“I have no rights at all!” he said, surprised.
“Of course not,” she answered with a calm that showed strength.
Does she really mean what she says? he wondered. How beautiful she looks! When she stands on this roof it lifts her above the whole world, and turns the horizon into a mere frame for her own beautiful image. Nothing becomes her more than this frame, so serene, pure, and remote. Nefisa says her disposition is unattractive. It’s true she doesn’t have a sweet temper. But that doesn’t detract from her beauty. I love her with both my heart and my mind. Perhaps I am overpowered by my senses. Does she really mean that I have no rights? How strange. I thought my engagement to her would entitle me to so many rights!
“Sometimes it seems to me that you are heartless,” he said with astonishment.
Her face flushed, and she lowered her eyes shyly. Then, raising them again, she challenged him, “What should I do to prove to you that I have a heart?”
“Declare that you love me,” he said enthusiastically, “and—”
“And?”
“Let’s exchange a kiss.”
“Then I really don’t have a heart,” she said sharply.
“I wonder! Don’t you love me, Bahia?”
Confused and annoyed, she took refuge in silence. “If not, why did I agree to the proposal?” she finally said with a sigh.
His burning chest was relieved. “I want to hear it with my own ears,” he cried hopefully.
“Don’t ask me to do what I cannot.”
Half desperate, he sighed in his turn. “If you can’t bring yourself to speak of it, a kiss won’t bother you.”
“How horrible!”
“How rosy and honey-sweet. Without this kiss, I shall die in misery.”
“Then may God have mercy on your soul.”
“You can’t even bear a kiss? It will be no trouble to you. Stay where you are. Then I’ll take a step toward you and put my lips on yours. It will animate my soul!”
“Or cause our final separation!”
“Bahia!”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
“You don’t mean what you say.”
“I mean every word of it.”
“But it’s a kiss, not a crime!”
“It’s a crime to me.”
“I’ve never heard such a thing!”
She pondered a little. “But I’ve heard it frequently,” she said.
“Where?”
She pondered again. Clearly hesitating, she proceeded to speak with candor and naiveté. “Don’t you read what Al Sabah magazine publishes about girls who are deserted because of their recklessness? Don’t you listen to the wireless?”
His mouth fell open. “Who says that a kiss is recklessness? Haven’t you read what Al Manfaluti, though he was a turban-headed sheikh, said about a kiss?! You forbid what pure love licenses. Al Sabah, the wireless! What nonsense!” he shouted, laughing.
She watched him warily and suspiciously. “Don’t laugh at me. It’s true. My mother told me once that any girl who imitates lovers in films is a hopeless prostitute.”
That bitch, that daughter of a bitch, he fumed, silently cursing her mother. Then it was she who told you this. That short, cunning woman. She is turning the girl against me and spoiling our life. The anger almost suffocated him. What use is this engagement for which I was bitterly scolded?! No use at all! My fiancée is hopelessly obstinate, and all because of this woman, this daughter of a bitch, this contemptible carrier of dry sticks!
“Are you really so puritanical?” he asked her in desperation.
“Of course.”
“Then your love is only a name.”
“Let it be so.”
Casting a long scrutinizing look at her, he saw that she was as obstinate and unyielding as ever. His eyes roved up and down her delicate neck, imagining how it looked beneath her dress. He went further, and imagined her naked shoulders and blossoming bosom. Overcome by his heated, uncontrollable passion, he leapt upon her, stretching his mouth toward her lips. Surprised by his sudden assault, she retreated in terror, stopping him with the palms of her hands.
“Hassanein, stop it!” she shouted breathlessly.
As he saw the burning anger in her eyes, his passion subsided, and he withdrew in shame and confusion.
“Be careful. I might change my opinion of you,” she said, and added, “I think it is time for you to leave.”
“All right, on condition that you won’t be angry,” he murmured, hiding his confusion with a short laugh.
She remained silent for a while.
“And also on condition that you don’t do that again,” she said gently.
He turned away in heavy steps, obviously desperate and confused. Her heart softened and, without thinking, she said to him, “My happiness lies in preserving for you—”
Catching the word before it slipped from her tongue, she bit her lips and fell silent.
TWENTY-NINE
The arrival of the great feast day of the year, the Bairam celebrating God’s intervention in the sacrifice of Abraham’s son, focused the family’s thoughts and sentiments on their shared memories. On the eve of the feast day, the members of the family, Hassan included, assembled in the hall. A burning desire to celebrate the feast surged up in their breasts as nostalgic recollections of former feasts passed unspoken through their minds. On such an eve in the past, the sheep bought for the occasion was tied to the balcony of their former flat, craning its neck between the bars and bleating, thus announcing to the alley the family’s celebration of the feast. Hussein and Hassanein never left the sheep, giving it fodder to eat and water to drink, playing with its horns, or excitedly dreaming of the delights of the forthcoming day.
After slaughtering the sheep in the morning, the family hurried to roast and devour it. Samira busily distributed alms to poor folk such as the street sweeper and the baker’s apprentice, while her husband, after eating some of the roast meat on the table, retired happily to his room to take up his lute and play on its strings. In addition, they all received presents of money and new clothes. On the feast day, they went out for a walk in the open air in the morning and to a cinema in the evening. During the interval between the morning outing and the evening film, they enjoyed sweetmeats, games, and fireworks.
Today, however, the family assembly was fatherless, and given their circumstances, they saw no prospect of celebrating the feast. Nor were they delighted by its arrival. With anxious and solicitous eyes, they sneaked furtive glances at their mother, still dressed all in black. No. There was no sign of the feast, no prospect of celebrating it. Is it possible, Hassanein thought, that the feast day will pass like any ordinary day?! There will be no feast. I know it. It is finished. Finished.
Hassan was the only member of the family who still had hope. Perhaps his frequent absence from home estranged him somewhat from the kind of life his family was leading. Furthermore, like the rest of his brothers, he thought that his mother was omnipotent. In his laziness and dissipation, he found consolation in telling himself that his family had the pension and Nefisa’s earnings. It was his habit, on returning home, to approach Nefisa alone and ask her, “How are things going with you?” Her answer was always one of bitter complaint; but her heart could never ignore him when he stretched out his hand to ask for a few piasters. He was hopeful in spite of his grim circumstances. He hoped for a large share of meat that would compensate him for his long days of deprivation. Annoyed with the prevailing gloomy silence, Hassan leaned toward Nefisa and asked her in a whisper, “What have you prepared for the feast?”