The headmaster leaned toward him a little and said sorrowfully, 'The problem is, al-Sayyid Ahmad, that Yasin had a fight in Massage Alley with a whore. A police report was filed, and a copy reached the Ministry.'
The man was stunned. His pupils opened wide, and his face became pale. The headmaster shook his head sadly and commented, 'That's the truth. I did my utmost to lighten the punishment and successfully scuttled the idea of handing him over to a disciplinary panel. They agreed to transfer him to Upper Egypt.'
Al-Sayyid Ahmad sighed and muttered, 'The dog!'
Gazing at him sympathetically, the headmaster said, 'I'm very sorry, al-Sayyid Ahmad. But this kind of conduct is not appropriate for a civil servant. I don't deny that he's a fine young man and diligent in his work. In fact, I'll tell you frankly that I like him, not merely because he's your son but because of his personality. Yet people say the strangest things about him…. He's got to reform and change his ways or he'll destroy his future.'
Al-Sayyid Ahmad was silent for a long time, his anger obvious from his face. Then, as though addressing himself, he exclaimed, 'A fight with a whore! Let him go to hell, then.'
But he did not abandon his son. Without delay he met with acquaintances who were in parliament or distinguished in other ways and asked them to intercede to stop the transfer. Muhammad Iffat was his chief assistant in this campaign. A barrage of mediating efforts was aimed at top men in the Ministry of Education. Eventually it succeeded and the transfer was rescinded. But the Ministry insisted on assigning Yasin to a job within its secretariat. Then the head of the Ministry's records office the new husband of Yasin's first wife — announced his readiness to accept Yasin in his department, on the recommendation of his father-in-law, Muhammad Iffat, and that was agreed to. Thus early in the winter of 1926 Yasin was transferred to the records department, but he did not emerge from the scandal scot-free. An entry was made in his file that he was unfit to work in a school, and he was passed over for promotion to the seventh grade in the civil service, although he had more than ten years' service in the eighth rank immediately below it.
By arranging this assignment to his son-in-law's department, Muhammad Iffat had meant to ensure that Yasin was well treated, but the young man was uncomfortable with working for Zaynab's husband. One day he told Kamal, 'She's probably delighted by what's happened and thinks it justifies her father's refusal to return her to me. I know how women think. No doubt she's rejoicing over my misfortune. It's too bad that the only decent position I could find was working for this goat. He's so old he has nothing to offer a woman. It's absurd to think he could fill the void I left. So let the stupid woman gloat. I'm rejoicing at her loss too.'
Zanuba never learned the secret behind the transfer. The most she could find out was that her husband had been assigned to a better position in the Ministry. Similarly al-Sayyid Ahmad skirted the real scandal in his discussions with Yasin. When the original transfer was rescinded, the father refrained from saying anything more than 'The ending won't always be so happy. You've made a lot of trouble for me and embarrassed me. From now on I won't intervene in your affairs. Do what you like, and may our Lord protect me from you.'
Al-Sayyid Ahmad could not stop thinking about Yasin. One day he summoned his son to the store and remarked, 'It's time you thought seriously about your life and returned to honorable ways. Free yourself from the life of an outcast you're currently enjoying. There's still plenty of time for us to start all over. I can prepare a suitable life for you. So listen and obey me'. Then he presented his proposals to Yasin: 'Divorce your wife and return home. I'll marry you off again in a suitable fashion, so you can begin an honorable life.'
Yasin blushed and said in a faint voice, 'I appreciate your sincere desire to improve my life. I'll do my part to try to reform without troubling anyone else.'
His father yelled angrily, 'A new promise as meaningless as those of the English! It's plain that you won't be satisfied till you end up in prison. Yes, the next time you scream for help it will be from behind bars. I keep telling you to divorce that woman and return home.'
Yasin sighed loudly to make sure his father heard and responded, 'She's pregnant, Father. I don't want to add another sin to my list of offenses.'
'God preserve us!' al-Sayyid Ahmad exclaimed to himself. 'Your new grandchild is being formed in Zanuba's belly. Could you possibly have imagined all the problems this young man had in store for you the moment you received him as an infant — on a day you thought one of the happiest of your life?'
'Pregnant?'
'Yes.'
'And you're afraid of adding another sin to your list?' Then before his son could answer he exploded, 'Why didn't your conscience trouble you when you were mistreating good women from fine families? By the truth of God's Book, you're a curse.'
When Yasin left the store, his father looked after him with eyes filled with pity and scorn. He could not help taking some pride in the young man's appearance, inherited from him, but not in Yasin's character, inherited from the mother. He suddenly remembered how once he had almost fallen into this abyss, courtesy of the same Zanuba. But he also recalled restraining himself just in time. Had it really been self-restraint? He felt vexed and anxious. He cursed Yasin and then cursed Yasin again.
111
When the twentieth of December arrived, he sensed the day was unlike any other, at least for him. On this date he had entered the world and that fact was recorded on his birth certificate, so that no one would be able to fib about it. Clad in an overcoat, he was pacing back and forth in his room. Glancing at his desk, he saw his diary, which was open to a blank page with the date of his birth at the top. He was thinking about what to write for his birthday. He kept moving to stay warm in the biting cold. As He could see through the windowpane, the sky was concealed behind gloomy clouds. The intermittent rain made him pensive and dreamy.
A birthday had to be celebrated, even if the birthday boy was the only one at the party. The old house had no tradition of commemorating birthdays. His mother herself did not know this was a day she should not forget. Of the births of her children all she retained were vague memories of the seasons when they had occurred and of the pain accompanying them. The most she could say of his birth was: 'It was in winter and the delivery was difficult. My labor pains and screams lasted two days.'
Formerly, when he had thought of his birth, his heart had been filled with pity for his mother. When he had witnessed Na'ima's birth, these feelings had intensified, as his heart pounded painfully with sympathy for Aisha. Today he thought of his birth in a new way, for his mind had drunk so avidly from the fountains of materialist philosophy that in two monthshe had grasped ideas mankind had taken a century to develop. He wondered about his delivery and whether part or all of its difficulty was attributable to neglect or ignorance. He asked this as though interrogating a suspect who stood before him. He thought about difficult deliveries, the damage they might cause the brain or nervous system, and the profound effect such injuries could have on the life, destiny, and happiness of the newborn. Might not his exaggerated interest in love be the result of shocks to the top or side of his large head in the hidden reaches of the womb nineteen years before? Why not consider his idealism — which had misled him for so long with ignorant fantasies and induced him to shed countless tears on torment's bloody altar — a sad consequence of the clumsiness of an ignorant midwife?
He thought about the prenatal period, including the time before conception, the uncharted territory from which life sprang, the mechanical and chemical equation to which a living creature could be reduced, the scornful rejection this creature accorded his actual origin from the start as he claimed descent from the stars at which he gazed. Kamal had learned that his origin was not nearly so remote. It was something called sperm. Nineteen years and nine months before, he had been nothing but a drop of sperm ejected because of an innocent desire for pleasure, a pressing need for solace, a bout of excitement inspired by an intoxication extinguishing common sense, or even a feeling of obligation toward a wife who was confined to the house. To which of these did he owe his conception? Perhaps duty had caused him to come into the world, for he was haunted by a concern for doing his duty. He had not allowed himself certain pleasures until they presented themselves as a philosophy he ought to follow and a view he should adopt. Even then, he had engaged in a painful struggle with himself first. His approach to life was hardly one of carefree abandon.
Sperm penetrated a living creature, found the ovum in the Fallopian tube, and fertilized it. Then they slid together into the womb, where they changed into a fetus, which developed flesh and bones. This creature then emerged into the light, causing pain it could not appreciate. It started crying even before its features could be seen
