Once he had finished, he put on a clean gallabiya and a gleaming white skullcap (needed to hide his balding head), then sat on the edge of his bed staring hesitantly at the window. It was not merely a matter of shaving or wearing a white skullcap. He had to ask himself what lay behind this burst of enthusiasm and this abrupt change in behavior. Was he careening ahead without any pause for thought or reflection? What exactly was it he wanted? Today it might well seem like a game, but tomorrow things could become serious. Above all he had to keep in mind his own bad luck and miserable history. Would it not be better, he wondered, to leave the window shut and forget about the implications involved in opening it? However, life never listens to logic of such a kind; neither prudence nor caution has a role to play. He was burning with thirst and consumed by desire.
He stood up again, his expression a study in determination, went over to the window, and opened it. Leaning on the windowsill he looked down, then slowly raised his gaze until it reached the floor of the balcony above. He could see the chair legs and the edge of the shawl — the one she had been embroidering the evening before — dangling between them. Just then, shyness got the better of him, and he looked down again, like some bashful child. He kept looking down, fully aware all the while that her eyes were boring a hole in his head. He was afraid the opportunity would be lost and he would miss the chance to look at her. Overcoming his shyness, he looked up again, only to find the chair empty and the shawl draped over the chair. Had she been there when he had opened the window and then had to go back inside? Or had she not been there at all? Whatever the case may have been, he felt frustrated and his enthusiasm flagged. Even more than before, he was now afraid he might not see her at all that day. The possibility of seeing her tomorrow was not enough to let him forget missing her today. He had gone to great pains to insure that today she would see him looking his very best, but now that entire hope had gone and the effort had been totally wasted. He looked down again in despair, but then, just a few moments before the cannon was fired, he heard a rustling sound from the balcony. Looking up, he spotted the girl coming out and bending over the chair to pick up the shawl. For a fleeting second their eyes met, but then she stood up straight, turned around, and went back inside again. That was all he needed. Had she looked at him any longer, he would have been all flustered and bashful. In fact, she had looked away as quickly as had been needed for her to grab hold of his very soul; a beautiful offering, without travail or pain. Thereafter, that particular sunset hour turned into the conjunction of all his hopes, the beaming smile of his dearest wishes; it gave the entire day its essence, its goal, its very meaning. As far as he was concerned, it was enough that he had had his fill of those elements of perfect simplicity and delight that flowed from her honey-colored eyes; for the rest of the day he could sate himself on the pleasure and dreams that they held in store. Two afternoons in a row she had come outside to sit on the balcony, and their eyes had met.
By now he was growing accustomed to seeing her lovely person, and perhaps she too was getting used to seeing him. Even so, he still felt flustered and shy. Every time the wonderful moment arrived, he looked at her with the staid, serious, and timid expression of someone who was on the point of running away. In his imagination he could now see her clearly. Her honey-colored eyes exuded a blend of purity, simplicity, and loveliness, eyes whose expressions suggested both inquisitiveness and acceptance, while their sprightly quality lent them a veil of wisdom and warmth.
Then came the evening when he was on the point of leaving his room to go to the café. The doorbell rang just as he was getting to the door. When he opened it, he found himself facing Sitt Tawhida and her daughter Nawal! For a moment, he simply stared at them both, taken aback by the joy that had hit him so suddenly. But then he recovered his senses and stood aside. “Please come in,” he stammered.
He called out to his mother to come and greet the two guests, then went on his own way. Nawal’s mother noticed how flustered he seemed and could not understand why a man of his age could be so awkward and act so bashfully simply because he had met two women. As Ahmad went down the staircase, he was ecstatic. He could recall very well — something he kept reminding himself to allay his doubts — that the young girl had given him a dazzling smile when he had greeted them at the door. It could have been the kind of smile a guest gives to her host at the door or even a shy, hesitant smile. On the other hand, it could also have been the kind of smile a woman bestows on a man as a way of rewarding him for his eagerness and persistence in looking at her every single day at sunset for a week or more. Whatever the case might have been, it was certainly a very sweet smile, the kind his heart had craved for twenty long years. He was loath to go to the café immediately; he wanted to give himself time to think.
He was one of those people who like to take a walk if they have something to ponder. With that in mind he headed for the New Road and walked along it for a while, feeling exultantly happy and relishing the joy of it for as long as he could. Needless to say, he was not as young as he once had been and life had not brought him much good luck — how could it be otherwise, bearing in mind the misfortunes and missteps in his earlier life? All he wanted at this point was to enjoy the happy feeling for an hour, even if it meant fooling himself and getting the entirely wrong idea. He had also decided to use this opportunity to reexamine his fortunes: where was he precisely with regards to his long suppressed hopes for the future; was it even possible for him to try all over again? For his part, he considered himself to be free, having now fulfilled all his obligations to the letter. Hadn’t he taken on all of his father’s burdens once his life had collapsed? Wasn’t he the one who had given his family support when at one point it had seemed threatened with imminent disaster? Hadn’t he looked after his brother until he had grown into a man? With all that in mind, he felt perfectly entitled to consider his own happiness and leave the family burdens to his younger brother. None of them could begrudge him that. But was there still enough time?
The rush of joy and triumph he was currently feeling forced him to think hard and use his imagination. His postal savings account had a fair amount of money in it, although it was paltry compared with the amount of time he had been working. As for the way he looked, there was no shame in being unattractive; and, in any case, he could really try, as he had done today, to make himself presentable, in spite of his gaunt appearance and baldness. He could even have a new suit made and buy a fez that was not as faded and crumpled as the one he now had. Now there was an idea! But he was middle-aged. He was over forty, and the girl was still in her teens. Only some kind of miracle could overcome such an age gap, but where would he ever find such a miracle? For the first time since he had opened the door to the two visitors, his heart sank. His doubts about his sexual attractiveness now came back to haunt him.
With a frown he finally woke up from his joyous dream. Walking along the street in the dark, he could picture the girl smiling at him. “She’s just a silly, inexperienced girl!” he muttered to himself. Even so, there was one thing that had not occurred to him: he could volunteer to proffer his hand to the life that was pulsing inside his own heart, albeit to throttle it in the serenity of death. Let it pulse and bloom then, and he would wait for that shelter that lies beyond the veil of the unknown. One thing was certain, he would never find himself in a situation any worse than the ones that fate had already thrown at him.