At this point she lost control and shouted, 'Enough! That'll do! Have mercy on this vile wretch, but beware of her. Remember how once you humbly kissed her hand. 'Lowered and demeaned,' huh? The truth is that you're getting old. I accepted you in spite of your age, and this is my reward….'
He waved his stick and shouted furiously, 'Shut up, bitch! Hush, vile creature! Collect your clothes and leave.'
Raising her head jerkily, she shouted back, 'Listen carefully to what I say. One more word from you, and I'll make such a row it'll resound throughout the houseboat, the road, and the riverfront until the entire police force arrives. Do you hear? I'm not some little morsel that's easily swallowed. I'm Zanuba!.. May God repay me for my suffering. You go! This is my houseboat. The lease is in my name. Go peacefully before you're escorted out.'
He tarried indecisively for a bit, looking scornfully and derisively at her. Eventually, in order to avoid a scandal, he abandoned the idea of attempting anything rough, spat on the floor, and departed with long, steady steps.
101
He went immediately to his friends and found Muhammad Iffat, Ali Abd al-Rahim, Ibrahim al-Far, and some of the others. As usual, he drank until intoxicated, but then he had some more. He laughed a lot and made the others roar with laughter. In the wee hours of the night he returned home and slept soundly. Once morning came, he anticipated a quiet day free from thought. Whenever his imagination conjured up a scene from the near or distant past he resolutely shut it out except for the one scene he gladly recalled, the final vignette recording his victory over the woman and himself. He asserted, 'It's all over, praise God. I'm really going to be careful during what's left of my life.'
At first the day was quiet. He was able to reflect on his obvious triumph and to congratulate himself. Yet, as the day progressed, it started to seem dull or even dead. He could not think of any reason for this, unless it was a reaction to his nervous exhaustion of the last two days, in fact of the last months to a lesser degree. The truth was that his affair with Zanuba now appeared to have been a tragedy from start to finish. He had difficulty accepting this first defeat in his long string of romances, and it made a deep impression on his heart and imagination. He was enraged whenever his mind whispered that his youth had fled, for he was proud of his vigor, good looks, and vitality. He clung to the explanation he had provided the woman the previous evening — r that she did not love him because trash can only appreciate trash. All day long he yearned for the reunion with his cronies. As the time neared, he grew impatient and rushed off to Muhammad Iffat's house in al-Gamaliya to visit with him before the others trooped in.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad proclaimed at once, 'I'm finished with her.'
Muhammad Iffat asked, 'Zanuba?'
He nodded in the affirmative, and the other man asked smilingly, 'So quickly?'
Laughing sarcastically, al-Sayyid Ahmad answered, 'Would you believe she demanded I marry her? I got fed up.'
Muhammad Iffat laughed scornfully and said, 'Not even Zubayda herself would think of that. How amazing! Her excuse is that you pampered her beyond her wildest dreams. So she wanted even more.'
Al-Sayyid Ahmad muttered derisively, 'She's crazy.'
Muhammad Iffat laughed again and said, 'Perhaps love for you affected her brain?'
'What a jab,' he thought. 'Laugh to compensate for the pain.'
'I told you she's crazy. That says it all.'
'What did you do?'
'I told her bluntly that I was leaving, never to return. Then I left.'
'How did she take it?'
'She cursed and threatened me. She said, 'Go to hell.' So I left the lunatic. It was a mistake from the very beginning.'
Shaking his head with satisfaction, Muhammad Iffat replied, 'Yes. We've all slept with her but never thought of having an affair with her.'
'You've pounced and roamed with the lions only to be routed by a mouse,' he told himself. 'Hide your shame even from your closest friends and praise God that it's all over.'
But in fact nothing really was over, for she lived on in his imagination. In the following dayshe realized that he could not think of her in the abstract. Her image was always linked to a deep pain, which spread and increased. It became clear to him that this pain was not caused merely by anger over outraged honor but by regret and longing. Apparently it was a tyrannical emotion that demanded nothing less than the destruction of the person experiencing it. All the same, he was fiercely proud of the victory he had recently won and indulged himself in the hope of eventually vanquishing his high-handed and traitorous emotions. For whatever reason, peace of mind had left him. He spent his time in thought, mulling over his sorrows, tormented by thingshe imagined and remembered. He occasionally felt so weak he considered telling Muhammad Iffat about the pains tormenting him. Indeed he went so far as to think once of asking for Zubayda's help. But these moments of weakness were like bouts of fever, and when he recovered from one he would shake his head with perplexed amazement.
His crisis lent a coarseness to his behavior, although he resisted as much as possible, relying on his forbearance and civility. His self-control was lessened only to a limited degree, and that change passed unnoticed except by friends and close acquaintances accustomed to his mildness, understanding, and tact. The members of his family were not aware of any shift, for his conduct with them remained much the same. What differed was the sentiment underlying his behavior. His feigned ferocity became so real that only he was aware of its intensity. Yet he did not escape his own cruelty. In fact, he may have been its primary target. He attacked himself, scolding and railing against his humiliation. Eventually he began to acknowledge his disgrace, wretchedness, and loss of youth.
He consoled himself by saying, 'I won't make a move. I won't humiliate myself any further. Let my thoughts wander in all directions. Let my emotions be convulsed repeatedly. I'll stay right where I am, and only the compassionate and forgiving God will know the pain I'm suffering.'
He would suddenly find himself wondering whether she was still on ttie houseboat or not. If still there, did she have enough of his money to make her independent of other men? Or was the other man meeting her there? He frequently asked himself questions like these, and each time the torture he experienced leached from his spirit to his flesh and bones, breaking him down bit by bit. The only time he felt at peace was when he recollected that final scene in the houseboat. He had left her with the impression, which he had almost shared, that he was repudiating and shunning her. But he c ould not help recalling scenes recording his humiliation and weakness, and others of unforgettable happiness. His imagination also created fresh scenes in which they met again, quarreled, settled accounts, scolded each other, and then were reconciled and reunited…. This was a dream he saw frequently in his inner wodd, which was teeming with countless varieties of sorrow and happiness…. But why should he not discover for himself what had become of the houseboat and its resident? After dark he could go there without being seen by anyone.
Concealing himself in the shadows like a thief, he set off When he passed the houseboat he saw light filtering out from the shutters, but he did not know whether she or some new tenant was benefiting from this light. Yet his heart felt it was her light, not someone else's. Looking at the houseboat, he imagined that he could detect the mistress's spirit and that all he needed to do to see her face to face was to knock on the door. When it opened, there she would be, just as in the old days, both the happy and the miserable ones. But what would he do if a man's face confronted him? She really was close, but how remote…. He had been eternally forbidden use of this gangplank. Oh, had this situation appeared in any of his dreams? She had told him to leave. She had said it from her heart and then had proceeded on with her life as though she had never known him and was totally oblivious to his existence. Such a cruel person could not be expected to pay attention to a plea for mercy or forgiveness.
He went there repeatedly. It became a customary pastime for him to loiter in front of the houseboat after night fell and before he went to his friends' party. He did not seem to want to do anything in particular, except satisfy an insane but sterile curiosity.
He was about to go on his way one evening when the door opened and a figure he could not see clearly in the
