The Mirage (28 page)

The man rose and looked at me questioningly.

“Gabr Bey Sayyid,” I said.

“Second floor,” he replied.

I ascended the stairs in fear and trepidation, stopping at every landing to catch my breath. When I found myself outside the flat’s closed door, I grew weak in the knees and was tempted to turn and flee, to postpone the critical visit until another day. However, I heatedly rejected the idea. It occurred to me to go back down and calm my tense nerves by walking around for a while and reorganizing my thoughts, and again, I nearly retreated. However, the next moment I began wondering: Might not the gatekeeper be suspicious of me if he saw me coming down right after I’d spoken to him, then saw me come back to the building just a few minutes later? Thus I thought better of going back down the stairs. Even so, I stood there without moving a muscle. I gazed steadily at the door until I imagined its keyhole to be an eye staring mockingly into my face. I
shifted my gaze to the doorbell, and my eyes fixed themselves on it in fear and panic. What would happen to me if the door opened suddenly and I saw someone I recognized and who would recognize me? I wished at that moment that my life had maintained its usual, unhurried pace rather than crashing headlong into this love that had turned it upside down. Then suddenly from inside the house I heard a shrill voice shout, “Turn on the radio, Sabah!” Trembling all over, I listened intently, feeling more frightened than ever. Shame on you, Mama! I thought. Wouldn’t it have been better for you to be in my place now? Then I heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and although I was more agitated than ever by now, I had no choice but to keep on going. I approached the door and brought my hand up to the doorbell. I hesitated for a moment, feeling myself in an uproar. Then I pressed the button and heard a loud, obnoxious ring. Having worked myself into a pathetic state, I stood aside and waited.

The door opened to reveal a coal-black face belonging to a servant woman who looked to be around fifty years old.

“Yes?” she said, peering at me with sparkling eyes.

Hoping the bey would be out for some reason, I asked, “Is Gabr Bey home?”

“Yes, he is,” she replied. “Who wishes to see him?”

Taking a card out of my wallet, I presented it to her and said, “I’d be obliged if the bey could grant me a brief interview.”

The servant took the card and disappeared while I waited, my heart aflutter and my soul in turmoil. I imagined the bey reading the card aloud while everyone around him exchanged smiling glances, then rushed to hide in some safe place whence they could observe me when I
came in. My face flushed with embarrassment at the thought and I became more distraught. Then the servant’s head popped out of the door again as she said, “Come in.”

I went in with my head bowed, and she led me to a door immediately to the right of the entrance. I entered the parlor, which was an elegant room with navy blue furniture, then betook myself to a chair between two sofas some distance from the door and sat down. I could hardly believe I was actually sitting in their house, and I began listening intently, feeling fearful, apprehensive, and restless. At first I hoped the bey would be delayed so that I could have time to compose myself. Then, given the torment of waiting, I started to hope he’d arrive quickly so as to put an end to my suffering. I don’t know how long I waited before I heard footsteps approaching. The bey entered and I rose to my feet. He welcomed me politely and gestured toward the chair, saying, “Make yourself comfortable.”

He sat down on the sofa not far away. Around fifty years old, he was tall and slender, with a physique and eyes similar to my sweetheart’s, and I liked him right away. He was wearing a loose, reddish woolen wrap, and his hands were redolent with a fragrant cologne.

He smiled at me warmly and said, “Welcome, Kamil. We’re honored to have you here.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said appreciatively.

Did he know the purpose of my visit? Had he heard previously of the name he’d read on the card?

Whatever the case may be, I thought, I had no choice but to broach the subject with him as though he knew nothing about it. I’d written down an outline of what I thought I ought to say, and I’d read it over and over again until I’d memorized it before leaving the house.

In a low voice I said, “I’m sorry to inconvenience you with this visit from someone you haven’t met before.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Kamil,” he said, the gracious smile never leaving his fine lips. “Are you from around here?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, happy to have been given a reason to speak. “I live in Manyal.”

“It’s a nice, peaceful neighborhood.”

Taking more and more of a liking to him, I said, “I was born there, too. My grandfather, Colonel Abdulla Bey Hasan, moved there more than seventy years ago.”

“Abdullah Bey Hasan,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I’ve heard that name before. Was he your grandfather on your father’s side?”

“No,” I said, feeling distressed. “He was my maternal grandfather. My father was from the Laz family.”

“Was he an officer, too?”

Feeling increasingly anxious, I replied, “No, he wasn’t, may he rest in peace. He was a notable.”

Still smiling, he said, “I thought he might have been an officer, since people of the same profession often marry into each other’s families.”

I affirmed what he’d said, then he fell silent, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. As I went over the things I’d memorized, I recalled the critical statement on which my fortune in life hung. However, my tongue was tied and I said nothing. It wasn’t long before I’d gone back to feeling muddled and anxious, and my head was ablaze with embarrassment. At that moment the young servant—the one who knew me well—came in carrying the tea tray. She set it down on a table whose surface was plated with a polished mirror. Then, concealing a faint smile, she withdrew.
I welcomed her arrival with the tea, since it rescued me from the awkward silence that was weighing on me almost unbearably. The bey filled two glasses and invited me to take one. I picked up my glass with gratitude and began sipping it unhurriedly while my mind raced. Then, having reluctantly finished my tea, I found myself faced once again with Gabr Bey and the mysterious, cordial smile with which he encouraged me to speak. What had to be done, had to be done. Otherwise, the session would turn into a ridiculous joke. So, I thought: let me feign a bit of manliness in the presence of the person whose son-in-law I aspire to be before I lose his respect.

Gathering my courage, I said in what was, admittedly, a tremulous, unsteady voice, “Sir, I wanted … I mean, the fact is that I’d like to have the honor of becoming your son-in-law.”

The statement I’d written out and memorized wasn’t much different from what I said. I felt muddled after I’d opened my mouth. However, God came to my rescue, and I managed to express what was on my mind with a fair degree of success. I looked over at the man and found him still smiling.

He paused a few moments that were a source of agony to my terrified soul.

Then he said ever so graciously, “I thank you for your high opinion of us.”

He fell silent for a few more pensive moments, then continued, “However, I ask you to give me two weeks to consult with other concerned parties.”

“Of course, of course,” I said. “I can only thank you for your generosity and hospitality.”

I rose to my feet in preparation to leave. He invited me
to stay longer, but I declined apologetically, thanking him for his gracious offer. Then I bade him farewell and left. Once outside, I heaved a deep sigh, feeling as though a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Now that the ordeal was over, the task looked like a simple one that shouldn’t have caused me such fear, anxiety, and dismay. I smiled in relief, then burst out laughing.

I
enjoyed the intoxication of relief and victory until evening. Then back came angst, that old cohort that never tires of my company. Would Gabr Bey agree to let a petty employee like me marry his daughter? Wouldn’t Muhammad Gawdat be the more likely candidate despite my income from our family’s estate? After all, he was an engineer like Gabr Bey, not to mention his being a neighbor and a friend. As for me, I had no such qualifications. On the other hand, Rabab hadn’t taken to him, and if she’d had any interest in him, she wouldn’t have met with me and encouraged me to meet with her father. This thought cooled my burning heart and brought back my intoxication. However, it wasn’t sufficient to eradicate the doubt and anxiety that lurked deep inside me. As the days of waiting passed one by one, I only grew more depressed and pessimistic. Consequently, I kept the matter a secret from my mother, enduring the wait and the bitterness of doubt in a fearsome solitude lest she learn of my failure if that
was to be my fate. Strangely, we’d never returned to the subject of marriage since that tempestuous evening. Her behavior reflected an unaccustomed reserve that wasn’t lost on my sensitive radar. There were numerous occasions when she seemed like an angry child who’s gone off to pout. Whenever I came to her with something to talk about, she would receive me with a kind of suspicion that wouldn’t leave her until she’d assured herself of the nature of the subject to be discussed. I was annoyed by the change in her, but I continued to treat her with courtesy and affection.

During this same period of time, a fellow employee at my workplace whispered in my ear that, according to an employee in the personnel department, “somebody” had been inquiring about me. Hence, news quickly spread in the warehousing section that I was planning to marry. Accordingly, they began jovially offering me personal advice, which caused me to feel even more resentful and angry. When the waiting period was over, I went to see Gabr Bey Sayyid. However, I didn’t go to his house this time for fear that the answer I’d receive would be a disappointment. Instead, I went to meet him at the Ministry of Labor, where he gave me a warm welcome and announced his agreement! Thus my torment came to an end and I was reinstated in the land of the living. During this meeting we agreed on a date for the engagement party. If a person’s life is a mixture of misery and happiness, it seemed to me then that my days of misery were over, and that I would be rewarded for my patient endurance, misery, and fear with untainted bliss for the rest of my days. I went home, summoned my mother, and informed her of what had happened.

After listening to me in resignation and astonishment, she asked, “Why did you keep all this from me?”

“I didn’t expect it to turn out the way it has,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“My Goodness!” she said testily. “Did you really think they’d refuse you? What a naive child you are! Don’t you know that there are countless girls out there a thousand times better than yours who’d be more than happy to marry you?”

In a tone that made clear that I had no desire to pursue the discussion, I said, “I’m waiting for you to congratulate me, Mama.”

Leaning toward me and kissing my cheek, she murmured, “I’m the one who ought to be congratulated.” Then she uttered a lengthy prayer of supplication for me.

Being someone who found it difficult to hide her feelings, my mother’s face was an open book. As such, the look in her eyes betrayed a profound disappointment that roiled my peace of mind. I ignored it, however, pretending to believe her words, and before long I’d become too engrossed in my own happiness to worry about her. On that same day I wrote a letter to my brother, informing him of what had happened and inviting him to the engagement party. I visited my sister Radiya as well and invited her too. On the appointed day we all went together, though I honestly don’t know how I got the courage to attend. Linking arms with my brother Medhat, I asked him to be my escort, and I wore him out with my awkwardness, passivity, and shyness.

I didn’t utter a word the length of the entire party. I didn’t even take my eyes off the floor. I was surrounded the whole time by curious onlookers, both men and women, and I didn’t get over my fright until after the relatives had gone and the only people left were immediate family.

Gabr Bey’s wife said to me with a laugh, “You’re so shy, Kamil! Now I know why you hovered around your bride for months as though you were afraid to make a move!”

My heart skipped a beat in response to what she said, and I glanced furtively at my mother to see what impact the woman’s words had had on her. However, I found her engrossed in a conversation with Gabr Bey. I sat the entire time beside Rabab without being able to bring myself to look at her, badly as I wanted to. All I managed to do was to cast a quick, diffident glance at her as she entered the room surrounded by a halo of light and splendor. Then, flustered and self-conscious, I reverted into a stupor in which I absented myself from everything around me. When the family celebration had dispersed and we were on our way home, my brother Medhat chuckled out loud, saying in amazement, “You need to find a cure for your shyness. I swear to God, I’ve never seen anything like you!”

As for me, I took no notice of his ribbing and criticism. I was too happy.

A
fter this, visits became easier for me. In fact, I got used to them and even came to enjoy them. Now I could ring the doorbell without my heart being wrenched out of my chest. I could walk to the sitting room without tripping on the edge of a carpet or piece of furniture, and I could meet with my new family without staring at the floor the entire time and stammering when I spoke. In fact, I could make conversation within the limits of my ability and even laugh if the occasion warranted it. My new family was an amiable and lovable family of which my sweetheart was the embodiment, and this alone was sufficient testimony to its goodness. My relationship with Gabr Bey Sayyid grew into a friendship, and there came to be such warmth and familiarity between Madame Nazli and me that we were like mother and son. The little ones, Muhammad and Rouhiya, charmed me with their bounciness and wit, and even the young servant girl and the black maid won a share of my affection. I loved all of them with a love that reflected the
passion in my heart for my beloved, and an unspoken longing for intimate, loving companionship.