He woke up in the early afternoon, performed the ritual washing, and said his prayers. Then he put on his gown and cloak and returned to his office, where he found his second cup of tea waiting for him. He sipped it slowly and with pleasure, belching so noisily that it produced an echo in the inner courtyard, and set about his afternoon with the same vigor as he had in the morning. However, from time to time he looked as though something were disturbing him. He would turn toward the alley and consult his great golden watch, while his nose twitched uncontrollably.
When the sunlight reached the top of the alley wall, he turned his sprung chair and faced the road. Heavy minutes passed during which his eyes remained on the road. Then his eyes gleamed and he pricked up his ears at the sound of slippers on the slanting flagstones. Hamida passed quickly in front of the office door. Alwan twisted his mustaches carefully and turned his chair back to his desk, a look of pleasure in his eyes, though he felt somewhat uneasy.
It was only at this time of day that he got a chance to see her, except for the occasional glance he stole at her window when he would venture out in front of his office, pretending to calm his nerves by walking a bit. He was naturally eager to preserve his honor and dignity. After all, he was Salim Alwan, whereas she was only a poor girl and the alley overflowed with sharp tongues and roving eyes. He stopped his work and thoughtfully drummed the top of his desk with his forefinger. Yes, she was indeed poor and lowly, but unfortunately desire could not be denied, could it?
She was poor and humble, but what about her bronze-colored face, the look in her eyes, and her lovely slender body? All these were qualities which far outweighed mere class differences. What was the point of being proud? He quite frankly desired that pretty face, that body of sensuality and those beautiful buttocks which were able to excite even a pious old man. She was, in fact, more precious than all the merchandise from India.
He had known her since she was a little girl. Often she had come to his shop to buy mascara, cosmetics, and perfumes her mother needed. Alwan had seen her breasts develop from tiny bulges to medium size, and finally to their present protuberant form. He had observed her bottom while it was only a foundation, with no structure yet raised upon it. He had seen it become a slender rounded form, ripening to maturity, and now, at last, it was a dome of perfect femininity and most attractive.
Salim Alwan continued to nourish his admiration until at last it grew into an all-consuming desire. He acknowledged this and no longer attempted to deny his true feelings. He often said to himself, "If only she were a widow like Mrs. Saniya Afify." Indeed if she were a widow like Mrs. Afify, he would have found a way long ago. However, since she was a virgin, the matter must be considered most carefully. Now he asked himself, as he had so often done in the past, what he could do to win her.
But in the back of his mind lingered thoughts of his wife and family. His wife was a worthy woman, possessed of all a man could desire as far as femininity, motherhood, tenderness, and household ability were concerned. In her youth she had been pretty and fertile, and he could not criticize her for anything. Apart from that, she came from a noble family, far above his own where ancestry and position were concerned. He had a sincere affection for her. In fact all he had against her was that her youth and vitality were gone and she could neither keep up with him nor bear his attentions. In comparison he seemed, with his extraordinary vitality, an eager youth unable to find in her the pleasures he yearned for.
The truth was that he did not know whether it was this that attracted him to Hamida, or whether it was his passion for her which made him more conscious of his wife's inadequacies. Whatever the reason, he felt an irresistible urge for new blood. He finally said to himself, "What's wrong with me? Why should I deprive myself of something made lawful by God?"
However, he was a respectable man and longed for people's esteem. The thought that he might be the center of gossip horrified him. He agreed with the saying "Eat what you please, but wear what pleases others." So it was that he ate his bowl of wheat, but as for Hamida…! Good heavens!
If she had been from a noble family, he would not have hesitated a moment to ask her hand. But how could Hamida become a fellow wife of his present wife, Mrs. Alwan? And how could Umm Hamida become his mother-in-law just as the late Mrs. Alifat had been? How on earth could Hamida become the wife of the father of Muhammad Salim Alwan, the judge, Arif Salim Alwan, the attorney, and Dr. Hassan Salim Alwan? There were other things, too, no less serious than these, which he must give due consideration. There would have to be a new household set up and new expenses; these would probably double his previous expenses. There would also be new relatives entitled to an inheritance. This would probably destroy his close family unity and would cause ripples of discontent across its calm surface.
For what, he asked himself, would he undergo all these difficulties? The desire of a fifty-year-old man, a husband and father, for a girl in her twenties! None of this escaped him, for he was not the sort of man to overlook consideration of anything concerned with money or the proper conduct of his life. He continued turning all this over in his mind, bewildered and irresolute. His desire had now become one more worry to plague his life. It formed part of the chain of his unsolved problems: the management and future of his business, whether or not to buy real estate and build apartments, and how to arrange for his title of "Bey." This desire, however, was both more compelling and more inspiring than his other problems.
When he was left alone, his mind kept turning over all these problems, and he could think. But whenever Hamida appeared before him or when he saw her through her window, his mind could concentrate on one thing only…
9
Mrs. Kirsha, the cafe owner's wife, was extremely worried. Kirsha had abandoned a much-loved habit and could only have done so for a serious reason: he was enjoying his nightly pleasures outside his own house. Having invited his usual associates to come to his room on the roof at midnight, he remained with them until dawn.
The woman tossed her unhappy memories over in her mind, and the pain which so embittered her life returned. What enticement could get him to spend the night outside his own house? Was it the same old reason? That filthy disease? The dissolute fellow would probably say that it was just a change to relieve his boredom or else that he had only moved off to a better spot for the winter season. These lying excuses, however, would not satisfy her. She knew that everyone else knew. For these reasons, then, she was extremely worried, and was firmly resolved to take decisive action, whatever its consequences.
Mrs. Kirsha was a strong woman, although approaching fifty, and she had lost none of her courage, as often happens. She was one of those alley women renowned for their tempers — like Husaniya, the bakeress, and Umm Hamida — and she was particularly famous for the furious rows she had with her husband concerning his dirty habits. She was also well known for her large, broad, snub nose.
She had been a fertile wife and had produced six daughters and one son, Hussain Kirsha. All her daughters were married and experiencing lives filled with troubles, even though they had refrained from divorce. A tragedy occurred to their youngest daughter which was the talk of the alley for a while. In the first year of her marriage, she had disappeared and gone to live with a man in Boulaq. The matter had ended by her being sent off to prison with him. This disgrace was a heavy burden on the family, but not the only one to afflict them. Kirsha himself had a problem, both old and new, and it seemed endless.