Na'ima cried out anxiously, "Let's go back now. I want to go home. Why are they keeping us away?"
Abd al-Muni'm replied, "They're afraid we'll catch the disease."
Na'ima answered stubbornly, "Mama's there. Aunt Khadija's there. Uncle Ibrahim's there. Grandmother's there. Why won't they catch it?"
"Because they're adults!"
"If adults can't catch diseases, why is Papa sick?"
Umm Hanafi sighed and said tenderly, "Is something upsetting you? This is your house too. And here are Masters Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad to play with you. And your Uncle Kamal loves you more than all the world. You'll soon return to Mama, Papa, Uthman, and Muhammad. Don't cry, little lady. Pray for Papa and your brothers to get well."
Ahmad complained, "Two weeks! I've counted the days on my fingers. Besides, our apartment's on the third floor, and the disease is on the second. Why can't we return to our apartment and take Na'ima with us?"
Umm Hanafi put a finger to her lips as though to caution them and said, "Your uncle Kamal will get angry if he hears what you said. He buys you chocolates and melon seeds. How can you say you don't want to stay with him? You're not babies anymore. Master Abd al-Muni'm, you'll be starting primary school in a month. And you will too, dear Na'ima."
Backing down a little, Ahmad said, "At least let us go outside to play in the street."
Abd al-Muni'm seconded that suggestion: "That makes sense, Umm Hanafi. Why don't we go out and play in the street?"
Umm Hanafi replied firmly, "You have the courtyard, which is as big as the universe. And you also have the roof terrace. What more do you want than that? When Mr. Kamal was young, he only played in the house. When I finish my work, I'll tell you stories. Wouldn't you like that?"
Ahmad protested, "Yesterday you told us you'd finished all your stories."
Drying her eyes, Na'ima said, "Aunt Khadija knows more stories. If Mama was here we could sing together."
Umm Hanafi said ingratiatingly, "I keep begging you to sing for us and you refuse."
"I can't sing here. I can't sing when Uthman and Muhammad are sick."
Sighing, the woman said, "I'll fix supper for you, and then we'll go to bed. How about some cheese, watermelon, and cantaloupe?"
Kamal was sitting in a chair on the open side of the roof, next to the arbor of jasmine and hyacinth beans. He was scarcely visible in the darkness except for his loose-fitting white house shirt. His legs stretched out languidly, he looked at the sky studded with stars. He was lost in thought, and the silence encompassing him was broken only by an occasional voice from the street or a cluck from the chicken house. The family's affliction during the last two weeks had left its imprint on his face. During this time the normal household routine had been disrupted, and his mother had disappeared except for rare moments. The atmosphere of the house was transformed by the complaints of the three young prisoners who hs. d roamed its expanses asking for Papa and Mama until Kamal had run out of stratagems for cajoling and amusing them.
Over on Sugar Street, Aisha no longer sang or laughed in the way that had once caused so much talk. She stayed up nights with her beloved family of invalids — her husband and her sons. Kamal had yearned for Aisha to return to her old home when he was young. Now he was extremely apprehensive that she would be forced to return, her wing broken and her heart shattered.
His mother had whispered to him, "Don't visit Sugar Street, and if you do, don't stay long". He did go there occasionally and would leave with his hands smelling strangely of disinfectants and his heart overwhelmed by anxiety.
The most amazing thing was that typhoid germs, like other ones, were incredibly tiny and invisible to the naked eye but capable of stopping the flow of a life, deciding the destiny of men, and breaking up a family. Poor Muhammad had been the first to fall ill. Uthman had been next. Finally and unexpectedly, the father had succumbed.
The maid Suwaydan had come to tell Kamal that his mother would spend the night at Sugar Street. Quoting his mother without comment, she had added that there was no cause for concern. If that was so, why was his mother staying over? Why did his breast feel such forebodings? Despite all this, it was always possible that the gloom might disperse in the twinkling of an eye. Khalil Shawkat and his two darling sons might recover. Aisha's face might sparkle and shine. Could he forget how the household had suffered through a similar ordeal only eight months before? And now his father was up and about, his health totally restored. His muscles had regained their strength and his eyes their attractive sparkle. He had returned to his friends and loved ones like a bird to the leafy tree. So who could deny that it was possible for everything to change in the twinkling of an eye?
"You're here alone!"
Kamal recognized the voice. Turning toward the door of the roof, he rose and stretched out his hand to the newcomer, saying, "How are you, brother? Have a seat."
Kamal got a chair for Yasin, who was breathing heavily after climbing up the stairs. Filling his chest with the scent of jasmine, he sat down and said, "The children have gone to sleep and Umm Hanafi has too."
Resuming his seat, Kamal asked, "What time is it? The poor kids won't rest and won't let anyone else rest either."
"It's eleven. The air here's a lot better than on the street."
"Where have you been?"
"Back and forth between Palace of Desire and Sugar Street. By the way, your mother's not coming home tonight."
"Suwaydan told me that. What's new? I've been extremely apprehensive."
Sighing, Yasin said, "We're all anxious. Our Lord is gracious. Our father's there too."
"Atriiishour!"
"I left him there". After a pause he continued: "I was at Sugar Street until eight this evening. Then a messenger came from Palace of Desire Alley to say that my wife's labor had begun. I went immediately to Umm Ali, the midwife, and took her to my house, where I found my wife was being cared for by some neighbors. I stayed there an hour but could not bear the moaning and screaming for long. I went back to Sugar Street again and found Father sitting with Ibrahim Shawkat."
"What does this mean? Tell me what you think."
In a low voice Yasin said, "Their condition's extremely grave."
"Grave?"
"Yes. I came here to try to calm my nerves. Couldn't Zanuba have picked some other night to have a baby? I'm exhausted from going back and forth between Palace of Desire and Sugar Street, between the doctor and the midwife. Their condition's critical. When Widow Shawkat looked at her son's face she cried out, 'Protect; us, Lord. You should have taken me first.' Your mother was very alarmed, but the old lady paid no attention to her and said in a hoarse voice, 'This is what members of the Shawkat family look like when they die. I saw his father and his uncle die, and his grandfather before them.' There's nothing left of Khalil but a shadow, and the children are the same way. There's no power or might save with God."
Kamal swallowed and said, "Perhaps these suspicions are unfounded."
"Perhaps…. Kamal, you're not a child anymore. You ought to know at least what I do. The doctor said the situation's critical."
"For all of them?"
"All! Khalil, Uthman, and Muhammad. O Lord! How wretched your luck is, Aisha…."
In the darknesshe imagined Aisha's laughing family as he had seen them in the past. They were joyful, happy individuals who pursued life as though it were an innocent entertainment.
"When will Aisha be able to laugh again?" Kamal wondered. "Fahmy was snatched away. The English or typhoid, it's all the same … like any other cause. Belief in God makes death seem a bewildering but wise decree, when actually it's nothing but a cruel joke."
"That's the most atrocious thing I've ever heard."
"That it is, but what can anyone do? What has Aisha done to deserve this? O God, forgiveness and mercy…."