No, she had not forgotten, but in this case, to forget and to remember were really one and the same. Was her mother going to stand in her way? The girl peered closely at her and saw that her criticism was a mere sham. She shook her shoulders indifferently. "He must go."
"What will people say about us?"
"Let them say what they like…"
"I'll go and talk to Radwan Hussainy."
Hamida blanched at mention of him and objected. "What's he got to do with my personal affairs?"
"Our family has no other man to consult."
She did not wait for a reply but rose quickly, put on her cloak, and left the flat, saying, "I'll ask his advice and come back at once." The girl gazed after her in disapproval. Noticing that she had not finished combing her hair, mechanically she stroked her head, her eyes showing that she was lost in a world of sweet dreams. She rose, stood looking through the window at the business premises across the street, and then returned to her seat.
As her mother guessed, Hamida had not abandoned Abbas without some thought. Yes, at one time she had thought she was bound to Abbas forever, and she was happy in the thought. She expressed her love by kissing him and it pleased him to hear her speaking of the future as though they would share it together. She promised to visit the mosque of Hussain to pray for him and had indeed done so; normally she only went there to pray that one of her enemies be punished after some quarrel or other. But now things were different. After all, was it not Abbas who had raised her status from that of an ordinary girl to that of an engaged young woman? Now Mrs. Kirsha could no longer pull her long hair and threaten, "I'll cut this off if ever anyone gets engaged to you!"
Nonetheless, she knew she was virtually napping in the mouth of a volcano, and at no time had she felt quite satisfied with the whole matter. There was a constant restlessness inside her. True, Abbas eased some of her longing but he was not really the man she dreamed of as a husband. She had been confused about him since they first met and she remained so. Her ideas about what her husband should be like were quite unformed, and Abbas had certainly failed to form them. She told herself that actually living with him might possibly make her happier than she could imagine. This thought was with her constantly. But thought is a double-edged blessing and she had found herself asking what kind of happiness he could really give her. Was she overoptimistic in her dreams? Abbas promised to return and open a shop in Mousky Street, but could a shopkeeper's life give her many more comforts than she had now?
These thoughts confused her and strengthened her fears that the barber was not the ideal husband for her. She realized that her indifference toward him would never permit their living together happily. But what was she to do? Had she not bound herself to him forever? Oh God, why had she not learned a profession, as her friends had? If she knew how to do something, she could have waited and married when and whomever she wished, or perhaps she might never have married at all.
This, then, was her state of mind when Salim Alwan asked her hand in marriage. And so it was that she could discard her first fiance with no regrets because he had really been banished from her heart a long time before.
Her foster mother was not gone long. She soon returned from Radwan Hussainy's house, her face reflecting the seriousness of the situation. Taking off her cloak, she puffed, "He would not agree at all."
Then she told what had happened between her and Radwan, how he compared the two men, saying, "The barber is young and Mr. Alwan is old; the barber is of the same class as Hamida and Mr. Alwan is not. The marriage of a man like Alwan to a girl like your daughter is bound to bring problems which will make her unhappy." He had finished by saying, "Abbas is a good young man and he has left home to improve his condition because he's eager for this marriage. He is by far the better husband for Hamida. You must simply wait. If he comes back penniless, which God forbid, then it is clearly within your right to marry her to the man of your choice."
Hamida listened, her eyes flashing fire, then she shouted, her anger revealing the ugliness of her coarse voice, "Radwan Hussainy is, of course, one of God's saints, or that's what he thinks he is. When he gives an opinion he cares nothing for anyone's feelings, so long as he has the respect of saints like himself. My happiness doesn't interest him in the slightest! No doubt he was influenced by the Qur'an, as a man with a long beard like him is bound to be. Don't ask him about my marriage! If you ask anything, ask him to explain a verse or chapter of the Qur'an to you. Why, if he were as good as you think he is, God wouldn't have taken all his sons!"
"Is that the sort of thing to say about the finest man alive?" asked the stunned Umm Hamida.
The girl shouted back viciously, "He's a fine man if you like. He's a saint if you like. He's even a prophet. But he's not going to interfere with my happiness!"
Umm Hamida was pained by the girl's disrespect for the man, but not because she wanted to defend his opinion, with which she herself secretly disagreed. Prompted by a desire to anger the girl even more, she commented, "But you are engaged to be married!"
"A girl is free until the marriage agreement is signed. Nothing has passed between us but words and a dish of sweets!" answered Hamida, laughing sarcastically.
"And the recitation of the Qur'an?"
"Forgiveness is honorable…"
"Punishment for violating the Qur'an is harsh, you know."
"I don't give a damn!" snarled the girl.
Umm Hamida beat her breast and cried, "You serpent's child, you!"
Hamida noticed traces of hidden approval in her foster mother's eyes and she cried, laughing, "Go and marry him yourself, go on."
This pleased the woman and she clapped her hands together and snapped, "It's just like you to sell a dish of sweets in exchange for the bowl of spiced green wheat."
"On the contrary, I've refused a young man and chosen an old one."
"There's plenty of fat on an old rooster!" roared her foster mother. She settled down comfortably on the settee and soon forgot her mock opposition to the girl. She took a cigarette from a case, lighted it, and smoked it with a look of deep pleasure on her face.
Hamida looked at her and burst out angrily, "By God, I think you are twice as pleased as I with my new fiance. You were just deliberately trying to make me mad! God damn you!"
The older woman stared at her and spoke slowly and meaningfully. "When a man like Mr. Alwan marries a girl, he's really marrying her whole family, just as when the Nile overflows, it floods all Egypt. Do you understand what I mean? Or do you think you're going off to your new palace while I stay here under the care of Mrs. Saniya Afify and others like her?"
Hamida, who was braiding her hair, burst into laughter and said with exaggerated pride, "In the care of Mrs. Saniya Afify, and Mrs. Hamida Alwan!"
"Of course… of course, you street orphan, you daughter of an unknown father."
Hamida went on laughing. "Unknown, that's right! Unknown! But many known fathers aren't worth that!" she said, snapping her two fingers in her foster mother's face.
The next morning Umm Hamida cheerfully set out for Alwan's office to read the Qur'an and to confirm the engagement. She had not a care in the world. However, she did not find Mr. Alwan at his desk, and when she inquired, she was told that he would not be in that day. She returned home, her happiness replaced by a feeling of uneasiness. Halfway through the morning, the news spread through the alley that the previous night Salim Alwan had suffered a heart attack. He was now in bed hovering between life and death.