“How silly! Your wife will be happy to take care of you. I tell you, she’ll even be proud of your hernia.”
Old Hafez smiled contentedly. The enormity of this lie didn’t seem to bother him. He lit a cigarette, offered another to his brother, and they began to smoke in silence.
VIII
Hoda was in no hurry to go back to her mother’s; this evening she wanted to see Imtissal. Ever since Rafik had sent her there, Hoda had been on friendly terms with the prostitute. She loved, most of all, to play with Imtissal’s baby, and to rock it on her knees while it slept. It was a beautiful child and aroused Hoda’s maternal instincts. The prostitute was always very friendly; she spoiled Hoda, giving her syrups and all kinds of sweets. Hoda didn’t quite realize what it meant that Imtissal was a prostitute. She had a rather confused idea about it, and it didn’t disturb her relationship with Imtissal. To her she could talk about Serag, because the prostitute always listened with a tender friendliness. Now there was a sort of conspiracy between them. Hoda had no one else to whom she could tell her grievances, and old Hafez’s latest caprice, along with the whole load of his contrariness and surprises, was too heavy for her to bear alone. She wanted to tell Imtissal about this sensational event. It would do her good to lighten her heart a little.
The night was long in coming, and in the grey twilight the street lamps flickered weakly, like half-formed stars. Some people were lagging along the road, before going home to bed. The houses were already becoming black and immobile. In some places, there were long vistas over the fields; the country slept in its snare, and an infinite sadness stretched as far as the horizon. Hoda walked purposefully, with the bearing of a serious and well-bred young lady. She wore a blue beret and carried a large shoulder bag that knocked against her hip.
This bag was the height of elegance, a present from Imtissal, and Hoda was proud to show it off. Basically, she was given to coquetry, like the rest of her sex. She practised it with amusing naiveté. Imtissal lived at the end of the crowded area; after her house there were only a few villas scattered along the road. Hoda was frightened crossing the last yards that still lay between. She was seized by a superstitious terror. She almost ran, stopped in front of the house, panting, and raised her bead. There was a light in Imtissal’s window. Hoda went in and climbed up the dark stairway with the worn steps. The bannister was rickety, and there were obscure designs on the wall. Hoda stopped on the second floor; Imtissal’s door was on the right. She straightened her beret, smoothed her dress, licked her lower lip, then knocked on the door.
After a moment the door opened, and Imtissal appeared, her hair loose, her long body undressed for the night.
“It’s you! Come in, darling!”
“I’ve come for a visit. Am I disturbing you?”
“On the contrary. I’m very happy to see you. Come in and sit down.”
Hoda went into the room; she didn’t sit down, but asked:
“Is the baby asleep?”
“Yes, but you can take him on your lap.”
Hoda went over to the corner of the room where Imtissal kept the cradle; the child was sleeping. She took it gently in her arms, then sat on the ground and held the infant in her lap. She was overcome with joy.
Imtissal, the students’ friend, sat negligently on the edge of the bed. She wore a yellow dressing gown, embroidered with large scarlet flowers. It revealed her full body that had an almost primitive sensuality. In the light of the kerosene lamp, her outrageously painted face looked like a mask. She had a heavy, tragic beauty.
“Tell me,” she said. “Has Rafik sent you?”
“No, by Allah!” said Hoda. “I came by myself. I like to see you and play with the baby.”
“I like to see you too.”
“You’re so nice to me.”
“Aren’t they nice to you?”
“They’re terrible. The nicest one is Serag.”
“That’s because you love him,” said Imtissal.
“I guess you’re right,” said Hoda.
“And does he love you?”
“I don’t know. You can’t ever tell with him.”
“No one can ever tell with any of them,” said Imtissal.
Her voice was husky and slow; it promised infinite sorrows and joys. She heaved a sigh and was silent. Since her experience with Rafik, she had nourished an unspeakable hatred for his family. She had never forgiven them for destroying her love, nor, especially, her dream of a more dignified life. Imtissal believed old Hafez had taken his son from her because she was a prostitute; she didn’t understand the true reasons for his refusal. She had cursed him unto the tenth generation.
“They sleep all the time, don’t they?” she asked.
“They did sleep,” said Hoda. “But now they’ve all gone completely mad.”
“Why, what’s happened?”
“They’re threatened by a real catastrophe.”
“A catastrophe! What is it, darling?”
“It’s my master. Can you believe it, he wants to get married!” said Hoda.
Imtissal burst into hysterical laughter; it shook her entire body.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said. “So old Hafez wants to get married! What does Rafik think of that?”
“He’s the most upset of all. He swears all day long. He hardly sleeps anymore; he’s waiting.”
“What for?”
“He’s waiting for Haga Zohra, the go-between. He wants to keep her from seeing my master. She’s the one who’s arranging the marriage.”
Imtissal seemed to be overcome by a frantic gaiety. Her eyes shone; she clapped her hands and turned over on the bed.
“It’s marvelous,” she said. “Then they’re awake and waiting. You can’t imagine how this delights me. I’d love to see them!”
“It’s not very amusing for me,” said Hoda. “The whole load falls on me.”
“I feel sorry for you, darling,” said Imtissal. “I forgot you have to bear with all their extravagances.”
She took the comb from the night table and began to comb her hair. She had black hair, very long, that hung all the way down her back, divided into two heavy plaits. Imtissal took great care of it. She knew the power of its secret aroma to arouse desire in the inexpert bodies of her young clients. She was a prostitute endowed with an exceptional temperament. Her business didn’t tire her too much; above all, it wasn’t repugnant to her. She felt no revulsion from her contact with her young lovers. Their ignorance and timidity in their search for pleasure amused her. She had taught many of them how to make love. She was proud and maternally concerned with their progress. Rafik was the only man she had ever loved. To him she had revealed the passionate secret of her body and all the experience acquired in her business. She had believed he would always love her; thus her deception was slow to heal. Then the baby had come.
The child slept on Hoda’s knees, his pale face lined by the reflections of the lamp. She looked at it with a bitter smile on her painted mouth. She was afraid of seeing him grow; then she wouldn’t be able to keep him in the room with her. Sometimes, when he cried, she had to hold him in her arms, while she submitted to a client’s lovemaking. One day they would have to separate, or go elsewhere and live in larger quarters. This was her sole preoccupation now.
“Are you expecting anyone?” asked Hoda. “Tell me if I should leave.”
“No. I’m not expecting anyone for the moment,” said Imtissal. “You can stay. Go on.”
“What more is there to say?”
“Tell me about Serag. Is he upset about his father’s marriage?”
“Oh no! Serag only thinks of leaving to look for work. I’m afraid for him.”