The Mirage

5

Was I going to stay in her lap forever, as though I were part of her body?

I was all of four years old, and the time had come for me to want to play and have friends. I had nowhere to escape to in the house except the balcony, which overlooked the courtyard and the street beyond. The children of the family that occupied the first floor would play in the courtyard, and I would look wistfully down at them. Sometimes they’d look back up at me with an unspoken invitation in their eyes that shook me from head to toe, and one day I asked my mother’s permission to join them.

“What’s happened to your mind?” she asked me in alarm. “Don’t you see that they fight all the time? What would I do if they hit you or hurt you? Or if they took you out to the street where cars are passing by all the time? What will you learn from them but mischief and bad manners? As for me, I tell you stories, and if you want to, we go out together to visit Sayyida Zaynab. If you really love me, don’t leave me.”

Seeing the look of exasperation and resentment on my face, she continued, “I’ve been deprived of seeing your sister and brother, so you’re all I have left in the world. And now you want to leave me. May God forgive you!”

“I love you more than anything in the world,” I said, “but I want to play!”

However, she wasn’t about to give in to this desire of mine. When I found myself at my wits’ end over her unrelenting stance, I would cry or throw temper tantrums, pulling my hair and ripping my clothes. But there was nothing in the world that would have caused her to yield to my desire to distance myself from her. Apart from this one thing, however, she spared no effort to please me. She would buy me toys of all shapes and kinds, and when she sensed that I was cross or bored, she would invite one of the neighbor children to play with me under her watchful eye. But none of this was sufficient to satisfy my thirst for freedom. One day, taking advantage of a moment of inattentiveness on her part, I managed to slip out of the flat. As I fled, I was beside myself with joy, and I was received by the children in the courtyard with an incredulous welcome. Although we were somewhat acquainted with one another, I still didn’t know how to approach them. I stood glued to my place, flustered and shy. It wasn’t long before my mother looked down from the balcony and called to me in a sharp, angry voice. But the oldest of the children came up to me and invited me to play, saying, “Don’t pay any attention to her!” And for the first time in my life, I ignored what she was saying. I rushed forward into the circle of players and took my place with delight beyond measure. However, hardly had a few minutes passed before an argument broke out between me and one of the other children, and he slapped me in the face. I was stupefied, as it may have been the first time I’d ever been slapped in my life. I threw myself on his arm and plunged my teeth into it, whereupon, without hesitation, his friends fell upon me with blows and kicks. My mother shouted at them with angry threats, but they didn’t leave me alone until she’d threatened to throw a pitcher at them. By the time they’d finished with me, I was in a pitiful state indeed, panting and teary-eyed. She called me to come up to her but I was overcome with shame and embarrassment, so I stood there with downcast eyes as if I were pinned to the ground and made no move to answer her call. In fact, I didn’t budge until the gatekeeper came and carried me up to her, whereupon she washed my face and legs for me.

“It serves you right! It serves you right!” she said in an agitated tone. “This is what happens to people who disobey their mothers. God will forgive us for anything except defying our mothers. This is what it’s like to play with other children. So, how was it?”

I wasn’t pained by the beating half as much as I was by my defeat before her. Lying, I assured her that I’d been the one at fault, and that I was the one who had attacked the other boy first.

I found it strange that my mother herself didn’t mix with people very much, and that we rarely received visitors in our house. Vexed by her isolation, my grandfather would urge her constantly to spend more time with people as a way of cheering herself up. Then God Himself decided to send her some company: my mother’s sister and her family came to stay as guests at our house. My aunt lived with her husband, who worked as an Arabic teacher in Mansoura, and they’d come to Cairo to spend a month of their summer vacation at our house. Suddenly I found myself in the midst of six boys and a girl, and despite my mother’s best efforts, things slipped out of her control. The eldest of the boys was ten while the youngest was still crawling. The quiet house was transformed into a circus hopping with monkeys and other wild creatures. I frisked and frolicked till I was nearly delirious with joy. We played al-gadeed, hopscotch, choo-choo train, and hide-and-go-seek.

When we got tired of being in the house, we’d take off for the street, and I could hardly believe my good fortune. My mother wanted to prevent me from going out with them, but my aunt would object, saying, “Let him play with the other children, Sister! Even if he were a girl, it wouldn’t be right for you to confine her too soon!”

The two sisters had distinctive temperaments despite the many ways in which they were similar. My aunt was exceedingly plump and was the cheerful sort that likes to joke and laugh. She didn’t cause herself misery by worrying unduly about her children, and when my grandfather left the house, she would sing with a lovely voice in imitation of Munira al-Mahdiya. As for my mother, she seemed to be the very opposite of her sister. She was thin, reclusive, full of fears and worries, and almost abnormally attentive and affectionate. The circumstances of her life had frayed her nerves, and the minute she found herself alone, she’d be engulfed by a cloud of melancholy. She may not have been entirely pleased that her sister stayed with us that month, not due to any lack of affection toward her but, rather, because her sister’s children had monopolized my time and attention, thereby spoiling my undivided allegiance to her. Once she complained to my aunt of her fear that I might be hurt while playing in the street. My aunt just laughed nonchalantly and, in a slightly reproachful tone, said to her, “So is your son flesh and blood while mine are made of steel? Be strong and have more trust in God!”

As for me, so overwhelming was my bliss that I forgot all my mother’s instructions. I gave myself over to fun and enjoyment for that entire month, which had broken in on my monotonous life like a happy dream. I flung myself into the arms of diversion the way a starving man falls upon a long-awaited meal, and not for a single moment did I feel bored or tired. When we came back to the house at night, I would put my uncle’s turban on my head, mimic the way he talked, and burp the way he burped. Following the burp I would mutter, “Oh, pardon me, please!” to the delighted laughter of everyone around me.

That month was like a dream. But dreams don’t last, and like a dream, it came to an end. I found myself looking on dolefully as bags were packed and piled up near the door in preparation for their departure. Then the time came for the inevitable parting with its embraces and goodbyes. The carriage picked them up and bore them away as I bade them farewell from the balcony, tearful and disconsolate.

My mother said to me, “That’s enough playing and running around in the street for you. Settle down now and go back to the way you were before, when you didn’t leave me and I didn’t leave you.”

I listened to her in silence. I loved her with all my heart, but I also had a yen to play and have fun. Some time after this my mother brought us a young servant girl whom she allowed to play with me under her supervision. She was better than no playmate at all, at least. She was a homely girl, but she was better for me than the aging chef and old Umm Zaynab.

My mother performed her prayers regularly. I began imitating her when she prayed, and it seems she saw in this a fitting opportunity to teach me the principles of our religion as she understood it. She started out by teaching me about heaven and hell, thereby adding new words to my vocabulary of fear. This time, however, they were accompanied by sincere emotion, love, and faith.