Yasin laughingly remarked, 'I'm afraid the soldiers will become suspicious of the number of people coming here and think a political rally is being held in our home'.
Khadija said proudly, 'Papa’s friends are so numerous they could hide the sun'.
Aisha observed, 'I saw Mr. Muhammad Iffat himself at the head of the procession'.
Khadija confirmed her sister’s statement: 'He’s been his best friend since before we saw the light of day'.
Shaking his head, Yasin said, 'Papa accused me falsely of destroying their friendship'.
'Doesn't divorce separate even the dearest friends?'
Yasin smilingly replied, 'Not your father’s friends!'
Aisha boasted, 'Who would ever want to oppose Papa? By God, there’s no one in the whole world who’s equal to him'. Then with a sigh she continued: 'Whenever I think of what happened to him last night, my hair turns gray'.
Khadija had finally had enough of Fahmy’s despondency. She decided to attack it directly, after indirect methods had failed. She turned toward him and asked, 'Brother, do you see how gracious our Lord was the day you were denied your wish with regard to… Maryam?'
Fahmy looked at her with astonished embarrassment. All eyes were immediately focused on him with concern, even Kamal's. Profound silence reigned, revealing the existence of a stifled sentiment that had been ignored or concealed until Khadija expressed it so boldly. They looked at the young man as though awaiting his reply, almost as though he was the one who had asked the question.
Yasin thought he had better end the silence before it got any worse and caused more pain. Pretending to be happy, he commented, 'The reason is that your brother’s a saint, and God loves His saints'.
Fahmy, suffering from anguish and embarrassment, said tersely, 'This is an old issue that’s been forgotten'.
To shield him, Aisha said, 'Mr. Fahmy wasn't the only one to be deceived by her. We were all taken in'.
Khadija defended herself as best she could against this alleged oversight: 'Well, I was never convinced for a moment-even when I believed she was innocent-that she was worthy of you'.
Pretending to dismiss the whole affair, Fahmy said, 'This is an old issue that’s been forgotten. An Englishman, an Egyptian, it’s all the same thing. Let’s skip all this'.
Yasin found himself thinking once again about the 'issue' of Maryam… Maryam? He had never looked at her in the past if she came into view except in a cursory fashion. Fahmy’s attachment to her had increased Yasin’s desire to ignore her, until her scandal had been broadcast in the family. That had aroused his interest, and he had wondered for a long time what sort of girl she was. He would have liked to study her carefully and observe the girl who had aroused the desire of an Englishman sent to fight, not flirt. Yasin’s anger at her was only a conversational device. He was actually enraptured by the presence nearby of a daring 'fallen woman,' separated from him by a single wall. His broad, sturdy chest was pervaded by a bestial intoxication bringing out the hunting instinct in him, but he held back in honor of Fahmy’s sorrow, for he loved his brother. He limited himself to a passive, emotional delight, although no one in the whole district so stirred his interest as Maryam.
'It’s time to leave,' Khadija remarked as she rose. She had heard the voices of Ibrahim and Khalil, who were coming in from the hall. Everyone stood up. Some stretched while others adjusted their clothing. Only Kamal remained seated. He looked at the door of the sitting room mournfully, his heart pounding.
67
Al-Sayyid Ahmad sat at his desk bent over his ledgers, immersing himself in his daily tasks, which helped him forget, if only temporarily, his personal worries as well as the bloody public ones that were in the news all the time. He had grown to love the store as much as his evenings of fellowship and music, because in both situations he successfully freed himself from the hell of thinking. Although the store’s atmosphere was full of haggling, selling, buying, making money, and similar concerns of ordinary, daily life, it restored his confidence that everything could return to normal, to the original condition of peace and stability. Peace? Where had it gone and when would it be ready to return? Even in his store there were distressing, whispered conversations about bloody events. Customers were no longer content just to bargain and buy. Their tongues kept belaboring the news and bewailing events. Over the bags of rice and coffee beans he had heard about the battle of Bulaq, the massacres at Asyut, the funeral processions with tens of coffins, and the young man who had wrested a machine gun away from the enemy, intending to bring it back into al-Azhar Mosque, only to be killed before he could get there as swarms of bullets sank into his body. News like this, tinged crimson with blood, assaulted his ears from time to time in the very place where he had taken refuge, seeking to forget
How miserable it was to live constantly in the shadow of death. Why did not the revolution achieve its objectives quickly before he or any of his family was harmed?… He was not stingy with money and did not begrudge it his emotional involvement, but sacrificing a life was another matter. What kind of punishment was God inflicting on His flock? Life had become cheap and blood was flowing… The revolution was no longer a thrilling spectacle. It threatened his security whenever he came or went and menaced the life of his rebellious son. His enthusiasm for it, but not for its goal, had dwindled. He still dreamt of independence and the return of Sa'd, but without a revolution, bloodshed, or terror. He chanted slogans with the demonstrators and was zealous with the zealots, but his mind was attached to life and struggled to resist this current, like a tree trunk in a flood, its branches torn off by storms. Nothing, no matter how great, would weaken his love for life. Let him keep his love for life to the end of his days. If only Fahmy felt that way too, so that he would not sacrifice his life; Fahmy, the disobedient son who had thrown himself into the stream without a life preserver.
'Is al-Sayyid Ahmad here?'
He heard the voice and sensed that someone was hurtling into the shop like a human projectile. He looked up from his desk and saw Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad in the middle of the room blinking his inflamed eyes, futilely trying to peer toward the desk. Al-Sayyid Ahmad’s spirits rose. With a smile he shouted at the visitor, 'Make yourself at home, Shaykh Mutawalli. We are blessed by your presence'.
The shaykh appeared reassured. He advanced, his torso swaying backward and forward as though he were riding on a camel. Al-Sayyid Ahmad leaned over his desk, putting out his hand to take his visitor’s and press it firmly, saying gently, 'The chair’s to your right. Please sit down'. Shaykh Mutawalli leaned his stick against the desk and took his seat. Putting some of the weight of his shoulders on his hands, which were placed on his knees, he said, 'May God preserve you and sustain you'.
The proprietor responded wholeheartedly, 'How fine your prayer is and how much I've needed it'. Turning toward Jamil al-Hamzawi, who was weighing rice for a customer, he advised him, 'Don't forget to prepare the parcel for our master the shaykh'.
Jamil al-Hamzawi responded, 'Who could forget our master the shaykh?'
The shaykh spread out his hands and raised his head, moving his lips in a quiet prayer of which only an intermittent whisper could be heard. Then he returned to his former pose and was silent for a moment. By way of invocation he said, 'I begin with a prayer for the Prophet, our guiding light'.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad said fervently, 'The finest of all blessings and peace on him'.
'I ask a double portion of mercy for your father of blessed memory'.
'May God have great mercy on him'.
'Then I ask God to delight your eyes with your family and offspring for generations to come'.
'Amen'.
Sighing he continued: 'I ask Him to return to us 'Our Effendi' the Khedive Abbas II, Muhammad Farid, and Sa'd Zaghlul'.
'May God hear your prayer'.
'And devastate the English for their past and present sins'.
'Glory to the Omnipotent Avenger'.
At that point, the shaykh cleared his throat and wiped his face with his palm before saying, 'I saw you in a dream waving your hands. As soon as I opened my eyes I resolved to visit you'.
The proprietor smiled somewhat sadly and replied, 'That’s not surprising, because I'm in desperate need of
