As usual he found Zanuba half asleep in their room. It was always like this. Before he entered, he could hear her snoring. By the time he reached the middle of the room she was moving and opening her eyes. In her sarcastic voice she said, "Praise God for your safe return". Then she rose to help him take off his clothes and fold them. Unadorned, she appeared older than she was. He frequently thought she looked as old as he did. But she had become his companion, and their lives had become intermeshed. This former entertainer had succeeded in staying married to him, a feat no lady had accomplished before her. His wedded life was firmly anchored. At first there had been fights and loud quarrels, but she had always shown how much she cherished their marriage. In the course of time she had become a mother. When her son had died, leaving her with only Karima, that loss had made her redouble her efforts to safeguard her married life, especially once her beauty began to fade and she was threatened by premature aging. Time had taught her how attractive patience and conciliation are and how to perfect the role of a lady in every sense of the word. She went to such extremes in this regard that she dressed very simply when she went out. Her efforts eventually won a certain degree of respect for her on Palace Walk and Sugar Street. She had the good judgment to treat her stepson Ridwan exactly like Karima, showing both of them great tenderness and affection, even though she did not feel any love for the boy, especially after she lost the only son she bore Yasin. No longer a beauty, she was still careful to wear attractive clothes and to be clean and neat.
Yasin smiled as he watched her fix her hair in front of the mirror. Although she occasionally annoyed him to the point of anger, he sensed that she had truly become a precious part of his life, someone he could never do without.
Since she was shivering, she got a shawl, complaining, "It's so cold! Do yourself a favor and don't spend your evenings out during the winter."
He answered sarcastically, "As you know, alcohol changes the season. Why tire yourself by waking up?"
She fumed, "What you say is as tiresome as what you do."
In his nightshirt he looked like a blimp. Rubbing his hand over his belly, he gazed at the woman with satisfaction. His black eyes sparkled. Then he laughed suddenly and said, "If you could have seen me exchanging greetings with the officers…. The ones on the late patrol have become my dear friends."
Sighing, she muttered, "I'm overjoyed."
123
The sight of Yasin's son, Ridwan, striding through al-Ghuriya at a deliberate pace was really enough to turn heads. Seventeen years old, he had attractive dark eyes and a medium build with a slight tendency to be stocky. His attire was so dapper it attracted attention. His rosy complexion was attributable to his mother's family, the Iffats. He had a radiant charm, and his gestures betrayed the conceit of a person whose good looks were no secret to him. When he passed by Sugar Street, he turned his face with its faint smile in that direction, as his aunt Khadija and her sons, Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad, came to mind. The thought of them evoked little reaction save apathy. He had never felt tempted even once to take either of his cousins as a friend in the true meaning of the word. Soon he had passed through Bab al-Mutawalli, the ancient city gate. Then turning into al-Darb al-Ahmar, he went down it until he reached an old house, where he knocked on the door and waited.
The door opened to reveal the face of Hilmi Izzat, who was a childhood friend, a colleague in Law School, and a rival in good looks. Hilmi beamed at the sight of him. They embraced and exchanged a kiss, as they always did when they met. On their way up the stairs, Hilmi commended his friend's tie and the way it matched his shirt and socks. They were both known for their elegance and good taste, and their interest in clothing and fashion was matched by their enthusiasm for politics and studying law. Their destination was a large room with a high ceiling. The presence of a bed and a desk in it indicated that it served for both sleeping and studying. Indeed the two young men frequently stayed up late studying there and then stretched out to sleep side by side in the great bed with its black posts and mosquito netting. It was nothing new for Ridwan to spend a night away from home. Since childhood, he had accepted invitations to pass days at a time in various different homes, like those of his grandfather Muhammad Iffat in al-Gamaliya or of his mother, Zaynab whose only child he remained, even though she had long since married Muhammad Hasan — in al-Munira. Because of this, his father's natural tendency to be nonchalant, and the secret relief his stepmother, Zanuba, took in anything that kept him away from home even temporarily, Ridwan encountered no opposition to his desire to stay overnight with his friend when they were studying for an examination. Eventually the practice became so common that no one paid any attention to it.
Hilmi Izzat had been raised in a similar atmosphere of indifference. His father, a police officer in charge of a station, had died ten years before. Hilmi's six sisters had married, and he lived alone with his aged mother. She had difficulty controlling him, and he sooti came to dominate the entire household. The widow lived on her husband's small pension and the rent from the first floor of her ancient house. The family had not had an easy life since the father's death, but Hilmi had been able to continue his studies and to enroll in Law School. All that time he had managed to keep up appearances. For Hilmi there was no pleasure equal to that of seeing his friend, and no period of work or relaxation was truly enjoyable unless Ridwan was present. Then Hilmi would feel a burst of energetic enthusiasm.
Hilmi invited Ridwan to have a seat on the sofa next to the door of the latticed balcony and, sitting down beside him, began to think of a topic of conversation. There were so many subjects to choose from…. But the despondent look in Ridwan's eyes cooled Hilmi's fervor. He gazed at Ridwan questioningly. Guessing what was wrong, he muttered, "You've been to visit your mother….1 bet you've just been there."
Ridwan realized that his facial expression had given him away. With a vexed look in his eyes, he nodded his head, without speaking.
"How is she?" Hilmi asked.
"Great". Then he sighed and added, "But that man called Muhammad Hasan! Do you know what it means to have a step father? "
Hilmi said consolingly, "Many people have stepparents. There's nothing shameful about it. Besides, that happened a long time ago."
Ridwan cried out angrily, "No, no, no! He's always at home. The only time he leaves is to go to his job at the ministry. For once, I'd like to visit her when she's alone. He takes it upon himself to play the role of my father and adviser. Damn him. He never misses an opportunity to remind me that he's my father's boss in the records office and doesn't hesitate to criticize my father's conduct at work. But I don't let it pass in silence". He was quiet for a minute while he got control of his emotions. Then he continued: "My mother was a fool to agree to marry this man. Wouldn't it have been better for her to return to my father?"
Hilmi knew about Yasin's notorious behavior. With a smile he recited, "How many laments passion has brought me…."
Waving his hand to show his disagreement, Ridwan said, "So what! Women's taste is a frightening mystery. What's even more disastrous is that she seems happy with him."
"Don't dwell on things that upset you."
Ridwan answered sadly, "How amazing! A vast part of my life is miserable. I detest my mother's husband and dislike my father's wife. The atmosphere is charged with hatred. Like my mother, my father made a bad choice. But what can I do about it? My stepmother is nice to me, but I don't think she loves me. How vile this life is!"