"Yes, it is."
"Why?"
Shaking his head disapprovingly, he answered, "Ask it yourself. I don't know."
She laughed faintly, and they were silent.
"Your beloved is beautiful, fascinating, and captivating but as is appropriate also all-powerful. Taste her power and discover the different varieties of pain."
She gave no sign of having mercy on him. Her beautiful eyes kept climbing up his face steadily until they fixed on… yes, his nose. Deep inside he felt a convulsion that caused his hair to stand on end and his eyes to look down. He waited fearfully. He heard her laugh and looked up to ask, "What's so funny?"
"I remembered some hilarious things I came across in a famous French slay. Haven't you read Cyrano de Bergerac?"
"The best time to scorn pain is when it's boundless," he advised himself Calmly and disdainfully he said, "There's no need to be polite. I know my nose is bigger than my head. But I beg you not to ask me why again. Ask it yourself, if you want."
Then Budur suddenly stretched out her hand and grabbed his nose. Aida burst into laughter. She leaned her head back. He too could not help but laugh. To hide his confusion he asked the little girl, "And you, Budur does my nose terrify you?"
They heard Husayn's voice as he came down the steps from the porch. Aida suddenly changed her tone. She warned him entreatingly, "Don't be angry at my little joke."
Husayn returned to the gazebo and sat down again in his chair, inviting Kamal to be seated. After some hesitation Kamal, placing Budur on his lap, followed his friend's example. But Aida did not stay long. She took Budur and bade them farewell. As she departed she gave Kamal a significant look, as though to stress her warning not to get angry. Kamal felt little appetite for resuming his conversation with Husayn and confined himself to listening or pretending to listen. From time to time he volunteered a question or an exclamation of surprise, appreciation, or disparagement, simply to show that he was present. Luckily for Kamal, Husayn harked back to a familiar topic requiring little concentration: his desire to go to France and his father's opposition, which he hoped to overcome shortly.
Kamal's heart and mind were preoccupied with the new look Aida had displayed in the minutes they were alone or almost alone together. Her visage had been disdainful, sarcastic, and harsh. How cruel she had seemed! She had toyed with him mercilessly. Like a cartoonist confronting the human form with his brush, she had focused her jests on him to produce a caricature extraordinary for both its ugliness and its accuracy. In a daze, he recalled her appearance. Although pain flowed like poison through his spirit, spreading a dark stain of dejection and despair, he felt no resentment, anger, or contempt. Was this not a new attribute of hers? Certainly! Like her infatuation with French or her taste for beer and ham, it was one of her essential characteristics, no matter how strange, and therefore worthy of her, although in someone else it would be considered a flaw, an indulgence, or a sin. It was no fault of hers if one of her attributes produced pain in his heart or despair in his soul. The guilt was his, not hers. Was she responsible for giving him an enormoushead or a huge nose? In her jests had she deviated from the truth and the reality? She had not and therefore was blameless. He deserved to suffer. It was his duty to accept this with ascetic resignation, like a devotee who believes implicitly in the fairness of a divine decree, no matter how harsh it appears, because the decree has been issued by the perfect beloved whose attributes and acts are beyond suspicion.
In this fashion Kamal fought his way out of the brief but violent ordeal that moments before had overwhelmed him. He felt hurt and tortured, but the strength of his fond fascination with the beloved was in no way affected. He had just experienced a new kind of pain, that of bowing to the harsh verdict passed against him. Previously he had learned, also from love, the different pains associated with separation, forbearance, leave-taking, doubt, and despair. He had learned as well that some pains are bearable, some enjoyable, and others constant, no matter how many sighs and tears are sacrificed to them. It seemed that he had fallen in love in order to master the dictionary of pain. By the glow of the sparks Hying from his colliding painshe could see himself and make fresh discoveries.
"It's not merely God, the spirit, and matter you need to learn about. What is love? What are hatred, beauty, ugliness, woman, and man? You must learn about all of these too. The ultimate stage of damnation reaches up to the first level of salvation. Laugh as you remember or remember as you laugh that you were about to reveal your secret to her. Recall, as you weep, that the hunchback of Notre Dame terrified his beloved when he leaned over to comfort her. He, the hunchback, never elicited her sincere affection until he was breathing his last. 'Don't be angry at my little joke.' She even begrudges you the consolation of hopelessness. If the beloved would only speak openly, then we might leave the inferno of uncertainty and content ourselves with the tomb of despair. It's out of the question for despair to eradicate love from my heart, but it could save me from lying dreams."
Husayn turned to ask why he was so quiet but noticed someone approaching. Looking back, he exclaimed, "Here's Hasan Salim. What time is it now?"
Kamal twisted around and saw Hasan approaching the gazebo.
90
Hasan and Kamal left the mansion of the Shaddad family around ipm. Kamal was going to say goodbye to his friend in front of the gate, but Hasan asked, "Won't you walk a little with me?"
His invitation willingly accepted, Hasan, whose head barely reached his friend's shoulder, set off along Palaces Street with the lanky Kamal, who wondered what the purpose was, especially since the hour was more suitable for dining and resting than a stroll. Before he knew what was happening, Hasan had turned to ask him, "What were you talking about?"
Although the question only increased his curiosity, he answered, "Different subjects as usual… politics, culture, and so on."
It was a genuine surprise when Hasan said in his calm, level voice, "I mean you and A'ida."
Kamal was astonished. Seconds passed without his attempting to reply. Then gaining control of himself he asked, "How did you know? You weren't there?"
Without any change of expression, Hasan Salim said, "I arrived while you were talking. It seemed best to leave so I wouldn't interrupt your conversation."
Kamal wondered whether he would have done the same thing if he had found himself in Hasan's position. He felt even more perplexed, sensing that he was on the verge of an animated conversation with many ramifications. "I don't know why you felt you should go off," he said. "If I had noticed, I wouldn't have let you."
"There are standards of polite behavior. I admit I'm very sensitive in this regard."
"Aristocratic etiquette!" Kamal told himself. "How alien it seems!"
"Excuse me," Kamal said, "if I tell you frankly that you're being overly meticulous."
Hasan's delicate smile tarried on his lips for only a second. He seemed to be waiting for something. When the wait became too long he asked, "Yes? What were you talking about?"
How could refined manners sanction such an interrogation? Kamal briefly considered asking Hasan this but elected to use an approach more compatible with his respect for the young man. This respect was based more on Hasan's personality than on their difference in age. Thus he continued: "The matter's too simple to warrant all this, but I wonder how much I'm obliged to say."
Hasan was quick to respond apologetically, "I hope you won't think I'm intruding or poking my nose into your personal affairs. I have reasons that justify my asking this question. I'll tell you things I haven't had occasion to mention before. All the same, counting on our friendship, I believed you wouldn't be offended by my question. I hope you won't misinterpret it."