Rana left him sitting there and went straight to the kitchen to find her mother and Jack.
“That man’s randy. I can’t stand him. How can you let him tell me what I ought to do and what not? I don’t want to meet a man looking out for a wife, and I’ll tell Papa so this evening.”
“Silly cow! How about being civil to a guest?” said her brother angrily, making haste to take his acquaintance a coffee by way of mollifying him.
There was a scene that evening, but this time her father was clearly on her side. If Jack ever got to be half as good at school as Rana, he said, then he would allow him to be the judge of whether or not girls should study. The fact was, he added, that he had to pay good money for special coaching for her brother, and he still wasn’t getting anywhere at school.
When Rana remembered all this she felt afraid. Suppose her father weakened when the next man came along? And what would Farid do if he was urged to marry another woman?
“Let me hold your hand,” she said again, in a voice that shook, “and promise me never, whatever happens, to doubt my love for a single second.”
“I promise,” replied Farid, with no idea why Rana’s voice was suddenly faltering. He was sure that no power on earth could part them, and held her hand tightly as if to crush her fears. Then he kissed Rana, and only now did he taste her tears.
“Crying?”
“Whenever I want our love to give you the strength for something, you give me back more than I could ever have dreamed of. I’m crying for happiness, that’s all.”
151. Laila
It was unbearably hot. Farid had slept badly that night and didn’t want anything to eat at lunch-time. Claire went back to the bedroom for her siesta. He lay down too, but he couldn’t sleep.
He picked up the weekly magazine that his parents always read: revelations of Stalin’s crimes in Russia … Archbishop Makarios, leader of the independence movement in Cyprus, arrested for arms smuggling and deported to the Seychelles … world heavyweight champion Rocky Marciano retires unbeaten … American actress Grace Kelly marries Prince Rainier of Monaco … Italian actress Sophia Loren praised for her role in the film Woman of the River. Farid was startled by the Italian star’s resemblance to Laila.
“Laila,” he whispered. He badly wanted to see her, but he had to wait for Claire to wake up before he could find out his cousin’s new address. The siesta hour had never seemed as long as it did today. When the turtledoves began cooing again, he breathed a sigh of relief and looked at the time. It was just after three.
Two hours later he was in the bus. Just before the eastern gate, he suddenly saw Matta pulling his heavily laden handcart along. It was a large one with two heavy wheels, and a leather strap at the front that Matta had put over his shoulder. Packages, sacks, canisters and several pots and pans were fastened to its large load area with cords.
The bus driver was thoughtful enough to slow down until the street widened and there was room for Matta to let the bus go by. He waved cheerfully to the driver and stopped for a moment’s rest.
When Farid knocked on Laila’s door, she opened it and froze in amazement. “Farid,” she whispered. “Wherever have you come from?” She was wearing a sleeveless beige house-dress, and a red dress on which she was probably working at the moment was flung over her arm. Her face was prettier than Sophia Loren’s, and her slender figure surprised Farid. He remembered her as larger.
“Come in,” said Laila, hugging him. “My God, how you’ve grown! I’ll soon need a ladder to kiss you.” She closed the door and stood still for a moment in the shady entrance, watching Farid, who had gone ahead and was now waiting for her in the inner courtyard of the little house.
The house was in a side street behind the Al-Amir cinema. The dressmaker’s workshop was on the first floor, and two other women were at work there, one making a long dress, the other ironing a white blouse.
“I have just too many orders at the moment,” groaned Laila, taking Farid into a small reception area and from there into the tiny dining room cum kitchen.
Her husband’s spacious, well-lit music room was on the second floor. Several violins stood in a glass-fronted cupboard, and old stringed instruments from every continent in the world hung on the walls, making the place look like a museum. Otherwise the room was empty.
From the music room you could see across the courtyard and into the bedroom, which was in total chaos. The large room, with a window looking out on the main road, contained a broad bed, a couch, and a massive wardrobe. The bed was unmade, and dirty laundry lay about everywhere. No one had cleaned the big bathroom for ages. On the third floor there was a guest room with a bathroom, a lumber room, and a picturesque terrace with a table and chairs and a jasmine trained to grow over it.
Farid was surprised to find that the question of why Laila had never told him about her wedding suddenly seemed entirely unimportant. He felt oddly happy just to be near her, and that happiness had wiped all the resentment away from his heart, like a sponge.
“Tell me about those birds of ill omen at the monastery. You can say anything here without being censored!” she said.
He described his life in the monastery at length, she kept asking for details, and he never even noticed her employees leaving, or dusk falling outside. Laila filled his world with curiosity and laughter.
“Ah, so who do we have here? Let me guess. You must be my wife’s beloved Farid.” It was Simon, Laila’s husband. Farid hadn’t heard anyone coming.
“Goodness, how did you get in?” asked Laila, herself surprised.
“Like most people,” said Simon, smiling. He put his violin down on a corner table and went towards Farid. “Through the front door.” He offered his hand.
“I imagined you much more handsome, from your cousin’s paeans of praise,” he said, looking Farid up and down critically. “The nose could be a little smaller, the mouth and eyes a little larger. And more flesh on your bones wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he added.
“My husband,” Laila interrupted, turning to Farid to console him, “ought to have been a butcher. He likes fat meat, but don’t let him bother you, you’re the most handsome man in all Damascus.”
“So what do you know about handsome men?” asked Simon. Farid felt that the man had something cold about him, and shook the proffered hand rather more heartily than he really wished to.
“And for you Laila drops everything, even her work and my supper, am I right?”
“I’d do anything for Farid, but there’s plenty of food in the fridge.”
Soon the three of them were eating and talking together. Simon didn’t like monasteries or the Church. He had spent three years in a boarding school as a child, and called it a madhouse.
After supper he changed, took his violin, and left the house to play in a concert.
“What’s he like to you?” asked Farid.
“Delightful,” said Laila. “Once you’re used to his sarcasm he’s wonderful.”
Farid felt distrustful of Simon, although he didn’t know why. When he left, Laila barred his way. “Well? Are you going without a hug? Without a goodbye kiss, my lord Cardinal?”
“By no means, my lady Abbess,” he replied, grinning. “If my father heard us, he’d disinherit me.” And he kissed Laila on the cheek.