This lady was Mrs. Saniya Afify, the owner of the alley's second house, on the first floor of which lived Dr. Booshy. She had got herself ready on this particular day to visit the middle flat of her house, where Umm Hamida lived. She was not accustomed to visiting tenants and, indeed, probably the only times she had been in the flat were at the beginning of each month to collect the rent. Now, however, a new and deep impulse made visiting Hamida's mother an absolute necessity.
She walked out of the flat and down the stairs, mumbling hopefully to herself, 'O God, please fulfill my wishes.'
She knocked on the door with a perspiring hand and Hamida opened it. The girl gave her an insincere smile of welcome, led her into the sitting room, and then left to call her mother.
The room was small, with two old-fashioned sofas facing one another and a battered table on which rested an ashtray. On the floor was a straw mat. The visitor did not wait long; soon Hamida's mother rushed in, having just changed from her housecoat. The two women greeted one another warmly, exchanged kisses and sat down. Umm Hamida said, 'Welcome, welcome. Why, it's as though the Prophet himself had come to visit us, Mrs. Afify!'
Umm Hamida was a well-built woman of medium stature, in her mid-sixties. Still fit and healthy, with protruding eyes and pockmarked cheeks, she had a rough and resonant voice. When she talked she almost screamed. Indeed her voice was her most effective weapon in the frequent quarrels between her and her neighbors. She was, of course, not at all pleased with the visit, as any visit from the landlady could have unfortunate consequences and might even spell real trouble. However, she had accustomed herself to be ready at all times for any eventuality, whether good or bad, and she was able to deal with both with complete equanimity.
By profession she was a bath attendant and a marriage broker, and was both shrewd and talkative. To be sure, her tongue was hardly ever still and she scarcely missed a single report or scandal concerning anyone or any house in the neighborhood. She was both a herald and a historian of bad news of all kinds and a veritable encyclopedia of woes.
As usual, she went to great pains to make her visitor feel welcome, praising her extravagantly. She gave her a resume of the news of the alley and the surroundings. Had she heard of Kirsha's new scandal? It was just like the previous ones and the news got back to his wife, who had a fight with him and tore his cloak. Husniya, the bakeress, the day before struck her husband so hard that blood had flowed from his forehead. Radwan Hussainy, that good and pious man, had rebuked his wife most strongly, and why would he treat her in this way, the good man that he was, if she were not a vile and wicked hussy! Dr. Booshy had interfered with a little girl in the shelter in the last air raid and some upright citizen had struck him for it. The wife of Mawardy, the wood merchant, had run off with her servant, and her father had informed the police. Tabuna Kafawy was secretly selling bread made of pure flour — and so on.
Mrs. Afify listened with disinterest to all this, her mind busy with the matter about which she had come. She was determined, no matter what the effort cost her, to broach the subject which had been simmering within her for so long. She let the woman talk on until the right opportunity came, as it did when Umm Hamida asked, 'And how are you, Mrs. Afify?'
She frowned a little and replied, 'The truth is that I am tired out, Umm Hamida!'
The older woman arched her eyebrows as though really troubled. 'Tired? May God lighten your load!'
Mrs. Afify made no reply while Hamida, her tenant's daughter, who had just come into the room, placed a tray with coffee on the table and left again. Then she said indignantly, 'Yes, I am tired, Umm Hamida. Don't you think it's exhausting, collecting the rent from the shops? Imagine a woman like me standing in front of strange men asking for rent…'
Umm Hamida's heart had missed a beat at the mention of the rents, but she said sympathetically, 'Yes, you are quite right. May God come to your aid.'
Umm Hamida wondered to herself why Mrs. Afify should keep making these complaints. This was the second or third time her landlady had visited her recently and it was still not the beginning of the month. All at once an astonishing idea struck her. Could the visits be connected with her own profession? In such matters her powers of deduction were unparalleled and she determined to quietly plumb by degrees the depths of her visitor. Maliciously, she said, 'This is one of the evils of being alone. You are a woman all by yourself, Mrs. Afify. In your house you are alone, in the street alone, and in your bed you are alone. Isn't loneliness terrible?'
Mrs. Afify was pleased with the woman's comments, which corresponded exactly with her own thoughts. Hiding her delight, she replied, 'What can I do? My relatives all have families and I am only happy in my own home. Yet thanks be to God for making me quite independent.'
Umm Hamida watched her cunningly and then said, coming to the point, 'Thanks be to God a thousand times; but tell me honestly, why have you remained single so long?'
Mrs. Afify's heart beat faster and she found herself just where she wanted to be. Nevertheless, she sighed and murmured in feigned disgust, 'No more of the bitterness of marriage for me!'
In her youth, Mrs. Afify had married the owner of a perfume shop, but it was an unsuccessful marriage. Her husband treated her badly, made her life miserable, and spent all her savings. He left her a widow ten years ago and she had remained single all this time because, as she said, she had no taste for married life.
In saying this, she was not merely trying to hide the indifference of the other sex toward her. She had genuinely disliked married life and was delighted when she regained her peace and freedom. For a long time now, she had remained averse to marriage and happy in her freedom. Gradually, however, she forgot this prejudice and would not have hesitated had anyone asked for her hand in marriage. From time to time she lived in hope, but as the years passed, she had begun to despair. She refused to allow herself to entertain further false hopes, and she had accustomed herself to satisfaction with her life just as it was.
Her pastimes were not, fortunately, those that would lead to criticism of a widowed lady like herself. Her only passions were a fondness for coffee, cigarettes, and hoarding bank notes. She kept her new banknotes in a small ivory casket hidden in the depths of her clothes closet and arranged them in packages of fives and tens, delighting herself by looking at them, counting and rearranging them. Because the bank notes, unlike metal coins, made no noise, the money was safe and none of the alley's clever people, despite their great sensitivity, knew of its existence. She had always inclined toward avarice and was one of the earliest contributors to the savings bank.
Mrs. Afify found great consolation in her financial activities, seeing in them a compensation for her unmarried state. She would tell herself that any husband would be likely to plunder her funds, just as her dead husband had done, and that he would squander in the twinkle of an eye the fruits of long years of savings. Despite all this, the idea of marriage had gradually taken root and all her excuses and fears had been wiped out.
It was really Umm Hamida who was responsible for this strange change in her, whether intentionally or not. She had told her how she had arranged a marriage for an elderly widow and she had begun thinking the same might be possible for her. Very soon the idea had quite taken possession of her and she now felt compelled to follow it through. She had once thought that she had forgotten marriage and, all of a sudden, marriage was her ambition and hope and no amount of money, coffee, cigarettes, or new bank notes could dissuade her from the idea. Mrs. Afify had begun wondering despondently how she had wasted her life in vain and how she had spent ten years, until she was now approaching fifty, quite alone. She decided that it had been simple madness, laid the responsibility on her dead husband, and determined that she would be unfaithful to his memory as soon as possible.
The matchmaker listened with shrewd contempt to her fake disgust at the idea of marriage and told herself, 'I can see through your cunning, Mrs. Afify.' She reproached her visitor, 'Don't exaggerate, Mrs. Afify. Even if your luck was bad the first time, there are very many happy marriages indeed.'
Replacing her coffee cup on the tray and thanking her hostess, Mrs. Afify replied, 'No sensible person would persist in trying her luck if it looked bad.'
Umm Hamida disagreed. 'What talk is this for a sensible woman like yourself? You have had enough, quite enough, of being alone.'
The widow struck her meager breast with the palm of her left hand and said in mock disbelief, 'What? Do you want people to think that I am mad?'
'What people do you mean? Women older than yourself get married every day.'
Mrs. Afify was annoyed at this phrase 'older than yourself and she said quietly, 'I am not as old as you may think, God curse the idea!'
'I didn't mean that, Mrs. Afify and I am sure you are still within the bounds of youth. I thought it might be
