God Dies by the Nile and Other Novels (15 page)

Zakeya bent low over the dark gnarled hand and pressed her lips to it fervently, as she whispered, ‘I do thank and praise Thee, O God. I do thank and praise Thee, O God.'

While this was going on Zeinab had kept repeating verses of praise and thanks to God. She was so overcome with holy bliss that she forgot to give the man the ten piastre coin as Haj Ismail had instructed her to do. But the man himself now asked her for it. She undid the knotted corner of her shawl with a hand which was still trembling, extracted the coin, gave it to him and kissed his hand as though she was making the offering to God. Deep inside her a voice kept whispering in
wonderment, ‘O God, he knows Kafr El Teen and our house, and the iron gate which stands in front of it.'

The man disappeared into the crowd as rapidly as he had emerged, leaving Zakeya and Zeinab standing where they were, huddled up against each other in a state of wonderment, and profound humility. Now and again they would look at one another questioningly, as though to reassure themselves that what had happened was real, and not a figment of their imagination, that they had really heard the voice of God, and even seen Him, or at least seen one of His messengers, or saints to whom had been revealed the secrets which were not revealed to others. Zakeya felt her body was now lighter than it had ever been before. The iron grasp which seemed to throttle her all the time had loosened a little. She no longer had to lean on her niece Zeinab, for her legs had regained their strength, and could carry her easily.

Zeinab's eyes became wider and wider with amazement when she noticed her aunt walking beside her as though she could easily manage on her own.

‘Aunt, you are better already,' she said in a low voice, full of reverence. ‘Look how you are walking!'

And the old woman responded, ‘My body no longer feels heavy. O God, verily Thou art generous and bountiful.'

‘God is great,' said Zeinab. ‘Did I not tell you many a time that Allah would help us, and that you should pray to Him, and be patient?'

‘Yes, my child, you always used to say that to me.'

‘I disobeyed God and refused to pray, and so did you, Aunt Zakeya.'

‘I did not refuse to pray. It was the evil spirit dwelling within which refused.'

‘God willing the evil spirit will be driven out of your body when we do what He has ordained.'

‘Do you remember all that the sheikh said?' asked Zakeya. ‘My body kept shaking, and I am unable to recall his words. I'm afraid we might forget something.'

‘Don't worry about anything. Every word he said is engraved here in my heart.'

‘May God bless you,' said Zakeya fervently.

_________

^*
A primitive water-wheel turned by hand.

^*
Islamic jurisprudence, used to develop and explain Islamic teachings embodied in the Koran and the sayings of the Prophet Mohamed. The four prostrations mentioned here are not considered canonical but only optional. Practised as an additional rite, they testify to greater religious fervour and should bring more blessings.

XIV

And so that morning before dawn, Zeinab lifted the earthenware jar high up and poured clean Nile water from it over her head and body. She rubbed her breasts with it, whispering ‘I testify that there is no Allah except Allah, and that Mohamed is the prophet of Allah' three times. The water flowed down over her belly and thighs, and she rubbed them in turn, reciting the testimony three times. She dried her long, black hair, plaited it tightly, dressed in a clean
galabeya
, wound the black shawl around her head and shoulders and advanced with frightened, hesitant steps towards the door, before pushing it slowly wide open.

The crimson rays of dawn started to appear above the horizon but the sun had not yet risen in the sky. She fixed her eyes on the spot from which she knew it would rise, and read the first verse of the Koran in a soft voice, repeating it ten times. Then she walked towards the iron gate. She was still frightened, but now her steps were steady, very steady. When she arrived at the gate a shiver went through her body. It was no longer a shiver of fear or doubt, but of deep exaltation. Now she knew what it was that she had to do. Her heart beat fast, her
chest breathed full, her body was taut with expectation. Her legs trembled under the long
galabeya
and her large black eyes were raised to the sky, watching for something extraordinary to appear, for the will of God to be fulfilled.

The blue eyes of the Mayor opened wide with wonderment when he saw her appear. From her face and her eyes, from the way she walked with her head held high, he realized at once that she was Zeinab. He rubbed his eyes and looked at her again speaking in a voice which expressed surprise.

‘Who sent you, Zeinab?'

‘It is Allah Who has sent me,' she said.

‘But why did you come this time?'

‘Because it is the will of God,' she said as though speaking to herself.

The Mayor smiled, got out of bed and went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, washed, then looked at his face in the mirror and smiled again. The laughter was welling up inside him. Speaking to himself in an undertone, he said, ‘Devil, son of a devil. What a cunning rogue you are, Haj Ismail!'

When he had finished he came out of the bathroom, and started to look for his watch. He found it on a small table. Its hands were pointing to six o'clock. He grinned and whispered to himself, ‘No woman has ever come to me so early in the morning. I must drink a cup of tea first. It will wake me up.'

Zeinab was still standing where he had left her. He walked up to her, and in a voice one would use when speaking to a
child, said, ‘Listen to me, Zeinab. I want a cup of tea. Do you know how to make tea?'

‘Yes, my master,' she said in a tone of voice anxious to please.

‘Come with me. I will show you the way to the kitchen. I want you to prepare tea for me while I have a bath.'

Zeinab gasped in wonder when she saw the white porcelain wash basins, the shining metal taps, the coloured walls, the curtains and the stove that lit so easily. She lost herself in contemplation of the kettle which blew a whistle when the water boiled, the cups with engravings and coloured paintings, the silver spoons. Everything around her was new, never seen before, as though she had been transported to another world. She felt that she was now in the kingdom of Allah, praised be His name and revered. Her fingers trembled every time she held something between them. Her heart was beating rapidly, her breast heaved up and down, and her legs kept shaking all the time.

A tea-cup slipped through her fingers and dropped on the floor. She clapped her hand over her chest and shrank to the wall breathing hard, her eyes fixed on the shattered fragments of the cup as though she had committed a terrible crime. The pieces of porcelain shone like coloured crystals over the milk-white floor. The Mayor was enjoying his warm shower when he heard the sound of the cup as it struck the ground followed by a loud, terrified gasp. He smiled as his hand rubbed slowly over his chest and belly with a cake of perfumed soap. He
thought, ‘How exciting these simple girls are, and how pleasant it is to take their virgin bodies into one's arms, like plucking a newly opened rose flower. How I hate the false sophistication of Cairo women, like my wife with her brazen eyes. Nothing any longer intimidates or thrills her. Her frigid body no longer quivers when I caress her, or hold her tight, or even bite her.'

He came out of the bathroom wearing pink silk pyjamas and walked to the kitchen. He found Zeinab still standing shrunk up against the wall, with her hand on her breast, her lips slightly parted as though she were out of breath, and her eyes fixed on the shattered fragments of porcelain which just a moment ago had been a beautiful cup worth much more than she would ever know.

He watched her thoughtfully with his clear blue eyes, his face looking relaxed and healthy, just as though he were carefully weighing a priceless ornament. Her thick black hair hung in two plaits over her back. She had a fine, oval face tanned by the sun and her timidity was so stimulating, it excited him. Her full lips were a natural red, and slightly moist like a flower in the morning dew. Her breasts were round, firm, upturned with the sharp outlines of healthy flesh. They rose and fell in continuous movement as though impelled by the racing heart which hid behind them. Her eyes were large and black with a trace of tears like a child who has taken fright.

He came close to her and said with a smile on his lips, ‘Are you crying, Zeinab?'

She bent her head and answered in a barely audible whisper, ‘It fell out of my hand. Forgive me, master.'

She wiped her tears away with her hand. He felt the blood surge up in his body and moved closer, stretching out his hand and tenderly wiping away the remaining tears.

‘Do not be afraid, Zeinab,' he said in a low voice. ‘The cup, and the owner of the cup, are all yours.'

He was about to take her in his arms but thought better of it. She might only become more frightened if he did that. It was better if he waited until she had become accustomed to her new surroundings, and all the things she was seeing for the first time.

During that time Zakeya had taken the buffalo to the field, tied it to the water-wheel, and started to dig deep into the ground with her hoe. She kept straining her ears to catch a sound even vaguely resembling the midday call to prayer. When the voice of Sheikh Hamzawi finally rang out, the disc of the sun was right over her head, burning down on it, and the sweat poured in a continuous flow, welling out from the roots of her hair, down her neck, and over her back, and her chest. She could feel it trickling down between her thighs and wondered whether it was sweat, or the urine she could no longer keep in her bladder. As soon as the call to prayer died out, she threw her hoe aside, and went to a nearby stream. She washed her face and neck and did her ablutions, then stood on the edge of the stream to pray, kneeling down and
prostrating herself with a fervent devotion. She did the four ordained prostrations and followed them with the four
Sunna
prostrations. With her prayers over she remained kneeling, and recited the first verse of the Koran ten times. After that she raised her hands to the heavens and repeated, ‘O God, forgive me,' thirty times. She paused for a moment before wiping her face in her hands. Immediately she experienced a strange feeling of relief, very much like a strong desire to sleep. Her lids grew heavy and in a moment she fell into a deep sleep beside the stream.

No matter how burning hot the noonday sun became it could never penetrate through the thick, solid concrete walls of the Mayor's house. Nevertheless the Mayor felt waves of burning heat running through his body as though he were naked under a white hot sun. He was still wearing his pink silk pyjamas, and sat in the armchair reading his morning newspaper. He glimpsed his brother's picture on one of the pages; quickly turned it over and started to read the news about celebrities and society people. Thus he learnt that Touha the dancer had been divorced, that Noussa the actress was marrying for the fourth time, and that Abdel Rahman, the singer, had entered the hospital to have his appendix removed. He turned over the page to read the sports news, but the pages got stuck, and he found himself looking at his brother's picture again, so he ran over the lines and read that there had been a cabinet change, and that his brother had
become an even more important minister. He clicked his tongue in derision. No one knew him better than he did, for he was his brother. And no one knew how stupid a man he was, so slow of understanding, but a real mule for work ‘just like a buffalo which goes round and round in a water-wheel with its eyes blindfolded', he thought.

He let the paper fall from his hand and closed his eyes, but suddenly remembered that he wanted to telephone his wife, and ask her how his younger son had fared in the examinations. His hand was about to reach out to the telephone when he heard the sound of water being poured in the bathroom. It reminded him that Zeinab had come to his house at dawn, and that meanwhile she had swept and cleaned the house, so that now all that remained for her to do was the bathroom. A thought flashed through his mind. ‘Why not go to the bathroom and have a try?' But he drove it away. Somehow he felt that Zeinab was not like her sister Nefissa who was simple and easy-going, and had not instilled in him the same caution and hesitation he felt in the presence of Zeinab. He could not understand why with Zeinab he was so cautious and hesitant, even afraid. Yes, afraid. Perhaps because she was Nefissa's sister. True, Nefissa's story had remained a secret, but who knew? Maybe this time things would not be concealed so easily. He tried to chase away his fears. Who could find out the things that had happened? He was above suspicion, above the law, even above the moral rules which governed ordinary people's behaviour.
Nobody in Kafr El Teen would dare suspect him. They could have doubts about Allah, but about him… It was impossible.

But now he remembered that there were three men in Kafr El Teen who knew almost everything about him. The Chief of the Village Guard, the Sheikh of the mosque, and the village barber. Without them he could not rule Kafr El Teen. They were his instruments, his aides and his means for administering the affairs of the village. But they knew his secrets. They could be trusted to keep them, although deep down inside he felt that they were not to be trusted with anything. If he closed his eyes for a single second they would play a trick on him, or get out of him whatever they could. But he had his eyes wide open, and he knew how to convince them that he could hear them breathe as they slept, and that if any one of them even so much as thought of playing tricks, of wagging his tail, he would cut it off for him, and cut his head off with it, too.

He swallowed two or three times in quick succession. His mouth was bitter and he felt like spitting, like ridding himself of the hatred which for ever weighed down on him. He loathed the three men, and despised them. What made it even worse was the realization that he needed them, that he could not do without them. That was why he was obliged to spend some of his nights talking and joking and laughing with them, and even to convince himself not only that they were his friends, but perhaps his only friends.