It was the same old story but with a new element that stunned and shocked him: Mr. Iffat’s statement that Yasin "returns at dawn so drunk he can't walk straight". Had he learned his way to the bar as well? When? How?… Oh, he did not have time to think about it or to be upset. He needed to control his emotions. The hour required calmness and control. He had to take charge of the situation to ward off any irreparable damage. He observed in a sad voice, "What distresses you distresses me twice as much. Unfortunately, none of the disgraceful actions you have mentioned ever reached me or came to my attention, by God, except the last incident. I have disciplined him more severely for that than any other father would have thought permissible. What can I do? I have subjected him to stern discipline since he was a boy. Beyond our wills, there are the devils and the world of the flesh, which mock our determination and spoil our best intentions".
Avoiding al-Sayyid Ahmad’s eyes by looking at the desk, Muhammad Iffat replied, "I have not come to blame you or to criticize you. You are a model father who can be imitated but never equaled. But that does not alter the distressing fact that Yasin has not turned out the way you wished. In his current condition he is not fit for married life".
Al-Sayyid Ahmad protested, "Not so fast, Mr. Muhammad".
The other man corrected himself while remaining resolute: "In any case, he is not a fit husband for my daughter. He will find some woman who accepts him with his faults, but not her. My daughter was not made for this. You know better than anyone how I feel about her".
The proprietor moved his head close to his friend’s and said in a low voice and with a hint of a smile, "Yasin’s not unusual as husbands go. Lots of them get drunk and boisterous and do things they shouldn't".
Muhammad Iffat frowned to make it clear he would not allow the situation to be turned into a joke. He answered sternly, "If you're referring to our group or to me in particular, it is true that I get drunk, become rowdy, and take lovers, but I refrain from wallowing in the mud. We all do. A black maid… Is my daughter destined to share a husband with her in a polygamous marriage? By the Lord of Heaven, no. She will not be Yasin’s wife and he will not be Zaynab’s husband".
Al-Sayyid Ahmad perceived that Muhammad Iffat, perhaps like his daughter, might be ready to forgive many things, but not Yasin’s attempt to have both the girl and her black maid. He knew Muhammad Iffat was of Turkish descent and stubborn as a mule. He happened to recall the words of his friend Ibrahim al-Far the day he told him he was asking for Zaynab’s hand for his son Yasin. The man had observed, "She’s a fine girl from a good family. Muhammad is our brother and friend. His daughter is our daughter. But have you thought carefully about the girl’s status with her father? Have you considered the fact that Muhammad Iffat does not allow the tiniest speck of dust to settle on her?" Although that was true, al-Sayyid Ahmad had found it difficult to judge matters by any standards but his own and had always boasted that Muhammad Iffat, despite his atrocious temper, had never gotten angry with him even once throughout their long friendship.
He said, "Take it easy. Don't you see we're all made of the same stuff, even if the details differ? A black maid and a female vocalist-aren't they both women?"
Muhammad Iffat flew into a rage. He pounded on the edge of the desk with his fist. He burst out: "You don't mean what you're saying. A servant’s a servant and a lady’s a lady. Why don't you take servants for mistresses then? Yasin’s not like you. I'm sorry my daughter’s pregnant by him. I hate for my grandchild to have such filth in his veins".
The last sentence stung al-Sayyid Ahmad and he was enraged, but he was able to suppress his anger by using the forbearance he lavished on his acquaintances and friends, the strength of which was matched only by that of his irascibility with his family. He replied calmly, "I would like to suggest that we postpone this conversation to some other time".
Muhammad Iffat said angrily, "I want my request carried out immediately".
Al-Sayyid Ahmad was extremely vexed. There was nothing unsavory about divorce as a solution, but he was apprehensive about his lifelong friendship, and it was hard for him to admit defeat. Was he not the man whose mediation people requested to settle disputes and mend quarrels between friends and spouses? How could he accept defeat and divorce when he was defending his own son? What good were his forbearance, diplomacy, and finesse?
"I attempted to strengthen our friendship through this marriage tie between our families. How can I accept a weakening?"
His visitor answered disapprovingly, "Our friendship is not in doubt… We're not children, but my honor is not going to be sullied".
Al-Sayyid Ahmad asked gently, "What will people say about a marriage that doesn't even last a year?"
Muhammad Iffat replied haughtily, "No intelligent person will blame my daughter".
Oh… once again, a new insult, but he met it with the same forbearance. His annoyance at failing to achieve a reconciliation seemed to have eclipsed that aroused by the angry man’s words. He was not nearly so concerned about the blast directed against him as about justifying his own lack of success. He began to console himself with the thought that the divorce was in his hands alone. If he wanted to, he could grant it. If he did not, he could prevent it. Muhammad Iffat knew that perfectly well. It was for this reason he had come to ask for it in the name of their friendship, which was the only mediator he had to fall back on. If al-Sayyid Ahmad said no, that would settle the matter. The girl would return to his son, voluntarily or involuntarily. Their lengthy friendship would be in the past tense. If he said yes, the divorce would take place, but the friendship would be preserved and he would have the credit for doing his friend a favor. In the future, it would not be difficult to bring all these considerations into play to reunite what had been severed. Although the divorce was a defeat, it was a temporary one, which clearly demonstrated his goodwill and nobility. In time it might turn into a victory. Once he was even partially reassured about his position, he felt a desire to criticize his friend for taking him for granted. He warned him, "The divorce will not take place without my consent… Do you disagree?… I will not reject your request, if you are still determined to proceed with it, out of respect for you and the friendship you slighted when you spoke to me…"
Muhammad Iffat sighed, either from relief at achieving the desired result or in protest against his friend’s criticism, or both. Then with a voice free of the sharp edge of anger for the first time, he said resolutely, "I told you a thousand times that our friendship was not in jeopardy. You haven't wronged me in any way. To the contrary, you have honored me by granting my request, although you didn't want to".
Al-Sayyid Ahmad echoed his words sadly, "Yes… I didn't want to".
The moment his visitor passed from sight, al-Sayyid Ahmad’s resentment flared up. His suppressed rage exploded, encompassing himself, Muhammad Iffat, and Yasin, especially Yasin. He asked himself whether the friendship would really remain secure and not be muddied by events to come. Oh… he would have spared no expense to protect himself from a rude jolt like this… But it was all because of Turkish obstinacy. No… the devil, no… Yasin… Yasin, not anyone else.
He told his son angrily and scornfully, "You have spoiled the purity of a friendship no number of days would have been able to harm, even if they had conspired to that goal".
After repeating to Yasin what Muhammad Iffat had said, he concluded: "You have disappointed my hopes in you so much that only God and His blessings can ever repay me. I raised and disciplined you. I watched over you… Then all my efforts lead to what?… An alcoholic wretch who talks himself into raping the most humble servant in his family’s home. There is no power or might save with God. I never imagined that my discipline would produce a son like you. Everything is in God’s hands, the past and the future. What can I do with you? If you were a juvenile, I'd smash your head in, but time will certainly take care of that. You'll receive your just deserts. Decent families will wash their hands of you and let you go for a song".