The Automobile Club of Egypt

SALEHA

Said quarreled with Kamel so loudly that it might have come to blows had my mother not intervened. Afterward, Said went back to Tanta, and calm returned to the apartment.

The next morning, Aisha came to visit us. When my mother started to speak, Aisha interrupted her, “Fayeqa told me everything.”

My mother sighed.

“So, what do you think?”

Aisha wiped her brow with the palm of her hand and answered, “Look, Saleha. I know that Said and Fayeqa want you to stay with Abd el-Barr until they sign the contract for the factory.”

No one said a word. Aisha wiped her face again and continued, “God knows, Saleha, that I love you as my own daughter. I want the same for you as I would for Fayeqa. Of course you have to get a divorce.”

My mother’s face showed great relief.

“God preserve you, Aisha,” she said quietly, “for speaking so honestly.”

“Fayeqa didn’t like it when I told her,” continued Aisha. “She gave me hell on the telephone. Naturally, she is looking out for her husband’s interests. But I speak the truth, and Saleha cannot stay with that man for a day longer.”

“Kamel is trying to make Abd el-Barr divorce her,” said my mother. “I hope God will provide someone better next time.”

Aisha went back to being her usual, jovial self. She bit her lips, raised her eyebrows and added, “Of course she’ll find someone better next time. Saleha is a living doll. And she is still intact. Virgin as the day she was born. Any man would want her.”

In spite of my anxiety, I could not help laughing. Aisha seemed unable to hold a conversation without talking about sex. My mother gave her a big hug at the front door as she left. I was touched that she was on our side. If Said went into business with Abd el-Barr, it would be to Fayeqa’s benefit, but even so, Aisha believed that I should have a divorce. For all her racy talk, she was good in all senses of the word. How many men would stand up for the right thing if it went against their own interest? After hearing what Aisha had said, I felt a sense of relief. Why should I not go and study mathematics, which I loved so much? I was immensely cheered as I reviewed my theorems with music blaring out of my radio. I got off to a creaky start solving the problems but slowly got back into the flow. Numbers fired my imagination. I always imagined them like stars scattered across an imaginary sky as I performed operations on them in my head. I was so absorbed in my books that I did not notice the bedroom door opening. Suddenly, I was aware of a movement. I turned around and found Kamel standing there.

“I’m so happy to see you studying again,” he smiled.

“I’m not exactly studying. I’m just going over a few problems for fun.”

“All the Gaafars are talented. By the way, I have been making inquiries about you doing the baccalaureate from home.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Ministry of Education has instituted a system whereby you can sit for the baccalaureate from home. We can bring tutors for you, and then you can sit the examination.”

“But I’m afraid I’ll fail,” I said without thinking.

Kamel sat down next to me and put his arms around me.

“You will pass, God willing. I’ll bring the form you have to fill in on Saturday.”

I was overcome with a sense of gratitude. Kamel leaned over and kissed me on the forehead before leaving the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

I thought about what he had said. I could not go back to the Sunniya School. I would not be able to bear the looks of pity or schadenfreude from the girls and the teachers. But nor could I bear the nightmare of being a new student in a different school. There was also the possibility that a state school would not admit me at all. I had heard that the Ministry of Education had tried to ban married or divorced girls from going to school. The only option was what Kamel had suggested. I would have to cover the whole syllabus at home, but the thought made me feel suddenly invigorated. I threw myself back into the problems until the dawn call to prayer sounded.

The next day, I woke up at noon. I took a shower and rushed to the kitchen to help my mother, but she insisted that I have breakfast first. She made me a plate of fava beans mashed with olive oil and lemon juice, which I took to the dining room and ate hungrily. I heard the doorbell, and after a little while, my mother appeared, looking worried. She walked over to me and whispered uneasily, “Saleha, Abd el-Barr is here.”

I looked at her and said nothing.

“Abd el-Barr,” she repeated, “is in the sitting room and wants to see you.”

“I don’t want to see his face.”

“Saleha, the man has come all the way over here.”

“Have you changed your mind, Mother?”

“Oh, Saleha, I haven’t changed anything, but the man is in our home. Courtesy dictates that you see him. You will have to deal with him before it’s all over. If you refuse to see him, he could start making things difficult.”

I realized that by law I was still the wife of Abd el-Barr. It was in my best interests not to upset him further until he had agreed to a divorce. I asked my mother to make some tea and wait with him until I got dressed. I put on the white dress and combed my hair, leaving two locks dangling over my forehead. I put on some red lipstick and a bit of powder. I was astonished at what I was doing. If I could not stand Abd el-Barr, why was I making myself look nice for him? Maybe it was to let him understand what he was losing or perhaps to let him see that his absence was having no effect on me.

When I went into the sitting room, I found my mother sitting across from Abd el-Barr, who was wearing a gray suit and a white open-necked shirt. He jumped up and smiled as he greeted me. “How nice to see you, Saleha.”

I mumbled a few words under my breath and looked away. My mother stood up.

“Excuse me. I’ve got things to do in the kitchen.”

I sat in the chair near the door, as if to show that I could leave at any moment. Abd el-Barr cleared his throat.

“Saleha, I want to tell you that I’m not a drug addict.”

“Whatever you say.”

“The first time in my life was the day you saw me doing it. A friend of mine gave me the powder and told me that if I was down in the dumps or stressed, I should take it. It was the first and last time.”

He continued talking quickly, as if delivering a prepared speech.

“Please forgive me for getting upset with you, Saleha.”

“Upset” seemed an understatement given his punches. I said nothing. I could hardly contain my fury.

Abd el-Barr continued in a subdued voice, “Kamel came to my office to throw accusations at me, and I let him for your sake.”

“It’s only natural that Kamel should be angry.”

“I’ve come all the way to your home,” Abd el-Barr said with a smile, “and I have apologized.”

“Even if I were to accept your apology,” I shouted, “we cannot live together!”

“But things like this happen all the time in marriages!”

“Our life together is finished.”

Abd el-Barr suddenly got up and came over to me. I stood up and took a few steps away from him.

“Saleha,” he said, “let’s not destroy our marriage.”

“It’s fate.”

“All right. Take a little time to think things over,” he said hoarsely.

I almost felt sorry for him, but I answered him quickly in order to put an end to the matter, “I have decided that I want a divorce.”

His expression changed suddenly, and he started shouting, “Who do you think you are?”

“Please don’t be rude,” I shouted back.

“My mistake,” he shouted even louder, “was in coming to see you. You don’t deserve to be treated with respect.”

“Watch your words!”

The last sentence was spoken by my mother. She had been listening to the conversation through the door and was now standing between us with a look of anger on her face.

“As long as your daughter behaves like that,” he snapped, “there will be no divorce.”

“You’ll divorce her whether you want to or not.”

“I’ll go to court and get a ruling that she has to return to her husband.”

My mother indicated the door and said, “I will not respond to you since you are in my home. Please be so kind as to leave.”

My mother’s tone was so resolute that he got up and left, muttering angrily. I heard his footsteps recede into the distance, then the front door opening and closing. By the time my mother came back, I was beside myself.

“Abd el-Barr just wants to demean me,” I shouted like someone crying for help.

“There is not a man alive who can demean you,” she said as she put her arms around me. “God is great, and he will help you through this.”