As if to confirm his thoughts, she asked now, ‘Has Nur arrived safely?’
Stupid woman, ignorant of concepts of distance and time. He chuckled and said, ‘No, Hajjah. It will be still a long time before his trip is over. I will let you know when I have news. the office in Cairo will send me a telegram as soon as Nur arrives.’
‘Why does he have to travel so far away to study? Why couldn’t he attend Comboni College like Nassir did?’ It was a constant refrain.
He took a sip of his coffee.
‘Because Victoria College is superior to any school we have here. It is based on the English public school system. And besides, next year when he finishes, I want him to continue his studies in Cambridge.’
‘Is that in Egypt also?’
He sighed. ‘No. In England.’
‘Even further?’
‘Yes, it is even further and I don’t want any grumbling from you. I have already made a decision.’
She listened to him intently, her eyes never leaving his face. Behind the formality of respect and diffidence, he glimpsed a certain expression. She was looking at him as if he was a precocious child and she was curious to see what he would do or say next. She was only older than him by a few years but in their youth, this age difference had seemed like a decade. He had been shocked when his father ordered him to marry her. Waheeba was a distant relative, the only daughter of an established Umdurman merchant who had become wealthy by trading in Gum Arabic.
Waheeba came into the Abuzeid family with money and business connections. At twenty-one, she was considered a spinster and her family had no hesitation in marrying her off and financing a lavish wedding. Mahmoud, a youth of eighteen, his mind taken up with a fascination for commerce, had hated Waheeba at first sight; hated her because of her dullness and lack of beauty and, most of all, because she was forced on him. Their wedding night was a disaster, a humiliation he had buried deep and did not talk to his friends about. It was almost a miracle that Nassir and Nur were conceived, but their arrival, and the force of the years, eroded his distaste for her, so that on such an afternoon, after he had found fulfilment and success in another marriage, he could share with her the wish that Nur would arrive safely in Alexandria after a good trip. Nassir, though, was the reason he had come to visit her. Nassir, who had not yet returned to Medani.
‘I am reducing his allowance,’ he said to her, ‘until he mends his ways.’
‘But he has his house in Medani to support,’ she protested. ‘And he receives lots of guests. And Fatma will have more children. He said to me—’
Mahmoud didn’t allow her to go further.
‘He has to learn. He is my employee. He works for me, and he is not doing his job. And you know as well as I do how your son is squandering my money!’
She pulled her chin in so that the curves of fat were more pronounced.
‘He is still young. He needs to learn.’
‘No, he is not too young. Don’t defend him. He is the reason I came here today, to tell you that while I am reducing his allowance on one side, I don’t want you giving him money on the other side.’
She shrugged and looked down at her feet.
‘Am I clear in what I am saying? You are not to give Nassir any money, either directly or through his wife or through anyone else. He gets nothing except what I give him and he gets nothing from you. Am I clear?’
Waheeba nodded and said faintly, ‘Fine.’
‘People are beginning to talk,’ he confided in her. ‘It’s shameful. The family’s good name will be affected by Nassir’s delinquency!’ This distressed him to the core. His position in society mattered to him.
Waheeba remained unmoved. She shifted her weight on the angharaib.
‘Allow me just to pay for his daughter’s circumcision. I want to celebrate it in style.’
‘What?’ he bellowed. ‘I will not have such barbarity in this house. I forbid it.’
‘Aji!’ Waheeba slapped her hand on her chest and her voice rose. ‘What kind of talk is this?’
‘It’s modern talk. We need to stop these old customs, which have no basis in our religion and are unhealthy. Besides, it’s against the law.’
‘What law? Are the English going to tell us what to do with this!’ She pointed down to her lap. Batool snickered.
Mahmoud began to regret this turn in the conversation. ‘What do the girl’s parents have to say about this?’
‘Nassir and Fatma are like everyone else. They want to do the right thing by their daughter. You are the only one protesting and I don’t know why. Maybe your Egyptian woman has been putting ideas in your head. Is she not intending to circumcise her daughter, Ferial?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Shame on her. No man will want to marry her when she grows up.’
Dragging Nabilah and Ferial into the conversation was more than he could bear.
‘I will speak to Nassir and Fatma about this,’ he said, and rose to leave.
Idris was the other backward element in his life. When Idris returned from a business trip from Sennar, they had their morning tea together before setting out to meet the new manager of Barclays Bank. Mahmoud looked down and saw that his brother was wearing slippers.
‘On a day like this! Slippers, in front of Mr Harrison?’ Idris smiled broadly.
He slid his right foot out of his markoob and wiggled his toes.
‘Is he going to listen to me or look at my feet?’
Mahmoud sighed. ‘We have to make a good impression.’
‘You think he hasn’t heard about us? Our reputation will have preceded us.’ Idris sucked his tea. He did this with too much noise, the kind of noise the English would not appreciate.
‘We haven’t done business with him yet and I don’t know what he is like.’
But Mahmoud was an optimist. This was a result of his consistent good luck. However, he liked to play safe and be on more or less familiar ground. He was not happy that the previous bank manager had been replaced. Now he would have to start from scratch and win Nigel Harrison’s trust. He would have to persuade him that the Abuzeid brothers were not only honest and with a good credit history, but that this new business venture of cotton ginning was going to bring in profits enough to repay any bank loan.
‘You could have at least worn sandals,’ he murmured. placing his empty glass on the table and standing up to leave.
Unlike Idris, who was in a jellabiya, he was wearing his best suit, purchased from Bond Street, and his Bally shoes. They pinched, and he was slightly hot, but personal comfort must be put aside. This meeting had been first postponed because Mr Harrison had not yet taken up his post, then again because of Mahmoud’s illness and Idris’s trip. Now Mahmoud was eager for it. He had hardly slept the night before, excited and going over the proposed figures in his head. He felt young and vigorous, eager for this new scheme.
In the car, he saw trees being planted in Kitchener Avenue. They would look beautiful, one day, overlooking the Nile. Two Englishmen and an English woman were on horseback, wearing broad-rimmed hats. The sight reminded him of his childhood when all the English rode horses. Now, most of them had cars, yet an eccentric few still preferred their horses. He turned his Daimler into Victoria Street and parked underneath the sign that said Barclays Bank (Dominions, Colonies and Overseas). He switched the ignition off and they got out of the car.