Morning and Evening Talk Part 3

They decided that Ata al-Murakibi, in his new circ.u.mstances, was the right person to raise the matter. But Dawud was refused as a vulgar peasant. Neither his knowledge nor his suit or job could intercede on his behalf. The young man was hurt and looked to his brother, Aziz, for guidance. "There's the Warraq family that owns the paper supplier where our father works," said Aziz. They were a family with Syrio-Egyptian roots. The brothers found what they were looking for in the great al-Warraq's granddaughter, Saniya. The family welcomed the groom. The wedding was held and Dawud took his bride to a new house in al-Sayyida. She gave him a son, Abd al-Azim, and three daughters whom death s.n.a.t.c.hed away as infants. Dawud advanced in his profession until he earned the rank of pasha and his official and intellectual standing was firmly established. It was destined that he should successfully reconcile his two incongruous ident.i.ties. In his medical profession he was a fine emissary for the new civilization, with a vision of the nation's future driven by a painful awareness of what the country lacked in his field and with close friends among both his Egyptian and foreign colleagues. Yet he was also in tune with his wife who, despite her beauty, social rank, and basic education, was not really any different from his mother, Farga al-Sayyad, and older brother's wife, Ni'ma al-Murakibi. He never renounced the customs of his family and environment, and visited the house in al-Ghuriya out of love and duty. There he would completely forget his a.s.sumed ident.i.ty, sit at the low round table, tuck into the fish, bean cakes, lentil broth, salted fish, and green onions, and observe the love and affection developing between Abd al-Azim and Rashwana, Amr, and Surur. He visited al-Hussein and wandered around Bab al-Akhdar and got to know his brother's brother-in-law, Ata al-Murakibi, and two sons, Mahmud and Ahmad, and friend Shaykh al-Qalyubi, the father-in-law of Dawud's nephew Amr. During these times, he would revert to being the old Dawud, son of Yazid al-Misri and Farga al-Sayyad, son of al-Ghuriya and its fragrant, penetrating smells, towering minarets, and mashrabiyas clothed in the past.

Dawud wanted to make a doctor of his son, Abd al-Azim, to follow in his footsteps. However, the youth headed for law school, a school of ministers and the elite, and pursued an eminent and successful career as a lawyer. When the doctor pasha was fifty, he fell in love with a Sudanese maid and married her, prompting astonishment in the family and sparking gossip. He selected a separate house for her in al-Sayyida and set aside a grave in the family enclosure that Yazid al-Misri had erected near the tomb of Sidi Nagm al-Din, having seen it in a dream. His life extended until the Occupation. He and his brother were alive for the Urabi Revolution and supported it with their hearts, then swallowed its bitter failure. The brothers died in consecutive years early in the Occupation and were buried side by side in the grave inaugurated by Yazid al-Misri. It was not long before its female wing was occupied by Farga al-Sayyad, Ni'ma Ata al-Murakibi, Saniya al-Warraq, and the poor maid in her special grave.

Dalal Hamada al-Qinawi She was born and grew up in her parents' house in Khan Ga'far, the youngest child of Sadriya and Hamada al-Qinawi. Her house was a short distance from her grandfather Amr's, and she was as close to Amr and Radia as she was to her own parents. Like all the grandchildren, she adored Radia and was enchanted by her eccentricities, especially because her grandmother continued to pa.s.s on her innate heritage, clothed in supernatural phenomena, to each generation. "Dalal is beautiful but how did this Upper Egyptian accent infiltrate your Cairene children?" Radia would ask her daughter.

"From a mule!" Sadriya would respond scornfully, gesturing to her husband, whom she spent her life domesticating.

Radia would laugh, "He's as brainless as a stone, but he's respectable."

As was the custom, Dalal, like Nihad and Warda, was only permitted two years of Qur'an school before Sadriya a.s.sumed control of her education and instruction. Sadriya began to review the young men in the family-the sons of her sisters, brothers, and uncle, and descendants of al-Murakibi and Dawud. However, prospective grooms would also come to al-Qinawi's daughters from Qina and its environs in the name of the Qinawi family. A young village mayor called Zahran al-Murasini, who owned land adjacent to that of Dalal's father and uncles, requested to marry her. "It's destined that a train journey will come between me and my daughters," said Sadriya.

Dalal's sister Warda's tragedy delayed the marriage for a year. Then she was wedded to the village mayor in Cairo and, a week later, taken to his hometown. She settled in Karnak for good, gave birth to four daughters and three sons, and only visited Cairo on special occasions.

Dananir Sadiq Barakat She was the only child of Rashwana, Amr and Surur's older sister, and Sadiq Barakat, the flour merchant in al-Khurnfush. She was born in Bayn al-Qasrayn in the house her father owned and grew up in considerable comfort, which looked set just to get better. Rashwana did not have any more children because of a defect in her, but, luckily for the family, Sadiq Barakat had two childless marriages behind him so he thought they were equally responsible. Dananir grew up between a mother who was as pious as a shaykh and a father whose family was regarded as pioneering in terms of female education. She was quite pretty and tended to be on the large side, which was considered an advantage. She also displayed promising energy in school. She obtained the primary school certificate and enrolled in secondary school, raising the eyebrows of Rashwana's uncle, Mahmud Bey Ata al-Murakibi.

"Do you approve of this?" he asked Amr.

"Her father does," Amr answered.

The man went to Bayn al-Qasrayn and a.s.sembled the family.

"I didn't let Shakira go beyond primary school," he said.

"Times have moved on, Mahmud Bey. The baccalaureate is appropriate nowadays," replied Sadiq Barakat.

"I have complete faith in my daughter's morals," said Rashwana.

Mahmud Bey had a sense of humor despite his boorish manner: "Raya and Sakina's mother probably once said the same about them." He left exasperated.

Dananir was delighted with her father's decision. The baccalaureate would put her on almost the same footing as Abd al-Azim Dawud's daughters, Fahima and Iffat. She would be way ahead of the daughters of her two uncles, Amr and Surur, and could hope for a suitable groom afterward. Rashwana took her to visit the family's roots and branches. She found the tree was heavy with fruit-Amer, Hamid, Labib, Hasan, Gha.s.san, and Halim. She was as pretty as any of the girls in the family, in her mind at least. But as she was coming to the end of school, something happened which she became convinced was the greatest tragedy that could befall a person: her father fell down paralyzed in the shop. He was carried home to lie helplessly in bed until the end. His business was liquidated under the supervision of Amr, Surur, and Mahmud Bey, and he received five hundred Egyptian pounds, all that was left, to pay for his medical treatment and sustain his family. Dananir realized there was nothing to look forward to but to finish her education and find a job. The Teacher Training College for Women was the only option and, at the time, female teachers could not marry if they wanted to continue working. This course of action was confirmed after Sadiq Barakat's death. Mahmud Bey saw things differently, however. "Let Dananir marry. I'll be your sponsor, Rashwana," he said. Rashwana was inclined to give her consent, but Dananir-driven by pride-refused and determined to choose her own destiny. Her decision did not make her happy; she had given up the dream of marriage she had entertained since she was a young girl. She was the most miserable person on earth, but at least she had chosen the misery herself.

"You have sacrificed yourself for my sake," Rashwana said.

"No, I've chosen what makes me happy," she replied firmly.

She became a teacher and spinster forever, finding comfort in her professional skills and immoderate eating. She went through life asking: Where did my bad luck come from? The eyes of many young male relatives and strangers gazed at her hungrily, as though wondering: Does this young woman who is forbidden marriage dream of romance? Her female cousins were all settled in their marital homes, even the ugly and masculine ones, whereas glances lingered on her and left festering scars. She went to bed each night after a hard day's work armed with a fantasy to relieve the loneliness. She persistently compensated her worries and sorrows with debauched feverish dreams, imaginary sins, and barren friendships with other dispossessed colleagues in her monastic profession. The secret life she lived in her fantasy world was utterly incongruous with her public life, which rested on earnest and praiseworthy work, a venerable commitment to religious obligations, and a sedate manner that disappointed any hopefuls but won their appreciation.

During this period of youth and activity, her uncle's son Labib-with his good looks, brilliant legal career, and for whom the road of conquest would have been easy were it not for his repugnant egotism-approached her. He invited her to the quiet Fish Garden and proposed an illicit relationship, which, in his mind, suited their circ.u.mstances.

"You're prevented from marriage and I'm avoiding it," he said.

She told herself angrily that he only wanted a girlfriend and did not see her as marriage material.

"A proposition for a prost.i.tute!" she said with resentment and scorn.

He met the blow with the characteristic coolness he had inherited from his mother, Sitt Zaynab, while she returned to Bayn al-Qasrayn overflowing with anger at her whole family. They were wretches, rich and poor alike. They sold their souls without honor. This was how Amer married Abd al-Azim's daughter Iffat and Hamid married Shakira despite her ugliness. If the gaze of a young man from the Murakibi or Dawud family fell on one of Amr's or Surur's daughters all h.e.l.l broke loose and their honor was roused. Wretches ... wretches.... The Murakibi family sold their souls to the Crown to safeguard their interests and the Dawud family joined the Const.i.tutional Liberals imagining they were following the path of n.o.ble families but their real roots issued from the soil; Dawud Pasha was merely the younger brother of Aziz, the fountain watchman! There was not a young man among them of her age, or older, who did not covet her honor, but none considered marrying her; a madman from al-Hussein was better than any of them.

Yet this period of verdant youth was not devoid of a respectable marriage opportunity in the form of her headmaster, who suggested she resign and marry him. But although she rather liked the idea, she quickly rejected it, maintaining that her mother would live at the mercy of someone from a wretched family who worshiped money and rank and would do anything to get it. Thus, she carried on her tedious, arid life, educating other people's daughters and preparing them for marriage, divided between illicit fantasies and a reality characterized by seriousness, piety, and respect. The tree of youth thirsted in the gloom of loneliness, the pain of deprivation, and the frivolous amus.e.m.e.nt of forbidden fantasies. Then its leaves began to fall one by one, leaving their mark in her excessive corpulence, coa.r.s.ened features, flabby muscles, and overwhelming bitterness. During this time, Amr, Surur, Ahmad, and Mahmud pa.s.sed away and many things changed beyond recognition. Her mother developed heart disease and took to her bed.

"I'll never forgive myself for what has happened to you," said Rashwana.

"I chose what suited me," she answered smiling and feigning cheerfulness.

"Marry at the first opportunity," Rashwana begged.

"It won't be long," she lied, for she no longer turned anyone's head.

Death came to Rashwana as her daughter was bringing her her evening apple. Dananir instantly grasped what was happening. "Don't leave me on my own," she cried. The woman breathed her last with her head propped against her chest. Dananir burst into tears and sent the old maid to fetch Radia from Bayt al-Qadi. With her mother gone, she suffered total solitude in Bayn al-Qasrayn. She became a picture of obesity and gloom. When the July Revolution arrived she saw it as just revenge for the tyrants, the weak, and the opportunistic. She lived it with listless satisfaction, for listlessness had subsumed everything, including her secret world and barren games. She plunged alone into the whirlwinds of the revolution with the radio, then television; it fanned the coals of her listless soul but it quickly pa.s.sed. She was pensioned off and took shelter in the darkest loneliness with no comfort in the world except worship and Qur'an recitation. One leader died and another a.s.sumed power. New events swept in. The infitah policy came, and she suffered rising prices besides loneliness and old age. She began to prepare for her reckoning, asking herself: Could I be destined to suffer more troubles from this life? Can the future really conceal anything worse?

Radia Mu'awiya al-Qalyubi THE FIRST CHILD OF SHAYKH MU'AWIYA al-Qalyubi and Galila al-Tarabishi, she was born and grew up in the old house in Suq al-Zalat, followed by Shahira, Sadiqa, and Baligh. Sadiqa was the most beautiful of the three sisters but Radia had the strongest personality and sharpest mind, as well as a good share of beauty. She was tall and slender and had a high forehead, straight nose, black almond eyes, and wheat-colored skin-the image of her mother. The shaykh was anxious his children should have a religious upbringing and she was the most receptive, for although in theory she only got as far as knowing the prayers, fasting, and memorizing a few of the Qur'an's shorter suras, her heart was permeated with love of G.o.d and the family of the Prophet. Yet she learned from her father only a fraction of what she learned from her mother in the way of mysteries, supernatural phenomena, the lives and miracles of saints, magic, ifrit, the spirits that inhabit cats, birds, and reptiles, dreams and their interpretations, astrology, popular remedies, and the blessings of monasteries and holy men and women. Her faith in her mother was only enforced by the confidence her father, the Azhar scholar, had in her medical prescriptions and incantations, and the fact that he kept the amulet she gave him around his neck.

Radia had a nervous temperament and alternated between love and antipathy dozens of times in a day. The hallway of the house-the site of the stove and well, the hub of daily life-witnessed the sway she held over her two sisters and her mother's bias toward her, which stirred the resentment of the other two. She had barely turned fourteen when Shaykh Mu'awiya's friend, Aziz Yazid al-Misri, asked for her hand for his son, Amr Effendi, who worked at the ministry of education. At the time the shaykh was isolated in his house, having completed the prison term he had been sentenced to for his part in the Urabi Revolution. The joyless life he had been living under the Occupation found its first occasion to celebrate. But fate did not grant him respite, for he pa.s.sed away before he could prepare his daughter's trousseau; the bridal hamper was brought to his house the same day he died, prompting Galila to trill and wail in consecutive moments and making her a joke throughout the quarter. Radia's wedding thus lacked the usual rejoicing. She moved to the house on Bayt al-Qadi Square that Amr had prepared for their married life.

Amr was twenty years old, tall, of medium build, had a thick mustache and distinct features, and was perfectly disposed for married life. A strong conjugal love, capable of withstanding the ups and downs of life and contradictions of habit and temperament, quickly developed between the couple. At the same time, Radia made friends with Rashwana, her husband's sister, but not Ni'ma al-Murakibi, her mother-in-law, as though she guessed what had gone on behind her back when the two women came to propose. On the way back Ni'ma had said to her daughter, "The younger sisters are prettier!"

"The bride is very suitable. Thank G.o.d!" said Rashwana.

"I'm worried she'll be taller than Amr," Ni'ma said dubiously.

"No. Amr's definitely taller, Mama," Rashwana replied confidently.

In any event, Radia intuitively surmised that Ni'ma had held back with her and from the outset was quick to jump to the defense or launch an attack if the occasion arose. Yet G.o.d always granted salvation and nothing that warranted gossip pa.s.sed between the two women. The men and women of the family came to meet and make friends with Radia: her brother-in-law, Surur; her father-in-law, Aziz; Doctor Dawud, his wife, Saniya Hanem al-Warraq, and son, Abd al-Azim; Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi and Nazli Hanem; and Ahmad Ata al-Murakibi and Fawziya Hanem. She had expected to be introduced to women like herself or whom she would outshine as she did her two sisters but instead was confronted with hanems from a higher cla.s.s. The hanems' gentle natures and fine breeding and the fact that, despite appearances, they shared the same att.i.tudes perhaps eased some of the disparity, but when she returned their visits with Amr she became increasingly conscious of the differences. She saw the doctor's house in al-Sayyida and cried in admiration at the legendary splendor of the mansion on Khayrat Square. There she realized her trousseau was utterly worthless. How she dreamed of a bed with four legs and a wooden headboard, a mirror in the reception room with a frame adorned with ornamental flowers, and a Turkish chaise longue. How she dreamed of furniture like those dazzling objets d'art. She felt defeated. "I'll tell you what I saw...," she said to her mother in a tone of confession. Galila listened to her in silence, then asked with disdain whether there was among them a hero of the Urabi Revolution like Shaykh al-Mu'awiya?

Radia soon recovered her self-confidence and began telling the hanems about her heritage of mysteries and miracles. Thanks to the hanems' good manners, the new relationship was perfumed with rose water, and genuine affection sprang up on all sides. Radia's eccentricity was an added merit in this respect as it meant she always had an irresistible effect.

A power struggle emerged between husband and wife. Amr wanted his bride to remain in the house and not cross the threshold unless accompanied by him, whereas Radia felt her hidden knowledge required her to visit the tombs of the saints and the Prophet's family regularly and she warned Amr not to obstruct it. Amr was a member of the Sufi Dimirdashiya brotherhood and believed in her speculations and heritage. He feared the consequences of going too far, so he allowed her to move about freely, seeking goodness and blessing from it, confident of her morals, and satisfied with her exceptional skill in running the house and absolute dedication to his well-being. Things ran smoothly and no dispute between them ever lasted more than a few hours; when Amr was angry she was soothing, and when her nerves erupted Amr was forbearing and tolerant. Her standing among the upper branches of the family was well established even before it was reinforced with marriage ties. She a.s.sisted Saniya al-Warraq in arranging Abd al-Azim's engagement and Ni'ma al-Murakibi in arranging Surur Effendi's. As the days went by, she gave birth to Sadriya, Amer, Matariya, Samira, Habiba, Hamid, and, lastly, Qasim. She never stopped disseminating her superst.i.tions among her children, as well as the branches of the family and neighbors, and became known as the quarter's Lady of Mysteries. She was known too for her pride in her father's heroism, owing to which she turned Urabi and his revolution into a legend of miracles and supernatural phenomena, intermeshed with miracles of the Bedouin, Abul Abbas, Abul Sa'd, and al-Sha'rani, and blended with Antara, Diyab, ifrit, magic, charms, amulets, incense, and spells. She had no qualms about speaking frankly to Dawud Pasha. "This medicine of yours is useless and no good," she would say, or, "There is one doctor with no equal and that's G.o.d the Almighty."

The pasha enjoyed her conversation and went along with her, although he would sometimes tease, "But Sitt Umm Amer, you appoint other saints and ifrit as G.o.ds alongside G.o.d."

"Never!" she would reply with conviction. "His will is behind all things. If it wasn't for Him my master al-Naqshabandi could not be in Mecca, Baghdad, and Cairo at the same time!"

She and Amr shared similar beliefs so they always enjoyed conversation and mutual understanding. She watched the 1919 Revolution through the mashrabiya of the old house and registered a new saint called Sa'd Zaghloul in her timeless dictionary. When Amr took part in the civil servants' strike she asked herself anxiously, "Will they imprison him like they imprisoned Shaykh Mu'awiya?" She cut through streets swelling with riots and visited the tomb of Sidi Yahya ibn Uqab and invoked eternal d.a.m.nation upon the English and their queen-for she believed Queen Victoria was still alive. She was beset with anxiety over Amer's role in the demonstrations and Hamid's punishment when he was accused of spurring the strike at the police academy. "Lord save us from these evils! Lord let the oppressed triumph!" her tormented heart cried at the tomb of al-Hussein.

She educated her children in her heritage, then when everyone began talking about the nation and Sa'd and the field of consciousness expanded, events became their princ.i.p.al educator. She kept her health and, like her mother, lived beyond a hundred. Meanwhile, her children became families and grandchildren grew up. She heard of a new leader called Mustafa al-Nahhas and eventually Gamal Abdel Na.s.ser, who was the last leader she would know and who raised her grandchildren to the skies then plunged the greatest among them into dest.i.tution or jail. Thus, she blessed and cursed him alternately. During her lifetime, her own mother and sisters, Ahmad Ata, Amr, Surur, and Mahmud Ata perished, as did others she did not know about. Two events affected her more than any other: the death of Amr, whom she grieved over for the rest of her life, and Qasim's tragedy, especially in the beginning. Yet she stood firm with unusual strength and overcame her worries with a rare energy. She did not retire to her house until she was over a hundred and, even then, continued to shuffle about in the hallway until her final year. When the end was decreed, death came kindly and gently. Sadriya sat cross-legged at the end of her bed. She heard her mother sing in a feeble voice, "Come back to me, O night of greatness, come back."

Sadriya laughed and asked, "Are you singing, Mother?"

"I'm singing this song and dancing between the well and the stove," Radia replied.

Her head inclined to the left, and she sought refuge in eternal silence.

Rashwana Aziz Yazid al-Misri She was the first child of Aziz Effendi and Ni'ma Ata al-Murakibi. She was born and grew up in the family home in al-Ghuriya where Yazid al-Misri lived on the first floor and Ata al-Murakibi, her maternal grandfather, on the second. It was obvious when Amr and Surur were born that the two boys were better looking than their sister, but Rashwana was not ugly and she had a fine figure. Her father cast her loose with her brothers, but she trained hard at housework. By nature, and with her mother's influence, she inclined to piety and was known throughout her life as G.o.d-fearing and devout. When she was fifteen, Sadiq Barakat, a flour merchant in al-Khurnfush, wanted to marry her. He was a business a.s.sociate of Ata al-Murakibi and through him had got to know Aziz, the fountain watchman and husband of Ata's daughter, Ni'ma. Sadiq asked for the hand of Aziz's eldest daughter and she was wedded to him at the house he owned in Bayn al-Qasrayn, a short way from her father's fountain. Sadiq Barakat had been married twice before but had no children, and years went by without Rashwana falling pregnant. Then she gave birth to their only daughter, Dananir, and everyone rejoiced, Sadiq Barakat most of all. His financial situation was good, much better than Ata al-Murakibi's or Aziz Yazid al-Misri's. Rashwana's life was pleasant, her kitchen filled to capacity, and her veil ornamented with gold. She would visit her parents in al-Ghuriya and brothers, Amr and Surur, in Bayt al-Qadi laden with gifts.

Dananir was similar in looks to her mother, perhaps a little prettier. She displayed talent at school so her father encouraged her to continue, despite Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi's objections. Rashwana supported her husband's plan so that her daughter could keep abreast of Fahima and Iffat, the two daughters of her cousin Abd al-Azim Dawud, although she envisaged marriage as the happy ending to education. Thus, she trained Dananir in housework during the long school holidays and waited anxiously for a suitable man. When Sadiq Barakat's tragic illness confined him to his bed, she accepted that there was no alternative except for Dananir to continue her education, at least until she was able to marry. The need for this intensified after Sadiq Barakat died and she lost her source of income. She would not have seen any harm in Dananir marrying with the proviso that her uncle, Mahmud Bey, support her, had her daughter not refused and insisted on work, even if it meant being deprived of her legitimate right to marry. Rashwana's father, Aziz, had died leaving her nothing to support herself with, and her mother, Ni'ma, died poor because Ata al-Murakibi's fortune came to him from the wife he married after Sakina, his first wife and Ni'ma's mother, had died. (Sakina was the daughter of the owner of the pantofle shop that Ata inherited-or rather managed on his wife's behalf-and liquidated when she died.) Rashwana hated the thought of Dananir sacrificing herself for her sake and tried in vain to bring her round to her uncle Mahmud's generous offer, which his brother, Ahmad, most gladly joined him in. But Dananir refused, saying, "We'll keep our honor even if it costs us."

She did not conceal her abiding criticism of her uncle and the rest of the family from her mother. "They worship money and rank and have no honor."

"You're a harsh judge! They are good, G.o.d-fearing people," Rashwana said in dismay.

"You are good. You judge them generously. There's your mistake," Dananir replied gently.

Rashwana conveyed her anxiety to everybody-her brother Amr, Radia, Nazli Hanem, Fawziya Hanem, and Farida Hanem Husam, Abd al-Azim's wife. Not one of them endorsed the girl's pride. They predicted she would end up regretting it when there was no need, while Radia asked herself: Who is the infidel who prohibits women teachers from marrying?

Rashwana eyed her daughter worriedly, trying to plumb her depths, inquisitive of her thoughts and emotions, of what was hidden in the folds of her peculiar life, which resembled a man's.

Whenever Dananir was stressed or complained about a work-related matter, Rashwana interpreted it in terms of some other cause lurking beneath of her irregular, meager life. She watched as her daughter grew fatter day by day, lost her graceful youth and looks, and a.s.sumed the marks of seriousness and coa.r.s.eness. It was as though work had unwittingly transformed her into a man. Rashwana was alone with her brother Surur Effendi in his house on Bayt al-Qadi Square.

"G.o.d bless you, Brother. Why don't you take Dananir for your son Labib?" she asked.

"But she doesn't want to leave you at the mercy of others," Surur replied evasively.

"I could convince her if she had the good fortune of finding a groom like your son."

"The truth is I don't really want Labib to marry until Gamila, Bahiga, and Zayna have found husbands. I only have a small salary and his a.s.sistance in the girls' trousseaus is indispensable," he told her frankly.

She returned, with a lump in her throat, to ruminate on her worries, which only ever left her at prayer times. She watched and saw her daughter's youth vanish completely, its place taken by a gloomy picture marked by coa.r.s.eness and barrenness; no one doubted that it was the specter of a spinster whose life was ruined. Her worries piled up as loved ones died one after the other: Ahmad, Amr, Mahmud, and Surur. Then her heart had to bear disease as well as constant sorrow. She took to her bed reluctantly and spent her nights in agony, aware death was on its way.... The Murakibi and Dawud families came by and Amr and Surur's families visited regularly. She bequeathed Dananir to every one of them. She said to her daughter as though imparting her final testimony, "Marry at the next opportunity."

In her dying hour Dananir rushed to her bed. She propped her mother's head against her chest and recited what verses she could remember from the Qur'an until the woman breathed her last, leaving Dananir alone in the true sense of the word.

Zaynab Abd al-Halim al-Naggar SHE WAS BORN AND GREW UP IN AL-KURDI LANE in al-Hussein to an Egyptian father called Abd al-Halim al-Naggar, who owned a small carpenter's shop in the quarter, and a Syrian mother. She married Surur three years after his older brother, Amr, was married. Aziz believed in early marriages and had paid no attention to Surur's protests.

"Marriage is the best medicine for people like you," Aziz told his son.

"You're a l.u.s.ty man but you're poor. Marriage is the cheapest way!" said his brother, Amr.

They sought the help of a matchmaker, who showed them to Abd al-Halim's house. The man had a good reputation and was financially well-off. Surur objected to the fact that he was a craftsman but the matchmaker said, "His daughter is well brought up and beautiful." Ni'ma and Radia made the customary visit and were truly dazzled by the bride's beauty. She was fair, with black hair, green eyes, a supple body, and a look of deep calm.

"A paragon of beauty," Ni'ma remarked on their return journey.

Radia's jealousy was ignited. "As far as roots are concerned, we're all children of Adam and Eve," she said in what seemed like support and resistance at the same time.

Zaynab was wedded to Surur in the house next door to Amr's on Bayt al-Qadi Square. The moment the veil was lifted from her face, he fell in love, and she loved him until the last years of her life and gave him Labib, Gamila, Bahiga, Zayna, Amir, and Hazim. Her beauty ensured a friendly reception in the family and its branches and the good impression was confirmed by her decorum, gentleness, and calm nature. She was instinctively conscious that Radia was jealous of her, but no complications proceeded from this thanks to her calm nature, which seemed to border on coolness. She always treated Radia with respect and friendliness. She put Radia before herself as the wife of her husband's older brother and always hoped Radia's sons would be her daughters' husbands. Whenever one of them headed in another direction she suspected Radia to be the reason he digressed from his rightful destination, from the girl with first claim to him. But this did not muddy the love between the two families and never came to the surface. Her real troubles began when Surur approached middle age. His restlessness and the way he gazed automatically at each and every pretty girl in the quarter did not escape her vigilant eyes, and so a dispute developed between them late in life. He deflected any accusations with anger and edginess, while she censured and complained in a low voice, with constant gentleness. When her patience ran out she complained to his older brother, Amr Effendi.

"People grow wiser with age," Amr said to his brother.

He a.s.sured him that his wife was always full of misgivings.

"Your children have grown up too," said Amr.

Radia learned of the problem and would say to her sister-in-law, "Where would he find beauty like yours?" But she was secretly pleased, telling herself that no woman can survive by beauty alone.

Zaynab was not spared the effects of sorrow, for she developed diabetes and high blood pressure. Illnesses visited her successively and pallor crept into her radiant beauty, snuffing it out bit by bit before her time. She constantly discerned hungry hopes in Surur's eyes and lived in an atmosphere heavily clouded with fear. She was alternately beset with the outright fear that, were he not poor, he would marry again, and the likelihood that he would find a rich woman who loved him as Ata al-Murakibi had been lucky enough to do long ago. How she envied Radia the contentment of her husband and her status among the family thanks to marriage ties with the Murakibis and Dawuds. "Look how they love your brother and shower gifts on him. You've driven them away with your vicious tongue!" she said to her husband.

The Second World War came with its darkness and air raids. However, the most abominable raid of all was the fate that swept down on Surur. His health deteriorated and he submitted to the hands of death prematurely, in his final year of service. The loss of the man she had never ceased loving for an hour of her life, despite the tepidity of his desire and sluggishness of his love, dealt Zaynab the final blow. One year after his death, she suffered a brain hemorrhage that rendered her unconscious for three days. On the fourth day, in Radia's arms, she pa.s.sed away.

Zayna Surur Aziz She was the youngest daughter of Surur Effendi and the fourth of his children. She was known for her wide green eyes and a body that was quick to ripen and looked more like an adult's than a young virgin's. She was confined to the house at an early age, after she had learned to read and write at Qur'an school, and progressed to adolescence waiting for a suitable man. Gamila departed for her marital home and Zayna was left behind waiting with Bahiga. Her youth unfolded onto her family as it was a.s.sailed by alienation and tension in an atmosphere of darkness and air raids. She noticed early on the romantic maneuvers between Bahiga and Qasim and knew with her sharp instincts that their similar ages made them unsuitable marriage candidates, that the young man should rather be looking at her. Sitt Zaynab tirelessly took Zayna and Bahiga on visits to the family houses. Countless eyes devoured her, yet it seemed no one considered either of them for marriage. The family easily deserved what the father repelled from it, and better. Illness overtook Qasim and he took shelter in his new world. Her sister Bahiga met the blow with silence, patience, and acceptance. Her father died, then her mother, and she was left alone with her sister, visited in pa.s.sing by their brother Labib when his work outside Cairo allowed. "G.o.d does not forget any of his servants. Whoever trusts in G.o.d is not sorry," Radia told them.

One day, sitting with the two of them in his gallabiya, Labib said, "Someone has come and asked me for your hand, Zayna."

Her heart fluttered. She looked at her sister guiltily.

"Everyone gets their share at the appointed time," said Labib.

"You're absolutely right, Labib," said Bahiga. "Congratulations," she said to her sister, despite the despair engulfing her.

"For my part, I wouldn't miss an opportunity," said the man.

A heavy silence reigned. Then Labib, who was capable of confronting the most uncomfortable situations, said, "His name is Sabri al-Muqallad. He works in a chemical company."

"A company!" Zayna muttered dubiously.

"It's better than the civil service. The world is changing." Shaking his big head, he continued, "I've heard he is a heavy drinker and he admitted as much. But he has earnestly a.s.sured me that he has repented and is fit for marriage. What do you think?"

"It's your decision," she said submissively.

"There is no use for such talk today. You will see him for yourself."

Sabri al-Muqallad came and Labib received him in the old reception room. Zayna made herself up and put on the finest clothes she owned and went in to meet her destiny. She could not examine his face closely but a glance was enough to glean a picture of him. He was very thin and had a gigantic nose, a big mouth, and a long face. When he left Labib said, "The man's ugliness doesn't mean he is no good. He has a good salary ... a good family.... You have the final word." She knew she wanted a husband at any price; she could not stand her gloomy existence any longer. Let G.o.d take care of Bahiga. She was wedded to him in a house his mother owned in Bayn al-Ganayin.

She seemed happy with her marriage and gave birth to Khalil and Amira. Amira perished in infancy, leaving a deep wound in the heart of the youthful mother. Sabri was twenty years older than her but she enjoyed a pleasant life in his care, strutting about in the finest clothes and dining on the most appetizing food, until she became excessively fat and started to resemble Egypt's first chanteuses. Her son Khalil's marriage to a widow the same age as her shocked her, but she quickly got over her distress without any real crisis. The only blight on her happiness was the period she was separated from the rest of her family, when the traditional constant caravan of visitors was like a dream without a shadow of reality. Time brought the radio and television, Cairo swelled, and unexpected events, wars, and maladies poured down on the city. Bayn al-Ganayin, like other quarters, seemed to become an independent kingdom whose borders were only crossed in times of disaster.

Surur Aziz Yazid al-Misri HE WAS BORN AND GREW UP IN THE HOUSE in al-Ghuriya in sight of Bab al-Mutawalli with his older brother, Amr, and their older sister, Rashwana. His childhood pastures extended between the gate and Bayn al-Qasrayn's public fountain, where their father, Aziz, perched on his aqueous throne. Surur resembled his brother in height and distinct features, but his face disclosed a finer symmetry and he tended to be fatter. His grandmother, Ni'ma al-Murakibi, lavished him with a special affection, the like of which was not enjoyed by Amr and Rashwana, and spoiled him in spite of Aziz's objections and warnings. He grew up a natural believer but, unlike the rest of his family, without the trappings, and did not heed prayer times or fast until he was fifty, a course his own family would later follow. He appeared to be idle and hated studying so his progress was stilted. Meanwhile, the way he teased girls and his impulsiveness bespoke trouble. He tried to drag his brother, Amr, along with him but found him unresponsive; indeed, he found him obstructive and reproachful. The two shared a strong fraternal love that ultimately withstood the disagreements which tarnished their relationship over time. He worked his way through primary school with difficulty and Amr fared no better, so upon receiving the primary school certificate he threw down his weapons and was lucky enough to find a job in the railways. The primary school certificate was a significant doc.u.ment, so Aziz was satisfied and praised G.o.d. He had hoped for more for his sons, impressed by the example of his brother, Dawud Pasha, and nephew, Abd al-Azim, but told himself, "Contentment is a virtue." He began thinking about the next important step, namely marriage. When he discussed the matter with Surur he found him lukewarm. Aziz told him plainly he did not approve of his behavior and thought marriage the best remedy. Amr agreed enthusiastically with his father, and Surur soon yielded out of respect for them and because he was eager to experience the magic of marriage. The matchmaker showed them to Zaynab's house and a caravan made up of Ni'ma, Rashwana, and Radia set out to court her. She was wedded to him in the house next door to his brother's on Bayt al-Qadi Square.

Surur was dazzled by his wife's beauty, calm nature, and gentle disposition. With her he found love and gratification and, over the course of a prosperous marriage, she gave birth to Labib, Gamila, Bahiga, Zayna, Amir, and Hazim. Surur's government job, excellent wife, and beautiful children paved the way for equanimity. However, he always dwelled on what he lacked so was often corrupted by fantasies, and envy united his heart and tongue. He and Zaynab were united by something that she hid with her calm nature and gentle disposition and he revealed with his careless mannishness. He knew-it was impossible not to-what his grandfather Ata al-Murakibi had been and how he had become who he was, how destiny had smiled on him, just as he knew where his uncle Dawud's "Pasha" t.i.tle came from. He objected to his grandfather's wealth and his mother's poverty, accusing him of depravity and cruelty, and he burned with jealousy of his beloved brother, Amr, because everyone showered affection and gifts on him while he, Surur, was ignored as though he were not Amr's brother, forgetting that it was his own vicious tongue that deterred people. His aggravation was compounded when Amr pa.s.sed over his two daughters and married his two sons into the families of Dawud and al-Murakibi. Yet any resentment between the two brothers and their two families remained beneath the surface and love always conquered, even if deep down conflicting frustrations often surged. Even Radia and Zaynab's differences were concealed by ongoing peace and good relations. Surur wept pa.s.sionately the day Amr died, and Zaynab pa.s.sed away beneath an awning of Radia's recitation and tears.

In the same way that Surur was less pious than his brother, so he was less patriotic. However, the 1919 Revolution lodged in his insubordinate heart a warmth that would remain with him to his dying breath. He persistently boasted about his part in the civil servants' strike, as though he had been the only person to strike, and memories of the demonstrations lived on in his imagination as one of the delights he most savored from his life. The violent wave clamoring with anthems of glory swept with it father and son and burst into the hearts of the women behind the mashrabiya. He thus found in the Murakibi and Dawud families' renunciation of its hallowed leaders a target upon which he could unreservedly unleash his tongue. "We have an uncle who worships nothing in the world but his self-interest," he would say to his brother. Or, "The great house of Dawud has joined Adli under the illusion that they are really part of the aristocracy!"

In middle age another revolution exploded in Surur, which entailed a revolt against his wife's love. His eyes and impulses burst out in pursuit of adolescent fantasies and a rift developed between him and the meek, loving, sorrowful Zaynab.

"What will we do if one of our neighbors complains about you to her husband?" she would reprimand him in a whisper.

"There is nothing to complain about," he would retort.

When she complained to Amr, Surur poured anger on her and threatened he could marry again whenever he liked, though a second marriage was really an impossible dream. In fact he only betrayed his wife twice-once in a brothel, and then in a short fling that lasted no more than a week. He increasingly resented his poverty and his boorish grandfather even more. He tirelessly bought lottery tickets, but gained nothing from it other than the silent reproach glimmering in the eyes of his eldest son, Labib, and daughters, especially after Zaynab's health deteriorated. When Amr died, loneliness and depression descended on him, and when the war, the darkness, and the air raids came, he declared life a raw deal. His only consolation was his son Labib's success, but his constant boasting about it made him a heavier weight on the family's hearts. In later life, he stopped going to see the Murakibi and Dawud families but would often visit Amr's sons and daughters, just as he would his sister's house, and joined in their joys and sorrows. They had been fond of him since they were young, and became even more so when their own father died. One autumn evening in his final year of government service, as he sat behind the mashrabiya gazing out at the dark cowering above the houses and minarets, expecting the usual air raid siren to come at any minute, he had a heart attack. His life was over in less than a minute.

Salim Hussein Qabil The last child of Samira Amr and Hussein Qabil, he was born and grew up on Ibn Khaldun Street. His father died when he was only a year old so he was brought up in a disciplined climate, nothing like the comfortable lifestyle his family had enjoyed when he was just a glimmer on the horizon. He was good looking like his mother and tall like his father, and had a large head and intellect like his brother Hakim. His obstinacy and stubbornness, as well as his talent in school, came to light in childhood. His sister Hanuma watched over him closely with her piety and strict morality, and for a long time he believed he was learning the truth about the Unknown from the lips of his grandmother Radia. He loved football and was good at it, enjoyed mixing with girls in al-Zahir Baybars Garden, and hated the English. Dreams of reform and the perfect city toyed constantly with his imagination. He did not incline to any one party, deterred by his brother Hakim, who rejected everything outright. He once heard Hakim say, "We need something new," and replied automatically, "Like Caliph Omar ibn al-Khattab."

His own temperament and Hanuma's influence prompted him to turn to the religious books in his brother's library. His dream of the perfect city vanquished football and girls. He was in secondary school for the July Revolution and welcomed it eagerly, like deliverance from annihilation. The role his brother Hakim played in it strengthened his commitment and, for the first time, it seemed to him the perfect city was being built, brick by brick. He thought that by joining the Muslim Brotherhood he could immerse himself further in the revolution, but when the revolution and the Brothers came into conflict his heart remained with the latter. Disagreement emerged between him and his brother. "Be careful," Hakim said.

"Caution can't save us from fate," Salim replied.

He entered law school and his political-or rather religious-activities increased. But none of his family imagined he would be among the accused in the great case against the Muslim Brothers. Hakim was dismayed. "It's out of our hands!" he said to his anxious mother. Salim was sentenced to ten years in jail. Samira reeled at the force of the blow; Hakim's shining star could not console her for his brother's incarceration. She secretly despised the revolution, and Radia invoked evil on it and its men.

Salim was released from prison a year before June 5, completed the remainder of his studies, earned a degree, and started work in the office of an important Muslim Brotherhood attorney. He saw the great defeat as divine punishment for an infidel government. He did not sever links with his accomplices but conducted his business with extreme secrecy and caution. He found relief in writing and devoted years of his life to it. His labors bore fruit in his book, The Golden Age of Islam, which he followed with a work on the steadfast and pious. At the same time, he achieved considerable success as a lawyer and, with the sales of his two books, his finances improved, especially after Saudi Arabia purchased a large number of them. When the revolution's leader died, he recovered a certain repose. Samira said to him, "It's time you thought of marrying." He responded eagerly, so she said, "You must see Hadiya, your aunt Matariya's granddaughter through Amana."

Hadiya was the youngest of Amana's children. She had recently returned from the Gulf after teaching there for two years and had purchased an apartment in Manshiyat al-Bakri. He went with Samira to Abd al-Rahman Amin and Amana's house on Azhar Street and saw Hadiya, a fine looking teacher in the prime of youth, whose beauty was very much like her grandmother Matariya's, the most beautiful woman in the family. Samira proposed to her on his behalf, she was wedded to him, and he moved to her apartment in Manshiyat al-Bakri. He had a lovely wife and flourishing career. He knew love and compa.s.sion under Sadat and had no cause for worry other than the new religious currents that had emerged within the Brothers, cleaving new paths surrounded by radicalism and abstruseness. "There is a general Islamic awakening, no doubt about it. But it is also resurrecting old differences which are consuming its strengths to no avail," he said to his brother Hakim. However, Hakim had other priorities and, despite his personal feelings, saw what befell the regime on June 5 as an absolute catastrophe; the nation was moving into uncharted territory. As the days went by, G.o.d granted Salim fatherhood, material abundance, and satisfaction on the day of victory. Yet none of this jostled from his heart his deeply rooted belief in, and eternal dream of, the divine perfect city. He swept Hadiya along in his forceful current until she said, "I was lost and you showed me the right way. Praise be to G.o.d."

Salim became a propagandist writer for the Muslim Brotherhood's magazine and, like the rest of the group, was filled with rage at Sadat's reckless venture to make peace with Israel. He reverted once more to vehement anger and rebellion, and when the September 1981 rulings were issued he was thrown back in jail. When Sadat was a.s.sa.s.sinated he said, "It's a divine punishment for an infidel government."