Kamal laughed. He said, “During the conversation one of them began to sing in a low voice. Then I asked them if they wanted to hear me.”
Yasin laughed loudly. He remarked, “What a daring boy you are…. Weren't you afraid when you were surrounded by their legs?”
“Not at all,” Kamal boasted. Then he said with feeling, “How handsome they are! I've never seen anyone more handsome before. Blue eyes … golden hair… gleaming white skin. They look like Aisha!”
He suddenly ran off to the study, where he raised hishead to see the picture of Sa'd Zaghlul on the wall next to those of the Khedive Abbas II, Mustafa Kamil, and Muhammad Farid. When he returned he said, “They're a lot better-looking than Sa'd Pasha.”
Fahmy shook hishead sadly and remarked, “What a traitor you are…. They bought you with a piece of chocolate. You're not so young you can be excused for saying that. Pupils in your school are dying as martyrs every day. May God grant you failure.”
Umm Hanafi had brought in the brazier, coffeepot, cups, and the container with the coffee. Amina began to prepare the coffee for the time-honored session. Everything had returned to normal except that Yasin had begun to think once more of his angry wife. Kamal went off by himself and took the chocolate out of his pocket. He began to remove its gleaming red wrapper. Fahmy's attempt to make him feel bad seemed to have been in vain, for in hisheart there was nothing but contentment and love.
60
YASIN'S MARITAL problems became more complex. They were more momentous than anyone had expected. Before al-Sayyid Ahmad knew what was happening, Muhammad Iffat appeared in the store the day after Zaynab had fled. Even before he freed his hand from al-Sayyid Ahmad's handshake of greeting, he said, “Al-Sayyid Ahmad, I've come to you with a request. Zaynab must be divorced today. Before tomorrow, if possible.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad was staggered. Yes, he had been totally disgusted by Yasin's behavior, but he had never thought it would inspire an honorable man like Mr. Muhammad Iffat to request a divorce. He had certainly not imagined that these “errors” would require a divorce. Indeed, it had never occurred to him that a request for divorce would come from the wife. It seemed to him that the world had been turned upside down. He refused to believe the man was in earnest. In the gracious tone that had so often captivated the hearts of his friends, he said, “I wish the brothers were here to observe you hurling this harsh language at me___Listen to me. In the name of our friendship I forbid you to mention the word 'divorce.'”
He examined his friend's face to gauge the impact of his words on him but found Muhammad Iffat frowning glumly in a determined way that boded ill. He began to sense the seriousness of the situation and to feel pessimistic. He invited his visitor to have a seat. Mr. Iffat sat down but looked even glummer. Al-Sayyid Ahmad knew him to be a stubborn, intractable man. When he got angry, affection and kindness were useless. All ties of kinship and friendship were ripped apart by the cutting edge of his wrath.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad said, “Declare the oneness of God… and let's talk calmly.”
Muhammad Iffat replied, in a tone he seemed to have borrowed from the angry fire of his cheeks, “Our friendship is not in question, so let's leave it out of this. Your son Yasin is not fit to live with. I ascertained this after learning everything. How patient the poor girl has been…. She kept her worries to herself for a long time. She hid everything from me. Then she revealed it all after her heait was broken…. He stays out all night and returns at dawn so drunk he can't walk straight. He has scorned her and rejected her. What has been the result of all her patience? She catches him in her house with her servant”. He spat on the ground before continuing: “A black maid!… My daughter wasn't made for this. Absolutely not, by the Lord of Heaven. You know better than anyone else how I feel about her. No … by the Lord of Heaven. [would not be Muhammad Iffat if I kept quiet about this.”
It was the same old story but with a new element that stunned and shocked him: Mr. Iffat's statement that Yasin “returns at dawn so drunk he can't walk straight”. Had he learned his way to the bar as well? When? How? … Oh, he did not have time to think about it or to be upset. He needed to control his emotions. The hour required calmness and control. He had to take charge of the situation to ward off any irreparable damage. He observed in a sad voice, “What distresses you distresses me twice as much. Unfortu nately, none of the disgraceful actions you have mentioned ever reached me or came to my attention, by God, except the last incident. I have disciplined him more severely for that than any other father would have thought permissible. What can I do? I have subjected him to stern discipline since he was a boy. Beyond our wills, there are the devils and the world of the flesh, which mock our determination and spoil our best intentions.”
Avoiding al-Sayyid Ahmad's eyes by looking at the desk, Muhammad Iffat replied, “I have not come to blame you or to criticize you. You are a model father who can be imitated but never equaled. But that does not alter the distressing fact that Yasin has not turned out the way you wished. In his current condition he is not fit for married life.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad protested, “Not so fast, Mr. Muhammad.”
The other man corrected himself while remaining resolute: “In any case, he is not a fit husband for my daughter. He will find some woman who accepts him with his faults, but not her. My daughter was not made for this. You know better than anyone how I feel about her.”
The proprietor moved hishead close to his friend's and said in a low voice and with a hint of a smile, “Yasin's not unusual as husbands go. Lots of them get drunk and boisterous and do things they shouldn't.”
Muhammad Iffat frowned to make it clear he would not allow the situation to be turned into a joke. He answered sternly, “If you're referring to our group or to me in particular, it is true that I get drunk, become rowdy, and take lovers, but I refrain from wallowing in the mud. We all do. A black maid___Is my daughter destined to share a husband with her in a polygamous marriage? By the Lord of Heaven, no. She will not be Yasin's wife and he will not be Zaynab's husband.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad perceived that Muhammad Iffat, perhaps like his daughter, might be ready to forgive many things, but not Yasin's attempt to have both the girl and her black maid. He knew Muhammad Iffat was of Turkish descent and stubborn as a mule. He happened to recall the words of his friend Ibrahim al-Far the day he told him he was asking for Zaynab's hand for his son Yasin. The man had observed, “She's a fine girl from a good family. Muhammad is our brother and friend. His daughter is our daughter. But have you thought carefully about the girl's status with her father? Have you considered the fact that Muhammad Iffat does not allow the tiniest speck of dust to settle on her?” Although that was true, al-Sayyid Ahmad had found it difficult to judge matters by any standards but his own and had always boasted that Muhammad Iffat, despite his atrocious temper, had never gotten angry with him even once throughout their long friendship.
He said, “Take it easy. Don't you see we're all made of the same stuff, even if the details differ? A black maid and a female vocalist aren't they both women?”
Muhammad Iffat flew into a rage. He pounded on the edge of the desk with his fist. He burst out: “You don't mean what you're saying. A servant's a servant and a lady's a lady. Why don't you take servants for mistresses then? Yasin's not like you. I'm sorry my daughter's pregnant by him. I hate for my grandchild to have such filth in his veins.”
The last sentence stung al-Sayyid Ahmad and he was enraged, but he was able to suppress his anger by using the forbearance he lavished on his acquaintances and friends, the strength of which was matched only by that of his irascibility with his family. He replied calmly, “I would like to suggest that we postpone this conversation to some other time.”
Muhammad Iffat said angrily, “I want my request carried out immediately.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad was extremely vexed. There was nothing unsavory about divorce as a solution, but he was apprehensive about his lifelong friendship, and it was hard for him t
o admit defeat. Washe not the man whose mediation people requested to settle disputes and mend quarrels between friends and spouses? How could he accept defeat and divorce when he was defending his own son? What good were his forbearance, diplomacy, and finesse?
“I attempted to strengthen our friendship through this marriage tie between our families. How can I accept a weakening?”
His visitor answered disapprovingly, “Our friendship is not in doubt…. We're not children, but my honor is not going to be sullied.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad asked gently, “What will people say about a marriage that doesn't even last a year?”
Muhammad Iffat replied haughtily, “No intelligent person will blame my daughter.”
Oh. once again, a new insult, but he met it with the same forbearance. His annoyance at failing to achieve a reconciliation seemed to have eclipsed that aroused by the angry man's words. He was not nearly so concerned about the blast directed against him as about justifying his own lack of success. He began to console himself with the thought that the divorce was in his hands alone. If he wanted to, he could grant it. If he did not, he could prevent it. Muhammad Iffat knew that perfectly well. It was for this reason he had come to ask for it in the name of their friendship, which was the only mediator he had to fall back on. If al-Sayyid Ahmad said no, that would settle the matter. The girl would return to his son, voluntarily or involuntarily. Their lengthy friendship would be in the past tense. If he said yes, the divorce would take place, but the friendship would be preserved and he would have the credit for doing his friend a favor. In the future, it would not be difficult to bring all these considerations into play to reunite what had been severed. Although the divorce was a defeat, it was a temporary one, which clearly demonstrated his goodwill and nobility. In time it might turn into a victory. Once his was even partially reassured about his position, he felt a desire to criticize his friend for taking him for granted. He warned him, “The divorce will not take place without my consent___Do you disagree?… I will not reject your request, if you are still determined to proceed with it, out of respect for you and the friendship you slighted when you spoke to me….”
Muhammad Iffat sighed, either from relief at achieving the desired result or in protest against his friend's criticism, or both. Then with a voice free of the sharp edge of anger for the first time, he said resolutely, “I told you a thousand times that our friendship was not in jeopardy. You haven't wronged me in any way. To the contrary, you have honored me by granting my request, although you didn't want to.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad echoed his words sadly, “Yes… I didn't want to.”
The moment his visitor passed from sight, al-Sayyid Ahmad's resentment flared up. His suppressed rage exploded, encompassing himself, Muhammad Iffat, and Yasin, especially Yasin. He asked himself whether the friendship would really remain secure and not be muddied by events to come. Oh… he would have spared no expense to protect himself from a rude jolt like this…. But it was all because of Turkish obstinacy. No … the devil, no … Yasin … Yasin, not anyone else.
He told his son angrily and scornfully, “You have spoiled the purity of a friendship no number of days would have been able to harm, even if they had conspired to that goal.”
After repeating to Yasin what Muhammad Iffat had said, he concluded: “You have disappointed my hopes in you so much that only God and His blessings can ever repay me. I raised and disciplined you. I watched over you…. Then all my efforts lead to what? … An alcoholic wretch who talks himself into raping the most humble servant in his family's home. There is no power or might save with God. I never imagined that my discipline would produce a son like you. Everything is in God's hands, the past and the future. What can I do with you? If you were a juvenile, I'd smash your head in, but time will certainly take care ofthat. You'll receive your just deserts. Decent families will wash their hands of you and let you go for a song.”
He may have been sorry for his son, but his anger got the upper hand. Then all he could feel was contempt. Although Yasin was virile, handsome, and large, he no longer brought delight to his father's eyes. He wallowed in the mud, as Muhammad Iffat (may God destroy him) had observed. Yasin had been too weak to tame an unruly woman. How callow he was. His recklessness had soon been rewarded by a degrading disaster from which he had been unable to save himself. How contemptible he was! Let him get drunk, carouse, and take lovers, on condition that he remain the unchallenged master of his family. But his shameful defeat made him seem totally contemptible to his father. As Muhammad Iffat (may God destroy him) had also observed: Yasin was not like him.
“I do what I want and still I'm al-Sayyid Ahmad. That's all there is to it. What a fine idea it was for me to try to rear my sons to be outstanding examples of rectitude and purity, since it would be difficult for them to balance my lifestyle with my honor and rectitude. But, alas, my effort was in vain with this son by Haniya.”
“Did you agree, Father?” Yasin's voice reverberated like a death rattle.
“Yes”. he answered gruffly, “to preserve a long-lasting friendship and because it was the best solution, at least for now.”
Yasin's hand began to contract into a fist and then unfold, in a mechanical, nervous gesture. The blood drained from his face until he looked extremely pale. He felt more humiliated by this than by anything else in his life except his mother's conduct. His father-in-law was asking for a divorce! In other words, Zaynab was requesting one or at least consenting to one…. Which of them was the man and which the woman? There was nothing strange about a man casting out a pair of shoes, but shoes were not supposed to throw away their owner. How could his father agree to this unprecedented humiliation for him? He glared at his father harshly but also in a way that reflected the cries for help surging in his breast. In a voice he desperately strove to keep free of any hint of protest or objection, as though trying to remind his father there might be a more appropriate solution, he remarked, “A husband has legal means of forcing a wife to return and obey him if she's rebellioLis….”
Al-Ssyyid Ahmad sensed what his son was going through and was touched. Therefore he shared some of his own thoughts with him. He told him, “I know that, but I've decided we should be generous. Muhammad Iffat has an inflexible, Turkish mentality but a heart of gold. This is not the last word. It's not the end. I'm not forgetting your welfare, even though you don't deserve it. Let me proceed as I wish.”
“As you wish,” Yasin thought. “Who has ever gone against your wishes? You marry me and divorce me. You give me life and take it away. I don't really exist. Khadija, Aisha, Fahmy, Yasin … all the same thing. We're nothing. You're everything. No…. There's a limit. I'm no longer a child. I'm just as much a man as you are. I'm the one who is going to decide my destiny. I'm the man who will grant the divorce or have her legally confined to my house until she's ready to obey me. Muhammad Iffat, Zaynab, and your friendship with her father can all lick the dust from my shoes.”
“What's the matter? Don't you have anything to say?”
Without hesitation, Yasin answered, “Whatever you want, Father.”
“What a life! What a household! What a father!” Yasin reflected. “Scoldings, discipline, and advice…. Scold yourself. Discipline yourself. Give yourself some advice. Have you forgotten Zubayda? Jalila? The music and the wine? After all that, you appear before us wearing the turban of the most authoritative Muslim legal scholar, the Shaykh al-Islam, and carrying the sword of the Caliph, the Commander of all Muslims___I'm not a child anymore. Look after yourself and leave me and my affairs alone. ‘Marry.’ Whatever you say, sir. ‘Divorce.’ Whatever you say, sir…. Curses on your father.”
61
THE INTENSITY of the demonstrations decreased in the Husayn district after the British soldiers occupied it, and al-Sayyid Ahmad was able to resume a favorite custom he had temporarily been forced to curtail, that of attending the Friday prayer service at al-Husayn Mosque, accompanied by his sons. It was a practice he had scrupulously obser
ved for a long period. He had invited his sons to join him, when they were old enough, in order to direct their hearts toward religion early in life. He hoped it would be a blessing to him, his sons, and the entire family. Amina was the only one with reservations about this caravan that set out at the end of each week, consisting of her three men, as big as camels, resplendent and virile. She watched them through the balcony peephole and imagined that everyone was staring enviously at them. In her alarm, she prayed to God to spare them the dangers of the evil eye. One day she felt compelled to confide her fears to her husband, who seemed swayed by her warning momentarily but did not yield. He told her, “The blessing of the religious duty we fulfill fry attending the Friday prayer service is sufficient protection against any evil.”
Since childhood, Fahmy had cheerfully obeyed the summons to attend the Friday service with a heart eager to perform his religious duties. He was motivated not only by his father but by sincere religious sentiment, enlightened by views drawn from the teachings of the influential Egyptian theologian Muhammad Abduh and his disciples. He was the only one in the family to adopt a skeptical attitude toward incantations, charms, amulets, and the amazing; deeds performed by saints. His mild temperament kept hirn from making his doubts public or announcing his disdain for such things. He accepted without protest the amulets from Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad that his father brought him from time to time.
Yasin complied with his father's request to attend prayers with hrim because he had no alternative. Left to his own deviceshe might never have thought of squeezing his huge body in among the masses of worshippers, not from any religious doubt but from laziness and a lack of interest. On Fridays, Yasin suffered from a special distress all morning. When it was time to go to the mosque he grumpily put on his suit. He followed behind his father like a prisoner, but gradually as he approached the mosque his grouchi-ness decreased. By the time he entered the sanctuary he felt at peace with the world and performed the prayer, asking God to forgive him and pardon his sins. He would not ask for repentance, since he secretly feared his prayer might be granted and he would be turned into an ascetic with no taste for the pleasures of life he loved and without which he thought life would be meaningless. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that repentance was a necessity and that he could not be pardoned without it. He just hoped it would come at an appropriate time so he could have full enjoyment of both this world and the next. Therefore, despite his laziness and grumbling, in the end he praised the circumstances that forced him to perform a religious duty as important as the Friday prayer. In the final reckoning, it might erase some of his bad deeds and lighten the burden of his sins, especially since it was virtually the only religious duty he did perform.