Shell certainly have to pay a high price for it. I'm not a toy or an object to be ridiculed. She won't find her son until she dies. Do you suppose there’s any money left for me? When I go in the house, will I find that man there? I won't know how to treat him. Our eyes will meet for a dreadful moment. Woe to him! Should I ignore him or throw him out? That’s a solution. There are violent alternatives the man won't have considered. The funeral will certainly bring us together. What a joke! Imagine her coffin with her first and final husbands following behind it, while her son walks between them with tears in his eyes. By that time there definitely will be tears in my eyes. Isn't that so? I won't be able to evict him from the funeral. Scandal will accompany me to the very end. Then she'll be buried. Yes, she'll be buried, and everything will end. But I'm afraid, hurt, and saddened. May God and His angels pray for me… Here’s the sinister store… There’s the man. He won't recognize me. Far from it… I'm disguised by age. 'Uncle… my mother says…''
The servant opened the door for him, the same servant who had received him the year before. At first she did not recognize him and looked up curiously, but the questioning look quickly left her face to be replaced by a flash of recognition that seemed to say, 'Oh… you're the one she’s waiting for'. Then she made way and pointed to a room on the right as he entered. She said, 'Step this way, sir… No one else is there'.
Her final phrase attracted his attention immediately, since it addressed one of his major concerns. He realized that his mother had removed this obstacle. He headed for her room, cleared his throat, and entered. His eyes met his mother’s as she looked up from her bed, to his left. Her eyes, known for their clarity, were clouded, so that her gaze seemed faint, as though coming from far away. Despite the feebleness of her eyes and their apparent disinterest, occasioned by their fading strength, she fixed them on him with a look of recognition. The delicate smile of her lips betrayed her feelings of victory, relief, and gratitude. Since she was wrapped in a blanket up to her chin, only her face was visible, a face that was far more changed than her eyes. Once full and round, it now looked withered and elongated, pale instead of rosy. Her delicate skin revealed the outlines of her jaw and protruding cheekbones, giving the pitiable appearance of a face wasting away. He stopped in stunned disbelief, incredulous that any power in existence would dare play such a cruel joke. His heart was seized by alarm, as though he were staring at death itself. He was stripped of his manhood and seemed to have become a child again, searching everywhere for his father. Irresistible emotion drew him to the bed. He bent over her, murmuring in sorrowful tones, 'Never mind… How are you?'
He felt genuinely sympathetic. In the warmth of this emotion his chronic pains disappeared. Similarly, in rare cases the symptoms of a hopeless medical condition, like paralysis, may disappear because of a sudden, overwhelming onslaught of terror. He seemed to be rediscovering the mother of his childhood whom he had loved, before pain had hidden her from his heart. Gazing at her faded face, he clung to this rejuvenated feeling which had also rejuvenated him, taking him back years before the pain, just as an exhausted invalid clings to a moment of lucidity he fears intuitively may be almost his last. Yasin clung to this sentiment with all the intensity of a man fully conscious of the strength of the forces threatening him. The very way he clung to this emotion revealed that those pains still existed deep inside him. He was aware of the sorrow awaiting him if he carelessly allowed this pure emotion to become spoiled by letting it mix with other feelings.
The woman extracted from the covers a gaunt, emaciated hand with dry skin washed with faded black and blue as though it had been mummified for thousands of years. Immensely touched, he took it in his own hands. At that moment he heard her weak, husky voice say, 'As you can see, I've turned into a phantom'.
He murmured, 'May our Lord bring His mercy to bear on you and make you all well again'.
Her head, which was covered with a white scarf, nodded prayerfully as if to say, 'May our Lord hear you'. She gestured to him to sit down. When he sat on the bed, she started talking with renewed strength derived from his presence: 'At first I felt strange shivers. I thought it was something that would go away, that it was caused by nerves. People advised me to make a pilgrimage to the shrines and to burn incense. So I went to the mosques of al-Husayn and his sister al-Sayyida Zaynab and burned various different types of incense-Indian, Sudanese, and Arab-but my condition only got worse. Sometimes I was overcome by a constant shaking that wouldn't leave me until I was almost dead. At times my body would feel as cold as ice. On other occasions, fire would go through my body until I screamed, it was so hot. Finally we decided, I and Mi…' She stopped herself from mentioning the man’s name, realizing at the last moment the error she was about to commit. 'Finally I sent for the doctor, but his treatment did not make me any better and may even have set me back some. Now there’s no hope'.
Gently squeezing her hand, Yasin said, 'Don't despair of God’s mercy. His compassion is universal'.
Her pale lips smiled and she said, 'It pleases me to hear that. It pleases me to hear it from you more than from anyone else. You're dearer to me than the world and all its inhabitants. You're right. God’s mercy is universal. I've had bad luck for so long. I don't deny that I've slipped up and made mistakes. Only God is infallible'.
He noticed, uneasily, that her conversation was verging on confession. He was upset and alarmed that things he could not bear would be repeated in his hearing, even if only with reflective regret. He became tense and jumpy. He implored her, 'Don't tire yourself out with talking'.
She raised her eyes with a smile and answered, 'Your visit has given me back my spirit. I want to tell you that never in my life did I want to harm anyone. Like everyone else, I was seeking peace of mind, but my luck tripped me up. I didn't harm anyone, but many people have harmed me'.
Yasin felt that his prayer for the hour to pass peacefully would not be answered and that his pure emotion would suffer a crisis that would spoil it. In the same tone of entreaty he said, 'Forget these people, both the good and the bad ones. Your health is more important now than anything else'.
She patted his hand, as if asking for his affection and tenderness. She whispered, 'There are things I should have done. I haven't done all that I should have for God. I wish I could live longer to make up for some of the things I've neglected. But my heart has always been full of faith, with God as my witness'.
As though defending both her and himself, he remarked, 'The heart’s everything. It’s more important to God than fasting and prayer'.
She pressed his hand gratefully. Then she changed the direction of the conversation. She told him welcomingly, 'You've finally returned to me. I didn't dare ask you to come till the illness brought me to the state you see. I felt I was saying goodbye to life, and I couldn't bear to leave it without seeing you. When I sent for you I was more afraid of your refusal than of death itself. But you've had mercy on your mother and come to bid her farewell. So accept my thanks and my prayers, which I hope God will heed'.
He was deeply touched but did not know how to express his feelings. Either because of his shyness or lack of practice, loving words felt awkward and clumsy in his mouth whenever he tried to address them to this woman, whom he had grown accustomed to spurning and treating roughly. He discovered he could most effectively and sensitively express himself with his hand. He gently pressed hers and mumbled, 'May our Lord make your destiny a safe one'.
She kept referring back to the idea expressed in her previous statement, repeating the same words or finding other ways to put it. She paced her conversation by swallowing with noticeable difficulty or by falling silent for short periods while she caught her breath. For this reason, he repeatedly implored her to refrain from talking, but she would smile to cut him off and then continue her conversation. She stopped as her face showed she had just thought of something significant. She asked, 'Have you gotten married?'
He raised his eyebrows in embarrassment and blushed, but she misinterpreted his reaction and hastened to apologize: 'I'm not upset… Of course, I would have liked to see your wife and children, but it’s enough for me to know you're happy'.
He could not keep himself from responding tersely, 'I'm not married anymore. I got divorced about a month ago'.
For the first time he noticed an interested look in her eyes. If they had still been able to sparkle they would have, but a dreamy light emanated from them as though coming through a thick curtain. She murmured, 'You're divorced, son… How sorry I am'.
He quickly replied, 'Don't be sorry. I'm not sorry or sad'. He smiled and continued: 'She left. Good riddance'.
But she asked sadly, 'Who chose her for you… him or her?'
In a manner that suggested he wished to close the door on this subject, he answered, 'God chose her. Everything’s fated and destined'.
'I know that, but who chose her for you? Was it your stepmother?'
'Oh no. My father chose her. There was nothing wrong with his choice. She was from a good family. It was just a question of fate and destiny, as I said'.
