Khan Al-Khalili

19

The father of the family was the first one to wake up. After performing his ablutions, he left the house at dawn, heading for the mosque to perform the Eid prayers. The fresh breeze of the new day greeted him, and he was aware of the beautiful dawn hour teeming with people going in the same direction as himself, making their way through its dreamy purplish waves as they intoned their praises of God Almighty.

Ahmad woke up second. He got out of bed, full of a joyful energy, and shaved his beard carefully. He was putting on a brand new gallabiya and skullcap when his mother came to greet him in his room; she had already done her hair and make-up. He kissed her hand and cheek, and she kissed him back on the cheek, praying that the entire family would be granted long life, happiness, and comfort. They both went into the lounge and sat side by side chatting and waiting for the rest of the family to appear — the one who had gone out to perform his duties to God and the other one who was still sound asleep and snoring. The father arrived home soon after sunrise and came into the lounge, parading his flowing overcoat, still pronouncing praise to God. They both stood up. His wife kissed his hand, and Ahmad did likewise. He gave them his greetings on the Eid day, and they all sat down.

“Happy feast!” he said. “May the Lord make it a propitious one for us and all Muslims!”

Glancing across the room he looked at the closed door. “Has the boy woken up,” he asked, “or hasn’t he gone to sleep yet?”

His mother rallied to his defense as usual. “He got home late yesterday,” she said, “because he met some of his friends after being away for a year. Needless to say, he came home on foot.”

Even so, Rushdi did not keep them waiting for long. The door of his room opened, and he emerged to make his way to the bathroom down the hall. A quarter of an hour later, he came strolling toward them in his pajamas, after combing his hair and putting on some aftershave. His face looked a little pale, although it still retained the handsomeness of youth. He had a sweet smile on his face that only his ever-cheerful mother was able to match. He was, of course, unaware of the criticism that his father had been aiming at him, and went over to him. Bending over, he kissed him reverently, and then bent over to kiss his mother on her hand and cheek. He then kissed his brother on the forehead.

“What about my gift, gentlemen!” she said with a laugh as she spread her hands. “Happy feast!”

Each one of them usually gave her half a pound as a special present on the feast, which made her as happy as a small child. In fact, she spent it like a small child as well, using it to buy chocolate and clothes to her heart’s content. Then she brought in the meal for the Eid-day breakfast, pastries and milk, which they all attacked with relish. People who have been fasting feel an unusual reluctance when it comes to taking that first mouthful on the morning of the feast, but before long this feeling is replaced by a delightful sense of enjoyment. After all, what greater pleasure can anyone feel at such a happy moment, one that separates the performance of a religious obligation dutifully observed from the sheer enjoyment of the reward and clear conscience that it brings about? They all grabbed pieces of pastry and munched them with unmitigated pleasure until there were circles of powdered sugar around their mouths. They washed it all down with milk, only stopping when they had drunk their fill.

“How we long for good old days of peace!” their mother exclaimed. “Ghee was real ghee in those days, flour was flour, and pastries were real pastries!” their mother exclaimed.

Rushdi was well aware that his mother was trying to fish for compliments. “These pastries are just fine!” he said. “There’s absolutely no reason to feel wistful about the way they were in other times.”

They all went into different rooms. Ahmad’s heart was all aflutter with the intoxicating spirit of youth; he had felt that way ever since the girl had given him such a friendly greeting on the Night of Power. He could not forget the picture of her delicate shadow as it bestowed a greeting on him. Since then the emotions aroused by that magical greeting had not calmed down at all. He still felt happy and enthused by a feeling of joy, which convinced him that he was on track to recover his youthful energy. The somewhat faded branch would now bloom once again and the essence of life would course through him. His temples would again sprout luxuriant curls to cover up his bald spot, and his eyelashes would reassume their tinge of kohl.

However, since that wonderful moment he had not set eyes on the girl again; she had not kept her usual appointment at the window. There was no doubt in his mind that it was shyness that was making her stay out of the way and not venture out into the daylight. That made him feel a tender affection toward her; after all, who could possibly know more about shyness than himself? He was absolutely delighted by the thought that he had discovered someone who needed to keep her shyness hidden from him, of all people! However, this was Eid morning, and his heart told him that she was not going to deprive him of a glance that would both delight his heart and revive all his hopes.

He looked upward and found the balcony open wide, bathed in sunshine, ready to scatter its pearls on the beautiful face that looked down from there. He waited for a while, looking out over the quarter as it happily celebrated the feast. The spirit of the occasion seemed to have permeated everything. You could see it in the colors, hear it in the air, and smell it in the atmosphere. The wilderness, bounded by the apartment buildings, was now dancing and singing for joy and proclaiming out loud the intensity of pleasure. Children were running all over the place, all decked in their festival finery with bright colors, plaits, and ribbons flying behind them. Horns were blown, and firecrackers popped. Everyone was chewing desserts and mint-flavored delights. Songs and ditties filled the air with noise. Cafés were thronged with city and country folk alike. Earth and sky alike were decked out for the feast.

He watched the entire scene, the faces and sights, with a distracted eye. Eventually his patience had the best possible reward; his lovely girl appeared by the balcony door wearing the most beautiful outfit. He looked up at her lovely olive-colored face and plucked up the courage to give her a smile without automatically looking down. All the while his heart was throbbing violently. He gave a slight nod; for her part she was watching him with her honey-colored eyes and gave him the sweetest smile in return. She kept on looking at him, and that made him feel shy and anxious, but, just as he was about to lose his courage, she gave him another smile, then moved away and disappeared from view. He sighed in sheer delight and stood there, hoping against hope that he might see her again and be rewarded with a third smile. However, a servant came hurrying out and closed the balcony door. With that he moved away from the window, feeling a bit sad and disappointed.

By now it was almost nine o’clock, and he remembered that he was supposed to meet his friends at the Zahra Café, having finally become one of those people who have rendezvous in cafés. He put on his fresh clothes — suit, fez, shoes, and shirt — and looked at himself in the mirror. He was impressed by his own elegance and seriousness. He recalled times past, the days of his youth — before time had frowned on him — when he had been famous for his neat appearance. He left the apartment full of happiness and walked slowly, relishing all the hopes and dreams filling his mind. “What comes after a smile?” he asked himself with all the perplexity of one distracted by joy. “What comes next, O Fortune?”