Cairo Modern (19 page)

Their eyes met for a moment. Filled with fervor, he said, warmly, “Our life has been united by a miracle. Before today, I never appreciated what a significant role chance plays in a person’s life. It has every right to mock our logic and all of existence’s norms. Perhaps you’re feeling forlorn, but you’ll survive thanks to your cleverness and education. Just as love can be a prelude to marriage, so marriage can be a prelude to love. A harmonious relationship is the result of souls that coalesce and hopes that unite. Isn’t that so?”

Her lips moved as though she had something to say but then froze in confusion. There was the hint of a smile on them. His fervor increased and he said, “You’ll discover what I mean and work to accomplish it. Let’s strive together to bring it to pass, and then we’ll see.…”

He told himself: Women can’t live without love; you’ve learned that truth from your reading. She’s no doubt in love, but who is the lucky fellow? He assumed that it had once been Ali Taha. He suspected it had been Qasim Bey next. It
might simply be a love for wealth rather than for a person. On this reality his happiness depended. He might have been right when he told her, “Perhaps you’re feeling forlorn.” In fact she did feel forlorn, and he perceived that at first glance. Indeed, he realized that the sensitive and gracious thing would have been for him to spare her that night. He nixed this idea, however, convinced that the raging beast inside him would not accept any postponement or delay. He would be incapable of waiting, no matter what that cost him. Then he put aside his reflections as his natural boldness returned. “Let’s go in.”

He took her wrist gently and stood up. She rose obediently. Then he put his arm around her waist, and they went inside.

W
hen he opened his eyes early the next morning, they fell on the mirror of the fancy armoire. He saw his reflection and that of the precious treasure lying beside him. He leaned on his elbows and then his eyes took a break while he was deluged by memories of the previous night, which had left indelible traces on his soul and body. Ihsan was still sound asleep, and her tresses were spread across the silk pillow. How beautifully pure this skin was! How deep the black of this hair! His breast shook with ecstasy. Then his full lips landed on her smooth cheek.

As he drank thirstily from this abundant well the first week of this new life passed. He quickly realized, from the first moment, that his pleasure—their pleasure—needed to be complemented by something totally novel in order for him to forget what he needed to forget and so she could ignore what it would be best for her to ignore, in order to clear the air for them to enjoy their life in the finest possible manner. He actually experimented with this necessity, about which he had heard a lot. This was booze. Only a little of it sufficed for both of them, but it had a magical utility. With its assistance, Ihsan dissolved into amiability, exuding magic, and he would rest in her arms, sipping in all the delights of his good fortune. Life on the surface was tipsy with pleasure rendered intoxicating by desire. Beneath the surface, however, there were concealed, turbulent currents. Mahgub could not stop wondering about Ali Taha, Qasim
Fahmi, and Ihsan’s heart. Occasionally doubt stirred and he would censure his ego and upbraid it, telling himself that it was sheer stupidity that whispered to him, rousing him from his pleasure in order to light thought’s fire. He tried repeatedly to shield himself with sarcasm and began to advise himself: Kill doubt. Erase “honor” from your dictionary. Beware of jealousy. Apply yourself to your passion. Pursue your ambition enthusiastically and remember that you’re engaged in the first and final test of your philosophy. Say “tuzz” now. Say it with your tongue, heart, and will.

Ihsan also had some issues that upset her. She had finally learned her destiny and found her niche. The curtain had descended on the dreams of her earlier life, and her hopes of marrying a mighty bey had been deceived. She found herself the mistress of an amazing residence where two men vied for dominance. She no longer said no. Why should a drowning person fear getting wet? She thought it wise to consider her circumstances. The heart that Ali Taha had awakened had been obliterated and disappeared. The security that Qasim Fahmi had waved before her eyes had not panned out and had vanished. All she was left with was this animal appetite that her father had unleashed early on. Perhaps she pitied Ali Taha, felt resentful toward Qasim Bey, or loathed Mahgub Abd al-Da’im. She did not, however, allow any of these emotions to expand or grow. Her character and circumstances inclined her toward total submission. What could she hope to gain from grieving over a past that would never return? The best thing was for her to direct her attention to the present and future. She should delight in pleasure, accumulate power, spend freely, and shower her family with every boon known to mankind. Only in this way would her sacrifice not have been in vain. Her husband deserved her consideration more than anyone else. She had
been ready to despise him more than once, but for what? Because he …? But she had too.… She had no more reason to condemn him than he had to condemn her. Actually, something else united them. He was apparently a victim of poverty and ambition like her. Each of them was the victim of a single evil. How appropriate it would be for them to get along and cooperate. Each of them was addressing his issues sagely, attempting as far as possible to banish any suffering. So life continued as pleasurably as drink and a desire to be happy could make it. Mahgub was better than she was at mastering his reservations due to his famous scornfulness. She was a recent convert to amorality. Thus she may well have felt despair while alone. Perhaps she longed for those first, radiant hopes about love and an honorable life. In this regard, she resembled a migrant in a strange land at the moment his new house welcomes him the first night. All the same, she mastered her ailment—and longing is an ailment—with the pragmatism for which women are famous and through a genuine desire for the good things of life. For this reason, when Mahgub asked her one day during the first week while pinching her cheek, “Are you happy?” she immediately replied, “Yes, praise God.”

Then the young man told her delightedly, “Life spreads before us. Opportunities are in reach. So let’s dash into the flowers and pluck the fruit.”

Smiling with pearl-like teeth, she replied, “Let’s go and harvest.”

He said, “Pay no heed to the crusty maxims by which people define happiness. It’s not about life; all of life’s circumstances are comparable regarding happiness. It’s really a matter of willpower. Happiness will obey anyone who enjoys it by force of volition—willingly or not.”

She favored him with a thoughtful look of her extraordinary
black eyes. Cautiously and humbly he continued, “If what you desire doesn’t exist, then desire what does.”

She replied calmly, “There’s no need for that.” Then, remembering a verse from al-Mutannabi, she recited,
“Any place glory flourishes is fine.”

He took her hand as if proposing to her, hesitated a moment, and then said in a different tone of voice, “There’s one other thing. We shouldn’t live a solitary life. Let’s take life at large by storm and grab it with both hands.”

He wished to enjoy every advantage of his new social status and to sanctify its universally valued if fraudulent manifestations. His need to conceal the deviant aspects of his life was in play here. Therefore, he thought seriously about taking his bride to visit the Hamdis family to heal an old wound and to satisfy his desire to show off. But wasn’t there some genuine obstacle to this project?

H
e did not renounce his bold desire, wishing to make this the first step in his conquest of high society. He thought it wise to prepare the way for the visit by telephoning Hamdis Bey. He would be able to tell from the man’s response whether the Pyramids story had reached him yet or whether the resourceful girl had continued to keep it from her family. He placed a call to him and received a polite response. So he told Hamdis Bey of his marriage and revealed his desire to introduce his wife to them. The bey greeted the suggestion warmly. Mahgub rushed to tell his wife proudly and joyfully, “I want to introduce you to my important relatives.”

On the afternoon of the tenth day of his life in the new apartment they made their preparations for this important visit. Ihsan wore a beautiful dress from her new wardrobe and it highlighted her charming figure. Her magic was completed by the contrast between her jet-black hair, her pure, ivory complexion, and her rosy lips. The young man also shone, now that his health and looks were returning. They took a taxi to Zamalek. Ihsan felt some anxiety and misgivings, but Mahgub smiled as calmly and confidently as if he were heading for his childhood home. They crossed the garden on their way to the parlor, still nourishing these feelings, when they were astonished to see the noble family lined up to receive them at the entrance: Ahmad Bey Hamdis, his wife, Tahiya, and Fadil. Mahgub was delighted by this positive reception. He had been confident it would be a success,
if only because women tend to want to scrutinize and criticize other women. They all greeted each other and shook hands. The impact his wife made on the receiving committee was not lost on his bulging eyes. So he felt relieved and rapturous. They sat down and continued to exchange greetings and pleasantries as his anxious eyes glanced everywhere, studying their faces. Without meaning to, he found himself comparing his beautiful wife to Tahiya Hamdis. Tahiya was beautiful, and her beauty had a stamp of elegance and refinement about it, but there was no way that she would be rated as exceptional. His wife was more beautiful than Tahiya. Indeed, she was more beautiful than Umm Tahiya in her prime. Their eyes did not deny or contest this fact. He was ecstatic and told himself with malicious delight: I was vanquished in the tomb on the day of the trip, but today I have my revenge. Wanting them to learn about his wife, he said with his normal temerity, as he pointed toward his girl, “Ihsan is the daughter of Shihata Bey Turki, a major tobacconist. Don’t you know him, Your Excellency?”

Ihsan blushed and looked down to hide her discomfort. For his part, Ahmad Bey Hamdis wrinkled his eyebrows as he searched his memory. Then he said apologetically, “Unfortunately I can’t place him.” Turning toward Ihsan, he added, “It’s our great honor!”

Gesturing toward his wife once more, the young man laughed and said, “She’s a former classmate; I met her at the university.”

The bey and his wife smiled, and Ihsan smiled as well. She was appalled by Mahgub’s recklessness, not knowing how far he would go. Fadil was looking languidly at the bride, but Tahiya could not take her piercing eyes off her. She had grasped the true motives tempting the young man
to make this visit. So she felt even more contempt for him and her glances at the bride were clearly scornful and mocking. Hamdis Bey’s wife began to discuss the university’s women students, saying, “The university is a place to prepare for a career; that’s why Tahiya has chosen a different path.” She asked the bride, “Weren’t you planning to look for a job when you enrolled at the university?”

Ihsan, who was annoyed by this conversation and concerned about the consequences of lying, felt, nonetheless, that she must reply. “Of course, Ma’am, but everything is a matter of fate and destiny, as they say.”

Tahiya wickedly asked her, “Don’t you regret this change of plans?”

They all smiled, and Mahgub laughed, as though her taunt pleased him. He said, “God forgive me. Ihsan was a brilliant student. She frequently amazed M. Lechot, the philosophy professor, with her intelligence. He long opposed her departure from the program.”

He looked at Tahiya to check her eyes for the impact of his words. He found that she was gazing at him contemptuously and ironically. He did not feel angry. In fact, he was secretly delighted. Then a Nubian servant entered with refreshments. They drank with relish and silence prevailed, as if this were an intermission.

Hamdis Bey’s wife picked up the conversation again, dredging up old memories as she recalled the small boy who now made an appearance as a worthy husband and the head of a new household. She spoke of time, of its remarkable rapidity. Then she asked the young man, “How are your parents?”