evenings out during the winter.'
He answered sarcastically, 'As you know, alcohol changes the season. Why tire yourself by waking up?'
She fumed, 'What you say is as tiresome as what you do.'
In his nightshirt he looked like a blimp. Rubbing his hand over his belly, he gazed at the woman with satisfaction. His black eyes sparkled. Then he laughed suddenly and said, 'If you could have seen me exchanging greetings with the officers…. The ones on the late patrol have become my dear friends.'
Sighing, she muttered, 'I'm overjoyed.'
123
The sight of Yasin's son, Ridwan, striding through al-Ghuriya at a deliberate pace was really enough to turn heads. Seventeen years old, he had attractive dark eyes and a medium build with a slight tendency to be stocky. His attire was so dapper it attracted attention. His rosy complexion was attributable to his mother's family, the Iffats. He had a radiant charm, and his gestures betrayed the conceit of a person whose good looks were no secret to him. When he passed by Sugar Street, he turned his face with its faint smile in that direction, as his aunt Khadija and her sons, Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad, came to mind. The thought of them evoked little reaction save apathy. He had never felt tempted even once to take either of his cousins as a friend in the true meaning of the word. Soon he had passed through Bab al-Mutawalli, the ancient city gate. Then turning into al-Darb al-Ahmar, he went down it until he reached an old house, where he knocked on the door and waited.
The door opened to reveal the face of Hilmi Izzat, who was a childhood friend, a colleague in Law School, and a rival in good looks. Hilmi beamed at the sight of him. They embraced and exchanged a kiss, as they always did when they met. On their way up the stairs, Hilmi commended his friend's tie and the way it matched his shirt and socks. They were both known for their elegance and good taste, and their interest in clothing and fashion was matched by their enthusiasm for politics and studying law. Their destination was a large room with a high ceiling. The presence of a bed and a desk in it indicated that it served for both sleeping and studying. Indeed the two young men frequently stayed up late studying there and then stretched out to sleep side by side in the great bed with its black posts and mosquito netting. It was nothing new for Ridwan to spend a night away from home. Since childhood, he had accepted invitations to pass days at a time in various different homes, like those of his grandfather Muhammad Iffat in al-Gamaliya or of his mother, Zaynab whose only child he remained, even though she had long since married Muhammad Hasan — in al-Munira. Because of this, his father's natural tendency to be nonchalant, and the secret relief his stepmother, Zanuba, took in anything that kept him away from home even temporarily, Ridwan encountered no opposition to his desire to stay overnight with his friend when they were studying for an examination. Eventually the practice became so common that no one paid any attention to it.
Hilmi Izzat had been raised in a similar atmosphere of indifference. His father, a police officer in charge of a station, had died ten years before. Hilmi's six sisters had married, and he lived alone with his aged mother. She had difficulty controlling him, and he sooti came to dominate the entire household. The widow lived on her husband's small pension and the rent from the first floor of her ancient house. The family had not had an easy life since the father's death, but Hilmi had been able to continue his studies and to enroll in Law School. All that time he had managed to keep up appearances. For Hilmi there was no pleasure equal to that of seeing his friend, and no period of work or relaxation was truly enjoyable unless Ridwan was present. Then Hilmi would feel a burst of energetic enthusiasm.
Hilmi invited Ridwan to have a seat on the sofa next to the door of the latticed balcony and, sitting down beside him, began to think of a topic of conversation. There were so many subjects to choose from…. But the despondent look in Ridwan's eyes cooled Hilmi's fervor. He gazed at Ridwan questioningly. Guessing what was wrong, he muttered, 'You've been to visit your mother….1 bet you've just been there.'
Ridwan realized that his facial expression had given him away. With a vexed look in his eyes, he nodded his head, without speaking.
'How is she?' Hilmi asked.
'Great'. Then he sighed and added, 'But that man called Muhammad Hasan! Do you know what it means to have a step father? '
Hilmi said consolingly, 'Many people have stepparents. There's nothing shameful about it. Besides, that happened a long time ago.'
Ridwan cried out angrily, 'No, no, no! He's always at home. The only time he leaves is to go to his job at the ministry. For once, I'd like to visit her when she's alone. He takes it upon himself to play the role of my father and adviser. Damn him. He never misses an opportunity to remind me that he's my father's boss in the records office and doesn't hesitate to criticize my father's conduct at work. But I don't let it pass in silence'. He was quiet for a minute while he got control of his emotions. Then he continued: 'My mother was a fool to agree to marry this man. Wouldn't it have been better for her to return to my father?'
Hilmi knew about Yasin's notorious behavior. With a smile he recited, 'How many laments passion has brought me….'
Waving his hand to show his disagreement, Ridwan said, 'So what! Women's taste is a frightening mystery. What's even more disastrous is that she seems happy with him.'
'Don't dwell on things that upset you.'
Ridwan answered sadly, 'How amazing! A vast part of my life is miserable. I detest my mother's husband and dislike my father's wife. The atmosphere is charged with hatred. Like my mother, my father made a bad choice. But what can I do about it? My stepmother is nice to me, but I don't think she loves me. How vile this life is!'
An elderly servant brought in some tea. Ridwan welcomed it with relish, since he had been stung by bitter February winds on the way there. They were silent as they dissolved the sugar in the tea. The expression on Ridwan's face changed, announcing the end of his gloomy recital.
Hilmi welcomed this and said with relief, 'I'm so used to studying with you that I no longer know how to do it by myself.'
Ridwan responded to this affectionate comment with a smile but suddenly asked, 'Do you know about the decree that was issued concerning the delegation for the negotiations?'
'Yes. But many people are making a big stink about the atmosphere surrounding the negotiations. It seems that Italy, which poses a threat to our borders, is the real focus of the negotiations. For their part, the English pose a threat if the agreement fails.'
'The blood of our martyrs is not cold yet, and we have fresh blood to spill.'
Hilmi shook his head as he remarked, 'What people are saying is that the fighting's over and the talking has begun. What do you think?'
'At any rate the Wafd constitute an overwhelming majority within the delegation. Picture this. When I asked Muhammad Hasan, my stepfather, his opinion of the situation, he replied sarcastically, 'Do you really think the English can leave Egypt?' This is the man my mother consented to marry.'
Hilmi Izzat laughed out loud and asked, 'Does your father's opinion differ?'
'My father hates the English. That's enough.'
'Dosshe hate them from the depths of his heart?'
'My father does not hate or love anything from the depths of his heart.'
'I'm asking what you think. Are you confident?'
'Why not? How long can this situation drag on? Fifty-four years of British occupation? Phooey! I'm not the only one who is miserable.'
Hilmi Izzat took a last sip of tea. Then he smiled and said, 'I think you were speaking to me with this kind of enthusiasm when he caught sight of you.'
'Who?'
Hilmi smiled mysteriously and replied, 'When you get excited you blush and that makes you look especially handsome. No doubt lie saw you talking to me at one of those happy moments the day our student delegation went to the House of the Nation to call for unity. Don't you remember?'
With an interest Ridwan did not attempt to conceal he said, 'Yes. But who ishe?'
'Abd al-Rahim Pasha Isa!'
