Khan Al-Khalili

46

Next day he woke up feeling more relaxed and at ease with himself. When Ahmad came into his room to say good morning, Rushdi asked if he could borrow the Qur’an. Ahmad went to get it, and Rushdi received it gladly.

“Isn’t it wrong for me to touch it,” he asked Ahmad, “when I haven’t bathed for a month?”

“God will accept your excuse!” was Ahmad’s reply.

He started reading the sacred text; if he wasn’t afraid of coughing, he would have recited it in his sweet voice. He found the process calming and pleasurable; the very mention of God soothed his troubled heart and helped him forget about his longing for happier days in the past, his regret at what he had missed, and his remorse over the excesses he had committed. In fact, it even helped him forget the permanent pain which was now part of his life, the despair of any cure that was the result of the doctor’s visit the day before, and the fear of imminent death that now loomed before him. At last he could escape all the pain and fear he had experienced, relying instead on a spirit of resignation, patience, and trust in God Almighty. By submitting to God’s will and judgment he found a certain peace. He realized that the all-powerful nature of that very will contained within its folds both his past and future. That allowed him to submit quietly to its care just as he did to his mother’s arms when he had a coughing fit.

The days went by with Rushdi peaceful, calm, and patient; there were no outbursts, no anger, and no complaints. No longer did he raise objections to anything or make sarcastic remarks. On the rare occasions when the air-raid siren went off, no one in the family left the apartment; instead, everyone felt their way to Rushdi’s room in the dark and sat around his bed, hearts pounding and nerves on edge.

Time went quietly by, but then something important happened. It was late afternoon in mid-May. The father had gone to the al-Husayn Mosque to pray the evening prayer, and Ahmad was sitting in Rushdi’s room chatting to him along with his mother. All of a sudden the doorbell rang and the door opened. The patter of feet could be heard as two women entered the room: Sitt Tawhida and Nawal! Utter amazement showed on everyone’s face, and both brothers could feel their hearts pounding. Why had Nawal come now after so long? By doing so, she was running the risk of opening up again the wound that had at last begun to heal itself. Ahmad stood up and moved to one side, close to the window. Rushdi looked up, his eyes encircled by two bluish halos, his expression one of disbelief and even denial. But the shock soon left him, to be replaced by an intense anger that roiled his newly found calm.

Sitt Tawhida was very cheerful. She told him he looked much better. For her part, Nawal just stared at him, horrified by how thin and weak he was. She was completely overcome and could not think of anything to say. All that came out, and in the quietest of tones, was “How are you?” He did not feel like responding, but simply lifted his chin and spread his hands out, as though to say, “Just as you can see!” It was obvious to everyone that Rushdi had changed. He looked agitated and annoyed; deep inside he was feeling intense pain. With her usual aplomb Sitt Tawhida made every effort to lighten the atmosphere. She chatted away and kept laughing, doing her desperate best to get the others to laugh with her.

“I’ve some good news for you, Rushdi Effendi,” she said. “In a dream I saw you carrying heavy loads and crossing a long bridge. You reached the other side safe and sound. That means that, God willing, you’ll get better very soon!”

Rushdi’s response was not a little gruff. “The doctor’s already given a different interpretation of that dream,” he said. “He’s assured me that it’ll be at least a year before I can get out of bed.”

“Heaven forbid, Rushdi Effendi!” the women chided him. “You’re always so pessimistic.” She pointed at her daughter. “Here’s Nawal,” she went on. “She’s come to see you. She wouldn’t have stayed away if she weren’t so busy with her studies, and if she hadn’t gotten ill recently. She will be taking her exams at the end of this month.…”

“Exactly the same date that I’m due to lose my job,” Rushdi fired back.

Nawal turned pale as she realized how angry Rushdi was and why.

“That’s shocking,” Sitt Tawhida said, “absolutely shocking! Every calamity has to come to an end.…”

“Except this one,” said Rushdi clasping his chest. “The only end will be when my own life is ended.”

“My dear Rushdi,” she said, “your illness is not that severe. God willing, you’ll get better.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “What illness are you talking about?” Rushdi shot back, his hands still across his chest. “This one is called tuberculosis. Haven’t you heard of it? It’s tuberculosis; it’s eating away at my chest; it’s turning my saliva into blood. It is a very severe, dreadful disease. And it’s very contagious, so take care!”

The whole thing was too much for him and he was overcome. His mother begged him to stop talking, then begged her two guests to go into the lounge with her. She apologized for the fact that Rushdi’s illness was making him so intolerant. The two brothers were now left alone.

“It would have been better,” said Ahmad sadly, “if you hadn’t lost your temper.”

“My dear brother,” Rushdi replied emotionally, “she doesn’t deserve the slightest sympathy! Her lack of loyalty was disgusting. As you well know, that girl is to blame for the calamity that has brought me down. If it weren’t for her, I would have realized how dangerous this illness was and rid my life of it for ever. It was my fondness for her that forced me to keep it all hidden. Now you can see for yourself what it has done to me.”

He sat up in bed. “What on earth possessed Nawal’s mother to bring her over here?” he asked, still upset. “The crafty old woman’s thinking long-term. What’s more likely, a cure or death? She’s holding the options close to her chest. But, I can tell you, Ahmad, from now on I’m never going to even think of getting married. Should God will that I get better, I hereby pledge to do whatever’s necessary for my shattered body. Even if things work out for the best, all that lies ahead of me is genuine old age under medical supervision. Dear brother, I’ve a sum of money on deposit in the bank that I was saving up for marriage. I’m going to take it out and then go back to the sanitorium in Helwan. Once I’m there, I’m going to put myself at the mercy of the fates until God decides to execute His ordained decision. Take the money out tomorrow, and buy me some clothes and necessities. I’ll be at the sanitorium before the month is out. And let God’s will be done.…”