The Mirage

39

One day after the family had made preparations for the wedding, Madame Nazli said, “Rabab is the first of our children to marry, so her wedding celebration has to be an especially festive one.”

When I heard what she was saying, I was terrified. However, I no longer had any choice but to face the critical issue that I’d avoided for so long out of fear and cowardice.

“Do you really think it’s necessary to celebrate the marriage with a party?” I asked nervously.

She shot me a disapproving look as though she were taken aback by my question.

“Of course!” she said.

“Singing girls, a wedding procession, dancing, and all the rest?” I muttered in dismay.

“It has to be a lavish, unforgettable, evening.”

Gripped with fear, I looked up at her like someone begging for mercy.

“I couldn’t bear to be escorted in some sort of solemn procession in front of a crowd of guests!” I said hopelessly. “It’s more than I could take.”

Looking bewildered and irritated, she said, “I don’t understand a thing! Are you really that shy?”

With the fervor of someone defending his very life, I said imploringly, “I can’t, I can’t! Believe me, Madame, I’d rather die than have to walk in a public procession surrounded by guests and singing girls!”

“This is incredible,” she said. “You’ll be the first man who’s ever wanted to run away from his own wedding!”

“Maybe,” I said sorrowfully, my forehead and cheeks burning with humiliation. “But there’s nothing that can be done about it. I beg you in God’s name to have mercy on me!”

“So what are we supposed to do?” she asked reproachfully.

“We can write up the contract with just family members present,” I said earnestly. “And then I take the bride home with me!”

“How could you call that a wedding celebration?”

If the issue had had to do with something other than my timidity, I would have given in without a fight. After all, I’m quick to go along with other people’s wishes no matter what kind of sacrifice is involved — unless, that is, I’m defending my very life, in which case I turn into someone who’ll fight to the death. Drawing strength from my fear and despair, I begged, I pleaded, and I insisted until, shaking her head in amazement, the woman gave up trying to convince me. Given the fact that up to that point I’d been the proverbially generous suitor, I had no reason to fear that they’d think I was trying to avoid the expenses involved in a wedding party. However, Gabr Bey Sayyid informed me after this that he’d decided to invite a group of his closest friends and that he was going to host a sumptuous dinner banquet for everyone. Not long after this he told me that a friend of his was an amateur singer and musician who’d volunteered to provide entertainment that evening for the limited circle he was planning to invite.

As if to make the news easier on me, he said, “This way a senior employee will be providing the entertainment for your wedding!”

“I really, truly regret that I can’t comply with your wishes to put on a huge, impressive wedding party,” I said dismally, “but I just couldn’t bear to be part of a public procession.”

Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, he said with a smile, “I don’t like to upset you, so have it your way.”

The bride’s trousseau was taken to the new flat, a special room was prepared for my mother, and we moved from Manyal to our new abode a week before the wedding day. The bridal suite, preparation of which was overseen personally by my sister Radiya, left me speechless. I began making the rounds of the rooms in a state of blissful delight. When I came to the bedroom, I went in after some hesitation, and then only with the greatest circumspection and awe. What a sight! It was enough to take one’s breath away! I began looking all around me, half awake and half dreaming: A bed that looked as though it were made of gold, silk covers the color of pink roses, and a polished, sparkling mirror. The furniture seemed to pulsate with life, its beautiful colors reminiscent of blushing cheeks and glistening eyes, and its drawn curtains emanated soft, melodic whispers that made one’s heart race.

* * *

On the morning of the solemn day I wondered to myself: When will I take my bride home with me, leaving all the people and hubbub behind? If only tradition dictated that the man wait for his bride at home, without having to go through all this agony! It looked as though it was going to be a trying day, the sort of day people like me weren’t cut out for, and not for a moment was I free of a sense of fear and dread. The first half of the day was spent getting me ready, and my brother Medhat took me to a famed barber who sent me away looking fit to kill.

When my sister saw me she said mischievously, “You’re better looking than your bride! Don’t you think so, Mama?”

My mother began to say something, then sealed her lips without uttering a word, and I kept wondering what it was she’d been planning to say. I put on the black tuxedo in spite of the hot weather. Then shortly before mid-afternoon I went to the bride’s house accompanied by my mother, my brother, my sister and her husband, my uncle and some of his daughters, as well as my maternal aunt and her family. As we approached the entrance to the building I saw that the ground had been spread with bright-colored sand and that large light bulbs were hanging from brightly colored poles. Filled with distress, I said to myself: This isn’t what we’d agreed on! When we went up the stairs I insisted on walking in the rear with my arm in Medhat’s. No sooner had the first of us stepped into the flat than we were received with a storm of shrill ululations. I squeezed my brother’s arm, wishing I could disappear. But where could I go? I lowered my eyes and walked — or, rather, was dragged by Medhat — to the reception room without seeing a single thing around me, though I could sense with my ears and nose that the house was packed with well-wishers.

As I was seated, still clinging to Medhat’s arm, I whispered in his ear, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Buck up,” he whispered back. “Otherwise, your bride will seem less shy than you are!”

Hardly had the harrowing moment of reception passed when Gabr Bey Sayyid came up to introduce me to his coterie of specially invited guests. As I stood there, flustered as usual, I went to work shaking hands as my tongue repeated mechanically, “Nice to meet you.… Nice to meet you.” I sat down again without having memorized a single name. There then ensued a lengthy exchange that I couldn’t comprehend, still less take part in. Still my usual shy self, I grew more and more self-conscious, and everyone seemed to be winking at each other mockingly or laughing at me in their hearts. Time dragged on until I was invited to sign the wedding contract, an event which, much to my relief, was to take place in a room that was nearly empty. On the way there, however, there was an explosion of joyful ululations as if the guests were engaged in a fierce competition to see which of them could outdo the rest, and again I had the urge to disappear.

I returned to my seat and to my muteness and time continued to pass, though to me it was a time for nothing but silence, frenzied thoughts, and a wild desire to flee. Then we were invited to a meal that was being served on the roof in the open air. For someone like me, dinner would just be one more ordeal. Unlike conversation, however, it was at least tolerable, since the guests would be too busy eating to do anything else, and that would give me some peace and quiet. After the meal we returned to our seats, my arm still locked in my brother’s, and then the singing began. The amateur vocalist and his band — who were amateurs as well — took their places at the front of the reception room. He belted out “Oh, How I Miss You!” in a reasonably pleasant voice that, in my opinion, was better than that of the singer at the vegetable market pub. Gabr Bey Sayyid brought the band a couple of bottles of whiskey, while others were served brimming glasses.

“Won’t you have a drink or two?” my brother whispered in my ear.

I gave him a look whose meaning he didn’t comprehend and said curtly, “Impossible.”

I said it as though I were shocked at the mere suggestion, then retreated into silent recollections. How I’d adored getting drunk! So wasn’t it amazing that I hadn’t tasted a drop of liquor since the day I’d mustered the courage to speak to my beloved? I’d abandoned it without the slightest difficulty as though it had never been, and I hadn’t been tempted to go back to it even once. The singing and conversation continued and the laughter grew louder. If it hadn’t been for my awareness of the critical moment that awaited me, I might have taken to the atmosphere and gotten over my discomfort and tense nerves. As it was, however, I couldn’t stop wondering: When will I receive my bride? Where? And will it take place out of other people’s sight?

More time passed, then suddenly I was roused from my reverie by Gabr Bey Sayyid, who was standing in front of me and placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Let’s go, Kamil,” he said in a low voice. “The time has come!”

Looking up at him apprehensively, I murmured, “Is it time to go?”

“Not yet!” he said with a laugh, “But after a simple procession.”

“No! No!” I cried in horror as a shudder went through my body. “We’d agreed that there wouldn’t be any procession!”

“It isn’t what you think,” he said. “In the big parlor we’ve set up seats of honor on a dais for the bride and groom, so you come in with your bride and the two of you sit down on it. After all, everybody wants to see the newlyweds. And what fault is that of mine?”

His words were transformed in my imagination into fearsome images. I saw myself walking out past everyone to the bride’s room, then bringing her back with guests surrounding us on all sides with applause and cheers. Then I saw us sitting there at the mercy of everyone’s stares! O Lord! I thought. I’m sure to faint!

“But this is a procession!” I said heatedly. “And I can’t do it! Please don’t make me do it, sir! I can’t.”

“It’s easier than you think. And what has to be done, has to be done. Otherwise, what will the guests say?”

Panicking, I cried, “Let them say whatever they like. I can’t. I’ll wait for the bride on the landing, then she and I will go home.”

The man laughed in spite of himself. Then, raising his voice so that he could be heard over the singer, he shouted, “The landing! What an odd groom you are!”

Medhat, who’d been listening to us without saying anything, squeezed my arm and said firmly, “What kind of childish thinking is this? Don’t you want to come out with your bride? Aren’t you capable of making your way down an aisle in front of a selected group of respectable ladies? Do you want Gabr Bey to have to apologize to everyone on your behalf that you’re too shy to appear in front of the female guests? What a scandal!”

Gabr Bey was heartened by what my brother had said. As for me, I stared at my brother in disbelief. I’d never imagined that the fatal stab would come from the very person I’d been counting on! My brother chuckled at my panic and bewilderment and was about to speak when I interrupted him, grieved and desperate, saying, “How can you push me to do something I’m not capable of? Do you want to make me a laughingstock in front of the women here?”

Moved by my desolate, pitiful tone of voice, Gabr Bey said gently, “All the ladies who’ve been invited are members of the family. You met them on the day of the engagement. And you’ll see that I’m telling you the truth.”

Still terror-stricken, I said imploringly, “I beg you in God’s name to have mercy on me!”

As if he could see that words would get them nowhere, my brother addressed himself to Gabr Bey, saying, “We might agree on some sort of compromise. The bride can come up to the dais escorted by her girlfriends, then I’ll escort my brother to her and the two of them can sit there for a while surrounded by family before they leave.”

Gabr Bey gestured to me not to raise any further objections, then left.

As for me, I turned to my brother in a fury and said, “What a traitor you are! How can you call this a compromise when all it is is a way of torturing me?”

With a resounding laugh that reminded me of our father, he replied, “You’d disgrace an entire country! Now quit your arguing and we’ll go together. As for me, I’d be happy to be escorted down an aisle of pretty ladies any day!”

He fell silent for a moment, then thumped me on the shoulder and said, “If you’ve got cold feet, then run away and give up the bride!”

And with that, I resigned myself to reality, feeling hopeless, weary and dismayed. As the band played “Here Comes the Bride,” my heart throbbed with dread, and I could feel the danger drawing near. And as I heard the ululations coming from the parlor, my strength gave out on me.

I turned to Medhat, saying, “Isn’t there any way out of this?”

Pulling me by the arm, he rose to his feet as he replied, “There’s one way, and it’s the way that leads to the dais in the other room. I swear, you’re like a little boy being dragged in to be circumcised!”

He started walking. Meanwhile, my feet moved while my heart sank.

As we came through the door, he whispered to me, “Now look up. Stare into those pretty ladies’ faces until they look down in embarrassment!”

However, I advanced slowly, my head lowered the entire time. I was certain that my appearance would make anybody want to laugh. I heard a woman’s voice asking, “Which one is the groom?” “The tall one!” another voice replied. The place was packed, and I saw innumerable legs and white shoes along either side of the path that had been cleared for us.

Then I heard my brother whisper in my ear, “We’ve arrived at the dais. Get up there and greet your bride, then sit down.”

After ascending a couple of steps, I lifted my eyes cautiously and fearfully and saw my beloved sitting beneath an arbor of flowers. She was decked out in a white bridal gown, and on her head there was a tiara of sweet-smelling jasmine blossoms from which silk ribbons cascaded down her back. She herself was splendor and light, jasmine and roses. When she saw me, she lowered her gaze and a faint smile appeared on her lips. By now I was just a step away from her, and I remembered my brother saying, “Greet your bride and sit down.” But how was I supposed to greet her? By shaking her hand? Or by saying, “Good evening”? I hesitated, confused, and in her gentle, demure smile I could see that she was, in fact, awaiting my greeting. Then I remembered anew what I’d forgotten about for a few short moments: I became aware once again of the eyes that were staring at me and nearly burning a hole in my back. And with that I lost my composure and sat down on the empty seat without saying a word or moving my hand.

I’d made a mistake, of that there was no doubt. What would the women say? What would my beloved think? Ugh, what a situation! If I’d known earlier what I knew then, I would never have even thought of getting married. The music was playing, the ululations were ringing out, and the air was redolent with sweet perfumes. To die would be easier than to marry! Was I doomed forever to be the victim of platforms and podiums? The lecture podium at the Faculty of Law had put an end to my future, and this evening, the bridal dais was about to put an end to my life!

And, I wondered, what will the women say about the fact that I kept my eyes glued to the floor the entire time?

Then suddenly I thought of my mother. I wondered where she was sitting, and knew she must see me at that moment. The thought of it made me several times more bashful than before, and I felt like someone who’s been caught doing something wrong. Responding to an irresistible urge to see where she was, I looked up cautiously, only to find that she was closer than I’d imagined her to be. She was sitting in the first row, directly in front of the dais. Our eyes met and we exchanged a faint smile. Then my imagination carried me back to an image from the distant past. I saw myself standing behind the fence at the primary school as she stood on the sidewalk on the other side of the fence sending me a look of encouragement and farewell. The memory caused an ache in my heart.

I sighed with relief when Madame Nazli came up to us and said with a smile, “And now, home with the two of you. Adieu!”

Then she said to me in a whisper, “The servant woman, Sabah, will be coming with her young mistress because she can’t bear to part with her. So be good to her, and you’ll find her to be the best of cooks.”

Then she stepped aside with tears in her eyes. We rose from our places, I took my bride by the hand and we made our way for the door at a measured pace as well-wishers bade us farewell with ululations and song. A friend of Gabr Bey’s had placed his car at our disposal for the evening, so we disappeared inside the vehicle and it whisked us away.

Turning toward her with a sigh as though I were seeing her for the first time, I said contentedly, “What an ordeal that was!”

“And what a bashful guy you are! Was it really that bad?”

I laughed to conceal my embarrassment, then immersed myself in a gladness that filled heart, eye, and spirit.