“Even now that I’ve got a job I can’t easily get out of the house,” she protested.
“Don’t let it make you cross, my dear,” he answered in a ludicrously paternal tone.
“But it’s unnatural and humiliating.”
“An inaccurate translation of the parental sentiments.”
“I don’t think you really believe that.”
“Really?”
She laughed with complete assurance and added: “If my mother had known I was coming to see you, I don’t think she would’ve minded.”
“But she didn’t know?” he said anxiously.
She laughed again and was silent for a moment until his mouth went completely dry. Then she said, “Our meeting remains a secret as agreed.”
“Of course, dear.”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not happy about this.”
It was obvious she wanted everything out in the open, and what that meant was also obvious. Was he then at her mercy already? Would circumstances compel him to accept things that were not in his plan? Would the powers of destruction besiege him and shatter for good his solitary, sacred, unattainable dream? Through his fearful thoughts he challenged the unknown and threatened it with murder. But then he felt ashamed of his thoughts as he noticed the gazelle-like figure prancing merrily along beside him, her arm in his, while the clouds moving through the sky above the gardens seemed to give a benison to her joy. He soon calmed down and buried his misgivings. He made peace with his importunate ambitions so that he might melt away into the glow of enchantment and swallow down the taste of hellfire burning inside him. He felt his elbow touch her supple body and receive from its youthful and untrodden territories vibrations of magic. He looked carefully around with a stealthy and guilty look, then kissed her cheek and her neck. Their lips met. He said in a voice which he did not recognize, “You’re adorable, Onsiyya.”
She smiled coyly and happily.
“I wish,” he murmured passionately, “I wish I could…” and then he fell silent, breathing audibly.
“Yes?” she said.
“It’s as if I’d known you since eternity.”
She smiled contentedly, though her eyes asked for more.
“How beautiful the place is!” he said. “Everything is so unspeakably beautiful.”
“You love nature!”
Her remark struck him as strange and ironic, seeing that the reality of his life was so different.
“It’s you who have made everything beautiful.”
“Don’t exaggerate! Would you mind if I told you something?”
“Not at all!”
“You don’t seem to be interested in anything.”
“Really? And do you believe that?”
“I don’t know. But I feel you’re a man of riddles just as I feel you’re a good man.”
“All this is nonsense! There’s only one universally acknowledged truth: that you’re charming.”
“And so?”
“What’s between us must remain forever, whatever happens in the future.”
“In the future?”
“Didn’t you learn something unpleasant from my service file?”
“Nothing at all.”
“You’re the most beautiful thing in my life.”
“And you too,” she said in a quiet voice of surrender.
He kissed her cheek again as he passionately squeezed her hand.
“I’m torn between what I want and what I am able to do.”
“Is there something that you wish for and cannot do?”
“Life is full of unattainable wishes.”
“Tell me about what concerns me!”
She was right. His mouth was still moist from kissing her and his elbow still touched her soft sweet body as they paced in front of the elephant which saluted them by lifting its trunk.
“Let our relationship remain a secret!”
“Why?”
“So that nobody may think badly of us.”
“And why should anybody do so?”
“People would.”
“There’s nothing bad between us.”
“But that’s what people are like, my dear.”
She laughed lightheartedly and asked, “Did you ask me to go out with you, sir, in order to preach to me?”
“I asked you because I wanted us to get to know each other and because I wanted to make sure my heart was right.”
“And what did you find out?”
“I have become certain that the heart is the best guide!”
All the way back he was wondering why he had not revealed his love to her in direct terms. Why did he not ask her hand? Even supposing she would turn his life upside down and make him face a new direction at the altar of life, was she not more capable of making him happy than the polestar?
Twenty-Four
Asila Hijazi, the headmistress, came again on the pretext of asking whether his good offices had succeeded—or so Omm Husni told him when she invited him to come down to her flat. He was staggering under the weight of his usual cares in addition to the new love which intensified the conflict inside his mind to the point of madness. Thus he welcomed the visit of Asila Hijazi in the hope of escaping from himself. Even if that meant committing a folly that would cost him nothing. He needed a way out and Qadriyya was not available every day. He shook hands with the headmistress and sat down, saying, “Your problem is moving toward a solution.”
Soon her physical charms, emphasized by her flower-spotted dress, began to chant their infernal song. She looked at him affably and asked, “Will I have to wait long?”
Omm Husni thought she would go and make the coffee and he was seized with an insane determination to settle the matter there and then and strike an unexpected blow regardless of consequences.
“No, you won’t have to wait for long.”
“I’m really grateful.”
“In fact, everything depends on the strength of your nerves.”
“It seems I will have to wait for some time?”
“Allow me to express my admiration!” He said this in a completely different tone as if to introduce an entirely new subject. She blushed and lowered her eyes.
“I really admire you,” he went on, “as a man admires a woman. You understand what I mean.”
She did not utter a word, but she looked happy as though she were about to be admitted to Paradise.
“But we must be careful. I must tell you something else which I know you might not like.”
She gave him an inquiring glance.
“The idea of marriage is out of the question!” He watched her as she turned into ashes, then added boldly and ruthlessly, “I’ve got a thousand and one reasons, and life, you know, is full of secrets.”
“What makes you tell me that?” she asked weakly.
“It’s not as though we were two adolescents,” he answered politely, but persisting in his cruelty. “Let’s talk like adults and look for happiness with sincerity and courage.”
“I don’t see what you mean.”
“Well, I admire you, but I am a bachelor forever.”
“Why do you tell me that?”
“I thought you might have a solution for my incurable case.”
“You insult me inhumanly,” she said with great indignation.
“Forgive me! I speak out of a deep sense of agony.”
She frowned and kept quiet.
“A little courage could give us considerable happiness.”
“How do you mean?”
“Isn’t my meaning clear enough?”
“I don’t think I understand you.”
“We need a safe place to meet at,” he said, with a presumption he never thought he could muster.
“Mr. Bayyumi!” she shouted.
“It’ll be a real consolation for two people in need of love and intimacy,” he went on heedlessly.
She stood up in a fury, saying, “Either you go or I go.”
“I’m going, but think
about it calmly and objectively. And don’t forget I’m a poor man!”
Twenty-Five
It was no longer a question of a single silver hair difficult to spot. Every now and again a new one would peep out with a chilling white look which threatened a change in the rhythm of life. And what was life? A passing game that a man played with reluctance until he found himself face-to-face with his ultimate fate. Then he would survey his life in its entirety, weigh his deeds and assess their fruits, suffer however resentfully the breath of the unknown, brace himself for further struggle, and then accept defeat. But at least let that defeat be hallowed in the event. There was no promotion to look forward to in the near future. His savings increased, his nervous tension grew more acute, his efforts redoubled. His relationship with Onsiyya was growing more and more intimate, slowly but surely. As for Qadriyya, she truly deserved to be described as a lifetime companion. At the end of his prayers he would say to God, “What’s life, Oh God, without You?”
But apparently others did not have his staying power. For his telephone rang one day and the caller was none other than Asila Hijazi, the headmistress.
“I wanted to thank you for your successful mediation.”
“Don’t mention it, madame.”
“And how are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m really grateful for your help.”
“You’re very kind.”
A few seconds of silence and then: “But I have a bone to pick with you.”
“God forbid!”
“Last time when I left you I was angry, don’t you remember?”
“I’m sorry, but there was nothing to make you angry.”
“You think so?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t try to get in touch with me.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know your phone number.”
“But I managed to get yours!”
“I’m sorry again.”
“I hoped you’d try to make the situation easier with a kind word.”
“I’m more than willing.”
“Really?”
“Positive.”
“How?”
“Let’s agree on that!”
“Are you still poor?” she asked, muffling a laugh.
“There’s no helping that.”
“We’re lucky I’ve got enough money.”
“May God give you more!”
“Should I be more explicit?”
“I’m more than willing!”
“Lovely! Let us each do our part then!”
This was no surrender, it was a breakdown. He could imagine what lay behind it. She was in her middle years, approaching her decline, lonely and trembling at the advance of age. No youth, no real beauty. Certainly there had been a conflict in her mind which he had not perceived, but he was now witnessing its distressing consequences. What was he to do? He was frightened of Onsiyya and had no real desire for Asila. In his moments of despair he often wished that his heart could die and his lust could be quelled, so that he could go forward carefree on his arduous journey. And to himself he said sorrowfully, “I can’t blame people who think I’m mad.”
Twenty-Six
How would he find the time to look for a flat and furnish it? He let days go by without doing anything. He forgot the matter altogether until one day he found Asila standing in front of his desk. He received her with a smile, though silently cursing her.
“Excuse my boldness…” she said.
He smiled without comment.
“I couldn’t get any sense out of you on the telephone.”
“I’m much too busy these days,” he said with a solemnity to match the official surroundings.
“What have you done?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Work doesn’t give me a free minute. Believe me!”
“I expected to find you more eager.” She spoke with a boldness which sounded like desperation; like one whose patience was ebbing as his fears increased.
“I am eager enough, but I have no time.”
“There’s a flat in Rawd al-Faraj…” She held out a folded piece of paper as she went on: “Here’s the address. Go and have a look at it yourself. And if you like it, go ahead and have it furnished.” Then temptingly and beseechingly: “I hope you’ll like it. Who knows, it may bring us happiness.”
He felt the crackle of approaching fire. When the woman had gone, he thought of the long nights that would be added to The Thousand and One Nights rather than of the nights he was accustomed to spend studying, translating, and performing services for His Excellency: nights of sacrifice on the path of glory. That path which he had chosen from the first day as an emblem to which his infinite yearnings could legitimately aspire. His desire for the woman subsided as a result of her thoughtless impetuosity and the way she had freely offered herself. Actually she was not bad as a substitute for Qadriyya. But in her he felt the crackle of approaching fire, eager to swallow him up together with those sacred hopes linked to the mystery of God’s word. He would not let himself be destroyed by any power on earth save death itself—which was another of God’s mysteries, like His inspiring glory. And while he had not been accepted by that unknown wife after whom he had striven for so long, it would be wrong to give up the struggle and surrender to pathetic widows and spinsters.
One night he heard a knock on his door. He was dumbfounded to see Asila sneak in, stumbling over her shame and humiliation.
“I was determined to come and told myself that if somebody saw me I would make for Omm Husni’s flat as if it had been her I had come to visit.” She spoke in tones of embarrassment as she sat down panting on the settee.
“Well done!” he said, trying to comfort her.
“Do you mind my coming?”
Life had begun to stir in his depths.
“Of course not. I’m more pleased than you imagine.”
“Omm Husni will soon be going to bed,” she went on. “Do you mind if she suspects what’s happened?”
“Not at all!”
They exchanged a long look. Beneath its darkly flowing current she seemed without a trace of pride, merely a woman in love with her defenses down.
“What’ve you done?” she asked in tender expectation.
He recovered completely from his surprise. He did not want to talk about anything at all; all he was aware of was carnal desire embodied in a woman prepared to give herself to him. He took her soft hand. It felt cold; the contraction of her heart had stopped her blood from circulating. He squeezed it repeatedly, as if passing a secret message. She wasn’t expecting this—or so she pretended—and tried to take her hand away. But he did not let her.
“What’ve you done?”
“We’ll discuss that later.”
“But you haven’t tried to get in touch with me.” He bent toward her and kissed her cheek as he whispered in her ear, “Later…later…”
“But this is what I’ve come for.”
“You’ll get what you’re after…but later…”
She opened her mouth to speak but he stopped her with a long and heavy kiss, saying sharply, “Later.”
Nature played one of her infinite tunes with joyful bravura, which seemed like a miracle. But soon the tune died away, receding into oblivion and leaving behind a suspicious silence and a feeling of languor full of sadness. He lay on his side on the bed while she stayed where she was on the settee, exposing her slip and the drops of sweat on her forehead and neck to the unshaded light of the electric bulb. He looked at nothing and wished for nothing, as if he had accomplished what was required of him on earth. When his eyes turned in her direction, they denied her completely, as though she had been some strange object sprung from the womb of night, and not that enchanting person who had set him on fire: a dumb thing with no history and no future. He said to himself that the game of desire
and revulsion was no more than an exercise in death and resurrection, an advance perception of the inevitable tragedy, matching in its grandeur such fleeting revelations of the unknown, in its infinite variety, as are granted. The position of Director General was one such revelation, but it could only emerge in response to a soaring effort of the will, not to its capitulation, however attractive. Thank God he was barricaded behind sensible impassivity, lethal though it was. Here was this woman, eager beyond question to return to her important subject but hesitant and ashamed. She must have hoped that he would make the first move; but despairing of this, she cast him a wistful beseeching glance and mumbled, “So?”
The unfamiliarity of her voice astounded him with its intrusion on his sacred solitude. He felt a steady repulsion toward her which nearly turned into hatred. What she was seeking to do was to pull down the edifice which he had been constructing stone by stone.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Nothing!”
The roughness of temper characteristic of the back streets, and latent in him, was discernible in his voice.
“But surely you must’ve done something!”
“Nothing at all.”
“Haven’t you even had a look at the flat?”
“No.”
Her face darkened with chagrin.
“Forgive me for saying this, but…should I put the money in your hands?”
“No!”
“Frankly, I don’t understand you.”
“I’ve spoken clearly.”
“What do you mean? Don’t torture me! Please.”
“I don’t intend to do anything.”
“I thought you had agreed and promised,” she said in a trembling voice.
“I don’t intend to do anything.”
“If you have no time now…”
“I have no time now, nor will I in the future.”
Asila breathed heavily and said with a break in her voice, “I thought you felt differently.”