Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

He eyed me suspiciously but then gave me directions. Finally, I saw the palace, and when I rushed over, I found the prince standing outside. He shook my hand as I panted and, since it was quarter past seven, gave me an accusatory look.

“I’m sorry for being late,” I spluttered. “But I got a bit lost.”

He laughed and answered, “Ce n’est pas un début encourageant. Viens.”

He made a gesture, and I followed him. After walking along the outside wall, we entered through a small iron gate into the garden, down a few steps, where he produced a key to open another door. To my astonishment, he locked the door behind us. It was a small underground apartment, which must have been for a chauffeur or some servants. I followed the prince further inside, crossing the small living room and down a long, dark, narrow corridor. Finally, we came out into a large, bright room, and what I saw was stranger than anything I could have expected.

For as long as I have been aware of the world, I cannot remember my brother Said ever being nice to me. I have no memory of him playing with me as a child, buying me a toy or taking me out to play. He was always a source of worry and aggravation. I did love him, but I have to be honest and say that I resented his presence at home and tried to avoid him. I would go to my bedroom and lock the door. So I felt relieved when he married Fayeqa and moved to Tanta, since we no longer had to deal with his problems and, for the first time, could enjoy a placid family life.

During his first visit home as a married man, Said had offered to help my mother out with some money, but she turned down the offer. The next day, as we were sipping our tea, I asked her, “Why did you refuse the money from Said?”

She thought awhile about how to answer. “Your brother is now responsible for his own family,” she told me, avoiding my gaze. “May God provide him support.”

“Said only has his wife to support. He ought to give you something as Kamel and Mahmud do.”

“Well, he offered to, and I refused.”

“Had he really wanted to help, he wouldn’t have asked.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t think the worse of him.”

“You yourself said that Said is selfish. So why are you defending him now?”

“When you are married and have children,” she smiled and said dolefully, “you’ll understand. A mother loves her children unconditionally. However they wrong her, she’ll carry on loving them.”

There was something in her tone that made me fall silent. She sipped her tea and said quietly, “May God guide and help him.”

Said’s wife, Fayeqa, was just as irritating as he was. Her mere presence in our home riled me. I did not like her and knew that she had no use for me or my mother. Fayeqa loved no one except herself. All her altruism after the death of my father had been devised to snare a husband, no more and no less. The moment she achieved her aim and married Said, her true nature emerged, and she started to treat my mother and me as rivals for her husband’s love. Each time before Said and Fayeqa came to visit, my mother and I would work our fingers to the bone preparing a spread for Fayeqa to sneer at with her usual condescension. She was obviously trying to show her husband that she was the better cook or else she meant to provoke an argument and cast herself as the victim. My mother would listen to Fayeqa’s comments and give an embarrassed smile, but I could hardly contain my anger.

One time, when Fayeqa mentioned that the okra needed a bit more salt, I responded, “If you think so little of our cooking, you might come and help us in the kitchen with your superior knowledge.”

Fayeqa was taken aback. She beat her hand on her chest and sobbed. “Oh good Lord. I didn’t mean to offend. I’d rather cut out my own tongue than say anything to upset you or my mother-in-law.”

But even as she was apologizing, she put on that dreadful cloying voice and flounced around. Just like her mother, she had no sense of decency. She would play the temptress with her husband in front of everyone, as if we weren’t there, as if to show my mother that “the son you devoted your life to raising is no longer yours but now belongs to me alone, and with the ring on my finger, I can control him.”

Another time, my mother and I were sitting with Fayeqa on the balcony, when she suddenly started up petulantly, “Mother-in-law, I want to complain to you about something.”

“I hope it’s nothing awful.”

Fayeqa ran her hands through her hair, sighed and continued, “Your son Said won’t leave me alone. I’d like to be able to do my hair, you know. I have to take a shower twice a day. Each time I tell him, ‘Just let me have a break, Said,’ and he implores me. Really, I’m getting exhausted, but what choice do I have?”

Fayeqa let out a cackle. And after an embarrassed silence, my mother quickly replied, “Listen, my girl, those are matters for you and your husband. You shouldn’t be talking about them to anyone, not even your relatives. Saleha, please go and make us some tea.”

My mother was trying to spare me. I went to the kitchen furious with Fayeqa. All this talk about her sex life made her sound like a slut. It was hardly surprising considering that she was Aisha’s daughter, but I felt she was sending me a message. She was a year older than I was, but we were different. Whereas her mother had brought her up to get married, my father had encouraged me to get an education. I felt that she was jealous of my success at school and wanted me to see a husband was much more important than an education.

Fayeqa and Said’s visits were always marked by these little provocations and irritations. Their visit that day had been suspicious, with Said calling my mother to tell her that he was coming with his wife. We had been surprised that Fayeqa would make the trip in the first months of her pregnancy. After eating the mulukhiya with rabbit, which they had requested, Said went off to the sitting room with my mother, and I heard my mother’s raised voice, with Kamel soon joining in and shouting too. Fayeqa was sitting outside the room, her head down, listening. I was used to these arguments, and as I had an examination the next day, I shut myself in my bedroom and studied until I could do no more. Then I made my ablutions, said my evening prayers and climbed into bed.

In the morning, my mother looked exhausted and tense. I did not ask her what had happened because I wanted to keep my mind clear for the examination. When I got back from school, I was able to report that I had got top marks. My mother gave me a kiss and then sat me down beside her. I could tell that she was still on edge.

“Said, your brother,” she said with a smile, “has found a husband for you.”

“A husband?”

The word sounded so strange.

“Who is it?” I asked mechanically.

“He’s a camel merchant called Abd el-Barr from Kom Ombo. He’s forty. Very well off. He has already been married, but his wife was barren so he divorced her.”

I did not know what to say. The surprise was too much for me to take in. My mother sighed and asked me quietly, “What do you think?”

“What does Kamel think?”

“Kamel insists that you finish your studies.”

“Then we should do as he says.”

“We need to think on it very carefully, Saleha. The worst thing is to rush into a decision on a matter like this.”

That night I lay in bed and shut my eyes, but sleep did not come. I thought about what my mother had said. I knew that I was pretty. I always felt proud when I looked at my naked body in the bathroom. I considered myself well proportioned and attractive, not to mention the smooth black hair and the green eyes that I inherited from my grandmother. Enamored as I was with my own looks, I had not thought about marriage at all. It just had not occurred to me. Marriage was for me a faint notion, something that happened to other people. Of course, like all other girls I did hope one day to have a home and a husband and children, but I always dreamed of other things before marriage. I had always imagined my life to be a series of hurdles that I would overcome one by one until I finally became a university instructor, my father’s dream for me. I could still hear his words: “Saleha, God gave you and Kamel to us to make up for the useless Mahmud and Said. Be strong. I want you to be first always.”