That afternoon, he sat with his mother in the lounge drinking coffee.
“Today I had a visit from the neighborhood women,” she told him, obviously very happy. “They came over to welcome me and make my acquaintance as is the custom.”
Ahmad was well aware of his mother’s ability to get to know people and her fondness for visiting other families. “That’s very nice for you,” he replied with a smile.
With a laugh she took a cigarette from him and lit it. “There were some really nice women,” she went on. “They’ll be able to fill the void in our strange new surroundings with their warmth and contentment.”
“It could be,” said Ahmad, “that you’ll soon be forgetting your old friends in al-Sakakini, al-Zahir, and Abbasiya.”
That was too much for her.
“How can a decent person ever forget her true friends?” she exclaimed. “They’re my heart and soul. However far apart we may be, distance will never be able to separate us.”
“What are the women in this quarter like?”
“They’re not lower-class folk,” she replied carefully, fully prepared to leap to their defense if needed, “nor are they uncivilized as you may have imagined. Remember that it’s not fair to judge people without really getting to know them. One of them is married to an official in the Survey Department named Kamal Khalil, and another one is the wife of yet another official from the same department named Sayyid Arif. I also had visits from the wife of the owner of the Zahra Café and his sister. The wife’s a nice lady, but the owner’s sister needs to be watched; the mean streak in her was obvious enough from her expression, even though she made a big effort to keep it hidden.”
“Flatter her and people like her. She’ll only show her true colors when she can dig up some dirt about you.”
“Heaven forbid, son! Something even more odd happened today. I met Sitt Tawhida, the wife of Kamal Khalil Effendi — who is as broad as your own mother when she was younger — she’s an old friend of mine! I used to know her well from Bahla the perfumer’s shop in al-Tarbi’a.”
“You’d both try to outdo each other with diet pills!”
“That’s right. We said hello many times, but never really got to know each other.”
“So now’s the opportunity.”
It was then that he remembered that the lady in question was the mother of the young boy Muhammad whom he’d seen at the café. It was only the mention of his mother’s name that had brought him to mind. He wondered to himself in amazement how he could have managed to forget all about him, whereas a mere twenty hours ago that had been all he could think about. However, his mother gave him no time to reflect.
“We had a long chat about women’s deceitful ways,” she said with a loud laugh. “One of the women has a father who’s a major expert on law; people feel blessed if they can kiss his hand. Another is the daughter of a very wealthy merchant. Still another is related to the director of accounting in the Ministry of the Interior. And a fourth has been ill and has spent dozens of pounds on a cure.”
They both laughed.
“And what lies did you have to tell?” he asked her with a laugh.
“Oh, nothing to cause me grief on Judgment Day. I told them that your father had only recently been pensioned off; he’d been an inspector in the Ministry of Religious Endowments. Your grandfather was a merchant, I told them. As for you, my dear sweet son, you’re a department head in the Ministry of Works. You’re thirty-two years old, and no more. Don’t forget!”
“What on earth?”
“There’s no point in complaining about it! Make sure you don’t say anything to call these little white lies into question. I’m thirteen years older than you. I’m forty-five.”
“You mean, you had me while you were still a child?”
“Girls can give birth at twelve!”
“That makes you more of a sister than a mother.”
“You’re right. The eldest child is always a brother to his own parents. Your brother’s a bank manager in Asyut.”
He shook his head in amazement. “How can you possibly make up such stories when they can’t possibly stay a secret for very long?” he asked. “One day, people are bound to find out.”
“Starting tomorrow, we’ll all get to know each other much better, and then we can all find out the truth bit by bit. Don’t worry, it won’t involve any blame-giving or mockery. If I hadn’t embellished the truth somewhat, they wouldn’t have believed me; in fact, they don’t believe me even now. But we’d have lost the principal as well as the interest.”
“What a load of unmitigated liars you all are!”
“What’s your problem? No one can object to a few white lies when a bit of social one-upmanship is involved. Women’s lies are a soothing balm for bloody wounds. May God grant you a wife who’ll treat you to the very best lies there are!”
Even though her mention of the word “wife” made him angry, he still managed to laugh. “What a load of unmitigated liars you are!” he repeated.
“And you men,” she said, giving him a wink, “you never lie, of course!”
For a moment he said nothing, not because he did not have a response ready, but rather because he was thinking about the various kinds of lies in his own life. “Oh yes,” he replied, “we lie as well, but about more significant things.”
“Maybe the things we find trivial are important to you men. But do you really regard life, prestige, and respect as trivialities?”
“Men’s lies are as noble as manhood itself. Where do all you women fit in the context of lies told by merchants, politicians, and men of religion? Men’s lies are the very pivot of the noble life whose effects you can all see on the battlefields of government, parliament, factories, and academic institutes. Indeed, they are the pivot for this dreadful war that has brought us to this strange quarter!”
He realized that she only understood part of what he was saying, and that made him even happier. Just then he remembered something.
“Did you have a visit from the wife of Boss Nunu?” he asked.
“ ‘God damn this world’ you mean? They all told me a lot about him, but he won’t allow his wives to go outside the house or look out of the windows. They may well have to spend year after year cooped up inside the house, happy and content!”
“It’s fair enough for someone who curses the world not to trust it.”
“By God, my son, women are just as wronged as the world is. But never mind. Have you heard of someone called Sulayman Ata?”
“The inspector?”
“Tawhida Hanem calls him ‘the monkey.’ ”
“That may well be the first true statement you’ve heard!”
“She told us with a great chuckle that he’s thinking of getting married.”
“Which girl would ever consider taking that monkey as a husband?”
“Untold numbers of women. Money makes up at least half the value of beauty. The girl in question will be the one who manages to track him down and go after him in earnest so she can marry him before he’s fifty-five.”