Read The Map of Love Online

Authors: Ahdaf Soueif

The Map of Love (58 page)

‘Ya Sidi, educate the boys first. Are all boys getting an education?’

‘No.’ Ahmad Lufi al-Sayyid speaks for the first time. ‘But if we are to have a general drive for education, if we are to have a law that makes education up to a certain age compulsory, then that should apply to girls as well as to boys. We must start in the right way.’

‘And where will you end?’ Tal
at Harb asks. ‘By allowing them to work? Giving them the right to divorce? Changing the laws of inheritance?’

Anna sees her husband stand up and sees Muhammad
Abdu lay a hand on his arm: ‘Ya Sidi, no one is talking about changing the law. We are talking about teaching girls to read and write —’

They did not agree. Later that night my husband said to me, ‘Yes, the laws should be changed. And if I had my way they would be changed tomorrow.’

He is happiest up in Tawasi, on his land. There, if he makes a decision it becomes a fact. And if he cannot do something, it is because Nature herself will not permit it. He finds it intolerable to submit to the will of other men. He is happy in Tawasi, and he was happy in Rome. It was as though there he was free, free to be himself, to be only himself. We were two anonymous travellers avoiding the places where the English congregate, going where the Italians go. We walked in the streets, went into the churches, ate in out-of-the-way restaurants. The smallest things delighted us. The novelty of ananging to meet in a hidden piazza, of my
taking his arm as we walked along the street, of sitting side by side in the theatre — these were all new adventures for us and he was light and playful and happy. But I believe that even without the consideration of his family he would find it impossible to live abroad. He would be a man without a purpose; for his purpose, his vocation, is Egypt
.

Cairo
30 December 1901

Dear Sir Charles
,

I have received yours of the 1st in which you tell me of Mr Barrington’s appointment on the Tribune. I am most glad of that for he has a thorough knowledge of affairs here and he combines sympathy with a quick mind and an ability with words and his appointment can only lead to good. I am sure he is most sensible of your kindness and will prove worthy of it. I trust it may contribute to your good opinion if I inform you that he was most anxious to secure good positions for his servants before he left and has placed them with British residents — for Egyptian households will not readily take a servant who has been employed by foreigners
.

I fear this year has not brought about any changes to your liking in the way the world is run and I do not have much hope that the coming year will do better. Mrs Butcher tells me that Mr Blunt, on hearing that Rosebery has offered himself for Prime Minister, said, ‘Salisbury is bad enough, but Rosebery would merely mean Government by the Stock Exchange.’ A sentiment with which I imagine you would heartily concur
.

Mr Blunt has been much in the news here these past months. Some officers gave chase to a fox over his land and his men gave chase to the officers. These last would not leave and a fight ensued; the Egyptians were arrested, tried by the Special Court and given jail sentences for assaulting British officers. Mr Blunt, it would appear, intends to use this event to bring about a change in the law, a change that would be much favoured here, as this business of hunting across cultivated land — for every inch of land that is not desert
here is cultivated — does much damage and is a cause of constant grievance to both fellaheen and landowners
.

You ask if I have seen the new Lady Cromer and the answer is I have not, for I have no longer any commerce with the Agency; indeed, of all the residents I only see Mrs Butcher, who has been kindness itself and continues to call on me and Ion her
.

I have, I confess, been missing our English Christmas. Perhaps more so this year than last. Although Sharif Basha surprised me with a handsome gift, an Ethiopian cross set with rubies, yet it seemed odd to me that the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth of December should on the whole be passed like any other day — and especially so this year as Christmas falls in the month of Ramadan. Of course the Coptic Christmas here is celebrated on the sixth of January. But even that will not have the music I am used to and love so much. I played some carols on the piano my husband bought for me lately, but it was not quite the same thing — indeed, I think it made me miss the carols at St Martin’s a little more. Last year we had some quite outstanding music, largely due to Mr Temple Gairdner. But I hear now that he has started his work of conversion in earnest and is preaching to the Nile boatmen in Bulaq, and I fear much mischief will come of this
.

I have begun to have some understanding of the complexity of things here and of the difficulty of my husband’s situation — the difficulties for all those who think as he does and the delicate balance they must be constantly at pains to maintain
.

The British presence here has had the sad effect of dividing the national movement, which was united, under
Urabi Pasha in 1881, in its desire to embark on the path of democracy and modernisation. The reasons for our intervention at that time I have heard you speak of often, and always with distaste. Had we not intervened, the conflict between the people and the Khedive would have been resolved in some manner private to them. Egypt’s ties to Turkey had been considerably loosened over the previous hundred years and it is likely that the Khedive alone would not have been able to stand in the face of the will of the people
.

Now, although all are united in their desire to get rid of the British, some believe it can be done now, while others believe it can only be done gradually through a strengthening of the national institutions
.

And there are other divisions: people who would have tolerated the establishment of secular education, or the gradual disappearance of the veil, now fight these developments because they feel a need to hold on to their traditional values in the face of the Occupation. While the people who continue to support these changes have constantly to fight the suspicion that they are somehow in league with the British
.

And the relationship of Egypt to Turkey is another point. There are those who believe that to counteract British influence, Egypt should ally herself ever more closely to the Moslem Sultan in Istanbul. Others argue that the Turkish Empire is in decline. They point to the Sultan’s apparent inability to protect his territories from European incursion and argue that a young and vigorous Arab Caliphate should be established in Hijaz, and Egypt should ally herself with that. And there are others yet who feel that Egypt should stand by her history and stand alone, a secular state, embracing its Moslem and Christian citizens alike. And so the very thing that should make Egypt strong — the richness and diversity of her culture — serves to divide her and make her weak. My husband believes that had it not been for the British, the Sultan in Istanbul would have gradually become an irrelevance and Egypt would have found her feet alone, while the natural bonds of history and language linked her closely to the other Arab nations
.

And so our presence — at best hampering, at worst oppressive — makes itself felt at every turn and renders the accusation ‘Traitor!’ ever ready to be thrown at someone who does not think as you do on the smallest question …

Cairo
30 December 1901

Dear James
,

I have just heard the good news from Sir Charles that you have been appointed to the Tribune. I am very glad for you and I hope
you will be happy in London. It is odd to think that we can continue to be friends now better than we could have, were you still living in Cairo
.

I shall ask my husband where best you may write to me and I will let you know
.

I can hardly give you any news, for of our friends I only see Mrs Butcher, as she is kind enough to continue to call on me from time to time. A part from her and Madame Hussein Rushdi, my friends now are all from among the Egyptians. I am quite taken up with my family and am happier in my marriage than I would have thought possible. Sharif Basha is loving and considerate and Layla is the sweetest of sisters. Ahmad, her son, is the most adorable child. I am grown great friends with my belle-mère and we demonstrate our recipes to each other in the kitchen. And I am grown fond too of old Baroudi Bey, who sits silently in his shrine all day long but will look up and help me with an Arabic word when I am in need
.

I still paint and sketch but my new passion is weaving. My husband has bought a middling-size loom for me and — after I had asked him whether he meant to absent himself for twenty years — I have quite taken to it. I find that when I work at it I am still a part of everything that surrounds me. It is not like reading or writing, when you are necessarily cut off from everything so that you may not hear when you are spoken to — indeed you may look up and be surprised to find yourself where you are, so transported were you by what is on the page. When I work at the loom I am still part of things and it seems as if the sounds and the smells and the people coming and going all somehow get into the weave. I can see you thinking ‘Ah! Anna is getting metaphysical’, but I am really most practical, for when I work at it I can still join in with Ahmad’s chatter. When I paint I am always afraid of smudges and one has to get to a certain point or the light will change or the colours go dry. And then there is the pleasure of using the object you make — oh, I forget myself and preach. Preach weaving, now that’s a comical notion. But truly, I believe that my sitting at the loom in his courtyard has brought some pleasure to old Baroudi Bey —

17 December 1901

Sharif Basha straightens the covers over his father. He gently moves the old man’s foot in from the edge of the bed and covers it with the blanket. Then he leaves the room.

It was here, outside the shrine, that he had first come upon his father and Anna at their lessons: the fair head and the turbaned one bent over the book, his father’s finger, trembling slightly, pointing to something on the page, Anna looking up, her violet eyes smiling into the old man’s face. Anna. He walks back to the house. Her contentment delights him. If she is content. He watches out for signs of restlessness. It would not surprise him — God knows he would be restless in her position. He keeps her supplied with paints and paper, with every sheet of music he can find. When she exclaimed over a tapestry, he had a loom sent round and a woman to teach her how to use it. She set up the loom in the courtyard by his father’s door and there she would sit, working slowly as she learned this new art while the old man watched the balls of brilliant silk twitch and roll in the sunshine. ‘God has compensated you well for your patience,’ his mother said, and his heart was warm as he watched this strange wife of his busy herself around the old house as though this was where she had always wanted to spend her days. And his heart was full when she came to him in his bed as though this was how she had always wanted to spend her nights.

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