The Mirage

36

I was overwhelmed with fear and anxiety, and once again I experienced that stifling feeling that had come over me on the day when my professor at the Faculty of Law called me up to the podium. Would my feet be able to carry me to Gabr Bey’s house? Would I be able to speak to the man about what was on my mind? O God, grant me Your mercy, for love is afflicting me with torments that are more than I can bear! When I tasted the frightening reality and consoled myself with dreams, I found myself on a deserted island where the only other living being was my beloved. In a place like that, love doesn’t require the lover to deliver a speech, or even to say a word or communicate with anyone. So in the midst of my ordeal, my soul would go flying away to that deserted island.

I spent Saturday and Sunday in a violent inner torment. Hence, I decided to seek refuge from the torment of my thoughts by meeting the danger head-on. That afternoon I spruced myself up and left the house. Reciting the Throne Verse, I crossed the street with a quaking heart. When I crossed the bridge and the building appeared in the distance, my feet grew heavy and I nearly returned home. However, my resolve was marvelous, and the fear that my sweetheart would think me slow in coming left no room for vacillation. I began encouraging myself by saying that if there were no hope, she wouldn’t have agreed to meet me on Friday, and she wouldn’t have prepared the way for me to meet with her father. Pushing my heavy feet forward one after the other, I began approaching the building little by little. There was no one either in the window or on the balcony, which was a relief to me since I feel awkward walking when people’s eyes are on me. Then I found myself coming up to the doorman.

The man rose and looked at me questioningly.

“Gabr Bey Sayyid,” I said.

“Second floor,” he replied.

I ascended the stairs in fear and trepidation, stopping at every landing to catch my breath. When I found myself outside the flat’s closed door, I grew weak in the knees and was tempted to turn and flee, to postpone the critical visit until another day. However, I heatedly rejected the idea. It occurred to me to go back down and calm my tense nerves by walking around for a while and reorganizing my thoughts, and again, I nearly retreated. However, the next moment I began wondering: Might not the gatekeeper be suspicious of me if he saw me coming down right after I’d spoken to him, then saw me come back to the building just a few minutes later? Thus I thought better of going back down the stairs. Even so, I stood there without moving a muscle. I gazed steadily at the door until I imagined its keyhole to be an eye staring mockingly into my face. I shifted my gaze to the doorbell, and my eyes fixed themselves on it in fear and panic. What would happen to me if the door opened suddenly and I saw someone I recognized and who would recognize me? I wished at that moment that my life had maintained its usual, unhurried pace rather than crashing headlong into this love that had turned it upside down. Then suddenly from inside the house I heard a shrill voice shout, “Turn on the radio, Sabah!” Trembling all over, I listened intently, feeling more frightened than ever. Shame on you, Mama! I thought. Wouldn’t it have been better for you to be in my place now? Then I heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and although I was more agitated than ever by now, I had no choice but to keep on going. I approached the door and brought my hand up to the doorbell. I hesitated for a moment, feeling myself in an uproar. Then I pressed the button and heard a loud, obnoxious ring. Having worked myself into a pathetic state, I stood aside and waited.

The door opened to reveal a coal-black face belonging to a servant woman who looked to be around fifty years old.

“Yes?” she said, peering at me with sparkling eyes.

Hoping the bey would be out for some reason, I asked, “Is Gabr Bey home?”

“Yes, he is,” she replied. “Who wishes to see him?”

Taking a card out of my wallet, I presented it to her and said, “I’d be obliged if the bey could grant me a brief interview.”

The servant took the card and disappeared while I waited, my heart aflutter and my soul in turmoil. I imagined the bey reading the card aloud while everyone around him exchanged smiling glances, then rushed to hide in some safe place whence they could observe me when I came in. My face flushed with embarrassment at the thought and I became more distraught. Then the servant’s head popped out of the door again as she said, “Come in.”

I went in with my head bowed, and she led me to a door immediately to the right of the entrance. I entered the parlor, which was an elegant room with navy blue furniture, then betook myself to a chair between two sofas some distance from the door and sat down. I could hardly believe I was actually sitting in their house, and I began listening intently, feeling fearful, apprehensive, and restless. At first I hoped the bey would be delayed so that I could have time to compose myself. Then, given the torment of waiting, I started to hope he’d arrive quickly so as to put an end to my suffering. I don’t know how long I waited before I heard footsteps approaching. The bey entered and I rose to my feet. He welcomed me politely and gestured toward the chair, saying, “Make yourself comfortable.”

He sat down on the sofa not far away. Around fifty years old, he was tall and slender, with a physique and eyes similar to my sweetheart’s, and I liked him right away. He was wearing a loose, reddish woolen wrap, and his hands were redolent with a fragrant cologne.

He smiled at me warmly and said, “Welcome, Kamil. We’re honored to have you here.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said appreciatively.

Did he know the purpose of my visit? Had he heard previously of the name he’d read on the card?

Whatever the case may be, I thought, I had no choice but to broach the subject with him as though he knew nothing about it. I’d written down an outline of what I thought I ought to say, and I’d read it over and over again until I’d memorized it before leaving the house.

In a low voice I said, “I’m sorry to inconvenience you with this visit from someone you haven’t met before.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Kamil,” he said, the gracious smile never leaving his fine lips. “Are you from around here?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, happy to have been given a reason to speak. “I live in Manyal.”

“It’s a nice, peaceful neighborhood.”

Taking more and more of a liking to him, I said, “I was born there, too. My grandfather, Colonel Abdulla Bey Hasan, moved there more than seventy years ago.”

“Abdullah Bey Hasan,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I’ve heard that name before. Was he your grandfather on your father’s side?”

“No,” I said, feeling distressed. “He was my maternal grandfather. My father was from the Laz family.”

“Was he an officer, too?”

Feeling increasingly anxious, I replied, “No, he wasn’t, may he rest in peace. He was a notable.”

Still smiling, he said, “I thought he might have been an officer, since people of the same profession often marry into each other’s families.”

I affirmed what he’d said, then he fell silent, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. As I went over the things I’d memorized, I recalled the critical statement on which my fortune in life hung. However, my tongue was tied and I said nothing. It wasn’t long before I’d gone back to feeling muddled and anxious, and my head was ablaze with embarrassment. At that moment the young servant — the one who knew me well — came in carrying the tea tray. She set it down on a table whose surface was plated with a polished mirror. Then, concealing a faint smile, she withdrew. I welcomed her arrival with the tea, since it rescued me from the awkward silence that was weighing on me almost unbearably. The bey filled two glasses and invited me to take one. I picked up my glass with gratitude and began sipping it unhurriedly while my mind raced. Then, having reluctantly finished my tea, I found myself faced once again with Gabr Bey and the mysterious, cordial smile with which he encouraged me to speak. What had to be done, had to be done. Otherwise, the session would turn into a ridiculous joke. So, I thought: let me feign a bit of manliness in the presence of the person whose son-in-law I aspire to be before I lose his respect.

Gathering my courage, I said in what was, admittedly, a tremulous, unsteady voice, “Sir, I wanted … I mean, the fact is that I’d like to have the honor of becoming your son-in-law.”

The statement I’d written out and memorized wasn’t much different from what I said. I felt muddled after I’d opened my mouth. However, God came to my rescue, and I managed to express what was on my mind with a fair degree of success. I looked over at the man and found him still smiling.

He paused a few moments that were a source of agony to my terrified soul.

Then he said ever so graciously, “I thank you for your high opinion of us.”

He fell silent for a few more pensive moments, then continued, “However, I ask you to give me two weeks to consult with other concerned parties.”

“Of course, of course,” I said. “I can only thank you for your generosity and hospitality.”

I rose to my feet in preparation to leave. He invited me to stay longer, but I declined apologetically, thanking him for his gracious offer. Then I bade him farewell and left. Once outside, I heaved a deep sigh, feeling as though a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Now that the ordeal was over, the task looked like a simple one that shouldn’t have caused me such fear, anxiety, and dismay. I smiled in relief, then burst out laughing.