‘Oh we missed you,’ cried Soraya, ‘when my sisters and I were getting everything ready. I wished you were in Umdurman so you could have helped me. Instead I had to resort to all our Egyptian and European friends in Khartoum. Here, let me show you a photograph of my wedding.’ She was almost the schoolgirl again, peering into her handbag. ‘I wore a white dress on one of the evenings, the first girl in the family to do so, maybe even the first girl in Umdurman! Both of my sisters only wore Sudanese traditional clothes and the gold. I did all that, too, but I also added on the European evening and we followed the Egyptian custom of giving every guest a little goblet full of sugared almonds as they were leaving. Everyone liked that so much. I’ve always wanted to have a white wedding, ever since I was a little girl and attended yours in Cairo.’
Nabilah held the photograph in her hand. Soraya’s wedding dress was sumptuous, twisted round the bride’s body like a sweet wrapper. The train fell long to the ground and Soraya was wearing gloves and holding a trailing bouquet of branches and
flowers. Fastened to the back of her held-up hair was a headpiece shaped like a valentine, from which wisps of tulle fell. Such striking elegance! Who would have thought?
‘You were a beautiful bride,’ Nabilah said.
She glanced at the bridegroom standing next to Soraya with his bow tie and shining shoes. He was no one she recognised.
‘My husband was educated in Britain. He is progressive and open-minded,’ said Soraya. ‘He has no objections at all to me finishing university.’
‘That’s excellent. Of course, you must complete your studies.’ Nabilah handed back the photograph. ‘A gorgeous dress,’ she murmured.
‘I’ve always wanted to dress in white like you. I used to enjoy looking at all the photographs of your wedding. Remember when I used to come over to the saraya to pore over the albums?’
Nabilah remembered these visits, which she had found irritating. Soraya would barge in unannounced, then would wander around Nabilah’s rooms, fingering the curtains, touching the ornaments, flicking through books and albums, listening to the gramophone and then make snide comments about the children’s Egyptian accents or their strict routine. Who would have ever thought that inside the girl’s heart was affection and admiration? Nabilah was taken aback. She busied herself with her duties as a hostess. It was somewhat inappropriate for Soraya to trail off alone during her honeymoon. Where was the new husband? When Nabilah was on her honeymoon, Mahmoud had not let her out of his sight; he was too ardent for that. Yet Soraya seemed unhurried; she crossed her legs and chatted, and when the children came home from school, she kissed them and fussed over them. The gifts she had brought, a wax doll for Ferial and a train set for Farouk, were joyfully received, exactly what they had been wanting.
Seeing them together, cousins separated by age among many other things, Nabilah could not help but think that blood was,
indeed, thicker than water. Her children were connected to this lady in a way she was not. The physical likeness was there, too, no matter how much she wanted to deny it. It was in Farouk’s skin and in Ferial’s wide mouth and high forehead. For the first time since she came from Sudan, Nabilah acknowledged the magnitude of what was at stake and all that would be given up.
She cried that night, stiffing the sobs, not wanting her mother or the children to notice. Mahmoud had, a number of times, sent go-betweens to persuade her to return to him. They were all Egyptians, the wives of high-ranking officials in Sudan or Nabilah’s own distant relatives. None of them had touched her heart or ruffled her resolve. All of them had infuriated her by either hinting at, or pointing out, how much better off she was financially with Mahmoud, and how she had come up in the world by marrying him. They seemed to believe that, by reminding her of why she had married him in the first place, they were guiding her back to her focus. Instead, their visits left her cold, even more rebellious and determined. It was the one person he hadn’t sent who had succeeded in unsettling her.
‘
I wish you had been in Umdurman to help me plan my wedding
.’ So straightforward a sentiment. To help set up the first Egyptian-style wedding in Umdurman, a wedding like her own. This was touching. The girl had looked up to her, even though Nabilah hadn’t noticed. And why hadn’t she noticed? Because of her own prejudices, and because of the girl’s unpolished manners, the fact that she did not address Nabilah formally and wore a to be and chewed gum and laughed at the children. These were the opaque barriers. Life in Sudan would have had a meaning if Nabilah had been able to make a difference, if she had thrived as a role model, as a champion of progress, as a good influence. She could have taken a younger person’s hand and guided them. But she hadn’t . . . This was the loss that brought tears to her eyes, the loss that would define her children’s lives. She had not been able to rise and fill that leadership position. She had allowed
Waheeba, the dust, the heat, the insects, the landscape and customs to defeat her. She had not fought back.
She was softer and more receptive when the next visitor came. Again, he had not been sent by Mahmoud, again he was a surprise. The man standing at the door was his usual obsequious self, crumpled suit and fingers stained with ink.
‘Welcome, welcome Ustaz Badr! Children, come and see who is here to visit us.’ It was a pleasure to see Farouk and Ferial’s shining eyes, to see how eagerly they greeted their former teacher.
Nabilah treated him with full honours. The salon was specially opened for him and the maid was instructed to offer Turkish coffee with cold water, savoury biscuits and baklava.
‘Are you back for good? Has your secondment come to an end?’
‘No, Madame. Alhamdullilah, it has been extended. I am here for the summer holidays. My family are in Kafr el-Dawar and I came specially to Cairo to see you.’
‘That is very kind of you.’
‘Madame, I am indebted to your husband. You know the terrible predicament I was in, the shameful embarrassment my cousin placed me in?’
Of course she remembered Shukry stealing Waheeba’s gold.
‘We all knew you were innocent. We were sure that you had been unfairly imprisoned.’
‘But, God forbid, my reputation could have taken a severe blow. It is my incredible good fortune that Mahmoud Bey stood by me and vouched for my character. Not only that, but he has agreed to lease me a flat in his new building. We shall move there, Insha’ Allah, on our return. Madame, your husband is truly magnanimous.’
She smiled and urged him to have another pastry. But Badr was focused on what he was saying, the reason he was paying
this visit, circling delicately around the subject and repeating himself. How the waters must return to their natural course. How the children needed their father. How Farouk was the obvious successor to lead Abuzeid Trading, though, out of politeness, Badr neither mentioned Nur’s incapacity nor Nassir’s indolence. None of this was new to Nabilah. She had heard it all before; the need for self-sacrifice, the need for compromise, the ultimate future of the children. What was different, this time, was that she listened. Ustaz Badr was not scolding her or belittling her. He was too respectful for that. And it was as if he understood and took for granted her need for Cairo, her love for home. Umdurman was not up to her standards, but Mahmoud was excellent. Umdurman was to be endured, and Mahmoud was to be celebrated. The burden and the prize, the trial and the reward.
And while Badr talked, a sweet memory came to her mind, distinct and sensory, even though it had been just an ordinary day, nothing unusual or special. On a winter afternoon in Umdurman, she had sat on the terrace sipping tea while Ustaz Badr was tutoring the children in the dining room. There was a soft, cool breeze and the enchanted garden of the saraya; the bone china cup in her hand and the sound of the birds. She could hear the drone of Badr’s voice, the emphatic rise and fall and the children’s squeaky replies. How amused she had been that he taught while sitting perched on the dining room chair, cross-legged and rocking from side to side as if he were still a child, memorising the Qur’an in the kuttab of his village. Afterwards, when the lesson was over, he had stood awhile, chatting to her and reporting on the children’s progress. She had enjoyed his formal politeness, his Egyptian accent sharing the news from back home. She had asked him to recommend a piano teacher for Ferial and brushed aside, yet again, his plea to remind Mahmoud of his housing problem. Normal day-to-day life in Umdurman had had its good moments after all.
‘Perhaps Qadriyyah Hanim could be persuaded to join you
in Sudan,’ said Badr. ‘Then she would be close and you would not have any anxieties about her.’
Or perhaps there was yet a resolution she could not see.
‘Thank you, Ustaz Badr.’ She saw him to the door.
‘Whatever for? If only I could be of any assistance to your family!’
It was not the arguments he presented, but the memories he evoked, the confidence he inspired, and the goodness he underlined. Magnanimous and fair. Yes, that was Mahmoud. That was what her husband strove to be, in spite of the backward pull of tradition and the blows of fate. Magnanimous and fair. She should have been his support, she should have understood and appreciated better.
Early next morning she dressed and went out into the fresh air. Here was Cairo at its best and most benign, the bustle of the streets, the cars and buses; the men and women going about their business. Alhamdullilah, she said to herself. She passed a cinema and stood at the bus stop. The bedraggled seller was still there, selling hairpins, sweets and matches. She opened her purse and bought a packet of crystal sugar for the bus journey. The lump of sugar in her mouth made her feel stable again. It was a treat, however small or modest, and this became her outing, her pleasure.
At King Street she got off and walked towards the green curtains that were billowing in the balcony of the second floor, that green curtain that shielded her grandmother from the glare of the sun and the eyes of the neighbours. Her grandmother would approve of her resolution to return. More than approve; she would be pleased and comforted, sending her off with prayers and good wishes, reassuring her that the months would surely fly by and in no time at all it would be the summer holidays and time for Nabilah to return to Cairo once more. She quickened her pace and entered the cool shade of the building. How she loved this stone staircase and the wide, perfect
circle of the gallery, spirals all the way up to the sun and sky . . . The maid opened the door for her. They were on friendly terms now, ever since Nabilah had moved to Cairo and become a frequent visitor. Nabilah strode across the hall and the sitting room to the balcony. In the green shade, her grandmother was reading the Qur’an. She closed it and put it aside before opening her arms out wide as if Nabilah was a child.
‘Ahlan, Ahlan, what a lovely surprise!’
Nabilah knelt down and was enveloped in lavender and softness; that clear loving voice, saying, ‘How lovely you look, my dear. How chic and becoming!’ And because she knew very well Nabilah’s interests, she touched her sleeves and asked. ‘Is that the latest fashion?’
It must be, for Nabilah had spent night after night at her sewing machine, to get the puffs of the sleeves just right.
After dropping off the basket of food at the prison and spending a few minutes with his cousin, Badr hurried away. Insha’ Allah, this would be his last visit. Shukry’s sentence was nearly coming to an end.
‘As soon as they set you free, you must return to Egypt,’ Badr had urged him. ‘Spend not a single night in Khartoum. I will buy you the train ticket myself.’ Naturally, Shukry was disgruntled at that. He would return to Egypt empty-handed, but enough was enough. His sojourn in Sudan had been a failure and he had no one to blame but himself. ‘If he disobeys me this time, I will not host him,’ resolved Badr. ‘I will not bring him to my house and I will certainly not inform him of my new address.’
My new address
. Today was moving day! Today he had hired a donkey cart to move his family and their belongings to the new flat in the Abuzeid building. When he thought about it, he grew light-headed. It was really going to happen, against all the odds. Shukry’s crime had brought him closer to the attention of Mahmoud Abuzeid, who was able to see Badr as separate from Shukry. A lesser man would have held a grudge, or feared that forgiveness would make him look weak. For years Badr had prayed for that flat and chased that opportunity. There were times when he had despaired, but today he would walk up those stairs. They would all walk up these stairs, and dear, sweet Hanniyah would have a balcony from where she could sit and look down at the goings-on in the street just like a Cairo lady.
He stepped off the tram and hurried to catch the inaugural prayer at the newly refurbished mosque. King Farouk had been
funding this project for almost five years and the prayer hall smelt of paint and the fans that circled overhead were pristine and modern. Badr’s bare feet sank in the new, clean carpet. The mosque was packed and Badr could not make his way to the front rows, which were reserved for Sudanese government representatives and high-ranking officials. Naturally, there was a strong Egyptian presence, and among his compatriots Badr recognized the headmaster of his school and the Egyptian Minister. He spotted the turban of the imam who had come especially from Egypt to lead this very first prayer. Badr could not help but note the irony: this imam was the first Minister of Religious Endowment after the July revolution that had overthrown King Farouk. There was wisdom in this, a lesson to be learnt. One could put money and effort into a project and yet not be present when it comes to fruition. Furthermore, death was not the only exit. There could be ignominy – and who knows if the mosque would continue to carry the name of a deposed King? But Badr reigned in his mind from any further speculation when the imam climbed the mimbar and began the Friday sermon.
Hanniyah was frying aubergines when he arrived home.