sleeping? Weren't the besiegers similar to the soldiers camped in front of the house? They began by attacking me. What’s the next step they plan?'
The shaykh slapped his knee as though trying to set the rhythm for his recitation as he continued: 'In each village they burst into the home of the magistrate, ordering him to surrender his weapons. Then they penetrated the women’s quarters, where they plundered the jewelry and insulted the women. They dragged them outside by their hair, while the women wailed and called for help, but there was no one to help them. Have sympathy, God, for Your weak servants'.
'The homes of the two magistrates! Isn't the magistrate a government official? I'm no magistrate, nor is my house the home of one. I'm just a man like any other. What might they do to people like us? Imagine Amina being dragged by her hair. Is it fated that someday I'll wish I were insane?… Insane!'
Shaking his head, the shaykh continued with his account: 'They forced the magistrates to show them where the village elders and the leading citizens lived. Then they stormed those houses, breaking down the doors and plundering everything of value. They attacked the women in a most criminal fashion, after killing those who tried to defend themselves. They beat the men violently. Then they moved out of the towns, leaving nothing precious untouched and no honor undefiled'.
'Let them take anything precious with them straight to hell,' al-Sayyid Ahmad brooded. 'But 'no honor undefiled'… where was God’s mercy? Where was His vengeance?… The flood and Noah… the nationalist leader Mustafa Kamil… Imagine! How could a woman remain under one roof with her husband after that? And what fault had she committed? How could he countenance it?'
The shaykh struck his knee three times before resuming his account. His voice had begun to tremble and he lamented, 'They set fire to the villages, pouring gasoline over the poles and thatch forming the roofs of the houses. The towns awoke in dreadful terror. Residents fled from their homes, screaming and wailing as though they had gone mad. The tongues of flame reached everywhere until both villages were engulfed'.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad cried out involuntarily, 'O Lord of heaven and earth!'
The shaykh proceeded: 'The soldiers formed a ring around the burning villages to wait for the wretched inhabitants, who rushed off in every direction followed by their livestock and dogs and cats, looking for some way to escape. When they reached the soldiers, the latter fell upon the men, beating and kicking them. Then they detained the women to strip them of their jewelry and divest them of their honor. Any woman who resisted was killed. Any husband, father, or brother who lifted a hand to protect them was gunned down'.
Shaykh Mutawalli turned to look at the stunned proprietor. He struck his hands together and shouted, 'And they led the survivors to a nearby camp, where they forced them to sign a document containing their confessions to crimes they had not committed and their admission that what the English had done to them was an appropriate punishment. Al-Sayyid Ahmad, this is what happened to al-Aziziya and Badrashin. This is an example of the kind of punishment imposed on us, mercilessly and heartlessly. O God, bear witness, bear witness'.
A despondent, oppressive silence reigned while each of the men wrestled with his own thoughts and images. Then Jamil al-Hamzawi moaned, 'Our Lord exists'.
'Yes!' shouted al-Sayyid Ahmad, applauding his statement. Gesturing in all four directions, he said, 'Everywhere!'
Shaykh Mutawalli advised the proprietor, 'Tell Fahmy that Shaykh Mutawalli counsels him to stay away from danger. Tell him, 'Surrender to God your Lord. He alone is capable of devastating the English as He has devastated those who disobeyed Him in the past.''
The shaykh leaned over to grasp his stick. Al-Sayyid Ahmad gestured to Jamil al-Hamzawi, who brought the present. He put it in the shaykh’s hand and helped him rise. The shaykh shook hands with both men and recited as he left, ''The [God-fearing] Byzantines have been defeated in a nearby land, but after their defeat, they will be victorious' [Qur'an, 30:2–3], and not the friends of the pagans. The words of God Almighty are true'.
68
At dawn, when darkness was slowly giving birth to light, a servant from Sugar Street knocked on the door of al-Sayyid Ahmad’s house and informed Amina that Aisha’s labor had begun. Amina, who had been in the oven room, turned her work over to Umm Hanafi and rushed to the stairway.
For perhaps the first time in the long history of her employment in the house, Umm Hanafi appeared to be indignant. Was it not obligatory for her to be present when Aisha gave birth? She had every right to be there, just the same as Amina. Aisha had first opened her eyes in Umm Hanafi’s lap. Every child in the family had two mothers: Amina and Umm Hanafi. How could she be separated from her daughter at such a terrifying time?
'Do you remember what it was like when you had your child?' she asked herself. 'The apartment in al- Tambakshiya…' The master had been out as usual. She had been alone, although it was after midnight. Umm Hasaniya had been both a friend and a midwife. 'Where is Umm Hasaniya now? Is she alive today?' Then her son Hanafi had arrived amid moans of pain. He had departed amid moans of pain too, when he was still in the cradle. If he had lived, he would be twenty. 'My little mistress will be suffering, while I'm stuck here preparing food'.
Amina’s heart was filled with the same apprehensive joy she had felt when she first prepared to give birth. Here was Aisha getting ready to deliver her first child and commence life as a mother, as she herself had begun with Khadija. Thus the life that had sprung from her would continue on endlessly. She went to her husband to announce the good news to him in a quiet, courteous way. She tried her best to appear shy and polite, so her ardent desire to rush off to her daughter would not show. Al-Sayyid Ahmad received the news calmly and then ordered her to go without delay. She got dressed quickly, appreciative of the wonders motherhood could work at times for a weak woman like herself.
The brothers learned the news when they woke up, shortly after the mother’s departure. They smiled and exchanged questioning glances.
'Aisha’s a mother!'
'Isn't that strange?'
'What’s strange about it? Mother was younger than Aisha when Khadija was born'.
'Has Mother gone to deliver the baby with her own hands?' Kamal’s question was answered by two smiles.
'This is a warning for me,' Yasin observed. 'The bitch will have her baby soon…'
'Who do you mean?'
'Zaynab'.
'Oh, if Papa ever heard you…'
'Aisha’s a mother and I'm a father'.
'And I'm an uncle twice over,' Fahmy remarked. 'You will be too, Mr. Kamal'.
'I'm going to have to stay out of school today to go to Aisha's'.
'That’s great. Just ask Papa’s permission at breakfast, if you're able'.
'Oh! We need more births to keep up with the dent the English are making in our population'.
'If I stay home from school, that won't be a problem. Three-fourths of the students have been on strike for more than a month'.
'Tell Papa that. He'll surely be convinced by your argument. Then he'll hit you in the face with a plate of beans'.
'Oh! A new baby… In an hour or two Papa will become a grandfather and Mama a grandmother. We'll all be uncles. This is a significant event. How many children are being born at this moment, do you suppose? And how many people are dying right now? We need to let Grandmother know'.
'I can go to al-Khurunfush and tell her, if I stay home from school…'
'We've explained that your school is none of our business. Tell Papa. He'll welcome your idea'.
'Oh! Perhaps Aisha’s suffering now. The poor darling… Golden hair and blue eyes won't make the labor pains any lighter'.
'May our Lord bring her through it safely. Then we'll drink the traditional broth and light some candles'.
'A boy or a girl?'
'Which do you prefer?'
