Victor looked at him for a moment, as if incredulous that Robby would stop the game so abruptly only to ask such a silly question. Robby had to repeat the question before receiving an answer. “Why? Because he’s stupid.” Victor went back to the game and scored a nice point from a distance, while he remained standing up. He dropped Robby’s marble in his pocket and waited for Robby to fulfill his part of the ritual and place another marble on the rug.
But Robby only looked at him with wonder. How could a son speak of his father this way without being struck by lightning? “How can you talk about your father that way?” he asked, appalled.
“He’s stupid, I tell you.” Victor saw things plainly, and did not realize that his friend still lived in a world in which parents were beyond all judgment. “He’s forgetting that racing is only a game. Just like marbles. Who gets sick over a stupid game? Only fools! Put a new marble on the rug. Go on!”
Robby fished a new marble from the depths of his pocket, looked at it in a heartbreaking goodbye, and placed it down instead of the one that had been taken from him. The game went on.
Suddenly, they began shouting:
“Cheater! I saw you!”
“You saw me? And what exactly did I do to deserve being called a cheater?”
“You didn’t toss it from your spot. You took a whole step forward, and then you scored a point. That doesn’t count!”
“You don’t know how to lose with dignity. You should learn from the English!”
“You and the English can kiss my ass!”
“Just say it, did I score that point or not?”
“You did, but you cheated!”
“I either scored or I didn’t, that’s all that matters. This marble is mine!”
“You won’t get it, even if you stand on your head all the way to tomorrow!”
And the two wrestled on the rug, pounding each other with their fists.
They’d never fought with such rage and hatred before, and all over a silly game of marbles.
26. A CHANGE
Two days later, the heat wave dissipated. It left as suddenly as it came, and while Alexandria savored the cool breeze, its short-term memory quickly forgot the five horrid days of heat. Once more, city-folk would argue that heat waves never hit Alexandria, that eastern winds only blow through boiling, dusty Cairo …
Peace also overtook Joseph’s face. He sat on the balcony, eyes almost closed, the wind rising from the sea caressing his square, gray mustache. He sipped his black coffee, his lips smacking with pleasure in a manner uncommon around these parts. It was clear that some sudden change had occurred in Joseph, as if all entanglements had been undone at once, and all crises evaporated as in a bad dream. At first he remained silent, but even the few sentences he spoke sounded a newfound, rather odd optimism. In all honesty, the majority of those dwelling in the apartment did not notice this change at first, and those who had did not imbue it with much significance. If it hadn’t been for the events that began that day, it might have gone unnoticed. Only afterward did various wise parties begin boasting about how they foretold it all, stating, “Indeed, I could tell there was something strange about him.”
Even Emilie did not see a reason to worry. Perhaps, she in particular did not. She was a natural-born optimist unable to view a positive change as an ominous sign. She was relieved and thanked God for His benevolence.
That night, in bed, she even dared snuggle up against him, feeling his body cast confidence and serenity over her, and smelling his tobacco. He caressed her softly and whispered words of love in Turkish, the language of their youth, of their intimacy, the language he spoke to Leila.
She told him how much she wanted a grandchild, and he laughed slowly.
“Why are you laughing at me, Yusef?” she asked indulgingly, choosing the eastern Turkish version of his name. It was that voice and that “Yusef” that stole his heart thirty years ago, when she was seventeen and he was thirty. That voice hadn’t changed. Close your eyes and you can hear that “Yusef” being spoken by that seventeen-year-old girl, light in her eyes and music in her voice. And suddenly that girl, whose breasts had only just emerged with the force of adolescence, is talking about a grandchild, a grandchild. “Why are you laughing at me, Yusef!” she insisted, resting her head on his chest.
“I’m not laughing at you,” he said quietly, almost inaudibly. They used to say about Joseph Hamdi-Ali that even when he spoke he was actually silent. Then he raised his voice and said, “I respect you and I love you. You are my bella donna. I left my family and my tradition and my homeland for you. You are my family, you are my tradition, you are my homeland.”
Emilie accepted these words with simple joy. Pathos is at home in the East, never sparking ridicule or embarrassment in anyone but the fastidious. She accepted his words with neither pride nor guilt, as self-evident. She did not hold herself responsible for being a man’s entire world and foundation. Another woman would have been filled with purpose and begun playing a role beyond her means. Emilie never thought her husband’s words were intended to place some special mission upon her shoulders. Even during this crisis, her support and help came through her silence and calm, her generous expressions of love, without a word of guidance or advice. Emilie did not sense that her husband was calling to her from the depths. She did not perceive this seeming calm that had descended upon him as even more dangerous than the storms that preceded it. She didn’t understand that when he said, “You are my family, you are my tradition, you are my homeland,” he was merely repeating his words from the past, which were now empty, devoid of truth. Perhaps even Joseph did not know he was deceiving himself, with the fantasies he projected on the pure, white body of a seventeen-year-old. Her voice was soft and cheerful, her skin sweeter than Turkish delight. But a bird on your win-dowsill will sing softly and cheerfully, and yet you would not hang all of your hopes and dreams upon her … A slight tremble ran through his bones and he asked her whether the window was open.
That night, he dreamed of Leila, his horse black as night. Leila danced through the air, her open wings casting shadows on the earth, and he looked up at her and laughed and laughed— Leila was returning to him. He was still laughing when she kicked him. Even when she thrust her hooves into his stomach, he kept laughing. When she landed on his ribs, he chuckled with a moan, and when she flew back into the sky, he remained on the ground, beaten and broken. Only then did he see him, the cavalier on her back, Ahmed Kader Rahim Al-Tal’ooni.
27. I WILL
“I will,” read the telegram from Cairo.
Joseph smiled. He cloaked himself in silence and smiled. This was just another piece in the conspiracy forming against him, just another thread in the web that some massive spider was persistently spinning around him. Patience, he told himself with acceptance. Patience. All will be well. Like a generous host, he stood at the tent’s doorway and welcomed Lilly Elhadeff with a smile.
David was embarrassed. A week and a half had passed since he sent his letter, and he’d almost forgotten the entire thing. Suddenly, not a letter in return, but a telegram! Waiting ten days to finally send a two-word telegram, no explanations included? He’d gone to the effort of writing stylized and well thought out pages. David Hamdi-Ali felt cheated. Not because she didn’t respond to his letter with a simple, heartfelt one; and not because, while he piled up thousands of words, she made do with only two, two that expressed more than all of his poetics; but because at that time, he realized more clearly than ever that he did not, in fact, love Lilly Elhadeff, that her skeletal body and wooly hair left him entirely indifferent. Especially after that exciting experience in the erotic chamber of Shakra Roomy, that wizard of physical and sensual pleasures. The fact is, he did not miss her at all, though he hadn’t seen her since summer started. He might not have written to her had Robby’s sister not pushed him toward her with her trickery. And the most vexing thing, and perhaps the scariest, was that his heart told him that ultimately, whether he willed it or not, he would wed Lilly Elhadeff. He remembered what she said once as they strolled on the boardwalk along the Nile in Cairo. They were almost alone, the moon was full and blue, just like in a Perrault fairy tale. A gentle wind blew among the palm trees, rustling their fronds. For a while, David sank into a pleasant nostalgia, recalling faraway legendary European medieval worlds. Castles surrounded by jagged walls, fat kings foolish and kind-hearted, queens — mostly evil, envious stepmothers — beautiful princesses donning conical hats with waving tulle, and of course Le Prince Charmant, who always appeared at the right moment to save his beauty from fairies or witches or dragons … The rippling of the river and the light wind delicately caressing his face carried him to other worlds, far from the tumult of Cairo, which troubled the senses. Her delicate, cool hand was in his, calming and pleasant. He didn’t look at her. In his reveries, he gave her the role of Cinderella, waiting for a miracle …