She would entreat Radia too, saying, “Forgive my daughter. For the sake of our friendship, wipe her mistakes on my face instead.”
Amidst this sea of turmoil Shakira gave birth to Wahida and Salih and gained some comfort in her stressful life, though it remained one devoid of love or peace. Similarly, her ability to cause upset was extremely limited. When the two brothers, Mahmud and Ahmad, fell out and the family unity was torn to shreds, Amr feared his son would be swept along by a current of hostility that had nothing to do with him. He tried to resolve the rift and maintain good relations with both his uncles. He advised Hamid to adopt his — Amr’s — position and not sever relations with Ahmad Bey and he worked on Mahmud Bey until he consented to this. Hamid was pleased, for deep down he was fond of his uncle Ahmad and thought his demand justified.
In the period leading up to the Second World War and the years that followed, Ahmad, Amr, and Mahmud passed away. Hamid sensed he was free of guardians, and his relationship with his wife became worse than ever. This made Wahida and Salih miserable as they were torn between the two parents. Shakira was the greater influence in their upbringing so they grew up cultured, knew application and piety, and never freed their father of blame. They condemned his boorish behavior toward their mother and, though they tried to appear as neutral as possible in front of him, it showed. He could tell what was said in private from the looks in their eyes and felt alienated and angry. He continued to show his mother-in-law the respect and courtesy she deserved, but she was nevertheless compelled to tell him, “It pains me the way you treat Shakira.” He resented Shakira and imagined she had devoured the best years of his life unfairly. One day, as they heaped abuses upon one another and traded the usual cruel insults, she suddenly screamed through her tears, “I hate you more than death.” He risked the dream that had long been tempting him and divorced her, apologizing to her brother Hasan, his cousin, friend, and colleague, “Forgive me but I couldn’t take any more. Everything happens according to God’s will.”
He only returned to the old house in Bayt al-Qadi for a month. Radia stated her view, “The marriage shouldn’t have taken place but you don’t have the right to divorce, in deference to Wahida and Salih.” Back at the mansion they suspected Radia’s magic to be in some way responsible for the divorce and indeed the marriage’s failure from the first day. Hamid moved to an apartment in a new building on al-Manyal Street shown to him by his cousin Halim, Abd al-Azim Pasha’s son, who lived in one of the other apartments. In the 1950s, when he was nearly fifty, he fell in love with a widow called Esmat al-Awurfla, who was in her forties. He married her and brought her to his apartment to begin a new life. Relations with Wahida and Salih weakened, but were not severed. When the July Revolution came he was pensioned off with the other police officers it viewed as enemies of the people; it was known he had always been a Wafdist at heart, but the revolution considered Wafdists the state’s enemies too. He shut himself off at home with Esmat for a while, but when he discovered Samira’s son Hakim was at the heart of things and had influence, he entreated him and was appointed a manager of public relations with Amr Effendi, adding an extra fifty Egyptian pounds a month to his pension.
He was quite happy with his life. His new wife was experienced in the ways of the world. She met his violent moods and vulgarity with excellent cunning and paved the way for a stable existence with no visible cracks. He never stopped visiting the old house nor loving his mother and his brother Qasim; their eccentricity delighted him and he always had fun with them. He would let his mother kiss his brow affectionately and bowed his head for her to perform spells on and recite Surat al-Samad over and some of the daily prayers she knew by heart. He would question his brother about his stars and future, tour his childhood haunts, and read the opening sura of the Qur’an at al-Hussein, which represented the beginning and end of his religious life. He also visited his sisters’ houses and his brother Amer at the Dawud family residence. During this period, his relations with Abd al-Azim’s son Halim grew stronger, for the two suffered an identical fate at the hands of the revolution. So did his relations with his cousin Labib. He smoked hashish with the former and drank with the latter. Their hearts united in criticizing the revolution, contempt for its men, and remembering the good old days. His happiness was only disturbed by a nagging awareness that Wahida and Salih harbored for him only a fraction of the love he had for them and that they much preferred their mother. He was moved by the tragedies of the nation and his family. He lived through the October 1973 attack and in the period that followed began to feel weak. He was initially diagnosed with anemia, but his wife learned from laboratory results that he had leukemia and death was waiting at the door. He did not know what hit him. He was moved to the hospital not knowing what was going on. His wife, Wahida, and Salih were present for his final hours of agony. As the end approached, he asked to see Radia, but circumstances prohibited it for she was over a hundred and did not know her son was sick, nor did she find out before she died. He gave up the ghost after much suffering, seen off by the tears of his wife, Wahida, and Salih. But death did not lighten Shakira’s deep hatred of him.
Habiba Amr Aziz
If Bayt al-Qadi Square, the alleys that emptied into it, and the towering walnut trees left a trace in the hearts of Amr and Surur’s families; if the minarets, dervishes, strongmen, wedding feasts, and funeral ceremonies; or the fairy tales, legends, and ifrit left a trace, it was the life that flowed through the blood and hid beneath the smiles, tears, and dreams in the heart of Amr Effendi’s fifth child, Habiba, who could never bring herself to leave the quarter in spite of dazzling opportunities. No one loved their father and mother, brothers, sisters, cousins, even neighbors and cats, as much as she did. She wept over every death until she became known as “the mourner.” She kept memories and promises and was permanently intoxicated by the past and its happy times. Her beauty nearly matched Samira’s but for a film on her left eye. Her share of education went as far as erasing ignorance, which would soon return due to disuse. She knew nothing of her religion other than her mother’s popular version but was convinced that fervent love for al-Hussein was the best route to the Hereafter. When she was sixteen, one of her brother Amer’s friends, an Arabic language teacher called Shaykh Arif al-Minyawi, proposed and she was married to him in Darb al-Ahmar. After one happy year together she gave birth to Nadir but the next year the man fell into the clutches of cancer and died.
“Oh darling daughter, your luck is dreadful!” Radia cried in anguish.
Habiba lived with her mother-in-law on the proceeds of shops in al-Mugharbilin and dedicated her life to her son — a widow though not yet twenty. She loved Nadir as any mother loves her child, but she loved him too with a heart that seemed created to love. When Nadir came to the end of Qur’an school at the beginning of the 1930s, Mahmud Bey Ata wanted to marry her to a village mayor in Beni Suef. The family welcomed the idea, but she would have to surrender Nadir to her uncle. She categorically refused. She would not give up her son and did not want to leave the quarter.
“You’re mad. You don’t know what you’re doing!” said her brother Hamid.
“On the contrary. I know exactly what I’m doing,” she replied.
Amr tried and Radia tried, but she would not change her mind.
Nadir graduated from business school during the Second World War and was appointed to the tax office. But he was known for his ambition from the start. He began studying English at a private institute. His mother worried about how engrossed he was in work at the office and the institute. “Why do you put yourself to all this trouble?” she asked him. But he had charted his course and nothing could stand in his way. Habiba’s arid life was capped by middle age, then she withered and looked ill. She watched her son’s ascent with pleasure but, though he begrudged her none of his money, she refused to leave Darb al-Ahmar for a new villa of his. When he left and moved to his marital home she plunged into a fearful loneliness from whose grasp she did not escape until death.