Dalal Hamada al-Qinawi
She was born and grew up in her parents’ house in Khan Ga‘far, the youngest child of Sadriya and Hamada al-Qinawi. Her house was a short distance from her grandfather Amr’s, and she was as close to Amr and Radia as she was to her own parents. Like all the grandchildren, she adored Radia and was enchanted by her eccentricities, especially because her grandmother continued to pass on her innate heritage, clothed in supernatural phenomena, to each generation. “Dalal is beautiful but how did this Upper Egyptian accent infiltrate your Cairene children?” Radia would ask her daughter.
“From a mule!” Sadriya would respond scornfully, gesturing to her husband, whom she spent her life domesticating.
Radia would laugh, “He’s as brainless as a stone, but he’s respectable.”
As was the custom, Dalal, like Nihad and Warda, was only permitted two years of Qur’an school before Sadriya assumed control of her education and instruction. Sadriya began to review the young men in the family — the sons of her sisters, brothers, and uncle, and descendants of al-Murakibi and Dawud. However, prospective grooms would also come to al-Qinawi’s daughters from Qina and its environs in the name of the Qinawi family. A young village mayor called Zahran al-Murasini, who owned land adjacent to that of Dalal’s father and uncles, requested to marry her. “It’s destined that a train journey will come between me and my daughters,” said Sadriya.
Dalal’s sister Warda’s tragedy delayed the marriage for a year. Then she was wedded to the village mayor in Cairo and, a week later, taken to his hometown. She settled in Karnak for good, gave birth to four daughters and three sons, and only visited Cairo on special occasions.
Dananir Sadiq Barakat
She was the only child of Rashwana, Amr and Surur’s older sister, and Sadiq Barakat, the flour merchant in al-Khurnfush. She was born in Bayn al-Qasrayn in the house her father owned and grew up in considerable comfort, which looked set just to get better. Rashwana did not have any more children because of a defect in her, but, luckily for the family, Sadiq Barakat had two childless marriages behind him so he thought they were equally responsible. Dananir grew up between a mother who was as pious as a shaykh and a father whose family was regarded as pioneering in terms of female education. She was quite pretty and tended to be on the large side, which was considered an advantage. She also displayed promising energy in school. She obtained the primary school certificate and enrolled in secondary school, raising the eyebrows of Rashwana’s uncle, Mahmud Bey Ata al-Murakibi.
“Do you approve of this?” he asked Amr.
“Her father does,” Amr answered.
The man went to Bayn al-Qasrayn and assembled the family.
“I didn’t let Shakira go beyond primary school,” he said.
“Times have moved on, Mahmud Bey. The baccalaureate is appropriate nowadays,” replied Sadiq Barakat.
“I have complete faith in my daughter’s morals,” said Rashwana.
Mahmud Bey had a sense of humor despite his boorish manner: “Raya and Sakina’s mother probably once said the same about them.” He left exasperated.
Dananir was delighted with her father’s decision. The baccalaureate would put her on almost the same footing as Abd al-Azim Dawud’s daughters, Fahima and Iffat. She would be way ahead of the daughters of her two uncles, Amr and Surur, and could hope for a suitable groom afterward. Rashwana took her to visit the family’s roots and branches. She found the tree was heavy with fruit — Amer, Hamid, Labib, Hasan, Ghassan, and Halim. She was as pretty as any of the girls in the family, in her mind at least. But as she was coming to the end of school, something happened which she became convinced was the greatest tragedy that could befall a person: her father fell down paralyzed in the shop. He was carried home to lie helplessly in bed until the end. His business was liquidated under the supervision of Amr, Surur, and Mahmud Bey, and he received five hundred Egyptian pounds, all that was left, to pay for his medical treatment and sustain his family. Dananir realized there was nothing to look forward to but to finish her education and find a job. The Teacher Training College for Women was the only option and, at the time, female teachers could not marry if they wanted to continue working. This course of action was confirmed after Sadiq Barakat’s death. Mahmud Bey saw things differently, however. “Let Dananir marry. I’ll be your sponsor, Rashwana,” he said. Rashwana was inclined to give her consent, but Dananir — driven by pride — refused and determined to choose her own destiny. Her decision did not make her happy; she had given up the dream of marriage she had entertained since she was a young girl. She was the most miserable person on earth, but at least she had chosen the misery herself.
“You have sacrificed yourself for my sake,” Rashwana said.
“No, I’ve chosen what makes me happy,” she replied firmly.
She became a teacher and spinster forever, finding comfort in her professional skills and immoderate eating. She went through life asking: Where did my bad luck come from? The eyes of many young male relatives and strangers gazed at her hungrily, as though wondering: Does this young woman who is forbidden marriage dream of romance? Her female cousins were all settled in their marital homes, even the ugly and masculine ones, whereas glances lingered on her and left festering scars. She went to bed each night after a hard day’s work armed with a fantasy to relieve the loneliness. She persistently compensated her worries and sorrows with debauched feverish dreams, imaginary sins, and barren friendships with other dispossessed colleagues in her monastic profession. The secret life she lived in her fantasy world was utterly incongruous with her public life, which rested on earnest and praiseworthy work, a venerable commitment to religious obligations, and a sedate manner that disappointed any hopefuls but won their appreciation.
During this period of youth and activity, her uncle’s son Labib — with his good looks, brilliant legal career, and for whom the road of conquest would have been easy were it not for his repugnant egotism — approached her. He invited her to the quiet Fish Garden and proposed an illicit relationship, which, in his mind, suited their circumstances.
“You’re prevented from marriage and I’m avoiding it,” he said.
She told herself angrily that he only wanted a girlfriend and did not see her as marriage material.
“A proposition for a prostitute!” she said with resentment and scorn.
He met the blow with the characteristic coolness he had inherited from his mother, Sitt Zaynab, while she returned to Bayn al-Qasrayn overflowing with anger at her whole family. They were wretches, rich and poor alike. They sold their souls without honor. This was how Amer married Abd al-Azim’s daughter Iffat and Hamid married Shakira despite her ugliness. If the gaze of a young man from the Murakibi or Dawud family fell on one of Amr’s or Surur’s daughters all hell broke loose and their honor was roused. Wretches … wretches.… The Murakibi family sold their souls to the Crown to safeguard their interests and the Dawud family joined the Constitutional Liberals imagining they were following the path of noble families but their real roots issued from the soil; Dawud Pasha was merely the younger brother of Aziz, the fountain watchman! There was not a young man among them of her age, or older, who did not covet her honor, but none considered marrying her; a madman from al-Hussein was better than any of them.
Yet this period of verdant youth was not devoid of a respectable marriage opportunity in the form of her headmaster, who suggested she resign and marry him. But although she rather liked the idea, she quickly rejected it, maintaining that her mother would live at the mercy of someone from a wretched family who worshiped money and rank and would do anything to get it. Thus, she carried on her tedious, arid life, educating other people’s daughters and preparing them for marriage, divided between illicit fantasies and a reality characterized by seriousness, piety, and respect. The tree of youth thirsted in the gloom of loneliness, the pain of deprivation, and the frivolous amusement of forbidden fantasies. Then its leaves began to fall one by one, leaving their mark in her excessive corpulence, coarsened features, flabby muscles, and overwhelming bitterness. During this time, Amr, Surur, Ahmad, and Mahmud passed away and many things changed beyond recognition. Her mother developed heart disease and took to her bed.