out flirtatiously from the doorway, 'Who's that person as handsome as the full moon sitting behind the desk?'
Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad stood there in a crude, tattered, colorless gown and torn red leather shoes, his head wrapped in a camel's-hair muffler. Propping himself up with a staff, he gazed with bloodshot eyes at the wall next to the desk, thinking that he was looking at the proprietor.
In spite of his worries, al-Sayyid Ahmad smiled and said, 'Come here, Shaykh Mutawalli. How are you?'
Opening a toothless mouth, the old man yelled, 'High blood pressure, go away! Health, return to this lord of men.'
Al-Sayyid Ahmad stood up and walked toward him. The shaykh stared in his direction but backed away as if preparing to flee. Then turning around in a circle, he pointed in each of the four directions and shouted, 'You'll find relief here… and here … and here … and here'. Exiting to the street, he intoned, 'Not today. Tomorrow. Or the next day. Say: God knows best'. He strode off with long steps that seemed incongruous for a man who looked so feeble.
118
The extended family returned to its roots every Friday, and the old house came alive with children and grandchildren. This happy tradition had never lapsed. Since Umm Hanafi now held pride of place in the kitchen, Amina was no longer the heroine of the day. Still, the mistress never tired of reminding her family that the servant was her pupil. Amina's desire for praise became more pronounced as she sensed increasingly that she did not deserve it. Although a guest, Khadija alwayshelped with the cooking too.
Shortly before al-Sayyid Ahmad's departure for the store, he was surrounded by family members: Ibrahim Shawkat and his two sons, Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad, along with Yasin and his children, Ridwan and Karima. They were all subject to a humility that transformed laughter to smiles and conversation to whispers. The older al-Sayyid Ahmad got, the more he delighted in their company. He was critical of Yasin for curtailing visits to the store in exchange for this Friday gathering. Did the mule not understand that his father longed to see him as often as possible?
Yasin's son, Ridwan, had a handsome face with memorable eyes and a rosy complexion. His good looks suggested many different sources, reminding al-Sayyid Ahmad of Yasin, of Yasin's mother, Haniya, and of Muhammad Iffat, a beloved friend and the young man's other grandfather. Ridwan was al-Sayyid Ahmad's favorite grandchild. The boy's sister, Karima, was a little lady of eight. She would surely grow up to be a marvel, if only because of her black eyes, so like those of her mother, Zanuba, that they stirred within the patriarch an embarrassed smile rich with memories.
The decisive feature in the appearance of both Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad was a lesser version of their grandfather's huge nose, but he could also recognize the small eyes of Khadija, their mother. They were bolder too than the others in addressing him. All these grandsons were pursuing their studies with a successhe was proud of, but they seemed too busy with their own affairs to pay much attention to him. While they consoled their grandfather by showing him that his life was being passed on through new generations, they reminded him as well that he was gradually having to relinquish the dominant position he had reserved for himself in the family. He was not as sad as he might have been about this, since age had brought him wisdom along with illness and infirmity. Yet it would have been absurd to imagine that his new insight could prevent a flood of memories from bursting forth. Back in 1890, when he had been their age, he had studied only a little and played a lot, dividing his time between the homes of musi cians in al-Gamaliya and the haunts of Ezbekiya. Even then his loyal companions had been Muhammad Iffat, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Ibrahim al-Far. His father, who had run the store, had scolded his only son a little and pampered him a lot. Life had been a tightly wound scroll crowded with hopes. Then he had married Haniya…. But not so fast… he should not allow memories to carry him away.
He rose to prepare for the afternoon prayers. This was a sign he would soon depart. After he had changed clothes and left for the store, they all assembled in a congenial chatty mood around the grandmother's brazier for the coffee hour.
Amina, Aisha, and Na'ima occupied the center sofa. The one on the right was taken by Yasin, Zanuba, and Karima. On the left-hand one were seated Ibrahim Shawkat, Khadija, and Kamal. Ridwati, Abd al-Muni'm, and Ahmad had chairs in the center of the room, beneath the electric light. Following his time-honored practice, Ibrahim Shawkat extolled the disheshe had most enjoyed. Even so, during the past few yearshe had changed the direction of his praise toward the excellent instruction Amina was providing her outstanding pupil, Umm Hanafi.
Zanuba always echoed his words, for she never overlooked an opportunity to ingratiate herself with a member of her husband's family. In fact, ever since her in-laws had opened their doors to her, permitting her to mingle with them, she had shown extraordinary skill in strengthening her ties to them. She considered their welcome an acknowledgment of her status, coming as it did after the years she had lived in isolation like an outcast. The death of a baby had been the pretext for the initial visit, when Yasin's family had come to his home to offer their condolences. Those calls had emboldened her to visit first Sugar Street and then at a time when al-Sayyid Ahmad was quite ill — Palace Walk. She had even ventured into his room, where they had met like strangers with no past history. Thus Zanuba had become part of al-Sayyid Ahmad's family, calling Amina 'Auntie' and Khadija 'Sister'. She was always exceptionally modest. Unlike other women of the family, she dressed simply when she made her calls, so that she seemed older than she was. Neglected, her beauty began to fade prematurely, and Khadija would never believe she was only thirty-six.
Zanuba had succeeded in gaining everyone's respect, and Amina said of her one day, 'No doubt she comes from a good family — even if one or two generations back. It doesn't matter, for she's a good girl and the only one who has been able to live with Yasin.'
Khadija seemed to surpass even Yasin in the flabby abundance of flesh and saw no reason to claim she was anything but happy about that. She was delighted with her sons, Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad, as well as with her generally successful marriage, but to ward off the evil eye of jealousy never let a day go by without some complaint. Her treatment of Aisha had undergone a total change. During the last eight years she had not addressed a single sarcastic or harsh word to her younger sister, not even in jest. In fact, she bent over backwards to be courteous, affectionate, and gracious to Aisha, since she was touched by the widow's misery, frightened that fate might deal her a comparable blow, and apprehensive that Aisha would compare their lots. She had generously insisted that her husband renounce his share of his brother's estate, so that it went in its entirety to Aisha and her daughter, Na'ima. Khadija had hoped her action would be remembered in time, but Aisha was in such a state that she forgot her sister's generosity. This oversight did not keep Khadija from lavishing enough affection, sympathy, and compassion on Aisha to seem a second mother for her younger sister. To feel secure about her own God-granted prosperity, Khadija desired nothing more than Aisha's complaisant affection.
Ibrahim Shawkat took out a pack of cigarettes, and Aisha accepted one gratefully. He helped himself, and they both started smoking. Aisha's excessive dependence on cigarettes and coffee had been the subject of many comments, but her normal response to them was a shrug of her shoulders. Amina limited herself to the prayerful remark: 'May God grant her endurance.'
Yasin offered the most outspoken advice of any member of the family, for he appeared to think that the death of one of his children gave him this right. Aisha considered his loss inferior to her own and begrudged him any standing in the realm of the afflicted, since his son had died during the first year — unlike Uthman and Muhammad. Discussion of disastrous losses often seemed to be her favorite pastime, and her distinguished rank in the world of suffering was a consolation to her.
Kamal listened attentively to the conversation Ridwan, Abd al-Muni'm, and Ahmad were having about their future. Yasin's son, Ridwan, said, 'We're all in the arts, not science. So the only college worth choosing in the University is Law.'
Shaking his huge head, which made him, of the three boys, most resemble Kamal, Abd al-Muni'm Ibrahim Shawkat replied confidently in his powerful voice, 'That's easy to understand. But he refuses to!' He pointed at his brother, Ahmad, who smiled ironically.
Also gesturing toward Ahmad, Ibrahim Shawkat seized this opportunity to remark, 'He can go into the College of Arts if he wants to, but first he has to convince me of its value. I understand the importance of Law School, but not of Arts.'
