Yasin was the man! Did Zanuba know he was Yasin's father? He tried to force peace into his heart as though pounding a thick stopper into a narrow opening. He reminded himself that he had never mentioned any of his children in her presence. Besides, it was incredible that Yasin should know about this secret. He remembered how Yasin had come a few days before to tell him of the divorce from Maryam with the troubled look of a person who knew he was at fault. But his expression had also been innocent and sincere, untainted by any suspicion directed against his father. Of all the hypothetical conjectureshe might entertain, the one he could never accept was the thought that Yasin would knowingly steal his mistress. Indeed, how would Yasin know his father was having or had had an affair with any woman? There was nothing for him to worry about in this regard. Even if Zanuba knew he was related to Yasin or learned it one day, she would never tell Yasin for fear of ending their relationship. He continued walking along, postponing his visit with his friends. First he needed to catch his breath and to restore calm to his soul. Although tired and exhausted, he walked in the direction of al-Ataba.
"You wanted to know and now you do. Shouldn't you have forgotten the whole matter and been patient? Praise God that circumstances didn't bring you face to face with Yasin in a scandalous way. Yasin's the man. When did she meet him? Where? How many times did she betray you with your son, without your being aware of it? These are questions for which you'll never attempt to find the answers. Assume the worst to allow your aching head to get some rest. Yasin's the man! He said he divorced Maryam because she was impolite. It would have made sense for him to offer an explanation like that when he divorced his first wife, Zaynab if you hadn't learned the true cause when it all happened. You'll know the truth one day. But what do you care about truth? Are you still eager to chase after it? Your mind's devastated, and your heart's tormented. Is it possible you're jealous of Yasin? No, this isn't jealousy. To the contrary, it's almost a consolation. If it's inevitable that you're to be slain, then let your son be the assassin. Yasin's an extension of you. So part of you was defeated and part of you won. You're both the victim and the victor. Yasin has reversed the outcome of the battle. You were drinking a mixture of pain and defeat. Now triumph and solace have been added to the blend. You won't grieve about losing Zanuba anymore. You've been too confident. Promise not to omit time from your calculations in the future. If only you could pass this advice on to Yasin so he isn't caught off guard when his turn comes. You should be happy. There's no cause for remorse. You'll need to approach life with a new strategy, a new heart, and a new mind. Let Yasin carry the banner. You'll recover from your dizziness, and everything will proceed as though nothing had happened. But you won't be able to transform the events of the last few days into the usual series of anecdotes to be shared over drinks with your friends. These frightening times have taught you that many things need to be hidden away in your chest. Oh… how I long for a drink."
In the following days, al-Sayyid Ahmad proved that he was stronger than his misfortunes. His feet firmly on the ground, he looked to the future. The facts of Yasin's divorce reached him by way of Mr. Ali Abd al-Rahim, who had it from Ghunaym Hamidu and others, but these narrators did not know the identity of the woman whose escapade had provoked Maryam's divorce.
Al-Saa/yid Ahmad smiled. He laughed a long time over everything. Then, on his way to Muhammad Iffat's house one evening, he felt such a horrible heaviness in his upper back and head that he gasped for breath. It was not an entirely new sensation. Of late he had frequently been afflicted by headaches, but none had been as severe as this. When he complained about his condition to Muhammad Iffat, the latter man ordered some iced lemonade for him. Al-Sayyid Ahmad stayed at the party to the end but awoke the next day in worse shape than before. He was worried enough to consider consulting a physician. The fact was that he never thought of seeing a doctor except in the most dire circumstances.
102
Objects, like words, take on new meanings as circumstances change. The mansion of the Shaddad family was hardly lacking in grandeur for Kamal, but on that evening in December it appeared in a splendid new form suitable for a rite of passage. Lights had been strung over the structure until every segment was brightly illuminated. Each corner and wall wore a necklace of brilliant pearls. Electric lights of different colors sparkled over the surface from rooftop to ground and along the garden wall with its massive entrance. The flowers and fruit of the trees seemed transformed into red, green, and white lamps, and light flowed from all the windows of the house. Everything jubilantly proclaimed a wedding.
When Kamal first saw this as he approached, he felt transported to the kingdom of light. The sidewalk opposite the house was jammed with boys, and the entryway was strewn with golden sand. The gate was wide open, as was the door of the men's reception room, which had been prepared to receive the guests, its big chandelier aglow. The large upper balcony was filled with a resplendent group of young ladies in magnificent evening gowns. Shaddad Bey and men of the family stood at the entrance to the reception hall welcoming the arrivals. The porch was graced by a marvelous orchestra, and the music could be heard as far away as the desert.
Kamal quickly cast an all-inclusive glance around him, wondering whether A'ida was on the upper balcony with the girls who were looking down. Had she seen him enter with the other guests, his large head and celebrated nose introducing his lanky frame, formal attire, and the overcoat on his arm? He felt ill at ease and, unlike the others, did not go to the reception hall. Instead, he took "his" path, which he had followed to the rear garden so often in the past. Husayn Shaddad had suggested this idea to allow their group as much time together as possible in the beloved gazebo. Kamal seemed to be wading into a sea of light, for he found the door of the rear reception room open too. It was all lit up and crowded with guests, and the upper balcony was swarming with beautiful ladies. The gazebo was deserted except for Isma'il Latif, who wore an elegant black suit that lent his pugnacious appearance a charm Kamal had never observed before.
Isma'il Latif glanced at him and said, "Superb! But why did you bring an overcoat?… Husayn only stayed a quarter hour with me, but he'll return when he's finished with the receiving line. Hasan spent a few minutes with me. I doubt he'll be able to sit with us, as we had hoped. This is his day, and he has a lot to do. Husayn thought of inviting some of our acquaintances to the gazebo, but I stopped him. It's enough that he's asked them to share our table. We'll ha ye a special room of our own. That's the most important news I have to give you tonight."
"There's more important news than that," Kamal told himself. " It will amaze me for a long time that I accepted this invitation. Why did you accept? To make it seem you didn't care? Or because you've fallen in love with terrifying adventures?"
"That's fine," Kamal said. "But why don't we go for at least a moment to the great hall to see the guests?"
Isma'il Latif replied scornfully, "You won't see what you want, even if we do. The pashas and beys have been given the front room for their exclusive use. If you go, you'll find yourself in the back room with young men from the family and their friends, and that's not what you want. I wish I could sneak us upstairs where the most glorious paragons of beauty are surging back and forth."