‘Your hands are shaking.’ Idris, too, was having his morning coffee.
‘I hardly slept last night.’ He sat back in his chair, elbows on the arm rests.
‘How is Ferial this morning?’
‘She ate and is looking much better. She has no fever and so far no complications.’
‘Once the stitches are out, she’ll be fine. Zeinab is doing well, too. What’s done is done. It can’t be reversed and there is no point even talking about it.’
Mahmoud felt bolstered by Idris’s pragmatism. He got his voice back. ‘Midnight, and Nabilah was demanding that I go over to Waheeba, not only to shout at her but to divorce her there and then!’
Idris folded open his newspaper. ‘Buy her a gift. On your way home get her a piece of expensive jewellery. That should placate her.’
Mahmoud snorted and put his face in his hands. It had been a terrible night. He had tossed and turned while Nabilah kept vigil in Ferial’s room. What a scene she had made! He was still reeling.
‘Would you believe it,’ he said, ‘she even dismissed the nanny. I found the poor girl wailing, with her belongings all packed up. I told her to stay put. Are people’s livelihood a game?’
‘You did right,’ his brother said, without looking up. ‘In a day or two Nabilah will simmer down and she’ll be relieved that the nanny didn’t go.’
‘I strictly forbade Waheeba from going ahead with this business!’ He banged his desk. ‘She just doesn’t listen. And where were my son and your daughter in all of this? Is this what Nassir and Fatma wanted for their girl? They’re the younger generation, they should be more enlightened.’
Idris looked up.
‘As if you don’t know this society! Fatma and Nassir can’t stand up to Waheeba – I bet you they didn’t even try. And listen to you talking. You might be progressive, but the rest of the country isn’t. Who cares if the British outlawed female circumcision? The practice has just gone underground, that’s all. Consider it a patriotic act of resistance.’ He smirked.
‘Nonsense,’ said Mahmoud. ‘It’s barbaric. I have said time and time again that I would not have this procedure done in my house and Waheeba had no right to disobey me. Besides, she took Ferial without her mother’s consent, knowing full well that Nabilah would not give her consent. She’s deliberately malicious, that woman, chock full of envy. It’s disgusting.’
‘What happened to Nur has made Waheeba aggressive.’ Idris folded his newspaper. ‘She wasn’t like that before.’
‘Speaking of Nur, his nurse, what’s his name . . . Shukry . . . absconded after making off with Waheeba’s gold!’
‘When did this happen?’
‘Early this morning. I drank my tea and went over to tell her off about yesterday and found the whole hoash in an uproar. The theft must have happened during the night, but they only discovered it at dawn. They all slept outside yesterday because it was hot and the nurse went into Waheeba’s room, broke open the cupboard and took her jewellery.’
‘Did you tell the police?’
‘Of course. And Waheeba is blaming Nabilah for bringing a thief to our house. She has the audacity to do so! Just because Shukry is Egyptian and Nabilah is the one who asked me to hire him for Nur.’
They were interrupted by a knock on the door and in came a short, dishevelled Egyptian man, who launched into lengthy greetings. He was clearly in awe of the office, the presence and the reason he was paying this call. Although Mahmoud could not remember his name, he recognised him as the Arabic teacher, cousin of that thief of a nurse. The teacher had recently taken to visiting Nur and conversing with him on literature. No harm
in that, was Mahmoud’s verdict. Anything to keep the poor boy amused and out of the pit of despondency.
‘Mahmoud Bey,’ the teacher was saying, ‘perhaps Master Nur has already mentioned this to you, or perhaps Madame Nabilah did. Sir, I am in dire straits with regards to my accommodation. I live with my family and my aged father in pitiful conditions. And I am here to solicit you, Sir, if you can be so kind as to rent out to me one of your apartments?’
Before Mahmoud could reply, Idris leapt to his feet and threw his newspaper to the ground.
‘Is it possible? After what your cousin did to us? How dare you show your face here and ask for help.’
‘My . . . my cousin?’ the man stammered. ‘What has he done, God forbid?’
‘Shukry the nurse is your cousin. Isn’t that how he got his employment, through you?’
‘Yes – yes!’ his eyes bulged large with anxiety.
‘Ustaz Badr doesn’t know.’ The teacher’s name suddenly came to Mahmoud’s mind. ‘He has no idea what happened this morning.’
‘Well, I’ll tell him,’ bellowed Idris, towering over Badr, who was by now almost trembling. ‘Your cousin turned out to be a thief! He stole Hajjah Waheeba’s gold and now the police are after him.’
Badr turned pale and rigid. He mumbled incoherently and Mahmoud began to feel sorry for him.
‘Get out!’ shouted Idris. ‘Go and retrieve our belongings for us. Discipline that relation of yours. Once the police get their hands on him, he’ll curse the day he reached out for what wasn’t his!’
Badr found his voice. He wanted them to know that he condemned his cousin’s action. Shukry was no good; he had never held one job for long. He was a scoundrel and now, even worse, a thief! He was a burden on Badr and a scourge. He
should have stayed in Egypt and never come here looking for work.
‘Go, go,’ repeated Idris. ‘Enough of all this!’
Mahmoud, too, wanted to see the back of Badr. A replacement for Shukry had to be found. Was there no end to these domestic trials? And still there was Nassir to confront.
The meeting with Nassir had to be conducted in private – it could not take place in front of Idris. Nassir squirmed in his seat as Mahmoud placed his pen in the ink stand.
‘Where were you yesterday when your crazy mother decided to circumcise your daughter Zeinab and dragged Ferial into it as well? Why didn’t you prevent her?’
Nassir looked relieved, as if he had been expecting a different topic of conversation.
‘Oh, Father, these are women’s issues, what does it have to do with me?’
‘Shame on you!’ Mahmoud snapped. ‘Your own daughter’s wellbeing and you don’t want to shoulder the responsibility for it?’
‘It’s Fatma who’s to blame. She must have known about it.’
‘You know Fatma is weak in front of her mother-in-law. You should have put your foot down.’
‘To tell you the truth,’ Nassir smiled, ‘Mother sweetened me up with a little something.’
Mahmoud banged his desk and Nassir jumped.
‘How dare you! Your mother goes against my wishes and you allow her to buy your silence. You are disgusting, Nassir. You sicken me!’
Nassir stood up.
‘Sit down! I am not finished with you. This morning a Greek gentleman came here, claiming that we, as a company, owe him rent on one of his villas in Khartoum.’
There was a silence in the room. Now Nassir started to look anxious. He looked down at the ground. Mahmoud continued,
‘Why should we, as a company, lease a villa in Khartoum! Naturally I asked to see the contract and I am waiting for him to get back to me. Do you, by any chance, know anything about this?’
‘Yes,’ Nassir swallowed. ‘I took out this lease.’
‘For a villa in Khartoum? Whatever for?’
‘Well, it’s tedious to return to Umdurman for lunch and siesta then back again for the evening office session. It is convenient to have a place in town.’
‘Presumably you furnished and staffed it.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And you signed the lease in the company’s name?’
‘I had no choice. It put me in a favourable position. And—’
‘How dare you!’ Mahmoud interrupted. ‘How dare you use my name without my permission?’
Nassir’s voice was sharp with resentment.
‘You would not have granted me permission. I am so often short of funds, but you have little compassion towards me.’
‘Listen,’ Mahmoud glared at him, ‘what you’re doing is dishonest. You want to cheat on your wife? You want to keep a mistress? Then be a man and do it at your own expense. Don’t drag my name into this.’ Mahmoud lowered his voice and spoke more slowly, ‘What havoc would this wreak if Fatma found out and complained to her father? Believe me, your Uncle Idris taking offence is not pleasant!’
‘Oh no, no!’ protested Nassir. ‘It is nothing like that, I swear.’
‘Don’t swear. I detest liars and I abhor cheats. And, on top of this, you are not even capable of financing your own sins. You expect me to bail you out? Well, here’s a surprise for you. I will not do so. Let that Greek kick you and your lady-friend out of that villa. I will not lift a finger to help you. When you leave this office now, you will go and change the lease to your name and face that landlord yourself. You’re a grown man, Nassir. I would like to slap you but I can’t.’ His voice became soft, almost pleading. ‘You have a son and a daughter – when are you
going to take your life seriously? Think of our forefathers and their accomplishments. Think of the family’s name and our reputation.’ His voice almost broke. These sentiments came from his core.
At Louisinian’s the jeweller’s, Mahmoud relaxed. Mr Louis-inian’s warm welcome was gratifying and Mahmoud took a seat, wiping his brow with his handkerchief and sipping a glass of cold lemonade. He liked Mr Louisinian’s restrained professionalism and his immaculate appearance. On trays of red velvet, the jewellery was placed in his view.
‘I see that the construction work is progressing in your new building,’ said Mr Louisinian.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Mahmoud took another sip of lemonade.
He had recently purchased all the materials needed for the finishing. Things were going well indeed. If he had not been in a hurry today he would have passed by the building to check on the progress. It gave him such pride to see it standing strong and tall, the first high-rise in the city, a symbol of modernity and prosperity.
He chatted with Mr Lousinian about the businesses that were now applying to lease units in the building. The conversation became more interesting than the jewellery he was selecting! In the end, he bought Nabilah a necklace on which beads made of solid gold were strung together. It was expensive and unusual, too.
‘Unique,’ as Mr Louisinian put it, ‘distinguished.’
For Ferial, he bought a brooch in the shape of a flower. There was a diamond in place of the centre and the stem and the petals were in gold. He felt refreshed. Now he could face his daily, dutiful visit to Nur.
Before he stepped into Nur’s room he heard him admonishing his mother.
‘You knew you were doing something wrong. That’s why
you hid it from me and left me in this room. I kept calling out for someone to take me out to the hoash but you wouldn’t let anyone come! You knew I would have shouted the house down. Causing these little girls to suffer! For no reason, for no good reason . . .’
When Mahmoud made his appearance, Nur stopped talking. He looked scruffy today. Of course, with the nurse gone, he had not been shaved and he was naked to the waist. Waheeba looked haggard. The heavy chores of changing and feeding Nur must have fallen on her shoulders. She sat up when Mahmoud walked in, but maintained a sulky silence, as if she was waiting for him to leave so that she could lie down again. In spite of the fan whirling overhead, the room was hot. The smell of disinfectant tickled Mahmoud’s nose. He picked up where Nur had left off.
‘I explicitly forbade you from carrying out this barbarity in my house. Time and time again, I told you.’
‘This is women’s business,’ she retorted.
‘No, no. Don’t use this argument on me. You dragged
my
daughter into this. You were spiteful and wicked and I will not let this incident pass, believe me. Because of this, you are not going to visit your relations in Sinja. I absolutely forbid it.’
She frowned. ‘But I have already made my preparations. They are expecting me like every year.’
‘I don’t care. You have done wrong and you must be punished.’
She looked dismayed, ‘What excuse shall I say to them?’
‘What excuse?’ he bellowed. ‘Your stupidity is the excuse! Tell them you disobeyed your husband. Tell them you broke my word in my house.’
‘On a day like this?’ she cried out. ‘You are being harsh to me when all my gold’s been stolen?’ The robbery had turned her into a victim, and all morning the neighbourhood women had visited to commiserate.
‘Shush, I don’t want to hear another word from you. I am
here to visit my son and it would be better for you to remove yourself from my sight!’
She stood up, not without difficulty, gathered her to be around her and waddled out of the room.
The awkward silence that followed was broken by Nur.
‘Did the police catch Shukry?’ he asked.
Mahmoud shook his head and described the Arabic teacher’s visit to the office.
‘Ustaz Badr has been very good to me. He spends time with me reading literature and he refuses to be paid. He insists that these are informal discussions, not proper lessons to prepare for an examination, so I hope you will help him with his accommodation problem.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Mahmoud. ‘Let’s first get your mother’s jewellery back and establish that Ustaz Badr had nothing to do with the robbery. Oh, before I forget, I have a letter for you from Dublin.’
He took the envelope out of his pocket. It was moments like these that he found awkward and denting. A part of him still expected Nur to get out of bed, to walk towards him and take the letter. That was what the old Nur would have done, the well-mannered boy who would not remain seated if Mahmoud stood up, who would be the first to put his hand forward to greet his father. Now nature was subverted. When the doctor in London had suggested that Nur be taught how to use his teeth, nose and forehead to be more independent, Mahmoud had rejected the idea. It nauseated him. Waheeba was better than him, in that respect. She was not embarrassed, nor was she overwhelmed. Thank God for that. Mahmoud could depend on her to look after Nur’s needs now that there was no nurse. She was the only one able to cope with the boy’s moodiness, the days he refused to eat, his migraines, his many minor infections and afflictions. Times had changed indeed; his estranged, unwanted wife was now indispensable.