“I ask you to forgive me,” I said. “I’ve wanted to say something to you for a long time, but I never had the chance until today.”
I was finding it terribly difficult to express myself, and it seemed that my fervent emotions couldn’t be put into words. I was grieved and distressed, and to make things worse, she turned her back to me indifferently and hurriedly crossed the street to the other sidewalk.
I followed her in no less of a hurry, saying, “Please, one moment. Listen to me. I’ll say just one thing, then we’ll go our separate ways.”
Without stopping or looking at me she said, “By what right do you speak to me, you …?”
Forgetting myself, I cried, “I’ve known you for more than two years!”
“What nonsense!” she said irritably.
Could she possibly not have recognized me?
How stupid could I be! Hadn’t she complied with my wishes, with the result that we’d gotten off at this particular stop? This seemed to indicate that she wanted to hear what I had to say. The opportunity was before me, but I was ruining it with my inarticulate, bumbling speech.
I mustered my strength and, in a tremulous voice, I said distraughtly, “For months and months I’ve been dying to say something. So what harm would it do for you to listen to me?”
Why didn’t I just speak rather than making these endless introductions? O Lord, loosen my tongue! It seemed to me at this point that my beloved became aware of my deadly shyness. I don’t know what caused her to stop, but I saw her turn toward me and look at me with her beautiful eyes, those eyes that I loved more than life itself.
“What do you want?” she asked me testily.
What did I want? Had I not said it yet? Here she was waiting for the word that I’d sought her permission to speak, wearying her in the process. Had I not rehearsed it? I drew a huge blank as though I’d lost the ability to speak. What was one to say? I swallowed my nonexistent saliva in near despair.
Then, seeing her make a gesture that indicated she was losing her patience and about to leave, I broke out of my silence and cried, “Wait, please! I wanted to say … I want.…” The words, “to ask for your hand” got stuck in my throat. “You understand, I’m sure. Don’t you? Is this possible?”
“Oof!” she said. “I have to go home, and don’t follow me, please.”
Seized by a panic that impelled me to speak, I said without hesitation this time, “I’m thinking … I mean, I want to ask you to marry me, if you please!”
And with that, I sighed audibly as a sense of relief and surrender flooded my being. At long last I’d spoken and gotten things off my chest. And now, let come what may.
A moment of deep silence passed, like the calm that follows a raging storm. Then she began walking with short steps without saying a word. Feeling uneasy again, I followed her.
Like someone begging for a reply, I said, “That was what I wanted to say.”
In a low voice that seemed to reach my ear placidly, without a trace of harshness or anger, she said, “It isn’t proper for you to follow me this way.”
Stumbling hurriedly over my words, I said, “I asked for your permission, so don’t leave me without a reply.”
“I’m not the one to be addressed concerning this matter!” she said impatiently.
My heart was beating passionately, overflowing with unspeakable joy.
“I realize that,” I said. “However, I was afraid someone else had asked first.”
Her voice barely audible, she said, “Suppose someone had.…”
“Have I missed my chance, then?” I cried miserably.
With an exasperated sigh she said, “Don’t follow me any farther. I’m getting close to the house.”
“Is there no hope?” I asked her as my heart strove with all its strength to break free of despair’s grip.
Walking even more quickly now, she replied, “I’m not the one to be spoken to about this matter.”
I stopped walking and stood still for a moment in a daze.
Then I cracked my knuckles, crying, “What an idiot I am! If she’d wanted to refuse me, she could easily have given me a definitive reply. Didn’t she go along with me on the tram? Didn’t she listen to me a few minutes ago? Didn’t she tell me that she wasn’t the person to be spoken to about this matter? So what more could I ask? It was a polite, indirect invitation!”
Once these facts had sunk in, my soul was suffused with a dream-like bliss, and I felt as though I were reeling like a drunken man.
34
I came home with the memories of the past hour singing the most dulcet of tunes in my heart. I was possessed by a feeling of boundless strength, not to mention a fair measure of pride and conceit. In a single minute I’d bidden farewell to a long era of passivity. “I’ll tell my mother about everything,” I announced to myself. I said it without fear or hesitation—and perhaps without mercy as well. I knocked on the door and she opened it for me herself, murmuring with a smile as she typically did, “Welcome, light of my eyes.”
I found her looking her elegant self, which was the way I liked her to receive me. As I peered searchingly into that demure face of hers, now lit up with a smile of welcome, I sensed the gravity of what I was about to embark on, and a feeling of gloom and dread came over me.
With a hesitancy whose reasons she didn’t know I said, “Let’s move soon to a more suitable house, and I’ll restore to you your servants and entourage!”
She smiled and said, “These are the happiest days of my life because I’m serving you.”
I took off my clothes and went back into the parlor, where we sat side by side on a couch. O Lord, Your succor and mercy! I said to myself as angst and timidity took hold of me. It was going to be an arduous, unhappy task, but there was no avoiding it. I stole a glance at her and found her looking tranquil and secure, blissfully unaware of what I had in store for her. I felt a pang of remorse, and the strength of my resolve nearly melted away. However, I also feared the consequences of being indecisive and capitulating to weakness.
So I flung myself into the abyss, saying, “Mama, I want to speak with you about an important matter.”
She shot me a peculiar look that I took to be one of wariness and apprehension. In fact, I even suspected that she’d intuited the nature of the subject I intended to broach by the force of some supernatural inspiration. Had my tone of voice betrayed what was going on in my mind? Had I given myself away by the look in my eyes? Or was I just imagining things?
As for her, she said in a calm, inquisitive tone, “I hope everything’s all right.”
Determined to pass through the danger zone once and for all, I said fearfully, “I’m going to put my trust in God and get married.”
The phrase “get married” sounded strange to my ears, and it aroused a sense of shame in me as though I’d uttered an obscene, hurtful word. She looked up at me in astonishment. Her eyes grew big as saucers, and in them I saw a look of bewilderment and incomprehension as though she hadn’t understood a word I’d said.
“Get married?” she asked.
Having cleared the biggest hurdle, I was able to say, “Yes. That’s what I intend to do.”
She let forth an abrupt laugh that sounded less like laughter than like a cry of perplexity and distress.
Her voice trembling, she said, “How happy that makes me! This is happiness indeed. Did you just decide on this today? Now? Why haven’t you told me before? Congratulations, son.”
I was upset by the tremor in her voice and her obvious agitation.
“I’m asking for your permission,” I said, “Because I always like you to approve of me.”
“Can you imagine me withholding my approval from you for a single moment?” she exclaimed theatrically. “O God, after all the love I’ve given you, am I rewarded for it by your casting doubts on my sincerity? I’d approve of you even if you killed me. Have you forgotten that my entire life belongs to you?”
Swallowing with difficulty as I stole an
uneasy glance at her, I said, “I know all that and more, Mama.”
A grim look appeared on her face and she seemed to be trying in vain to keep her emotions in check.
“That’s something everyone knows,” she went on. “After all, what mother isn’t going to rejoice over her son’s marriage, even if she’s all alone and he’s all she has left! This is life’s wisdom: for me to hold you close for a lifetime, then deliver you as a wonderful young man to your bride. I’m weeping for joy!”
She began to cry as she spoke, and she looked at me though her tears as though she were alarmed by my silence.
Then she said apologetically, “Forgive me, Kamil. These aren’t tears of sadness. They’re tears of joy. It’s just that you took me by surprise and didn’t inform me in the gentlest way. Of course, there’s no need to be gentle. Don’t you think I’m apologizing in a way that’s worse than the original offense? May my guilt be forgiven for the sake of my great love, my good intentions, and this heart of mine that I’ve given you even though you’re no longer in need of it. You know that when I get emotional, I can’t control my tongue. I congratulate you on what you’ve chosen for yourself. But, is it only now that this desire has come up? I can’t bear to think that you’ve wanted to marry before and weren’t able to. Have you wanted to do this for a long time?”
Masking my feelings with a lame smile, I said, “No, Mama. I only started thinking about it recently, when it seemed to me that I’d grown up.”
Laughing hysterically, she cried, “Listen to this, folks! It seems that Kamil has grown up! I must have lived too long, then!”
“Mama,” I groaned, “you’re grieving me.”
“Death to whoever would grieve you! A mother who makes her child sad doesn’t deserve to live. But you misrepresent yourself when you claim that you’ve grown up. What a contrary child you are! I can still see you crawling, riding on my shoulder, and prancing around wearing an officer’s uniform with that braid of yours hanging down your back!”
“I’m nearly twenty-eight years old!” I said in distress.
“My youngest child is about to turn twenty-eight! What an old woman I am! Have it your way. No matter how old you are, you’ll be the youngest of husbands, but I’ll rejoice over it like nobody’s business. Why are you looking offended? Have I said something to hurt you? God knows I’m not good at talking, but I’d rather die than hurt you.”
With a heavy heart I said, “May God forgive you, Mama.”
Then she smiled. Yes, by God, she smiled. Then she said with feigned happiness, “Let’s leave all this aside and put first things first. Listen to me, Kamil. Marry with my blessing, and I’ll choose a bride for you if you tell me to.”
I hesitated for a moment. Then, too distressed to keep quiet I said, “There’s no choice to be made. I’ve already made my choice.”
She stared at me in disbelief, then fell into a long silence.
“When did this happen?” she asked.
“Not long ago.”
A look of reproach flashed in her eyes, as though it caused her pain for me to withhold such a serious matter from her. Then she looked down in resignation.
In a calm—exceedingly calm—voice she asked, “Who is it?”
“I don’t know exactly. Most likely she’s a teacher, and she lives in the orange building across from Qasr al-Aini.”
Astonished again, she asked, “Haven’t you spoken to anyone about her?”
“Not at all.”
She thought at length, then continued, “Isn’t it possible that she’s engaged already?” Here my heart beat violently. “And don’t you know anything about her family! Who is her father?”
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t I tell you you were a child? Marriage is a more serious matter than you think. You may be taken by her face, but you can’t put any store by that. What matters is for you to know what kind of girl she is, what sort of people her family are, her status in society, and what their morals are like. When a young man marries, he’s marrying a family, not just an individual, and before he takes the final step, he needs to make sure who the mother of his children will be, and who their maternal uncles will be.”
Flustered now, I felt angry for the first time.
“She comes from an honorable family,” I said with certainty. “I have no doubt of that.”
“But how do you know?”
With the tone of someone who’ll brook no discussion of the point at hand, I said, “I’m just sure of it, that’s all.”
With an indignant look on her face she retorted, “A teacher! Girls who come from nice families don’t work as teachers. On the whole, a teacher will either be homely or some reckless girl who tries to be like a man.”
Stung to the core, I cried impatiently, “Talk about warped ideas! You don’t know a thing about the world we’re living in. Everything’s changed, and I have no doubt that she’s a wonderful girl from a very respectable family!”
Agitation overcame her feigned tranquility and she said edgily, “There’s no need for you to insult me on account of some young teacher you don’t know a thing about! All I’m trying to do is guide you to what’s in your best interest.”
I was more furious than ever now, and if I’d given in to how I felt, I would have said something I was sure to regret. However, I controlled myself and said imploringly, “God forbid that I should deliberately insult you. And I ask you to stop saying things that hurt me.”
Concealing her agitation with a smile, she regained her composure again and said in a resigned tone of voice, “Whatever hurts you, hurts me, and whatever makes you happy makes me happy. However, my advice to you, if you’re willing to accept it, is to watch your step. And may God grant you success in whatever will bring you blessing and happiness.”
Squeezing her hand gently I said affectionately, “Your approval of me is worth the world and everything in it.”
She smiled, saying, “I’ll pray for you from my heart night and day.”
Such a long silence then ensued that I thought the matter had been settled. However, she looked pensive and troubled, as though there was a thought she felt an urgent need to express, and she shot me more than one furtive, anxious look.
Then, overcoming her hesitation, she broke out of her silence and said carefully, “Don’t you think it would be best for you to postpone getting engaged until a year has passed since your father’s death? The thing I fear the most is for it to be said that you got engaged before the period of mourning over your father had ended, as though you’d been anxiously awaiting his death.”
I could hardly believe my ears! Her words sounded to me like a kind of subtle trickery that I couldn’t bear. I went back to feeling resentful and angry and I nearly exploded in a rage. However, I kept quiet until the storm had passed.
Then I said, “In any case, the wedding wouldn’t take place before a year had passed.”
The conversation ended at that point, as I’d hoped it would. I felt as though I’d overcome the greatest obstacle in my path. I should have been happy, and I was happy, no doubt. At the same time, my happiness was tinged with the feeling of disquiet that’s tormented me throughout my life. It’s haunted me even in my happiest hours, and whenever I make a decision, I find its whisper sapping my strength and destroying my peace of mind. However, my happiness on this particular occasion was too great to be influenced by anything.
35
The next morning I went to the tram stop with a new, intoxicating hope. It was as if she’d been waiting for me. I saw her through the window with her head wrapped in a white scarf. Beside myself with happiness, my mouth, my eyes, and my heart all smiled together. I lifted my gaze in her direction with unaccustomed courage, and I rejoiced to see a smile on her lovely face. The era of misery and deprivation had drawn to a close, the darkness in my soul had dispersed, my beloved’s countenance had appeared after a long, tormented absence, and we’d actually become friends who exchange a smile! What an incredible
reality! Up until that morning I’d still been afraid that the previous day’s conversation might have meant something other than what I’d understood it to mean. However, after this challenging wait and this radiant smile, I could respond to the call of bliss with an assurance untainted by even the shadow of a doubt. I went to the ministry drunk with ecstasy. How strange the world is. Someone who’s been destined to see its look of displeasure can’t imagine that it would ever bestow such a smile. I drank in the unbelievable reality, my beloved’s smile, and I said to myself: What this means is that the doors of heaven have opened and are showering my heart with consolation. However, it won’t do anymore for me to remain idle or silent.
That afternoon I won a second smile, and the following morning a third, so I felt as though I had to overcome inertia through decisive action. The following Friday morning I left home in my black coat, looking smart and filled with determination and resolve. I found my sweetheart sunning herself on the balcony. After we’d exchanged a smile of greeting, I cast a cautious glance around me and gestured to her to come down and meet me. What audacity! Who would have believed it? I focused my gaze on her in trepidation. She looked back at me serenely, then a sweet smile crossed her lips and she retreated inside. Was she coming to meet me? Lord! I’d spent the entire previous night rehearsing for this hoped-for rendezvous. The younger sister appeared on the balcony and was followed shortly thereafter by the mother, and the two of them began looking in my direction. Did they know? This was what I hoped, since in this way I was more likely to ward off the danger posed by Muhammad Gawdat. My sweetheart appeared in the window as she put on her coat. My heart made a violent leap as I stood there, waiting like someone in a dream. Strangely, though, my feeling of happiness suddenly changed and grew tepid, like a beautiful voice that’s interrupted by a cough. I was gripped by an unnamed fear and a painful confusion, as though I were trying to recall something important that my memory refused to yield. Realizing the seriousness of the step I was about to take, I was overwhelmed with uncertainty and fear and had the urge to flee. The moment passed quickly, however, and I recovered my former confidence and joy. Heaving a sigh of relief, I crossed the sidewalk feeling merry and gay to wait for the love of my yearning heart. Then I saw her emerge through the door of the apartment building—lissome, stylish, and lovely—in a squirrel-gray coat. She walked to the tram stop with her usual dignified gait and stopped some distance from me. Her mother was on the balcony as if to bless the tryst and lend it propriety. Hence, in addition to the happiness I felt, I had a sense of responsibility. The tram that was to transport us arrived and I looked at it with gratitude, praying for its well-being, and asking God to grant its driver happiness and a raise! We got on together and I saw her proceed, contrary to her usual custom, toward the first-class compartment, so I followed her. There was no one in the compartment but a man and a woman, so my girl sat down, blushing with embarrassment. She may have expected me to sit down beside her and greet her. However, my courage failed me, so I sat down on the opposite seat feeling awkward, shy, and annoyed with myself. As the tram took off down the street, I stole mute, patient glances at her until we passed the Abbas Bridge. She rose and left the compartment, with me following close behind, and we got off at the next stop. Then she proceeded in the direction of a street that ran parallel to the Nile and I tagged along. My heart aflutter, I came gradually closer to her feeling desperately shy.