The Mirage (43 page)

As the motor revved in preparation for the car’s departure, I said imploringly, “It’s daytime, so please avoid the busy streets.”

“Are you afraid someone might see you?”

“Yes,” I said in an embarrassed tone.

“Ah! I forgot you were married! Pardon me, Mr. Husband, but we’re going to Heliopolis!”

And the car took off at its usual break-neck speed.

On the way she asked me, “What did you do with your wife yesterday?”

I furrowed my brow involuntarily and made no reply.

“Do you hate to mention her that much?”

Then, disregarding my silence and discomfort, she asked, “Don’t you sleep in the same bed?”

I tried to force a laugh, but I couldn’t, and I felt a resentment that ruined my tranquil mood.

“How I’d love to see her!” she said with a raucous laugh.

Wanting to cheer me up in her own way, she caressed my lips with her finger and, like a mother speaking playfully to her little boy, said, “My little chickadee!”

The car pulled up in front of a tea shop. We sat there chatting happily away about whatever came to mind, and she told me she’d chosen the seamstress’s house as the place for our lovers’ trysts. As we left the place at noon, she wanted to pay the bill, but I wouldn’t let her, and we parted after reaffirming the evening’s meeting time. We met repeatedly, and when the vacation ended two days later, we continued our meetings in the evenings. The experience of success convinced me that love is health and well-being. My habit of spending the evenings out was a secret to no one, and although Rabab preferred, as she said, for me to spend my evenings with her on her endless visits, she didn’t press me about it. Hence, we each lived our lives in the way we pleased. This was no secret to my mother, either. Once she said to me, “I’ve noticed, son, that you haven’t been yourself lately. I’ve been afraid that if I said anything you’d be angry. In any case, if you enjoy spending the evenings out, spend the evenings out. All men are like that!”

I
spent a month or more in a state of unmitigated bliss. Peace took the place of suspicion and doubt, and my relationship with Rabab was restored to one of goodwill and pure affection. At the same time, I surrendered myself to Inayat in tumultuous passion and triumphant joy. She was a woman of means, and not once did we go to our beloved nest in the seamstress’s house but that she presented her with a gift of a riyal, and sometimes half a pound. As for me, my sense of dignity required that I, too, be generous toward her, albeit within my more limited means. Without realizing it, she made it possible for me to resume drinking on a regular basis, since the seamstress would keep bottles of whisky and soda in constant supply for us. In fact, she nearly got me into the habit of smoking. In addition, she had certain virtues, and what virtues they were! She was possessed of perfect femininity and vitality, as a result of which she was a source of pleasure to lovers despite her middle age and her lovable homeliness. At the same time,
however, she possessed such virtues alongside an alarming degree of wantonness and audacity. For her, loving a man was everything, and for its sake she deemed anything and everything permissible. She may not have been truly the type that devotes herself unstintingly to her man. Rather, she may simply have been a woman driven by anxiety and despair. In other words, she may have been driven by an awareness of the fact that the brightness of her youth was fading, as a result of which she couldn’t bear to let a day go by without a taste of love. The most peculiar thing about my passion for her was that the things about her that enchanted me were the very things that might normally be looked upon as shortcomings—her maturity, her homeliness, and her audacity. She filled me with boundless confidence, and when I was with her, I worried about nothing. If it hadn’t been for the angst that would come over me as a result of the frightening divorce I experienced between body and spirit, I would have enjoyed life in unruffled tranquility. Yet even with such perturbation, it was a happy life.

Then one afternoon, right after I’d finished lunch, I went in to spend some time with my mother over a cup of coffee as was my custom every day. As soon as I walked into the room, I noticed her limpid eyes searching my face anxiously as though there were something on her mind. Looking intently into her face, which looked drawn and languid, I realized immediately that she wanted to say something.

I felt worried, but I said with a smile, “What is it, Mama? Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A look of hesitancy flashed in her eyes for a few moments.

Then she said, “Yesterday I heard some things that shocked me. Could you tell me more about what’s going on between Rabab and her mother?”

This was the last thing I’d expected to hear. My eyes clouded over with dark memories and my fluttering heart wondered: Has the woman gone back to her nagging? Rabab had told me nothing about her mother’s visit to her the day before, contenting herself with conveying her mother’s greetings to me.

In a calm voice—or, at least, in a voice that I made appear to be calm—I replied, “Everything’s just fine between them.”

Shaking her head skeptically, my mother said, “There may be things you’re missing. I wasn’t able to receive Madame Nazli yesterday because I hadn’t been feeling well, so when Sabah came to tell me she’d arrived, I pretended to be asleep. The visit went on for quite a long time. At one point, I slipped out of the room to go to the bathroom. On my way back, I came past the sitting room door. When I did, I was shocked to hear the woman say, ‘This is intolerable!’ Then Rabab came back at her angrily, saying, ‘Don’t meddle in my affairs!’ As for me, all I could do was come back to my room.”

My forehead burning with humiliation, I felt furious and unspeakably bitter toward my meddlesome mother-in-law.

Intruding on my thoughts, my mother asked, “Don’t you know anything about it?”

“Their disagreements are none of our business,” I said firmly.

When I returned later to our room, I found Rabab reclining on the long seat. When she saw me, she drew her legs toward the back of the seat to make room for me, and I sat down broodingly. How could she have kept such a thing from me? Was she afraid of upsetting me?

As if she hadn’t noticed my altered state of mind, she
began talking about how it was Friday and suggested that we go to the cinema together.

I let her finish what she had to say. Then I asked, “How’s your mother?” to which she replied that her mother was fine.

Then I looked her straight in the eye and asked her, “Did yesterday’s visit go well?”

“What do you mean?” she asked with a disconcerted look in her eyes.

“Rabab,” I said gloomily, “Don’t hide anything from me. Has your mother started harping on that old theme again?”

Her face clouded over and she made no reply.

“What would you know about it?” she retorted sharply.

“I want to know everything!”

So I told her what my mother had told me.

After listening to me attentively, she exploded, “Your mother! Your mother! Always your mother!”

Feeling the same sting that I always did whenever I was reminded of their mutual dislike, I said, “There’s no reason to get angry. She heard what she did by chance, and she passed it on to me with good intentions as far as I can see. I beg you, don’t get angry. Just tell me: Has your mother gone back to that old subject?”

Drawing her legs out from behind me and planting them on the floor, she looked down gloomily and angrily.

“The thing I hadn’t wanted to upset you with was that she suggested that I go to a doctor to see why I haven’t gotten pregnant. I rejected her suggestion, of course, and we got into an argument!”

We carried on with the odious conversation for quite some time until she asked me not to say anything more,
and to lie down and get some rest after my day at work. Complying with her wishes, I went and lay down on the bed, grieved and melancholy. It took me quite some time to doze off, and I don’t know how long I slept. However, I woke to the sound of something that caused slumber to flee from my eyes. I opened my eyes feeling disturbed, and my ears were bombarded by a ruckus coming from the living room. As I listened attentively, it soon became apparent that Rabab and my mother were exchanging the harshest of words in a noisy shouting match. Alarmed, I jumped out of bed, then rushed into the living room.

I found Rabab with sparks flying from her eyes as she screamed, “This sort of spying doesn’t become a respectable lady!”

When my mother saw me, she lowered her eyes as she said, “This impertinence is more than I can take!”

“Rabab!” I cried.

However, she avoided me and stormed back into our room in a rage. As for my mother, she turned around and proceeded to her room with heavy steps. As I came toward her in a pained silence, I saw her take hold of the doorknob, then stand there without turning it as though she’d changed her mind about going in. Then she placed her hand on her forehead and seemed to gradually slump over. I rushed over to her, and no sooner had I touched her than she fell into my arms. Terrified, I called to her, but she didn’t respond, her head and arms drooping lifelessly. I summoned Sabah with a shout and she came running, then together we carried her to the bed and lay her down. I brought a bottle of cologne and sprinkled some of it on her face and neck, then used it to massage her limbs. Hysterical by now, I began calling to her over and over in a hoarse,
trembling voice. She remained unconscious for several minutes that dragged by like hours. Then she opened her eyelids to reveal lusterless eyes.

“Mama!” I cried with a gulp.

She focused her gaze on me, then pointed to her heart without uttering a word. I left the flat and took off for the grocery on the first floor of our building, where I called her doctor and asked him to come. Then I went back up to the flat and sat beside her feeling terrified and grieved. I didn’t take my eyes off her for a moment, and eventually her lackluster gaze drew out the tears that had been trapped inside me. I felt like the most miserable person on earth, and my soul was filled with bitterness and despair.

Then the doctor came and examined her. He said she’d had a heart attack and would require extended bed rest and intensive care, and as he normally did, he prescribed some medicine.

I told him she’d fainted after an argument with the servant.

In reply he said, “The argument was a secondary cause, but the underlying condition has been there for a long time.”

That night was a dismal one. Rabab, feeling responsible for what had happened, disappeared into our room and cried her heart out. As for me, all I could do was try to console her.

Patting her on the shoulder, I said, “You’ve cried enough now. This was God’s will, and may He cause everything to work out for the best.”

I
t wasn’t long before the house was filled with visitors. Rabab’s family and a group of her relatives came to see us, as did my sister Radiya and her family. Rabab also came to see the patient, kissing her hand and tearfully asking her forgiveness. I even hoped that, through this incident, we could start a new life free of rancor and hearts in conflict.

Then, taking advantage of a few moments when no strangers were in the room, Radiya said to me, “I’d like to ask your permission to take Mama home with me until she gets her strength back.”

“That’s impossible!” I said, alarmed at the suggestion.

Smiling at me sympathetically, she went on, saying, “Don’t you see that she needs constant care? Who will care for her here? You’re busy with your work and so is your wife, and Sabah is responsible for taking care of the house. So who will you assign the job of taking care of our mother?”

However, her suggestion remained totally unacceptable to me, and I resisted all her compelling arguments.

With an insistence that came from the depths of my heart, I said, “She won’t have to stay in bed for long, God willing. According to the doctor, she’ll only need someone to be constantly at her side for the first week, and I’ll be sure to find a servant who can devote herself full-time to caring for her.”

Radiya tried valiantly to persuade me of her suggestion, but to no avail, and the discussion ended with her deciding to stay in our house until I was able to find a servant. On the third day after my mother’s heart attack, my brother Medhat—whom I’d informed of her illness by special delivery letter—arrived with his wife. During the first days after her attack, she was very ill indeed. She didn’t move a muscle and she would hardly utter a word. When she opened her weary eyes, they were languid and dull. She would look around at us in silent resignation, and I felt as though my heart was breaking. We didn’t leave her side, and if she revived slightly, she would look back and forth among us with a smile on her parched lips, or spread out her hands and look heavenward, murmuring a prayer of supplication in a low, feeble voice. However, she didn’t remain in this near-comatose state for long, and by the end of the first week she’d begun to improve slightly. She realized clearly that all her children were gathered around her, and it gladdened her as though she were seeing them all together for the first time in her life. One day when we’d congregated around her bed, she sat there happily and looked at us for a long time without saying a word. Then, her face glowing with joy, she said in a feeble whisper, “How happy I am with you all! Praise and thanks be to God!”

Her eyes glistening with tenderness and emotion, she continued, “If illness brings us together this way, then I hope it never ends.”

Despite her illness, then, she seemed happy, and her happiness found its way into our hearts as well. Our family, which God had caused to be scattered in its earlier years, had been united. We were all under one roof now, eating and drinking together, and our hearts beat as one. What wondrous days those were! Our very beings breathed out sympathy, tenderness, and joy. However, the togetherness was short-lived. It wasn’t long before my mother’s health improved and the danger passed, although the doctor insisted that she not get out of bed for a month at the very least. Medhat bade us farewell and took his family back to Fayoum, promising to visit from time to time. Radiya also went back to her own house once I’d succeeded in finding a servant for my mother, with the agreement that she would visit our mother every day. And thus it was that the gathering broke up, we went our separate ways, and everything went back to the way it had been before. Hardly two weeks had passed before my mother began recovering her vitality and alertness and was able to sit up in bed with a pillow folded behind her back. It thrilled me no end to see Rabab fulfill her obligations toward her mother-in-law, and never will I forget the bitter pain and distress she suffered during the first days of my mother’s crisis.