The Mirage

9

We all got in the Victoria together for the first time ever. My grandfather and my mother rode in front and I sat in the back. My mother was in a state of utter elation. After all the worry and grief she’d suffered in the days that had passed, she looked as though she’d regained her early youth. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and her tongue was uttering praise and thanks to God. Her joy was infectious, and I too rejoiced in the happy journey we were embarking on. I began thinking in amazement and delight about this sister of mine whom I’d be seeing for the first time in just a few minutes. At the same time, my thoughts were accompanied by a sense of anxiety that I couldn’t explain. What do you suppose she looks like? I wondered. And how will she receive us? Will she like us?

My train of thought was interrupted when my mother asked my grandfather eagerly, “Will Medhat be there?”

Resting his hands on the grip of his cane, my grandfather replied, “Most likely he will. We’d agreed that he would be.”

A look of warmth and anticipation glimmered in her eyes.

As the carriage made its way to Shubra, I entertained myself by watching the pedestrians, other carriages, and the tram. At last the Victoria reached its destination and turned down Hidayet Street, then stopped in front of a medium-sized, three-story house. We got out of the carriage and went up to the second floor as my mother said in a near-whisper, “My heart is pounding so hard!” My grandfather rang the bell and opened the door. As we entered, I saw a girl and two young men, but before I’d had a chance to get a good look at them, two of the three came running up to my mother. Then all I could see was heartfelt embraces, and all I could hear were tearful sighs. I gaped at the three of them in perplexed, timid silence. The hugging went on for a long time, as did the crying.

At last my grandfather intervened with a laugh, saying to my mother, “Meet your daughter’s husband, Sabir Effendi Amin!”

The young man approached my mother and kissed her hand, and she kissed his forehead.

Before long, however, I found everyone looking at me.

Smiling through her tears, my mother said, “Your brother, Kamil.”

My sister rushed over to me and pressed me to her bosom. Then she proceeded to kiss me warmly while I stood there in resignation, not moving a muscle and not uttering a word.

“My Lord!” she cried joyfully. “You’re a young man! He looks just like you, Mama!”

Then my brother gave me a squeeze and a kiss, saying happily, “What a shy young man he is!”

Up till that moment I hadn’t taken a good look at any of their faces. Instead, I’d kept my head bowed, my forehead and my cheeks burning with self-consciousness. Then they took us to the sitting room. My mother sat between Radiya and Medhat, my grandfather sat next to my brother-in-law, and my sister had me sit beside her.

Drying her tears, my mother said, “Mercy! You were children when you were taken away from me, and here you are, all grown up! Praise and thanks be to God!”

Moved by the occasion, my brother-in-law said, “What a tragic life it’s been for you! I thank God for letting me be the occasion for this reunion!”

Long-felt yearnings came pouring out in animated conversation that seemed to know no end as memories and thoughts came over them in waves. Every one of them spoke of his worries and heartfelt concerns, and tears mingled with smiles. Every now and then there would be a glimmer of amazement in my mother’s eyes, as though she couldn’t believe that God had brought the family back together again after it had been scattered for so long. When they got so busy with each other that they forgot about me, I began to get over my shyness and regain my composure. Feeling myself now to be more or less alone, I breathed a sigh of relief. However, it wasn’t long before a sense of anxiety and distress came over me, and I began stealing glances at Radiya and Medhat. I was dazzled by my sister’s beauty. She was slightly shorter than my mother, with a whitish complexion and a figure that was full and voluptuous. Her face was an exact replica of my mother’s, and of my own as well, with her limpid green eyes and her delicate, straight nose. As for Medhat, he represented another type: stocky but not obese, with a round face and head, a fair but rosy complexion, and black eyes. Even though he was just eighteen, he exuded an air of masculinity and strength. He would break into loud laughter for the slightest reason, and he seemed happy and in robust health.

After stealing a number of curious, interested glances in their direction, I felt drawn to them by a feeling of love and affection, and I was reassured by their buoyant spirit and conviviality. My sense of aloneness didn’t last long, as glances began coming my direction and efforts were made to draw me into the conversation and encourage me to share with them in their happiness. However, I went on not saying a word, content to do nothing but smile back at them. Everything around me was a cause for delight. Even so, I couldn’t seem to rid myself of a vague apprehension that more than once gave me the urge to leave.

Radiya said to me warmly, “Yours was a difficult delivery. God knows how Mama suffered having you. Medhat and I were in the other room crying. Then finally they let us come in and we saw you all wrapped up, this tiny little thing that was hardly bigger than a fist, and we started kissing you all over!”

“I wanted to feed you a piece of chocolate,” Medhat added with a laugh, “so they carried me out!”

“When we were alone at our father’s house we would try to picture how you were. We’d say, ‘Maybe he’s crawling by now,’ or ‘Maybe he’s walking and playing,’ or, ‘It’s time for him to start school.’ By the way, what year are you in school now?”

I could feel the warmth of a blush in my cheeks and my tongue was tied. Answering for me, my grandfather said in a tone not lacking in scorn, “He’s repeating first grade at the age of ten.”

“Like me!” replied Medhat with a chuckle. “I enrolled in agricultural school after failing two years of secondary school!”

“Your grandfather wants to make him into an officer,” said my mother.

“He’ll have to finish the baccalaureate, then,” Medhat replied with a nod.

My grandfather, who’d enrolled in military school when he was primary school age, said derisively, “Today’s baccalaureate isn’t worth yesterday’s grade-school diploma!”

Then the conversation turned to life in my father’s house.

Radiya said, “Actually, we lived by ourselves. We’d only see Baba once a day in the early morning. The rest of the day we’d spend together, studying, playing, or talking. And we praised God for that isolation.”

Taking special note of the last part of what Radiya had said, my mother heaved a sigh of pity.

“If your father really did exempt you from his company, then he did a good thing for which he deserves to be thanked!” declared my grandfather.

The whole day passed in an atmosphere overflowing with love and nostalgia, and we went back to Manyal consoled and comforted. After this we were in regular communication with my sister, and Medhat would come to see us whenever he had the chance.

It was an exciting year that brought with it a mix of confusion, curiosity, and harsh experience. The year had opened with the shock of my sister’s elopement and the subsequent news of her marriage, then her pregnancy, then her giving birth to a baby girl. I asked myself, and my mother as well, what all this meant. Why had she run away from my father to a strange man? Why hadn’t she come to us? Why had she married him? How had she gotten pregnant? And how had little Zaynab come into the world? Ill at ease in the face of my insistence and intrusiveness, sometimes my mother would concoct evasive answers, and at other times she would tell me I needed to wait till I was older. If I was too importunate, she would put on an unaccustomed air of firmness, and my efforts yielded nothing to satisfy my curiosity. At the same time, I felt that some sort of secret was being kept from me.

It was then that help came whence I’d least expected it. The servant girl volunteered to reveal that which had so perplexed me and fired my imagination. She was years older than I was and quite unattractive, but she devoted all her free time to serving me and every now and then, on those rare occasions when my mother was too busy to oversee us due to some task or necessity, she would be alone with me. It seems that one day she’d overheard the conversation between me and my mother concerning the mysteries that had awakened me from my slumber. Thus, she declared to me that she knew certain things that were worth knowing. Interested and pleased, I was drawn to her despite her ugliness, and I entered into the experience with ingenuousness and delight. However, those days were short-lived, since it wasn’t long before my mother caught us in the act. Seeing the frigid, forbidding look in her eyes, I realized that I’d committed a serious mistake. Grabbing the girl by the hair, she escorted her out and I never laid eyes on her again. I waited, fearful and shamefaced. Then she came back, still looking dour and unforgiving. Describing what I’d done as wicked and disgraceful, she spoke to me about the punishment such things call for in this world and the torments they merit in the next.

Her words stung me like a whip, and I burst into sobs. Then for days I was so ashamed and humiliated, I avoided looking her in the eye.