Khan Al-Khalili

  21

  Nawal was quite upset when she got home. “How can this boy be so brazen?” she asked herself. “He’s been chasing me ever since he set eyes on me yesterday!”

  At this point she was just over sixteen years old. She was certainly pretty. Her prettiness resided in two principal features: her naiveté and her charm. But, one might well ask, what did those things imply exactly? The naiveté was of the kind invoked by beauty in its most basic form, to be seen in a pure, bright-eyed expression and a straightforward look; certainly in no way linked to stupidity or simple-mindedness. The charm resulted from the neat way she dressed and the kindly disposition she showed toward people. Apart from that, she was not the slightest bit flirtatious or silly, nor did she seem particularly intelligent or clever. She had a lovely olive-colored complexion, something that her mother always maintained was the epitome of beauty and a source of charm. Actually, her mother preferred a whiter complexion. She was convinced that being a little plump gave the complexion a particular glow, and that is why she tried to counteract her daughter’s slim figure by regularly plying her with fattening foods to make her gain weight.

  The daughter’s progress at secondary school suggested that she would do well. However, truth to tell, she may have been willing to go through the process but it was not what she really wanted; school was not the focus of her heart’s desires. Her dreams remained firmly fixed on the home, and she continued to regard her mother as her primary teacher, the one who was teaching her household skills such as cooking, weaving, and embroidery. As far as she was concerned, education was merely an accessory to be added to her femininity, a precious piece of jewelry that would require a larger dowry. For her, life was entirely focused on a single goal: heart, home, and marriage. After all, wasn’t that the very first prayer uttered by any prospective bride? What a wonderful prayer it was! That was precisely what she was aspiring to, and she was prepared to wait for her chance with patience and hope. That is why she had chosen to sanctify marriage long before she herself was ready for it. She was in love with “the man,” although that remained for her both an unknown dream and an unclear feeling. She was therefore a ripe piece of fruit, ready for plucking and waiting for the right person to do so.

  The young lawyer, Ahmad Rashid, had been the first man ever—apart from her own family members, that is—to have any close contact with her, and that was in order to give her some tutoring. From the outset she had greeted him shyly and had eyed him with both curiosity and hope. As far as she was concerned, he was not so much a teacher as a real man. Her heart softened a little, and life began to quicken its pulse. However, the young lawyer was far more strict and serious than necessary, and she was totally incapable of gauging the real feelings that lurked behind his dark eyes. At first he merely patronized her, but, when he started actually scolding her as well, she came to regard him as being both gloomy and somewhat frightening. With that she changed her mind about him and lost hope.

  He would often talk to her in ways that she could not understand or make nasty comments such as, “It seems to me you don’t appreciate learning the way you should, even though you’re not lacking in either initiative or basic intelligence. You should appreciate it as much as you do life; after all, the two are linked in the same way the mind is to the person: you must use learning to feed your mind in the same way as you use food to nourish your body. Where is that longing for the world’s great secrets? Where is the passion for knowledge? When it comes to the realms of knowledge and the unknown, it is simply not right for a woman’s heart to be in any way less advanced than that of a man.”

  “What are you planning to do after you get your high school diploma?” he asked her on another occasion. “Haven’t you thought about what you want to study at university yet?”

  “I don’t know,” she had replied at the time.

  “Oh, I see!” the young man replied angrily. “You’re still feeling negative about knowledge, is that it?”

  She obviously did not realize that this young man was trying to mold her into the kind of woman that he wanted her to be; she thought instead that all he was doing was mocking her. And that made her dislike him even more.

  Then along came Ahmad Akif, the new arrival in the neighborhood. Rumor had it that he was still a bachelor. She was overjoyed when she saw him sneaking glances in her direction; her heart was edging its way in his direction just as a pair of hands will move toward a brazier of hot coals on a freezing cold night. “He’s not young any more,” she told herself, “but he’s still in the prime of middle-age. He must be a well-regarded government employee; by the time such a person is his age, they have to be respected.” Whatever the case, she could not ignore the glances that he was directing at her with such amiable diffidence or fail to realize that love was the motivating factor. If that were not the case, she asked herself, why on earth would he spend hour after hour every afternoon waiting by the window? And why, she wondered, wasn’t he taking the next step, but seemed content just to steal glances at her? Hadn’t he smiled at her, and signaled a greeting to her? Did bashfulness affect men’s minds the way it did women’s? If so, why didn’t he talk to her father? Or why didn’t he ask his mother to act as intermediary? Nawal was a lively girl, and needed someone to be pursuing her. Now chance had sent her a middle-aged man who desperately needed someone to pursue him. By this time she had despaired of his plucking up enough courage to make the first move, so she took the initiative. She waved at him from her balcony and received a beautiful response. Now her heart told her that her aspirations might soon be fulfilled.

  But at about noon on the day before the festival a new face had appeared in the very same apartment; in fact, in the room that directly faced her own bedroom. She realized at once that this new young man was the younger brother of her middle-aged acquaintance. But where had he been before, she wondered. What did he think he was doing staring at her in such a brazen fashion, something that sent the blood rushing to her cheeks from every extremity in her body and made her run away? What a nice-looking young man he was! And how he stared at her, enough to send the heart into palpitations. Did he behave this way with every pretty girl he spotted, or had he detected something unusual about her face? Would he be staying in that same room from now on, or would he disappear again just as suddenly as he had appeared? Her heart told her that this young man was inarguably better than his middle-aged brother, and yet the elder brother wasn’t a stranger any more. They had exchanged greetings. If he asked for her hand, he would be the favorite. She needed to bear in mind that they had made a silent pact, one that, God willing, would soon turn into the noise of wedding instruments, glittering chandeliers, and bright confetti to delight onlookers.

  On the morning of the feast she had put on her new clothes. Her heart told her she should make an appearance on the balcony so that her middle-aged friend could see her looking her very best. She had found him standing by the window looking as fine as he possibly could; his gallabiya and skullcap reminded her of her own father. They exchanged greetings, then she went back to her room. At that moment her feelings urged her to take a look at the other window as well. There she found the younger brother, apparently waiting for her. When he stared straight at her, she quickly withdrew.

  She had convinced herself that his brazen behavior would never go beyond the window, so it was a total shock to find him waiting for her by the New Road. On the trolley she kept asking herself whether he was actually following her or she was simply imagining things. It did not take long for her to realize that he was quite deliberately following her and was not to be diverted from his purpose. Funnily enough, he had managed to forget about her while they were in the cinema because he was so entranced by Umm Kulthum’s singing, but she spent the entire time fully aware of the fact that he was sitting very close to her.

  When she went home, she was feeling happier than she had ever known. “If all young men were as persistent as he is,” she chuckled to herself, “there wouldn’t
be a single unmarried girl!” Now her heart started scolding her for being so quick to exchange greetings with the elder brother. But then, how was she supposed to have any knowledge of the unseen? She was completely flustered, and did not enjoy the special Eid stew or the fish either.

  That afternoon she left her family’s apartment, intending to pay a visit to Sayyid Effendi Arif’s wife. But before she paid the visit, she decided to go up to the roof and cast her eye over the minarets and domes of the old city. Now that she could no longer play with the younger girls in the street, the roof had become her favorite spot. She walked slowly alongside the parapet, taking in the view and looking out toward the horizon. Just then she felt a strong urge to look toward the entrance to the roof. She was amazed to find him standing there, his tall form completely filling up the doorway. He was staring straight at her, a gentle smile evident in his beautiful eyes. The very sight of him gave her a jolt and made her feel scared and a bit panic stricken. However, she soon recovered her composure. Realizing that the situation was serious and required something more than a simple display of bashfulness, she gave him a glare that registered both disapproval and dismay.

  22

  Looking away, she turned her back on him and gazed toward the distant horizon, although she actually saw nothing. Commonsense told her that she should leave, but she did not move. An inner voice screamed at her to pretend that he was not even there and not to rush away in a panic, so she stayed right where she was, feeling both nervous and shy.

  For his part, Rushdi gave a happy sigh when he saw that she preferred to stay rather than leave. “Well,” he told himself with a certain satisfaction, “we’ve hooked the fish, but now we’re going to have to be very careful how we handle it.” He had discovered that she had gone up to the roof quite by chance. He had been watching the closed window of her bedroom in disappointment, but then he had looked up at the roof parapet just at the moment when she had passed by. He had already dressed for the evening, so his innate brashness and initiative drove him to go up to the roof immediately.

  Once he was sure she was not going to leave, he surveyed his surroundings carefully and found that there was no one else around. With that he walked slowly to a point close by her. His insane boldness was still working overtime, but with this girl he preferred to take things slowly because she was obviously very shy. In between the place where he was standing and the spot where she stood, he noticed a wooden pole by the wall with washing on it. A dove had alighted on it.

  Looking up at the dove, he said, “Good evening, my little dove!” all the while glancing at the girl.

  He smiled as he noticed her sneak a quick look at the dove. “What a lovely color you have!” he went on. “A brown that is so attractive and charming. Do you know the song ‘O my tan beauty, my life in tawny hues’?”

  The girl was listening closely to what he was saying, although she pretended not to be. She liked the sound of his voice and smiled secretly to herself without it showing on her lips. Just then her shyness got the better of her, and she moved away a couple of steps and turned her back on him.

  “Why do you not return my greeting, little dove?” he asked, addressing the dove again. “Why do you avoid me? How can cruelty possibly be a part of such delicate beauty?”

  Now she started wondering whether it was time for her to go. Shouldn’t she worry in case the doorman of the apartment came up to the roof or some of the residents and started getting suspicious about finding them together? Why was it that she felt glued to the floor?

  “Don’t you realize, little dove,” Rushdi went on, “that I am your neighbor? From now on, the merciful heavens will not be able to keep you apart from me. I shall always be where you are.”

  Nawal now turned her head to look at the dove, but found that it had flown away. Meanwhile, there he was staring at her in his usual brazen fashion. There was no longer any point in addressing the dove.

  “Hello!” he said quietly.

  Once again she turned her head away and slowly moved toward the door. With that he moved toward her in alarm.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything to me?” he asked.

  Still she said nothing, although she was blushing and her eyelids were blinking hard. He moved even closer.

  “Won’t you say just one word, one single word? If you like, you can tell me off or even rebuff me!”

  Instead, she hurried toward the door. He moved to stand in her way.

  “Get out of my way,” she said faking her exasperation. “You should be ashamed of yourself, behaving this way to a neighbor!”

  “Can a neighbor be blamed for falling in love with a beautiful girl?”

  “Yes!”

  “But what if her beauty compels him to fall in love with her. Who’s to blame then?”

  “Don’t start dragging me into conversation. Now stop blocking my way.”

  But, in spite of her warning, he did block her way. She started to panic and rushed toward the door, slipping under his outstretched arm. He was not able to catch up with her. Her heart racing, she rushed downstairs and headed for Sayyid Arif’s apartment. She was neither angry nor exasperated, quite the contrary in fact. She sat on the balcony waiting for her mother to arrive, with the image of the handsome face of the young man and the affectionate tone of his voice still in her memory. She started to recall the stories her school friends had told her about the wiles of young men, love letters, and famous tales of romance. From tomorrow, she wondered, should she enact her own love story? But what kind of young man was he?

  After a while, Rushdi too came downstairs, his face wreathed in smiles. As of yet, his heart had not felt any genuine emotion; it was almost as though he were playing a much-loved role. Even so, he was one of those genuine actors who get so involved in playing their part that his heart catches fire and sparks fly, in laughter or in tears. Soon after, he took off for the casino with a renewed appetite to spend an evening drinking and amusing himself.

  23

  For Ahmad Akif, the Eid went by without him seeing her again. He assumed that she was busy with the feast itself and the various entertainments associated with it. With all his heart he wished her happiness. At this stage, all he wanted was for her to see him dressed in the new suit that he had had made especially in her honor.

  “This suit will last me for a long time,” he told himself, “and at some point she’s bound to see me wearing it with pride.”

  He too was busy with the Eid, although he spent most of it with his friends in the Zahra Café. Sulayman Bey Ata was the only one not there, since he had gone to celebrate the festival in his village. What was amazing was that even though he had by now been spending a lot of time with this group, not a single one of them had become a real friend. That was because when it came to friendship he was always looking for a pair of traits that were never combined: firstly, an acknowledgment of his own superior intellect and education, and secondly, that the friend be cultured—albeit only to a certain extent—so that he could enjoy his company. What he normally found was that the person in question was somewhere in the middle: one friend might be a bit plebeian in outlook (or at least in popular opinion), someone whom he liked as a person and who was prepared to acknowledge Ahmad’s intelligence, while another who was better educated would not be willing to submit to his will and would prefer to argue with him. It might well be that he could love the first and hate the second, but, truth to tell, neither of them could fulfill the role of a real friend. That was why he liked Boss Nunu, Kamal Khalil, and Sayyid Arif but hated Ahmad Rashid. And that was why he remained friendless, or rather his brother Rushdi was his only real friend in the world.

  The Eid passed without his setting eyes on her again. Even so, he never stopped thinking about her, nor did he ignore the need to think about the more important things in his life and future. His emotions had become engaged, his heart was awakened, and hope was bestowing a smile. This was doubly true—two hearts were awakened, not one. After thirty years depriv
ed of love, now here he was experiencing love, and that with a heart that was bidding adieu to his youth. He would have to cling to love as a last hope for real happiness in this world. This sensation had arrived quite by chance when he had almost abandoned all hope. An old song had now come back into his heart, fresh and sweet, almost as though risen from the dead. That meant that he had to look at his affairs carefully and organize his life.

  As the Eid passed, he was much involved in thought and planning. Life was now erasing the frown from his brow and affording him a golden opportunity to try his luck once again. He had no intention of either flinching or hesitating. He was keen to be much more frank with himself and uttered the magic word “marriage” to himself. Yes indeed, but he was forty years old and she was under twenty. He was old enough to be her father, but what was wrong with that? Hadn’t she shown that she was fond of him? His heart gave a flutter at the very thought. Wasn’t he the one her heart had chosen? Thinking of his friend, Kamal Khalil, Ahmad assumed that he would welcome the idea of giving his daughter to him in marriage, even if it was a bit of a shock at first. Ahmad imagined that people would be making inquiries about him. They would find out that he was forty years old, a clerk in the record department at the Ministry of Works, eighth level, someone as inconspicuous within the government hierarchy as he was in the world in general; his salary was fifteen pounds. Wouldn’t Kamal Khalil be a bit anxious about that? After all, he thought Ahmad was a department head. Wouldn’t Sitt Tawhida—Nawal’s mother—say that he was very substantial in years and yet very insubstantial in salary? That thought made him bite his lip, and the old feelings of despair and misery came flooding back. He was on the point of losing his temper and saying something that he had said once before when faced with this particular situation: “Whenever someone persuades themselves into belittling me, the weight of the entire world is not worth a pile of garbage!” However, his determination to try his luck denied him any indulgence in fits of temper. All thoughts of despair were wiped from his mind, bringing in their wake feelings of joy and fond hopes for a new life.