Morning and Evening Talk (6 page)

How Samiha delighted at the Tripartite Aggression, and how her hopes were dashed. On June 5 she locked herself in her room and began to dance. When news arrived of the leader’s death she trilled until Hazim stood up and, for the first time, shouted, “Have mercy on me!”

The company was nationalized but the rest of his family’s
acquisitions were left untouched. During Sadat’s era, Hazim reached his true zenith: he opened an engineering office and became a millionaire. Samiha said of the new leader, “His face may be black but his heart is white.” Yet the defeat she suffered at the hands of her son Husni was probably more savage than her political defeat. From the outset she tried to control her children as she did their father but failed completely. Husni broke all barriers and shackles whereas Adham lived up to her dreams after he created a life for himself away from everyone. Samiha found no one on whom to vent her anger but Hazim. “If it weren’t for your weakness and idiocy things would have been different,” she said with contempt. In old age she fell victim to depression and was forced to convalesce for a month at a sanatorium in Helwan. Hazim remained healthy despite developing diabetes and was indeed rather pleased to be living with a sick wife; indeed he had long wished her dead, especially after the death of his patron. Strange dreams would entice him; he would see her the victim of a car accident or chronic illness, or drowning in the Mediterranean, or … or…

But he stopped having the dreams. The house was deserted when she was in the sanatorium, and he believed he had realized his eternal dream of success and fortune.

From the beginning he was an irregular plant in the family’s soil. Amr Effendi probably did not slave as hard in raising any of his children as he did Hamid. He liked playing and fighting, acquired a wealth of vocabulary from the lexicon of street talk, and was routinely aggressive with his siblings, despite ranking sixth among them. As a result, he stumbled through Qur’an school and primary and secondary school and often returned to the old house with a torn gallabiya or a bloody nose, risking confrontation with his older brother, Amer, who had no qualms
about beating him from time to time. Amr Effendi, on the other hand, made do with chastisements, gentle advice, and threats, while Radia endlessly resorted to spells and incantations and scattered vows about saints’ tombs on his account. He harbored wicked intentions toward the girls in the family—like Gamila and Bahiga, his uncle’s daughters, and Dananir, his aunt Rashwana’s daughter—but his bad reputation put their mothers on guard. He also stood out in the family with his heavy build and large distinct features, which granted him manhood early. His greatest dream was to lead a gang like the celebrated strongmen who brought misery to the ancient quarter.

When, after several attempts, he attained the higher certificate, Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi advised his father to cut the path short and enroll him at the police academy: “It’s the solution I’ve found for my son Hasan.”

Amr Effendi welcomed the advice and Mahmud Ata promised to use his unassailable powers of intercession as an important noble to overcome any obstacles. Thus, Hamid entered the college the same year as his cousin Hasan. Mahmud made known his wish that Hamid marry his eldest daughter, Shakira, and Amr was delighted, for it would cement his relationship with the Murakibi family in the same way his son Amer had cemented his relationship with the Dawud family. The marriage paved the way for a grandeur his withered branch of the family had never dreamed of and enforced his position on the towering tree; he was honored and pleased. Hamid was happy too, even though his fiancée’s appearance did not satisfy his hunger for beautiful things. Only Radia was annoyed.

“What a lamentable choice,” she commented.

“Give praise to God, dear woman,” said Amr.

“Praise God, the only one we praise for loathsome things!” she retorted angrily.

“Happy houses are founded on roots and morals,” said the man hopefully.

“And money! How frustrating!” she said with contempt.

Surur Effendi informed his brother of his displeasure and began inwardly interpreting the matter as Amr’s indomitable desire to cling to the coattails of rich relatives; Mahmud Ata had only chosen a groom like Hamid for his daughter because he was conscious deep down of her insipidity and that if he didn’t find someone humble, who would be fettered by the favor, nobody would come forward except a freeloader eager to get hold of her money and take advantage of her and her loot. When Sitt Zaynab accused Radia of not wishing them well, Surur said to her, “It’s not just Radia. On the outside the deal makes it look like Hamid is the beneficiary, but in fact the real beneficiaries are al-Murakibi and his daughter, who couldn’t find a groom to oblige. My brother’s a good man, but gullible.”

One of Amr’s daughters was not pleased. When Sadriya heard the news she commented, “My brother’s marrying a man!”

When the 1919 Revolution came, Hamid was in his final year at the academy. He inclined to the revolution with all his heart and was accused of spurring on the strike, arraigned, and put back to the first year. Everyone was competing to make sacrifices so Amr Effendi was not especially upset, but praised God his son had not been expelled and thrown into the street. By the time he graduated as an officer, Mahmud Bey’s standing had risen, having pledged allegiance to the Crown, and he was able to have Hamid admitted into the interior ministry’s central offices with his son Hasan. Shakira was wedded to him soon after, without any real outlay on his part. He moved from the old house in Bayt al-Qadi to the mansion on Khayrat Square, where he and his wife would occupy a small wing on the private middle floor belonging to Mahmud’s family.

It was without question a revolutionary migration: the boy from the alley and its stagnant corners found himself from one day to the next in a tall mansion surrounded by a lush garden
and adorned with objets d’art, statues, and sumptuous furniture, where the sweet, melodious language of hanems rang out, the tables were embellished with the finest food, and the air was scented with piety and culture, without a trace of Radia’s mysteries. Hamid also found himself in a cage guarded by a tyrant, Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi, and a hanem of immense sweetness and beauty, Nazli Hanem. As for his cousin and life partner, she was the image of her father in terms of sturdy build and a replica of her mother in terms of culture and piety. He could not change his nature, however, having dealt with gangsters since youth, and would behave like a police officer with them when they went too far. It was impossible for love to breed in his little world. All his life he knew only transient pleasure. From the first weeks of marriage he revealed his true colors in both word and deed. He did not, of course, forget the cage and its two guards; he was more in awe of Mahmud Bey than of his own father and stood before him as he would the august heads at the interior ministry. He curbed his unruliness as much as he could and tried to teach himself to be content with his situation, but habit compels and the tongue betrays. The bride was alarmed and whispered to her mother, “He is very vulgar—the way he eats, drinks, and talks.” The hanem was mistress of the house in the true sense of the word. She asked for wisdom and patience and told her daughter, “None of this prevents him from being a man of virtue.”

She was a good mediator between the two parties, and no one knew a thing about what went on in the new wing. But the hanem soon encountered a new problem: Radia and Shakira’s mutual loathing. Radia could not conceal her feelings and Shakira did not disguise hers. Nazli Hanem and Radia were genuine friends, but deep down Nazli believed Radia was dangerous. “Be careful,” she said to her daughter. “Your mother-in-law knows all about magic and its secrets and the saints. I believe the stories of her fraternizing with ifrit. Treat her with all due respect and courtesy.”

She would entreat Radia too, saying, “Forgive my daughter. For the sake of our friendship, wipe her mistakes on my face instead.”

Amidst this sea of turmoil Shakira gave birth to Wahida and Salih and gained some comfort in her stressful life, though it remained one devoid of love or peace. Similarly, her ability to cause upset was extremely limited. When the two brothers, Mahmud and Ahmad, fell out and the family unity was torn to shreds, Amr feared his son would be swept along by a current of hostility that had nothing to do with him. He tried to resolve the rift and maintain good relations with both his uncles. He advised Hamid to adopt his—Amr’s—position and not sever relations with Ahmad Bey and he worked on Mahmud Bey until he consented to this. Hamid was pleased, for deep down he was fond of his uncle Ahmad and thought his demand justified.

In the period leading up to the Second World War and the years that followed, Ahmad, Amr, and Mahmud passed away. Hamid sensed he was free of guardians, and his relationship with his wife became worse than ever. This made Wahida and Salih miserable as they were torn between the two parents. Shakira was the greater influence in their upbringing so they grew up cultured, knew application and piety, and never freed their father of blame. They condemned his boorish behavior toward their mother and, though they tried to appear as neutral as possible in front of him, it showed. He could tell what was said in private from the looks in their eyes and felt alienated and angry. He continued to show his mother-in-law the respect and courtesy she deserved, but she was nevertheless compelled to tell him, “It pains me the way you treat Shakira.” He resented Shakira and imagined she had devoured the best years of his life unfairly. One day, as they heaped abuses upon one another and traded the usual cruel insults, she suddenly screamed through her tears, “I hate you more than death.” He risked the dream that had long been tempting him and divorced her, apologizing
to her brother Hasan, his cousin, friend, and colleague, “Forgive me but I couldn’t take any more. Everything happens according to God’s will.”

He only returned to the old house in Bayt al-Qadi for a month. Radia stated her view, “The marriage shouldn’t have taken place but you don’t have the right to divorce, in deference to Wahida and Salih.” Back at the mansion they suspected Radia’s magic to be in some way responsible for the divorce and indeed the marriage’s failure from the first day. Hamid moved to an apartment in a new building on al-Manyal Street shown to him by his cousin Halim, Abd al-Azim Pasha’s son, who lived in one of the other apartments. In the 1950s, when he was nearly fifty, he fell in love with a widow called Esmat al-Awurfla, who was in her forties. He married her and brought her to his apartment to begin a new life. Relations with Wahida and Salih weakened, but were not severed. When the July Revolution came he was pensioned off with the other police officers it viewed as enemies of the people; it was known he had always been a Wafdist at heart, but the revolution considered Wafdists the state’s enemies too. He shut himself off at home with Esmat for a while, but when he discovered Samira’s son Hakim was at the heart of things and had influence, he entreated him and was appointed a manager of public relations with Amr Effendi, adding an extra fifty Egyptian pounds a month to his pension.

He was quite happy with his life. His new wife was experienced in the ways of the world. She met his violent moods and vulgarity with excellent cunning and paved the way for a stable existence with no visible cracks. He never stopped visiting the old house nor loving his mother and his brother Qasim; their eccentricity delighted him and he always had fun with them. He would let his mother kiss his brow affectionately and bowed his head for her to perform spells on and recite Surat al-Samad over and some of the daily prayers she knew by heart. He would
question his brother about his stars and future, tour his childhood haunts, and read the opening sura of the Qur’an at al-Hussein, which represented the beginning and end of his religious life. He also visited his sisters’ houses and his brother Amer at the Dawud family residence. During this period, his relations with Abd al-Azim’s son Halim grew stronger, for the two suffered an identical fate at the hands of the revolution. So did his relations with his cousin Labib. He smoked hashish with the former and drank with the latter. Their hearts united in criticizing the revolution, contempt for its men, and remembering the good old days. His happiness was only disturbed by a nagging awareness that Wahida and Salih harbored for him only a fraction of the love he had for them and that they much preferred their mother. He was moved by the tragedies of the nation and his family. He lived through the October 1973 attack and in the period that followed began to feel weak. He was initially diagnosed with anemia, but his wife learned from laboratory results that he had leukemia and death was waiting at the door. He did not know what hit him. He was moved to the hospital not knowing what was going on. His wife, Wahida, and Salih were present for his final hours of agony. As the end approached, he asked to see Radia, but circumstances prohibited it for she was over a hundred and did not know her son was sick, nor did she find out before she died. He gave up the ghost after much suffering, seen off by the tears of his wife, Wahida, and Salih. But death did not lighten Shakira’s deep hatred of him.

If Bayt al-Qadi Square, the alleys that emptied into it, and the towering walnut trees left a trace in the hearts of Amr and Surur’s families; if the minarets, dervishes, strongmen, wedding feasts, and funeral ceremonies; or the fairy tales, legends, and ifrit left a trace, it was the life that flowed through the blood and
hid beneath the smiles, tears, and dreams in the heart of Amr Effendi’s fifth child, Habiba, who could never bring herself to leave the quarter in spite of dazzling opportunities. No one loved their father and mother, brothers, sisters, cousins, even neighbors and cats, as much as she did. She wept over every death until she became known as “the mourner.” She kept memories and promises and was permanently intoxicated by the past and its happy times. Her beauty nearly matched Samira’s but for a film on her left eye. Her share of education went as far as erasing ignorance, which would soon return due to disuse. She knew nothing of her religion other than her mother’s popular version but was convinced that fervent love for al-Hussein was the best route to the Hereafter. When she was sixteen, one of her brother Amer’s friends, an Arabic language teacher called Shaykh Arif al-Minyawi, proposed and she was married to him in Darb al-Ahmar. After one happy year together she gave birth to Nadir but the next year the man fell into the clutches of cancer and died.