the sultana. The room was so silent it almost declared their eagerness to enjoy the music.
The maestra gestured to her troupe and they burst out playing an overture by the composer Muhammad Uthman. Heads started to sway with the music. Al-Sayyid Ahmad surrendered himself to the resonant sound of the qanun, which set his heart on fire. Echoes of many different melodies from a long era filled with nights of musical ecstasy burst into flame within him, as though small drops of gasoline had fallen on a hidden ember. The qanun certainly was his favorite instrument, not only because of the virtuosity of a performer like al-Aqqad, but because of something about the very nature of the strings. Although he knew he was not going to hear a famous virtuoso like al-Aqqad or al-Sayyid Abduh, his enthusiastic heart made up for the defects of the performance with its passion.
The moment the troupe finished the five-part overture, the singer began 'The sweetness of your lips intoxicates me'. The troupe joined her enthusiastically. The most movingly beautiful part of this song was the harmony between two voices: the blind musician’s gruff, expansive one and Zanuba the lutanist’s delicate, childlike one. Al-Sayyid Ahmad was deeply touched. He quickly drained his glass to join in the chorus. In his haste to start singing he forgot to clear his throat and at first sounded choked. Others in the group soon plucked up their courage and followed his example. Soon everyone in the room was part of the troupe singing as though with one voice.
When that piece was finished, al-Sayyid Ahmad expected to hear some instrumental solos and vocal improvisation as usual, but Zubayda capped the ending with one of her resounding laughs to demonstrate her pleasure and amazement. She began to congratulate the new members of the troupe jokingly and asked them what they would like to hear. Al-Sayyid Ahmad was secretly distressed and momentarily depressed, since his passion for singing was intense. Few of those around him noticed anything. Then he realized that Zubayda, like most others of her profession, including the famous Bamba Kashar herself, was not capable of doing solo improvisations. He hoped she would pick a light ditty of the kind sung to the ladies at a wedding party. He would prefer that to having her attempt a virtuoso piece and fail to get it right. He tried to spare his ears the suffering he anticipated by suggesting an easy song suitable for the lady’s voice. He asked, 'What would you all think of 'My sparrow, Mother?'
He looked at her suggestively, trying to arouse in her an interest in this ditty with which she had crowned their conversation a few days before in the reception room. A voice from the far end of the hall cried out sarcastically, 'It would be better to ask your mother for that one'.
The suggestion was quickly lost in the outburst of guffaws that spoiled his plan for him. Before he could try again, one group requested 'O Muslims, O People of God' and another wanted 'Get well, my heart'.
Zubayda was wary about favoring one bunch over the other and announced she would sing for them 'I'm an accomplice against myself'. Her announcement was warmly received. Al-Sayyid Ahmad saw no alternative to resigning himself and seeking his pleasure in wine and dreams about his promising chances for the evening. His lips gleamed with a sincere smile that the gang of inebriates cheerfully perceived. He was touched by the woman’s desire to imitate the virtuosi in order to please her knowledgeable listeners, even though her actions were not totally free of the vanity common among singers.
As the troupe was getting ready to sing, one of the men rose and called out enthusiastically, 'Give the tambourine to al-Sayyid Ahmad. He’s an expert'.
Zubayda shook her head in amazement and asked, 'Really?'
Al-Sayyid Ahmad moved his fingers quickly and nimbly as if giving her a demonstration of his skill. Zubayda smiled and remarked, 'No wonder! You were Jalila’s pupil'.
The gentlemen laughed uproariously. The laughter continued until Mr. al-Far’s voice rose to ask the sultana, 'What are you planning to teach him?'
She replied teasingly, 'I'll teach him to play the qanun. Wouldn't you like that?'
Al-Sayyid Ahmad implored her, 'Teach me internal repetitions, if you will'.
Many of them encouraged him to join the musicians and he took the tambourine. Then he rose and removed his outer cloak. In his chestnut caftan he looked so tall and broad that he could have been a charger prancing on its hind legs. He pushed back his sleeves and went to the divan to take his place beside the lady. To make room for him she rose halfway and scooted to the left. Her red dress slipped back to reveal a strong, fleshy leg which was white brushed with pink where she had plucked the hair. The bottom of her leg was adorned with a gold anklet that could barely encompass it.
One of the men who glimpsed that sight shouted in a voice like thunder, 'The Ottoman caliphate forever!'
Al-Sayyid Ahmad, who was ogling the woman’s breasts, yelled after him,' Say: the Ottoman grand brassiere forever!'
The performer shouted to caution them: 'Lower your voices or the English will throw us in jail for the night'.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad, whose head was feeling the effects of the wine, yelled, 'If you're with me, I'll go for life at hard labor'.
More than one voice called out, 'Death to anyone who lets you two go there alone'.
The woman wanted to end the debate begun by the sight of her leg and handed the tambourine to al-Sayyid Ahmad. She told him, 'Show me what you can do'.
He took the tambourine and smiled as he rubbed it with the palm of his hand. His fingers began to strike it skillfully and then the other instruments started playing. Zubayda glanced at the eyes fixed on her and sang:
Al-Sayyid Ahmad found himself in a wonderfully intoxicating situation. The sultana’s breath fluttered toward him each time she turned his way, meeting the vapors which rose to the top of his head with every sip. He quickly forgot the refrains of the famous musicians al-Hamuli, Muhammad Uthman, and al-Manilawi, and lived in the present, happy and content. The inflections of her voice made the strings of his heart vibrate. His energy flared up and he beat the tambourine in a way no professional could match. His intoxication became a burning, titillating, inspiring, raging drunkenness the moment the woman sang:
His companions kept pace with him or surpassed him as the wine made its ultimate impact on them. They were so agitated by desire they seemed trees dancing in the frenzy of a hurricane.
Slowly, gradually the time came for the song to close. Zubayda ended by repeating the same phrase that began it: 'I'm an accomplice against myself,' but with a spirit that was calm, reflective, and valedictory, and then final. The melodies vanished like an airplane carrying a lover over the horizon. Although the conclusion was greeted by a storm of applause and clapping, silence soon reigned over the hall, for their souls were worn out by all the exertion and emotion. A period passed when nothing was heard except the sound of someone coughing, clearing his throat, striking a match, or uttering a word that required no reply. The guests realized it was time to say good night. Some could be seen looking for articles of clothing they had stripped off in the heat of their musical ecstasy and placed behind them on the cushions. Others were having too good a time to leave until they had sipped every possible drop of this sweet wine.
One of these cried out, 'We won't go until we have a wedding procession to present the sultana to al-Sayyid Ahmad'.
The suggestion was warmly received and widely supported. Incredulous, the gentleman and the entertainer collapsed with laughter. Before they knew what was happening, several men had surrounded them and dragged them to their feet, gesturing to the troupe to commence the joyous anthem. The couple stood side by side, she like the ceremonial camel litter bound for Mecca and he like the camel. They were giants made less threatening by their
