He asks me: “Did anything come up?”
I answer: “I’m not sure. There’s some scribbling in the corner.”
He sounds worried as he asks: “In English?”
“Don’t know.”
He takes it from me. He studies it then gives it back to me saying that the scribbling is just a rust spot. He reads the book and then flips through a few pages.
“Did anything come up?”
I shake my head. He says sadly: “I don’t know what happened. Are you sure that you’ve washed?” I say I’m sure and he shakes his head like he’s all confused.
He flips through the book then stops at one of the pages. He takes a sheet of paper and writes a few words on it. He folds it up and hands it to me: “Keep this in your pocket always.”
I want to get up. He stops me: “Memorize that invocation. Say it with me.” He recites: “By the right of these noble names, Kahi’adh, hem ‘asiq. Dumb and deaf and blind, for they will not return to Him.” I repeat the invocation after him. He tests me. He makes sure I know it by heart. He tells me to recite it seventy times as I enter the oral exam. Then I repeat the word “Kahi’adh” letter by letter. After each letter, I curl up a finger from my right hand. When my turn comes before the examiner, I raise up my hand, unfolding them in his face. The magician takes out his things and spreads them around in a big circle. We gather around the circle. He pulls a long chain of colored handkerchiefs from his sleeve. He raises a bottle of gas to his mouth. He takes up a long steel pole with a flame burning at the end of it. He opens his mouth and blows up a flame like a rocket launching. He promises us we’ll see a snake coming out of its egg if we pay him. He passes through us holding a tambourine with his monkey tied to him by a chain. He finishes the pass through then shakes the tambourine. He announces that what he has collected isn’t enough. He takes his things and leaves.
Chapter Three
~ ~ ~
She unfolds the sheets and pillows over the edge of the balcony. He screams at her: “The mattress first.” She drags the sheets and pillows to the side. She comes back into the room and bends over the mattress. He helps her lift it on top of her head. Her frail body wavers. She throws it on top of the balcony ledge and rains down blows with the wicker dust racket. Thick dust floats up from it. She beats the blankets and the pillows. She starts to pant from the work and her pale face turns red.
She drags the bed frame away from the wall. She lights the primus stove, then carries it in her hand and bends over the metal box springs. She holds shut the opening of her gallabiya that almost exposes her breasts. Father puts on his glasses. He tells her: “Give it to me.” He takes the burner from her and squats down next to the frame. He sets the stove under the hole that the box springs rest in. I lean over next to him. I study his strong hands that hold on to the stove so firmly. I notice some bedbugs in a row. The fire touches them and they burst into flames and fall to the ground. I point out one that is getting away. He catches up to it with the flame. He turns around with the stove and goes to the other side of the frame. She brings him a bottle of paraffin and he pours from it on to the burnt spots. He tells us to look carefully around the sides of the mattress and the folds of the pillows.
“Give me the jug.”
She brings a jug of water from the living room. He sips from it, then wipes his lips with the sleeve of his gallabiya. He says: “It’s hot. Put it on top of the sideboard in the breeze.” She says: “Shall I go get some ice, Sidi?” As she speaks, her mouth opens and shows her yellow teeth. He answers: “No. Not now.” The ice seller is at the door. He’s carrying half a block wrapped in canvas. He puts it on top of the dinner table. Mother carries it to the kitchen. She breaks off a piece with the handle of the wooden pestle, then bangs at it to make smaller pieces. She rinses it with water and scatters it over the plates of paluza, the white pudding, lined up on the top of the sideboard. We eat it sitting next to the window.
He drags the desk chair over and stands on top of it. Gently, he brings over the wall clock. He hands it to Fatima as he says: “Take it easy. Be careful.” She puts the clock over the frame of the bed. She brings a piece of cloth and wets it with the paraffin. She goes to clean off the clock, but he stops her and gets down. He takes the cloth from her. He wipes off the sides of the clock with it. He opens its glass pane. Wipes the edges around the clockwork. He asks her for the bottle and another piece of cloth. She gives him an old wool sock. He wets it with the paraffin. He takes hold of the pendulum and rubs it well. He carefully wipes off its roman numbers. Then he takes a small can about the size of his hand with a little spout on top. Puts the spout under the clockwork and tilts it to pour out what’s inside. He pours into the two openings in the middle of the ring of numbers and wipes off a small, shiny brass opening. He presses it into one of the openings and turns it gently. Moves to the other one. Turns the key several times until it won’t go any more.
He takes the clock to the hall and puts it above the table. His eyes move from one wall to another. He settles on a spot between the door on to the skylight and the door to the guest room. Fatima takes one of the dining chairs and brings it to the place he has fixed on. He climbs up on to the chair. He asks me for the hammer and a medium-sized nail. I run back to the room. I get down on my knees in front of the bed and pull out the hammer and a cardboard box from underneath it. The box is full of nails, bits of electric cord, tacks, and parts from light fixtures. I pick out some nails that are different sizes. I run back. Father stretches his hand out to me. Fatima snatches away the hammer and nails and hands them to him. He chooses one of the nails and pounds it into the wall. His strokes are strong and sure.
I go over to the door of the constable and Mama Tahiya. I look in the keyhole. There is no trace left of their bed or their chiffonier. They took all their furniture when they moved to their new place. Father shouts at me: “Where are you?” I rush back. He stretches out his hand with the hammer in it, but Fatima takes it before I can. The hammer almost falls between us and he tells me: “You’re good for nothing.” He asks her to gently bring him the clock. She brings it to him. He hangs it on the nail. He takes its pendulum from her and fixes it under the clockwork. He swings it on and the clock starts to work. He closes the glass and climbs down.
We go back to the room. He asks her to take down the framed pictures. She gets up on the chair. Her scarf gets hung on the side of the wardrobe. She pulls it out and ties it again over her thick hair. Her gallabiya gathers up in her crack. She sticks her hand out and straightens it. Father’s eyes fix on her small bottom. She takes down a picture and gives it to him. It’s big, with a wide wooden frame and has small egg-shaped head shots in one row after another. I know father’s picture is in the second row from the bottom. ’Azmi, the son of Mama Basima’s cook, has taken it out once. Father dusts it off with a rag and puts it on top of the box.
She gives him another picture. It shakes in her hand. He yells at her: “Your hand’s wobbly!” The picture shows him sitting in the middle of several army officers. Smiling in a fancy uniform. His shoes are shiny and have pointy ends. His hand is wrapped around a fly whisk that rests in his lap. His moustache turns up on the sides, like the moustache of King Fuad.