Morning and Evening Talk (11 page)

Rashwana eyed her daughter worriedly, trying to plumb her depths, inquisitive of her thoughts and emotions, of what was hidden in the folds of her peculiar life, which resembled a man’s.

Whenever Dananir was stressed or complained about a work-related matter, Rashwana interpreted it in terms of some other cause lurking beneath of her irregular, meager life. She watched as her daughter grew fatter day by day, lost her graceful youth and looks, and assumed the marks of seriousness and coarseness. It was as though work had unwittingly transformed her into a man. Rashwana was alone with her brother Surur Effendi in his house on Bayt al-Qadi Square.

“God bless you, Brother. Why don’t you take Dananir for your son Labib?” she asked.

“But she doesn’t want to leave you at the mercy of others,” Surur replied evasively.

“I could convince her if she had the good fortune of finding a groom like your son.”

“The truth is I don’t really want Labib to marry until Gamila, Bahiga, and Zayna have found husbands. I only have a small salary and his assistance in the girls’ trousseaus is indispensable,” he told her frankly.

She returned, with a lump in her throat, to ruminate on her worries, which only ever left her at prayer times. She watched and saw her daughter’s youth vanish completely, its place taken by a gloomy picture marked by coarseness and barrenness; no one doubted that it was the specter of a spinster whose life was ruined. Her worries piled up as loved ones died one after the other: Ahmad, Amr, Mahmud, and Surur. Then her heart had to bear disease as well as constant sorrow. She took to her bed reluctantly and spent her nights in agony, aware death was on its way.… The Murakibi and Dawud families came by and Amr and Surur’s families visited regularly. She bequeathed Dananir to every one of them. She said to her daughter as though imparting her final testimony, “Marry at the next opportunity.”

In her dying hour Dananir rushed to her bed. She propped her mother’s head against her chest and recited what verses she could remember from the Qur’an until the woman breathed her last, leaving Dananir alone in the true sense of the word.

S
HE WAS BORN AND GREW UP IN AL
-K
URDI
L
ANE
in al-Hussein to an Egyptian father called Abd al-Halim al-Naggar, who owned a small carpenter’s shop in the quarter, and a Syrian mother. She married Surur three years after his older brother, Amr, was married. Aziz believed in early marriages and had paid no attention to Surur’s protests.

“Marriage is the best medicine for people like you,” Aziz told his son.

“You’re a lusty man but you’re poor. Marriage is the cheapest way!” said his brother, Amr.

They sought the help of a matchmaker, who showed them to Abd al-Halim’s house. The man had a good reputation and was financially well-off. Surur objected to the fact that he was a craftsman but the matchmaker said, “His daughter is well brought up and beautiful.” Ni‘ma and Radia made the customary visit and were truly dazzled by the bride’s beauty. She was fair, with black hair, green eyes, a supple body, and a look of deep calm.

“A paragon of beauty,” Ni‘ma remarked on their return journey.

Radia’s jealousy was ignited. “As far as roots are concerned, we’re all children of Adam and Eve,” she said in what seemed like support and resistance at the same time.

Zaynab was wedded to Surur in the house next door to Amr’s on Bayt al-Qadi Square. The moment the veil was lifted from her face, he fell in love, and she loved him until the last years of her life and gave him Labib, Gamila, Bahiga, Zayna, Amir, and Hazim. Her beauty ensured a friendly reception in the family and its branches and the good impression was confirmed by her decorum, gentleness, and calm nature. She was instinctively conscious that Radia was jealous of her, but no complications proceeded from this thanks to her calm nature, which seemed to border on coolness. She always treated Radia with respect and friendliness. She put Radia before herself as the wife of her husband’s older brother and always hoped Radia’s sons would be her daughters’ husbands. Whenever one of them headed in another direction she suspected Radia to be the reason he digressed from his rightful destination, from the girl with first claim to him. But this did not muddy the love between the two families and never came to the surface. Her real troubles began when Surur approached middle age. His restlessness and the way he gazed automatically at each and every pretty girl in the quarter did not escape her vigilant eyes, and so a dispute developed between them late in life. He deflected any accusations with anger and edginess, while she censured and complained in a low voice, with constant gentleness. When her patience ran out she complained to his older brother, Amr Effendi.

“People grow wiser with age,” Amr said to his brother.

He assured him that his wife was always full of misgivings.

“Your children have grown up too,” said Amr.

Radia learned of the problem and would say to her sister-in-law, “Where would he find beauty like yours?” But she was secretly pleased, telling herself that no woman can survive by beauty alone.

Zaynab was not spared the effects of sorrow, for she developed diabetes and high blood pressure. Illnesses visited her successively
and pallor crept into her radiant beauty, snuffing it out bit by bit before her time. She constantly discerned hungry hopes in Surur’s eyes and lived in an atmosphere heavily clouded with fear. She was alternately beset with the outright fear that, were he not poor, he would marry again, and the likelihood that he would find a rich woman who loved him as Ata al-Murakibi had been lucky enough to do long ago. How she envied Radia the contentment of her husband and her status among the family thanks to marriage ties with the Murakibis and Dawuds. “Look how they love your brother and shower gifts on him. You’ve driven them away with your vicious tongue!” she said to her husband.

The Second World War came with its darkness and air raids. However, the most abominable raid of all was the fate that swept down on Surur. His health deteriorated and he submitted to the hands of death prematurely, in his final year of service. The loss of the man she had never ceased loving for an hour of her life, despite the tepidity of his desire and sluggishness of his love, dealt Zaynab the final blow. One year after his death, she suffered a brain hemorrhage that rendered her unconscious for three days. On the fourth day, in Radia’s arms, she passed away.

She was the youngest daughter of Surur Effendi and the fourth of his children. She was known for her wide green eyes and a body that was quick to ripen and looked more like an adult’s than a young virgin’s. She was confined to the house at an early age, after she had learned to read and write at Qur’an school, and progressed to adolescence waiting for a suitable man. Gamila departed for her marital home and Zayna was left behind waiting with Bahiga. Her youth unfolded onto her family as it was assailed by alienation and tension in an atmosphere of darkness and air raids. She noticed early on the romantic
maneuvers between Bahiga and Qasim and knew with her sharp instincts that their similar ages made them unsuitable marriage candidates, that the young man should rather be looking at her. Sitt Zaynab tirelessly took Zayna and Bahiga on visits to the family houses. Countless eyes devoured her, yet it seemed no one considered either of them for marriage. The family easily deserved what the father repelled from it, and better. Illness overtook Qasim and he took shelter in his new world. Her sister Bahiga met the blow with silence, patience, and acceptance. Her father died, then her mother, and she was left alone with her sister, visited in passing by their brother Labib when his work outside Cairo allowed. “God does not forget any of his servants. Whoever trusts in God is not sorry,” Radia told them.

One day, sitting with the two of them in his gallabiya, Labib said, “Someone has come and asked me for your hand, Zayna.”

Her heart fluttered. She looked at her sister guiltily.

“Everyone gets their share at the appointed time,” said Labib.

“You’re absolutely right, Labib,” said Bahiga. “Congratulations,” she said to her sister, despite the despair engulfing her.

“For my part, I wouldn’t miss an opportunity,” said the man.

A heavy silence reigned. Then Labib, who was capable of confronting the most uncomfortable situations, said, “His name is Sabri al-Muqallad. He works in a chemical company.”

“A company!” Zayna muttered dubiously.

“It’s better than the civil service. The world is changing.” Shaking his big head, he continued, “I’ve heard he is a heavy drinker and he admitted as much. But he has earnestly assured me that he has repented and is fit for marriage. What do you think?”

“It’s your decision,” she said submissively.

“There is no use for such talk today. You will see him for yourself.”

Sabri al-Muqallad came and Labib received him in the old
reception room. Zayna made herself up and put on the finest clothes she owned and went in to meet her destiny. She could not examine his face closely but a glance was enough to glean a picture of him. He was very thin and had a gigantic nose, a big mouth, and a long face. When he left Labib said, “The man’s ugliness doesn’t mean he is no good. He has a good salary … a good family.… You have the final word.” She knew she wanted a husband at any price; she could not stand her gloomy existence any longer. Let God take care of Bahiga. She was wedded to him in a house his mother owned in Bayn al-Ganayin.

She seemed happy with her marriage and gave birth to Khalil and Amira. Amira perished in infancy, leaving a deep wound in the heart of the youthful mother. Sabri was twenty years older than her but she enjoyed a pleasant life in his care, strutting about in the finest clothes and dining on the most appetizing food, until she became excessively fat and started to resemble Egypt’s first chanteuses. Her son Khalil’s marriage to a widow the same age as her shocked her, but she quickly got over her distress without any real crisis. The only blight on her happiness was the period she was separated from the rest of her family, when the traditional constant caravan of visitors was like a dream without a shadow of reality. Time brought the radio and television, Cairo swelled, and unexpected events, wars, and maladies poured down on the city. Bayn al-Ganayin, like other quarters, seemed to become an independent kingdom whose borders were only crossed in times of disaster.

H
E WAS BORN AND GREW UP IN THE HOUSE
in al-Ghuriya in sight of Bab al-Mutawalli with his older brother, Amr, and their older sister, Rashwana. His childhood pastures extended between the gate and Bayn al-Qasrayn’s public fountain, where their father, Aziz, perched on his aqueous throne. Surur resembled his brother in height and distinct features, but his face disclosed a finer symmetry and he tended to be fatter. His grandmother, Ni‘ma al-Murakibi, lavished him with a special affection, the like of which was not enjoyed by Amr and Rashwana, and spoiled him in spite of Aziz’s objections and warnings. He grew up a natural believer but, unlike the rest of his family, without the trappings, and did not heed prayer times or fast until he was fifty, a course his own family would later follow. He appeared to be idle and hated studying so his progress was stilted. Meanwhile, the way he teased girls and his impulsiveness bespoke trouble. He tried to drag his brother, Amr, along with him but found him unresponsive; indeed, he found him obstructive and reproachful. The two shared a strong fraternal love that ultimately withstood the disagreements which tarnished their relationship over time. He worked his way through primary school with difficulty and Amr fared no better, so upon receiving the primary school certificate he threw down his weapons and was
lucky enough to find a job in the railways. The primary school certificate was a significant document, so Aziz was satisfied and praised God. He had hoped for more for his sons, impressed by the example of his brother, Dawud Pasha, and nephew, Abd al-Azim, but told himself, “Contentment is a virtue.” He began thinking about the next important step, namely marriage. When he discussed the matter with Surur he found him lukewarm. Aziz told him plainly he did not approve of his behavior and thought marriage the best remedy. Amr agreed enthusiastically with his father, and Surur soon yielded out of respect for them and because he was eager to experience the magic of marriage. The matchmaker showed them to Zaynab’s house and a caravan made up of Ni‘ma, Rashwana, and Radia set out to court her. She was wedded to him in the house next door to his brother’s on Bayt al-Qadi Square.