Then he said, "We talk to each other whenever we have something to discuss."
She replied gently, "People who want to talk set no limits on their conversations, but you seem always to be absent or absent-minded..."
After reflecting a bit she added, "You read a lot. You read as much during your vacation as when you're in school. You never get enough rest. I'm afraid you've worn yourself out."
In a tone that indicated he did not welcome this interrogation, Kamal answered, "There are many hours in a day. Spending a few of them reading won't wear anyone out. It's nothing but a pastime, even if it's a beneficial one."
After some hesitation she observed, "I'm afraid reading's the reason you seem so quiet and preoccupied…."
"No," he thought. "It's not reading. If only you knew how it distracts me from my discomfort". Something else had been absorbing him, and he could not escape from it even when he was reading. His was a condition without a cure that she or anyone else could provide. He was sick with love, devoted but at his wits' end, not knowing what to wish for beyond his suffering.
Slyly tie said, "Reading's like coffee. There's nothing harmful about it. Don't you want me to become a scholar like my grandfather?"
Delight and pride shone in her pale, oval face. She answered, "Of course. I wish that wholeheartedly, but I want to see you in good spirits all the time."
Smiling, he said, "I'm in as good spirits as you could wish. So don't trouble your mind with idle speculation."
He had noticed that her concern for him had increased in recent years more than was necessary or desirable. Her devotion, solicitude, and apprehension about anything that might harm him or that she imagined might — had begun to engage her mind to a degree that made him uncomfortable, prompting him to defend his freedom and dignity. Yet he never lost sight of this development's causes, which included Fahmy's death and the misery she had endured. Thus Kamal never overstepped the bounds of affection and politeness in defense of his independence.
"I'm happy to hear that from you, if it's really true. All I desire is your happiness. I prayed for you today at the shrine of our master al-Husayn. I hope God may answer my prayer."
"Amen."
He watched her raise the coffeepot to fill her cup for the fourth time. The corners of his mouth spread open in a faint smile. He remembered how a visit to the mosque of al-Husayn had once seemed an impossible dream for her. Now she visited it whenever she went to the cemetery or to see her two daughters on Sugar Street. But what an oppressive price she had paid for this limited freedom. He too nourished impossible dreams. What price would be exacted from him if he was to fulfill them? Yet, any payment, no matter how great, would seem insignificant if he could.
Emitting a forced laugh, he observed, "The visit to al-Husayn is certainly linked to unforgettable memories…."
Smiling, she felt her collarbone, which she had broken during her first trip there, and said, "And to lasting results."
With a modicum of enthusiasm Kamal said, "You're not a prisoner in the house as you once were. You've gained the right to visit Khadija, Aisha, and our master al-Husayn as often as you want. Imagine what you would have missed if Father had not relaxed the rules."
She looked up at him with confused embarrassment, for the reference to a distinction she had won as a result of losing a child troubled her. Then she bowed her head despondently, as if to say, "I wish I had remained as I was and kept my son". She did not air the feelings raging in her breast for fear of upsetting Kamal. Apologizing for the freedom she enjoyed, she said, "My occasional excursions are not for my entertainment. I go to al-Husayn to pray for you. I visit your sisters to reassure myself about them and to resolve the problems no one else seems able to handle."
He had no difficulty guessing which problems she meant. Knowing she had visited Aisha and Khadija that day, he asked, "Anything new at Sugar Street?"
Sighing, she answered, "The usual."
He shook his head sadly. Then with a smile he remarked, "Khadija has a gift for quarreling."
Amina responded sorrowfully, "Her mother-in-law told me that any conversation with her threatens to end badly."
"It seems her mother-in-law is growing senile too."
"Her age is excuse enough. But what's your sister's excuse?"
"Did you side with her or with the truth?"
Amirta laughed in a way that suggested she knew only too well what he meant. She sighed again and said, "Your sister has a hot temperament. She is quick to bridle at even the most sincere advice. And woe to me if I'm polite to her mother-in-law out of respect for her age and status. Then she'll ask me with fiery eyes, 'Are you for me or against me?' There is no strength or might save from God. 'For me or against me!' Are we at war, son? Strangely enough, at times her mother-in-law is at fault, but Khadija carries the fight to such extremes that she ends up in the wrong."
It would be impossible for anything to make Kamal angry at Khadija. She had been and still remained his second mother and an inexhaustible source of affection. How did his sister Aisha compare with her beautiful, giddy Aisha who had absorbed all the characteristics of the Shawkat family?
"What did the investigation reveal?"
"This time the argument began with the husband, and that's unusual. When I entered their quarters, they were having a violent dispute. I was amazed that something had agitated the good man and intervened to make peace. Then I learned the cause for all of it. She had made up her mind to dust the apartment, but he was still sleeping at nine. So she insisted on rousing him, and he woke up angry. Feeling obstinate for once, he refused to get out of bed. His mother heard the row and was quick to come. Then the fires Qared. This quarrel was scarcely concluded before another one broke out, because Ahmad returned from playing in the street with mud on his shirt. She hit him and wanted him to take a bath. The boy appealed to his father for help, and the man came to his rescue. So a second fight broke out in one morning."
Laug] ling, Kamal asked, "What did you do?"
"I tried my best but did not succeed. She scolded me for a long time because I had attempted to mediate. She told me, 'You should have taken my side the way she stood up for him.'"
Sighi ig a third time, she continued: "I told Khadija, 'Don't you remember how you saw me act when I was with your father?' She answered sharply, 'Do you think there's another man in the whole world like Father?'"
Uninvited, the vision of Abd al-Hamid Bey Shaddad and his wife, Satiiya Hanim, popped into Kamal's imagination. They were walking side by side from the veranda to their Minerva automobile, which was parked by the gate of the mansion. They did not seem a master and his servant but two equal friends conversing easily with each other, with her arm draped over his. When they reached the vehicle, the bey stepped aside to allow the lady to climb in first.
"Will you ever get to see your parents act like this?" he wondered. "What a silly idea!"
The couple walked with an air of distinction befitting the parents of his beloved. Although her mother was as old as his, she was wearing an expensive coat, which was a marvel of taste, elegance, and style. Her face was unveiled and attractive, although it did not compare with the angelic countenance of her daughter. There emanated from her a fragrant perfume and a captivating elegance. He wished he knew what they discussed and their manner of agreeing and disagreeing, if they ever did differ. He was eager to learn about this life, which was linked to his beloved's by the firmest ties and bonds.
"Do you remember," he asked himself, "how you gazed at her like a worshipper viewing great priests and high church dignitaries?"
He told his mother calmly, "If Khadija's character was more like yours, she would be assured a happy life."