would it have harmed him to hire a female vocalist or a male singer?'
The family had wanted to have a singer, but they had found no way to express this wish, although Yasin had encouraged Mr. Muhammad Iffat to intervene with his father. Al-Sayyid Ahmad had declined. He had refused to allow any music at the wedding. The joys of the evening would be confined to a sumptuous dinner.
Yasin continued sorrowfully: 'I won't have anyone to provide music for a real bridal procession tonight. I'll never have another chance. I'll enter the bridal chamber without any send-off, songs, or tambourines. I might as well be a dancer trying to wiggle his torso without a percussion accompaniment'.
A naughty, cheerful smile could be seen in his eyes when he added, 'There’s no doubt that the only place our father can tolerate women entertainers is in their own homes'.
Kamal remained for a time on the top floor, which had been prepared to receive the women guests. Then, in search of Yasin, he went down to the first floor, where the male guests were being entertained. He found his brother in the courtyard inspecting the mobile kitchen the caterer had set up. Kamal approached him happily, proud of having carried out the mission his brother had entrusted to him. He told him, 'I did just what you said. I followed the bride to her room and examined her after she removed the veil from her face'.
Yasin took him aside and asked with a smile, 'So?… How’s she
'Her build’s like Khadija's'.
Yasin laughed. 'Nothing wrong with that… Did you like her as much as Aisha?'
'Of course not… Aisha’s much prettier'.
'A pox on your house. Do you mean to say she looks like Khadija?'
'Of course not. She’s prettier than Khadija'.
'A lot prettier?' Yasin shook his head thoughtfully and ordered the lad impatiently, 'Tell me what you liked about her'.
'Her nose is small, like Mama's… Her eyes are like Mama’s too'.
'And then?'
'She has a fair complexion. Her hair is black. She has a beautiful fragrance'.
'Praise God. May our Lord be gracious to you'. Yasin imagined that the boy was struggling with a desire to say something more. He said to him somewhat anxiously, 'Tell everything. Don't be afraid'.
'I saw her take out a handkerchief and blow her nose'. Kamal twisted up his lips in disgust, as though he thought it terrible that a bride at the height of her charms should do such a thing.
Yasin could not keep himself from laughing. He said, 'Up to this point, everything’s great. May our Lord make everything that follows good too'. He cast a despairing look at the courtyard, which was empty except for the caterer and his assistants and a few children. He thought there should have been some decorations and a tent where musicians could perform for the guests. Who had decreed it should be this way? His father… the man who devoted his energies to buffoonery, rowdiness, and music. What a strange man he was to sanction forbidden forms of entertainment for himself while denying his family legitimate enjoyments. Yasin began to imagine his father the way he had seen him in Zubayda’s room, with his glass of wine and the lute. Before he knew it, a strange thought jumped into his mind. Although it was extremely clear to him now, it had never occurred to him before. He saw a similarity between his father’s character and that of his own mother. Both of them were sensual and pleasure- seeking. They recklessly ignored conventions. Perhaps if his mother had been a man she would have been just as enamored of wine and music as his father. The relationship between them had ended quickly, because a man like him could not stand a woman like her, and vice versa. In fact, married life would have been impossible for his father, if he had not happened upon his current wife. Yasin laughed, but his dismay at this strange idea robbed his laughter of any delight. 'I know now who I am. I'm nothing but the son of these two sensual people. It wouldn't have been possible for me to turn out any other way'.
The next moment he asked himself whether he had been mistaken when he neglected to invite his mother to the wedding. He wondered about it, even though he remained convinced he had done the right thing. His father had probably been trying to ease his conscience when he offered a few nights before the wedding: 'I think you ought to inform your mother. If you want to, you can invite her to the wedding party'. Yasin assumed he had spoken with his tongue, not his heart. He could not imagine that his father would want him to go to the residence inhabited by that miserable man his mother had married after all her many other spouses. He would not want Yasin to try to ingratiate himself with her, inviting her to his wedding while that man watched. Neither the wedding nor any other happiness he could attain in this world would make him reestablish the link that had been severed between him and that woman… that scandal… that disgraceful memory.
At the time he had merely replied to his father, 'If I truly had a mother she would be the first person I would invite to my wedding'.
Yasin suddenly noticed that the children in the courtyard were staring at him and whispering to each other. He singled out some of the little girls and asked them in a jovial but loud voice, 'Are you already dreaming of marriage, girls?'
He headed for the door of the women’s quarters and remembered Khadija’s mocking words from the day before: 'Don't let embarrassment get the better of you tomorrow when you're with the guests. Otherwise, they'll realize the bitter truth that it’s your father who’s paying your wedding costs, your dowry, and all the expenses of the party. Keep circulating and don't stop. Move from room to room among your guests. Laugh with this one and talk to that one. Go upstairs and come back down. Inspect the kitchen. Yell and shout. Perhaps you'll make people think you're really the man of the evening and its master'.
Yasin laughed as he went on his way. He intended to follow her sarcastic advice. He strutted among the guests with his tall and massive body. He was exceptionally elegant, attractive, good-looking, and in the prime of his youth. He went back and forth and up and down, even if there was no need for it. All this activity dispelled any doubts he might have had. His soul became immersed in the charms of the evening.
When Yasin thought about his bride, a bestial tremor passed through his body. Then he remembered the last night, a month before, that he had spent with the lute player Zanuba. He had informed her of his impending marriage and told her he was saying goodbye to her.
She had screamed in a sham rage, 'You son of a bitch!.. You kept the news secret until you got what you wanted. The boat you're leaving on is better than the one coming here. You deserve to be beaten a thousand times with a slipper, you bastard'. Zanuba no longer meant anything to him, nor did any other woman. He had lowered the curtain on that side of his life forever. He might return to drinking, because he thought his desire for that would not die, but as for women, he could not imagine his eyes straying when he had a beauty at his disposal. His bride was a renewable resource and a spring of water for the wild thirst that had troubled his existence so frequently.
Yasin went on to imagine what life had in store for him that night and the following ones, for the next month and the next year, for the rest of his life. His face was radiant with delight at his good fortune. Fahmy noticed that with an eye filled with curiosity, calm happiness, and not a little regret.
Kamal, who had been into everything, suddenly appeared. With joy at the good news visible in his face, he informed Yasin, 'The caterer told me that there’s more dessert than will be needed for the guests. There'll be lots left over'.
45
With the addition of Zaynab, the coffee hour acquired a new face, one glowing with youth and the joy of being married. The three rooms adjoining the parents' bedroom on the top floor had been outfitted with the bride’s furniture. Otherwise, Yasin’s marriage brought little change to the general organization of the house in terms of either domestic politics or household management. The residents remained subservient in every sense of the word to the authority and will of al-Sayyid Ahmad. Housekeeping remained a subsidiary department under the direction of the mother, just as it had been before the marriage. The real change was emotional and mental, and it was easily observable. It would have been hard for Zaynab to occupy the position of wife of the eldest son, or for her and her husband to unite together with the other members of the family in a single household, unless there had been a significant development of the family’s emotions and sentiments.
The mother regarded Zaynab with a mixture of hope and caution. What sort of person was this girl who was destined to live with her for a long time, possibly for the rest of her life? What was she hiding behind her tender
