"How can I believe him?… My trust in Maryam has been like mine for Khadija or Aisha for such a long time. Her mother is a virtuous woman. Her father, may God let him rest in peace, was a fine man… neighbors for a lifetime, excellent neighbors…"
Yasin, who had seemed lost in thought all the while, replied in a tone not innocent of sarcasm, "Why are you surprised?… Since ancient times, God has created evil people from the loins of pious ones".
Amina, as though refusing to believe that she had been taken in for such a long time, protested, "With God as my witness, I've never observed anything discreditable about her".
Yasin agreed cautiously: "Nor has any of us, not even Khadija, the supreme faultfinder. People far more clever than either of us have been deceived about her".
Fahmy cried out in anguish, "How can I penetrate the world of mysteries? It’s a matter that defies the imagination". He was boiling with anger at Yasin. Then it seemed to him that everyone was hatefuclass="underline" the English and the Egyptians in equal measure… men and women, but especially women. He was choking. He longed to disappear and be alone to inhale a breath of relief, but he stayed where he was, as though tied down with heavy ropes.
Yasin directed a question to Kamaclass="underline" "When did she see you?"
"When Julian turned toward me".
"And then she fled from the window?"
"Yes".
"Did she notice that you saw her?"
"Our eyes met for a moment".
Yasin said sarcastically, "The poor dear!.. No doubt she’s imagining our gathering now and our distressing conversation".
"An Englishman!" Pounding his hands together, Fahmy shouted, "The daughter of al-Sayyid Muhammad Ridwan…"
Shaking her head in amazement and sighing, Amina mumbled something to herself.
Yasin observed thoughtfully, "For a girl to flirt with an Englishman is no easy matter. This degree of corruption could not have appeared in a single leap".
"What do you mean?" asked Fahmy.
"I mean that her corruption must have proceeded a step at a time".
Amina implored them, "I ask you to swear by God to give up this conversation".
As though he had not heard her entreaty, Yasin kept on with his observations: "Maryam’s the daughter of a lady whose art in adorning herself has been witnessed by the women of our family…"
Amina cried out in a voice filled with censure and rebuke, "Yasin!"
Backing down, Yasin said, "I want to say that we as a family live according to such strict standards that we know little of what goes on around us. No matter how hard we try to guess, we imagine that other people live the way we do. We've associated with Maryam for years without knowing what she’s really like, until the truth about her was discovered by the last person one would have expected to uncover the facts". He laughed and patted Kamal on the head.
Amina once again implored them fervently, "I beg you to change the topic of this conversation".
Yasin smiled and said nothing. Silence reigned. Fahmy could not bear to stay with them any longer. He responded to the inner voice that was anxiously calling for help and encouraging him to flee far from other eyes and ears, so that he could be all alone and repeat the conversation to himself from start to finish, word by word, phrase by phrase, sentence by sentence, in order to understand and fathom it. Then he could see where he stood.
65
It was after midnight when al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad left the home of Maryam’s mother, Umm Maryam, concealing himself in the darkness of the cul-de-sac. The whole district appeared to be sound asleep, enveloped in the gloom. It had been that way every night since the English had set up camp there. No one chatted in a coffeehouse, no vendor roamed about, no shop stayed open late, and no passerby stole along. The only traces of life or light were those coming from the camp. None of the soldiers had ever interfered with him as he came and went, but he felt anxious and apprehensive whenever he approached the camp, especially when returning home late at night exhausted but relaxed and in a daze that made it difficult for him even to attempt to walk safely and steadily.
He went down to al-Nahhasin Street before turning to head back toward his house, glancing stealthily at the sentry until he reached the most dangerous section of the street, where it was illuminated by light from the camp. There he was always seized by the feeling that he was an easy mark for any predator. He quickened his steps to reach the dark area near the entrance to his house but had hardly advanced a step when his ears rang as a rude, gruff voice yelled after him in gibberish. He realized from the violent tone and concision of the words, even though he could not understand them, that an order not subject to debate was being tossed at him. He stopped walking and turned, terrified, toward the voice.
He saw another soldier, not the sentry, heading toward him, armed to the teeth. What new development had brought on this treatment? Was the man intoxicated? Perhaps he had been overcome by a sudden urge to attack someone? Or was he out to plunder and loot? With a pounding heart and a dry throat, al-Sayyid Ahmad watched the soldier approach. The lingering effects of his intoxication fled.
This soldier stopped a few feet away from him and in a commanding voice addressed a few brisk words to him. Al-Sayyid Ahmad naturally did not understand a single one. The soldier pointed toward Palace Walk with his free hand. Al-Sayyid Ahmad looked desperately and ingratiatingly at him, suffering bitterly from his inability to communicate or to convince the man that he was innocent of his accusations. He wished he could at least discover what the man wanted. It occurred to him that the soldier had gestured down Palace Walk to tell him to move away, thinking he did not live in this neighborhood. He pointed in turn to his house, so the man would understand that he was a resident returning home. The soldier ignored his gesture and snarled at him, pointing persistently in the other direction. He motioned with his head, as though urging al-Sayyid Ahmad to go in that direction. Apparently growing impatient, he seized him by the shoulder, forcibly turned him around, and shoved him in the back. Al-Sayyid Ahmad found himself moving toward Palace Walk with the other man behind him. He surrendered to his fate, but his joints felt like rubber. On his way to an unknown destination, he passed the military camp and the cistern building. After that, the last trace of light from the camp vanished.
He waded into the waves of gloomy darkness and profound silence, seeing nothing but phantom houses and hearing only the heavy footsteps that followed him with mechanical precision, as though counting out the minutes or perhaps seconds left for him to live. Yes, he expected at each moment to be dealt a blow that would finish him off. He walked along, waiting for it, his eyes staring into the darkness, his mouth pursed from worry, his Adam’s apple jerking up and down as he tried to swallow to relieve his dry, burning throat. He was startled by a gleam of light that made him look down. He almost screamed from dismay, like a child, as his heart plummeted. He saw a circle of light going back and forth and realized that it was caused by rays of light from a battery-powered lantern that his warder had turned on to see where he was going. He got his breath back after his sudden alarm subsided, but this relief was short-lived. He was once more seized by fear, fear of the death to which he was being led. Once more he expected to die from moment to moment. He was like a drowning man flailing about in the water who thinks he sees a crocodile preparing to attack. When it becomes clear that the beast is just some plants floating in the water, he enjoys a momentary relief at being spared this danger, before choking again under the pressure of the real danger presented by the ocean.