The Mirage (30 page)

As I was seated, still clinging to Medhat’s arm, I whispered in his ear, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Buck up,” he whispered back. “Otherwise, your bride will seem less shy than you are!”

Hardly had the harrowing moment of reception passed when Gabr Bey Sayyid came up to introduce me to his coterie of specially invited guests. As I stood there, flustered as usual, I went to work shaking hands as my tongue repeated mechanically, “Nice to meet you.… Nice to meet you.” I sat down again without having memorized a single name. There then ensued a lengthy exchange that I couldn’t comprehend, still less take part in. Still my usual shy self, I grew more and more self-conscious, and everyone seemed to be winking at each other mockingly or laughing at me in their hearts. Time dragged on until I was invited to sign the wedding contract, an event which, much to my relief, was to take place in a room that was nearly empty. On the way there, however, there was an explosion of joyful ululations as if the guests were engaged in a fierce competition to see which of them could outdo the rest, and again I had the urge to disappear.

I returned to my seat and to my muteness and time continued to pass, though to me it was a time for nothing but silence, frenzied thoughts, and a wild desire to flee. Then we were invited to a meal that was being served on the roof in the open air. For someone like me, dinner would just be one more ordeal. Unlike conversation, however, it was at
least tolerable, since the guests would be too busy eating to do anything else, and that would give me some peace and quiet. After the meal we returned to our seats, my arm still locked in my brother’s, and then the singing began. The amateur vocalist and his band—who were amateurs as well—took their places at the front of the reception room. He belted out “Oh, How I Miss You!” in a reasonably pleasant voice that, in my opinion, was better than that of the singer at the vegetable market pub. Gabr Bey Sayyid brought the band a couple of bottles of whiskey, while others were served brimming glasses.

“Won’t you have a drink or two?” my brother whispered in my ear.

I gave him a look whose meaning he didn’t comprehend and said curtly, “Impossible.”

I said it as though I were shocked at the mere suggestion, then retreated into silent recollections. How I’d adored getting drunk! So wasn’t it amazing that I hadn’t tasted a drop of liquor since the day I’d mustered the courage to speak to my beloved? I’d abandoned it without the slightest difficulty as though it had never been, and I hadn’t been tempted to go back to it even once. The singing and conversation continued and the laughter grew louder. If it hadn’t been for my awareness of the critical moment that awaited me, I might have taken to the atmosphere and gotten over my discomfort and tense nerves. As it was, however, I couldn’t stop wondering: When will I receive my bride? Where? And will it take place out of other people’s sight?

More time passed, then suddenly I was roused from my reverie by Gabr Bey Sayyid, who was standing in front of me and placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Let’s go, Kamil,” he said in a low voice. “The time has come!”

Looking up at him apprehensively, I murmured, “Is it time to go?”

“Not yet!” he said with a laugh, “But after a simple procession.”

“No! No!” I cried in horror as a shudder went through my body. “We’d agreed that there wouldn’t be any procession!”

“It isn’t what you think,” he said. “In the big parlor we’ve set up seats of honor on a dais for the bride and groom, so you come in with your bride and the two of you sit down on it. After all, everybody wants to see the newlyweds. And what fault is that of mine?”

His words were transformed in my imagination into fearsome images. I saw myself walking out past everyone to the bride’s room, then bringing her back with guests surrounding us on all sides with applause and cheers. Then I saw us sitting there at the mercy of everyone’s stares! O Lord! I thought. I’m sure to faint!

“But this is a procession!” I said heatedly. “And I can’t do it! Please don’t make me do it, sir! I can’t.”

“It’s easier than you think. And what has to be done, has to be done. Otherwise, what will the guests say?”

Panicking, I cried, “Let them say whatever they like. I can’t. I’ll wait for the bride on the landing, then she and I will go home.”

The man laughed in spite of himself. Then, raising his voice so that he could be heard over the singer, he shouted, “The landing! What an odd groom you are!”

Medhat, who’d been listening to us without saying anything, squeezed my arm and said firmly, “What kind of
childish thinking is this? Don’t you want to come out with your bride? Aren’t you capable of making your way down an aisle in front of a selected group of respectable ladies? Do you want Gabr Bey to have to apologize to everyone on your behalf that you’re too shy to appear in front of the female guests? What a scandal!”

Gabr Bey was heartened by what my brother had said. As for me, I stared at my brother in disbelief. I’d never imagined that the fatal stab would come from the very person I’d been counting on! My brother chuckled at my panic and bewilderment and was about to speak when I interrupted him, grieved and desperate, saying, “How can you push me to do something I’m not capable of? Do you want to make me a laughingstock in front of the women here?”

Moved by my desolate, pitiful tone of voice, Gabr Bey said gently, “All the ladies who’ve been invited are members of the family. You met them on the day of the engagement. And you’ll see that I’m telling you the truth.”

Still terror-stricken, I said imploringly, “I beg you in God’s name to have mercy on me!”

As if he could see that words would get them nowhere, my brother addressed himself to Gabr Bey, saying, “We might agree on some sort of compromise. The bride can come up to the dais escorted by her girlfriends, then I’ll escort my brother to her and the two of them can sit there for a while surrounded by family before they leave.”

Gabr Bey gestured to me not to raise any further objections, then left.

As for me, I turned to my brother in a fury and said, “What a traitor you are! How can you call this a compromise when all it is is a way of torturing me?”

With a resounding laugh that reminded me of our father,
he replied, “You’d disgrace an entire country! Now quit your arguing and we’ll go together. As for me, I’d be happy to be escorted down an aisle of pretty ladies any day!”

He fell silent for a moment, then thumped me on the shoulder and said, “If you’ve got cold feet, then run away and give up the bride!”

And with that, I resigned myself to reality, feeling hopeless, weary and dismayed. As the band played “Here Comes the Bride,” my heart throbbed with dread, and I could feel the danger drawing near. And as I heard the ululations coming from the parlor, my strength gave out on me.

I turned to Medhat, saying, “Isn’t there any way out of this?”

Pulling me by the arm, he rose to his feet as he replied, “There’s one way, and it’s the way that leads to the dais in the other room. I swear, you’re like a little boy being dragged in to be circumcised!”

He started walking. Meanwhile, my feet moved while my heart sank.

As we came through the door, he whispered to me, “Now look up. Stare into those pretty ladies’ faces until they look down in embarrassment!”

However, I advanced slowly, my head lowered the entire time. I was certain that my appearance would make anybody want to laugh. I heard a woman’s voice asking, “Which one is the groom?” “The tall one!” another voice replied. The place was packed, and I saw innumerable legs and white shoes along either side of the path that had been cleared for us.

Then I heard my brother whisper in my ear, “We’ve arrived at the dais. Get up there and greet your bride, then sit down.”

After ascending a couple of steps, I lifted my eyes cautiously and fearfully and saw my beloved sitting beneath an arbor of flowers. She was decked out in a white bridal gown, and on her head there was a tiara of sweet-smelling jasmine blossoms from which silk ribbons cascaded down her back. She herself was splendor and light, jasmine and roses. When she saw me, she lowered her gaze and a faint smile appeared on her lips. By now I was just a step away from her, and I remembered my brother saying, “Greet your bride and sit down.” But how was I supposed to greet her? By shaking her hand? Or by saying, “Good evening”? I hesitated, confused, and in her gentle, demure smile I could see that she was, in fact, awaiting my greeting. Then I remembered anew what I’d forgotten about for a few short moments: I became aware once again of the eyes that were staring at me and nearly burning a hole in my back. And with that I lost my composure and sat down on the empty seat without saying a word or moving my hand.

I’d made a mistake, of that there was no doubt. What would the women say? What would my beloved think? Ugh, what a situation! If I’d known earlier what I knew then, I would never have even thought of getting married. The music was playing, the ululations were ringing out, and the air was redolent with sweet perfumes. To die would be easier than to marry! Was I doomed forever to be the victim of platforms and podiums? The lecture podium at the Faculty of Law had put an end to my future, and this evening, the bridal dais was about to put an end to my life!

And, I wondered, what will the women say about the fact that I kept my eyes glued to the floor the entire time?

Then suddenly I thought of my mother. I wondered where she was sitting, and knew she must see me at that
moment. The thought of it made me several times more bashful than before, and I felt like someone who’s been caught doing something wrong. Responding to an irresistible urge to see where she was, I looked up cautiously, only to find that she was closer than I’d imagined her to be. She was sitting in the first row, directly in front of the dais. Our eyes met and we exchanged a faint smile. Then my imagination carried me back to an image from the distant past. I saw myself standing behind the fence at the primary school as she stood on the sidewalk on the other side of the fence sending me a look of encouragement and farewell. The memory caused an ache in my heart.

I sighed with relief when Madame Nazli came up to us and said with a smile, “And now, home with the two of you. Adieu!”

Then she said to me in a whisper, “The servant woman, Sabah, will be coming with her young mistress because she can’t bear to part with her. So be good to her, and you’ll find her to be the best of cooks.”

Then she stepped aside with tears in her eyes. We rose from our places, I took my bride by the hand and we made our way for the door at a measured pace as well-wishers bade us farewell with ululations and song. A friend of Gabr Bey’s had placed his car at our disposal for the evening, so we disappeared inside the vehicle and it whisked us away.

Turning toward her with a sigh as though I were seeing her for the first time, I said contentedly, “What an ordeal that was!”

“And what a bashful guy you are! Was it really that bad?”

I laughed to conceal my embarrassment, then immersed myself in a gladness that filled heart, eye, and spirit.

I
closed the bedroom door with a trembling hand. This wing of the flat was empty and silent. It was separated from the other, where my mother’s room and the sitting room were located, by two small parlors that opened onto each other. Our room was square, with the bed located in the center. Directly to the right of the entrance there was a long seat covered with pink upholstery, and on the opposite wall were the dressing table and the clothes rack. Rabab went over to the other side of the room and sat down at the dressing table, whose mirrors formed a half-circle around her, thereby framing her with reflected images of herself. She began removing her crown of jasmine blossoms, while I stood in the middle of the room with my elbow resting on the bed’s wooden frame. As I stood there I looked back and forth between her lissome back and her reflections, every one of which made claim to be prettier than all the rest. This room was my world, and with it I would be content. This girl was my share of the
universe, and with her I would be content. She was my love, my happiness, and my hope, and from this day forth I would ask the world for nothing more.

My beloved finished removing her crown and began combing out her chestnut locks with the deliberateness of someone who wants to gain as much time as she possibly can. Sooner or later, however, the waiting period was bound to come to an end. And what was to be done then?

Lord! My heart was wakeful and eager, my knees were trembling, and I wondered timorously what the next step would be. I realized, despite my agitation, that we ought to change our clothes. However, I didn’t know how this was supposed to happen when we were both in the same room with the door closed! She seemed to be waiting for me to do or say something. She’d finished arranging her hair, though she was pretending the opposite, and there was a look of uncertainty and embarrassment on her face. I knew some things, this was true. However, there were details that I’d missed, and I was at a loss for both what to do and the determination to do it. If only I’d asked my brother Medhat for information and advice; if only I had friends I could have consulted concerning such matters. Curses on the shyness that stood as a barrier between me and others, including even my own brother! Damn it! I thought. Why won’t it leave me even now that we’re alone together?

I’d had it with my muteness and inaction, and I was furious with myself. I
am
going to speak, I said to myself, even if it happens to be the weakest expression of faith.

So in a strange sounding voice that I hardly recognized I said, “How beautiful you are.…”

It was the first flirtatious word I’d ever uttered in my life. Aiming her gaze at my reflection in the mirror, she smiled,
then looked down and folded her arms over her chest. It wouldn’t do any longer to pretend she was still doing her hair, so she sat there with her arms crossed as though she were waiting. Feeling more awkward than ever, I bit my lip angrily. The matter of changing our clothes seemed like the biggest problem in the world. So were we going to remain in this painful state till morning? Why didn’t I just go over to her and press her to my bosom until the problem had solved itself? But how was I supposed to take this momentous step? I could imagine it, and I could talk to myself about it. As for actually doing it, that was an impossibility. My heart was filled with anguish and rage, and I felt increasingly powerless and humiliated.