large salary, and a cushy residence, but all you find in that is ‘rough times’ that won’t allow you to rescue us from having to beg. Isn’t that so, generous son?”
Mahgub’s face was so pale it resembled a dead man’s. He felt like a person strangling who vainly shudders and struggles to take a single breath. His father’s words had not moved his heart but had confused and distressed him, placing him in a quandary. So he said, “Your words hurt me deeply, father. Listen to me. I’ll tell you the truth and atone for my error. I’ll lay to rest your charges that I haven’t been sufficiently dutiful. God knows I was going to tell you about my success and provide you with assistance the first of next month. I was given my position two months ago. Although penniless, I had to present a suitable façade, otherwise I would have lost a once-in-a- lifetime opportunity. So, I borrowed a large sum of money that I still haven’t paid off. That’s how I won the position while still suffering from embarrassment and want. That’s the truth.”
The man shook his head skeptically and resentfully. “You’re too preoccupied by presenting an appropriate appearance, having an elegant residence, and fancy banquets.”
Mahgub realized that al-Ikhshidi had spared no effort in defaming him. Struggling to contain his rancor and anger, he said, “These appearances, even if they seem luxuries, are prerequisites for my position.”
“Was leaving us to writhe in hunger a prerequisite for this glorious position?”
Exerting a death-defying effort to mask his anger and resentment, the young man said, “Of course not, father. I’ve clearly stated my good intentions. So don’t hinder my effort with your grudges or deny me my chance at success.”
“I assume that won’t be achieved till you slay us.”
“No, it will be achieved in a way that will make all of us happy.”
Abd al-Da’im Effendi was silent for a time, staring at his son with skepticism and suspicion. Then he asked, “If that’s how things are with you, how could you get married? Why didn’t you postpone the marriage till you had some money? And how could you get married without telling us, not to mention asking our opinion?”
Mahgub felt relieved by this question from his father, since it showed that he did not know the fateful secret. In a soft voice, he said, “The marriage was the price of the position, as so often happens these days. I married into a respected family that’s related to the minister, and the marriage was one of the reasons for my financial problems. Perhaps you’ve grasped now the difficult circumstances that have governed my life during the last two months.”
Although the father was not satisfied and although the son’s state of nervous tension and discontent had only intensified, each was planning to say something when the doorbell rang suddenly. The door opened and then closed. They heard heavy footsteps in the foyer, and Mahgub recognized them easily.
45
He replied without any hesitation, pretending to be nonchalant, “Yes, this is my father-in-law who has come to visit his daughter.”
“Aren’t you going to receive him?”
He stuttered and then said resolutely, “No, my wife will find an excuse to explain my absence. I’ll introduce you to him some other time.”
They fell silent. The old man sensed that his son was embarrassed to introduce him to his father-in-law and tucked in his chin quietly and sadly. Mahgub sat by the door trying his hardest to calm his nerves. He glanced stealthily and angrily at his father, revealing his resentment and rancor. The night had to end peacefully. He felt intuitively that if the night did end peacefully, he would have saved his life and hopes forever. But why should he be afraid? The minister had safely reached his destination, and his father’s state revealed that he did not know the dreadful secret. All he had to do was to be patient and wait until the bey left — as he had arrived — peacefully. All the same he remained — despite the promising signs — anxious and worried. His nervous tension increased when his father complained again in a bitter, disapproving tone, “If your heart really was affectionate, son, it would have set much less store on your position’s requirements, which you have used as an excuse, and would have tormented you for allowing your parents to writhe in hunger. I’m amazed at how your mother continues to defend you, rejecting all the charges that were shared with us. She told me, ‘Time will show you whether I’m not the one who knows our son best.’ I wish she had come with me to see with her own eyes.”
Mahgub felt exasperated. He was fed up with the man whose presence had caused his present crisis. He was poised to respond when the doorbell rang to announce a new arrival. Mahgub’s heart pounded painfully. Who could it be? Was there something more? The cook opened the door, and then he heard a shrill voice. Outraged, he went to the door of the room and opened it. Then he saw a lady who was brushing the cook out of her way and entering the apartment in a state of intense nervous excitation. She was an elegantly attired lady of aristocratic bearing. He was astonished and alarmed. Then he felt panic-stricken, terrified, and speechless. Seeing him, the woman approached haughtily, her eyes flashing angrily. When she stopped before him, she asked contemptuously, “Are you the person known as Mahgub Abd al-Da’im?”
Mahgub was already predisposed to terror and pessimism. His tormented soul told him that he was the victim of a perfidious plot of which his father was merely one of many lethal weapons. He felt despondent, convinced that his glory hung from a fragile thread. Looking at the woman disapprovingly, he said in a low voice, since he was apprehensive about her loud voice that his father could hear, “Yes, madam, I am.”
She scowled angrily, her lips curled disdainfully, and she said harshly, “Come on, show me the room where my husband is secluded with your chaste wife.”
This request pierced his heart, splitting it in two, his energy evaporated, and he felt almost oblivious to his surroundings. The woman turned from him toward the bedroom door like a madwoman. She twisted the doorknob but found the door locked. She struck it hard with the palm of her hand, screaming with crazed fury, “Open the door! Open up, man, Mr. Important Minister. Your cover is blown. I saw you enter this brothel with my own eyes. If you don’t open the door, I’ll break it down.”
The young man’s despair reached its zenith. He stayed where he was, making no motion, as if he were watching a dreadful calamity that did not concern him and that had no bearing on his destiny. It seemed to be more than he could bear to accept that his glory, for which he had mobilized so much energy and thought and on which he had built so many dreams, could in a minute be annihilated. He sensed his father approaching. He asked, in voice Mahgub had come to hate, “What is it? What is this lady saying?”
The young man, however, did not trouble himself to reply. He seemed not to have heard the question. He no longer noticed him. The woman had not stopped pounding on the door, screaming angrily, “I’m warning you that if you don’t open the door voluntarily, I’ll have the police open it by force.”
Mahgub collected what little energy he retained and approached the lady. In a pleading voice, he said, “Madam …”
But she did not allow him to speak. She turned on him and spitefully slapped his face hard, yelling at him, “Don’t say a word, you vile pimp.”
Mahgub retreated in alarm to where his father was standing, paying no attention to him. Then the door opened, and Qasim Bey Fahmi emerged, closing the door behind him. Mahgub heard the key turn from the inside. The man was trying to put on a brave front, but his discomfort was too profound to hide. He quickly told his wife, “Come outside with me, please.”
Crazed with anger, she shouted at him, “Open this door! It must be opened.”
In a low voice he replied, “Not so loud, madam. This isn’t becoming.”
She yelled sarcastically, “You’re going to tell me what’s becoming and what’s not, Your Excellency the Bey? Do you suppose it’s becoming for me to catch you in the bedroom of this insolent pimp’s wife? Will you be happy when your son and daughter learn about your praiseworthy conduct?”
“That’s enough. Enough. Come with me, and we’ll sort through our differences at home.”
He tried to take her arm, but she wrested it from his grip contemptuously and shouted, “I’ll leave this filthy
