The Mirage

47

After escorting Rabab to the door of our building, I made my way back to the tram stop, explaining my proposed absence on the basis of a few nonexistent errands I had to run. I took the tram to Ataba, and from there I made my way to Alfi Bey Street. My heart was pounding in fear and dread the way it had been the first time my feet carried me there, and in my mind’s eye I could see the glass, its mouth open wide with seductive allure. I’d forgotten about it. In fact, it hadn’t even crossed my mind since I’d won my heart’s desire. It had only come to mind again that day when what I saw in a coffee cup had stirred something deep inside me. My mother + my wife + Dr. Amin Rida = liquor: this was the equation I’d arrived at.

When I was just a step away from my old pub, I hesitated. Feeling suddenly worried and gloomy, I wondered to myself: Wouldn’t this be infidelity to my wife? However, I reprimanded myself for this peculiar logic and made my way inside. Then suddenly I imagined seeing my father, and my mind was assailed with images of him from the past. I reviewed them calmly and without any feeling of hatred or gleeful malice. Then I sat down at the table as I muttered, “May God have mercy on him and forgive him.”

The waiter rushed over and hailed me, saying, “Where have you been all this time?”

Gratified by the way he’d greeted me, I said with a smile, “In the world!”

Then I showed him my wedding ring and he said, “Congratulations! Congratulations! Have you had a child?”

Feeling resentful and pained, I shook my head in the negative. Then I ordered a glass of cognac and drank it leisurely until I could feel its effects creeping into my heart and head. My lips turned up in a smile that made sport of all my troubles, and I said to myself: Welcome, welcome! I left the pub at around seven, having been careful not to overdo it. But no sooner had I made it as far as Imad al-Din Street than I remembered the pub in the vegetable market. By this time I was in a state of mind that made light of obstacles, and I asked myself almost reproachfully: Just because you’re living comfortably now, does that mean you’re going to forget the pub that took you in when you were poor? And with that, I hailed a taxi and got in, and it took me posthaste to the pub that served as the favorite haunt of bankrupt government employees and carriage drivers. As I’d expected I would, I found the place in an uproarious state, complete with singing and revelry. The elderly employee known for his vocal talents was belting out the lines, “We’ll know all tomorrow!” while everyone intoned, “And then we’ll see!”

When he saw me coming, he stopped singing and shouted, “Quiet, guys!”

My old buddies recognized me, and we met with warm handshakes. No sooner had I settled into my seat than the old man asked me in a singsong voice, “Where have you been, handsome?”

I laughed out loud and said, “In the world.”

One of his chums said, “Let’s curse the world that forces friends to forget the ones they love!”

So I happily cursed the world with them. Then one of them happened to see the wedding band on my finger.

“You really have entered a world, buddy!” he exclaimed.

The announcement of the news had an all-encompassing effect.

The amateur singer asked me, “So, how do you find this world?”

I was alarmed to see the conversation turning to this perilous topic. However, I had no choice but to reply, “It’s nice! Aren’t you married, sir?”

The man smiled, revealing the few teeth he had left and said, “Once a woman gets beyond her youth, she’s not a woman anymore.”

Affirming what he’d said, another added, “That’s right. Woman has the shortest lifespan of all living creatures, even if she lives to a ripe old age!”

And another chimed in, “My wife picks a fight with me for every evening I spend here. So I told her, ‘I’m willing to quit going to the pub on one condition: that you quit this world!’ ”

The fact that they were all disgruntled with their lives brought me a solace I hadn’t known before, and I was amazed at all the strange things that bring drunkards together in brotherly fellowship. Then I noticed the absence of a certain baker who’d become famous among us for his addiction and his taciturn ways. When I asked where he was, the elderly vocalist replied, “Liquor won’t do it for him anymore. So every evening he goes to the grocer and drinks pure alcohol.”

Then they started singing again, picking up where they’d left off, and I started drinking the way I had in the old days. And how I could drink! I was weak and cowardly in the face of everything, and I had no confidence in either my mind or my body. As for my stomach, it could hold an entire pub! I left the place at ten o’clock, sent off with the most heartfelt farewells. I went wandering from street to street, feeling so rapturous and invincible I was sure I could take on the whole world. Then my beloved’s phantom floated by. Seeing her in my drunken mind’s eye, I thought: I’ve kept her waiting! She’s gone to sleep by now! The thought of her intoxicated me even more, my heart fluttered amorously, and longing beckoned. My wandering eyes went in search of a taxi, and once I’d spotted one, I went over to it without hesitation. I asked the driver to move as fast as he could, and he virtually flew me to my destination. I got out in front of our building and rushed up the stairs, then went into the flat and headed quickly to our room. I turned on the light and my eyes fell on my beloved, who lay sleeping peacefully. Her head stirred when the light came on and she murmured, “Who is it?” then resumed her slumber. With trembling hands, I hurriedly undressed. Breathing hard and fast from astonishment, delight, and apprehension, I rushed over to the bed and slipped under the covers. I took her in my arms and placed my lips on hers until she opened her eyes. Then I smothered her with joyous, passionate, voracious kisses until she woke up and began returning my affection. What was happening between us was like a dream so blissful, so incredible, that even slumber yields it only grudgingly. However, it was also a short dream that lasted all of a couple of seconds. I awakened from its enchantment feeling peaceful and confident, and several times drunker with happiness than I was from the liquor. I lay down blissfully and closed my eyes, surrendering to the sweetest thoughts and dreams. This time, however, my dreams weren’t made of the stuff of mere imagination. Rather, they were made from the stuff of reality itself, deriving their content from my very own life. After all, the best life is the one lived by someone whose happy dreams are an echo of the reality he actually experiences. Receiving this new happiness with humble gratitude, I was certain that my worries were over forever. The following morning I looked over at my beloved with confidence and joy, and at last I felt truly that I was a husband and a man. The same feelings of happiness and pride stayed with me the rest of the day. When evening came I went back to Alfi Bey Street, then I came flying home to my beloved on the wings of intoxication. I drank again from the brimming glass with the same enjoyment and at the same speed. Then I lay down, serene and self-assured. It wasn’t possible, of course, for someone like me to forget the mortal distress I’d had to endure in the past. On the contrary, true happiness inspires compassion even for torment’s memories.