asked her, “Why do you do this?”
She had laughed loudly and suggested, “Why don't you wait ten more years to find out for yourself? But there's no need to wait. Isn't smooth skin better than rough skin? That's all there is to it.”
He went by her door softly so she would not know he was there. His message was too important for him to meet anyone except Maryam. She was in the last room, sitting on her bed, her legs crossed beneath her, eating melon seeds. There was a saucer in front of iier filled with shells. When she saw him she exclaimed in astonishment, “Kamal!” She was about to ask him why he had come at such an hour, but she did not, for fear that that would frighten or annoy him. “You honor our house,” she continued. “Come sit beside me.”
He shook hands with her. Then he unfastened the buttons of his high boots. He removed them and jumped onto the bed. He was wearing a striped shirt that went to his ankles and a blue skullcap decorated with red lines. Maryam laughed tenderly and put some seeds in his hand. She told him, “Crack these open, sparrow, and move your pearl-like teeth…. Do you remember the day you bit my wrisi: when I was tickling you … like this…?” She stretched her hand toward his armpit, but he moved in the opposite direction and crossed his arms over his chest to protect himself.
A nervous laugh escaped him, as though her fingers actually were ticlding him. He yelled at her, “Have mercy, Miss Maryam.”
She let him alone but expressed her amazement at his fear: “Why does your body shrink from being tickled? Look: I don't mind it at all”. She began to tickle herself nonchalantly while giving him a scornful look.
He could not refrain from challenging her: “Let me tickle you and then we'll see.”
She raised her hands over her head. His fingers attacked under her arms and proceeded to tickle her as gently and quickly as possible. He fixed his eyes on her beautiful black ones so he could catch the first sign of any weakening on her part. Finally he was forced to give up, sighing with despair and embarrassment.
She greeted his defeat with a gently sarcastic laugh and said, “So you see, you weak little man…. Don't claim you're a man anymore”. Then she continued as though she had suddenly remembered something important: “What a calamity! You forgot to kiss rue…. Haven't I repeatedly told you that the greeting when we meet is a kiss?” She moved her face toward him. He put out his lips and kissed her cheek. Then he saw that scraps of melon seeds had escaped from the corner of his mouth and stuck to her cheek. He brushed them away with embarrassment. Maryam grasped his chin with her right hand and kissed his lips time and again. Then she asked him with amazement, “How were you able to get away from them at this time of the day? Maybe your mother's looking for you right now in every room of the house.”
“Oh …” He had been having such fun talking and playing that he had almost forgotten the message he had come to deliver. Her question reminded him of his mission. He looked at her with a different eye, an eye
that wished to delve deep inside her to learn the secret power that was rocking his fine, sober brother. When he realized that he was the bearer of unhappy news, his inquisitive look disintegrated. He said despondently, “Fahmy sent me.”
A new, serious look came into her eyes. She searched his face attentively for a clue to his mission. He felt that the atmosphere had changed, as though he had gone from one class to another. Then he heard her ask in a soft voice, “Why?”
He answered her with a frankness that indicated he did not understand the seriousness of the newshe brought, even though he felt it instinctively: “He told me, 'Give her my greetings and tell her that Fahmy asked his father's permission to become engaged to her. He did not consent for the engagement to be announced while Fahmy was still a student. He asked him to wait till he completed his studies.'”
She was staring at his face with intense interest. When he fell silent, she lowered her eyes without uttering a word. Their tete-a-tete degenerated into a despondent silence which his young heart found hard to bear. He longed to scare it away no matter what. Kamal continued: “He assures you that the refusal came in spite of him and that he'll hurry to finish his studies so that what he desires may come to pass.”
When he found that his words did not help free her from the clutches of silence, his wish to restore her former happiness and good humor increased. He asked her enticingly, “Should I tell you what Fahmy and Mother said when they talked about you?”
She responded in a neutral tone, halfway between interest and disinterest, “So what did they have to say?”
He felt good about this partial victory and recounted to her what he had overheard from beginning to end. It seemed to him that she sighed. Then she commented crossly, “Your father's a harsh, frightening man. Everyone knowshe's that way.”
Without thinking he agreed: “Yes… Daddy's like that.”
Fearfully and cautiously he raised hishead to look at her, but he found her lost in thought. Remembering his brother's instructions, he asked, “What shall I tell him?”