Kirsha remained apprehensive, not knowing whether his submission would prove wise or foolish. During the conversation his sleepy eyes settled on the bride's brother and he examined him carefully. At once he was overcome by a sudden interest, which made him forget his irritation and hostility. He was young, bright, and good-looking. Kirsha set about engaging him in conversation, moving as close as possible, his eyes wide with interest. He felt happy indeed and could sense a tremor of delight stirring deep within him. He opened his heart to the new family and bid them welcome, this time with genuine enthusiasm. Kirsha asked his son gently, "Don't you have any luggage, Hussain?"
"Just some bedroom furniture stored with neighbors," he replied.
"Go and get your things, then!" Kirsha told him imperiously.
Some time later, when Hussain sat talking with his mother and making plans, she suddenly turned to him and exclaimed, "Do you know what's happened? Hamida has disappeared!"
Astonishment showed in his face as he asked, "What do you mean?"
Making no attempt to conceal her scorn, Mrs. Kirsha replied, "She went out as usual in the late afternoon the day before yesterday, and didn't come back again. Her mother went to all the houses in the neighborhood and to all her friends, searching for her, but it was no use. Then she went to the police station at Gamaliya and to Kasr el-Aini Hospital, but there was no trace of her."
"What do you think happened to her?"
His mother shook her head doubtfully but said with conviction, "She has run away, you can bet your life! Some man has seduced her, taken possession of her senses, and run off with her. She was pretty, but she was never any good."
26
Hamida opened her eyes, red with sleep, and saw a white, a pure white ceiling above her, in the middle of which hung a splendid electric light within a large red ball of transparent crystal. The sight astonished her, but only for a moment, and then memories of the past night and of the new life rushed to her mind. She looked at the door and saw it was closed and noticed that the key was still where she had left it, on a table near her bed. As she had wished, she had slept alone while he slept alone in the outer room. Her lips spread in a smile and she threw back the soft coverlets from her body, revealing a nightdress trimmed with silk and velvet. What a deep chasm now separated her from her past life!
The windows were still closed, allowing a little of the sun's glare to penetrate and bathe the room in a soft, subdued light, showing that the morning was well advanced. Hamida was not surprised that she had slept so late, for insomnia had tormented her until just before dawn. She heard a quiet tap on the door and turned toward it in annoyance. Her gaze fixed on the door, she remained motionless and silent. Then she got out of bed and went to the dressing table, standing there in astonishment gazing at the mirrors surrounding it.
The knocking started again, this time more loudly. She shouted, "Who is it?"
His deep voice answered, "Good morning. Why don't you open the door?"
Looking into a mirror, she saw that her hair was untidy, her eyes red, and her eyelids heavy. Good heavens! Was there no water to wash her face? Couldn't he wait until she was ready to receive him? Now he was knocking impatiently, but she paid no attention. She was recalling how upset she had been that first time in Darasa Street when he appeared unexpectedly and she had neglected to tidy herself properly. Today she was even more anxious and upset. She looked at the bottles of perfume on the dressing table, but as this was the first time in her life she had seen them, they could not solve her problem. She picked up an ivory comb and hurriedly ran it through her hair. With a corner of her nightdress she wiped her face, glanced again into the mirror, and sighed in angry exasperation. Then she picked up the key and went to the door. She was annoyed at being inconvenienced like this, and she shook her shoulders indifferently as she opened the door.
They met face to face and he smiled pleasantly. He greeted her politely, "Good morning, Titi! Why have you neglected me all this time? Do you want to spend all day as well as all night away from me?"
Without saying a word she backed away from him. He followed her, the smile still on his lips. Then he asked, "Why don't you say something, Titi?"
Titi! Was this some term of affection? Her mother had called her Hamadmad when she had wanted to tease her, but what was this Titi business? She stared at him in disbelief and muttered, "Titi?"
Taking her hands and covering them with kisses, he replied, "That's your new name. Keep it and forget Hamida, for she has ceased to exist! Names, my darling, are not trivial things to which we should attach no weight. Names are really everything. What is the world made up of except names?"
She realized that he considered her name, like her old clothes, as something to be discarded and forgotten. Hamida saw nothing wrong in that; it didn't seem right that in Sharif Pasha she should be called what she had been called in Midaq Alley. After all, her connections with the past were now cut forever, so why should she retain her name? Now, if only she could exchange her ugly hands for beautiful ones like his and trade her shrill and coarse voice for a nice soft one. But why had he chosen this strange name?
"It's a silly name; it doesn't mean anything."
"It's a beautiful name," he replied, laughing. "Part of its beauty is that it has no meaning and a word without meaning can mean almost anything. As a matter of fact, it's an ancient name that will amuse Englishmen and Americans and one which their twisted tongues can easily pronounce."
A look of bewilderment and suspicion came into Hamida's eyes. He smiled and went on: "My darling Titi… relax… you'll know everything in good time. Do you realize that tomorrow you will be a lady of dazzling beauty and fame? This house will perform that miracle. Did you think the heavens would rain down gold and diamonds? Oh no; they rain only bombs! Now get ready to meet the dressmaker. Excuse me, I just remembered something important. I must take you to our school. I am a headmaster, my darling, not a pimp as you called me yesterday. Wear this robe and put on these slippers."
He went to the dressing table and returned with a sparkling crystal bottle with a metal rim from which extended a red rubber tube. He pointed it at her and squeezed the bulb, spraying a heady perfume around her face. At first she trembled, then she inhaled deeply and relaxed, startled yet enjoying the sensation. He put the robe gently around her and brought her slippers to put on. Then he led her into the outer hall. They walked together to the first door on the right as he whispered, "Try not to look shy or nervous. I know you're a brave girl and not afraid of anything." His warning brought her to her senses; she stared hard at him, then gave a shrug of indifference.
"This is the first class in the school," he continued, "the department of Oriental dancing."
He opened the door and they entered. She saw a medium-sized room with a polished wooden floor. It was almost empty except for a number of chairs stacked on the left and a large clothes stand in one corner. Two girls sat on chairs next to one another, and in the middle of the room stood a young man in a billowing white silk gown with a sash tied around his waist. Their heads turned toward the new arrivals and they all smiled in greeting. Ibrahim Faraj called out in an authoritative tone that showed he was their master, "Good morning… this is my friend Titi."
The two girls nodded their heads, and the young man replied in a thin effeminate voice, "Welcome, mademoiselle."
Titi returned the greeting in some bewilderment, staring hard at the odd young man. His modest, shy expression and crossed eyes made him appear younger than his thirty-odd years. He wore heavy makeup and his curly hair gleamed with Vaseline. Ibrahim Faraj smiled and introduced him to her. "This is Susu, the dancing instructor."