Alaa al-Aswany - The Automobile Club of Egypt

I thanked the prince, then suddenly felt as if I could burst out in tears, and it must have been obvious that I was trying to stop myself. Noticing this, the prince withdrew and played a bit with his photographic equipment. After a while, he came back to see whether I had pulled myself together again.

“You need to learn,” he said affectionately, “how to direct your anger to the larger purpose. Who gave the Englishman the right to insult you? The British occupation makes him feel he has the unquestioned authority to demean Egyptians. His offensive behavior is a direct result.”

“But I can’t just sit saying nothing,” I exclaimed, “until the British evacuate the country.”

The prince raised his hand as if to silence me.

“Kamel,” he said wistfully. “Please. You’ll take us back to square one. I told you that I’ll have words with him. Now, I want to brief you on the mission. I want you to think about it as the appropriate way to respond to Wright’s insults.”

“I’m ready,” I answered at once, “to carry out any orders you give me.”

“Bravo,” the prince smiled.

He got up and went over to a wooden chest at the far end of the room. He came back with a blue package, sat down next to me and opened it, taking out a small glass orb and handing it to me. I rolled it around in my hand, examining it, as he said, “I’ll now tell you exactly what you have to do.”

He started pulling at my nightdress, and I understood what he wanted. I took it off and almost died of shame. He pushed me down on my back and then lay on top of me. I was breathing heavily and could feel my own heart racing. He put his arms around me and slipped his tongue into my mouth. I could smell the tobacco on his breath and thought I was going to faint. Almost immediately, he got off me and sat up on the bed. He smiled at me and said, “Congratulations, now you’re a woman.”

He took a quick shower and, after a few minutes, came back and lay down beside me, kissing me on the cheek and whispering, “Good night.” I lay there staring into the darkness until I heard his breathing become regular. I took a shower and returned to bed.

I was bewildered by what had happened. Abd el-Barr on top of me, the way he lay there sleeping with the smell of tobacco still on his breath, those things made me feel incredulity and shame. It was the same routine every night we were in Alexandria. The day after we returned to Cairo, my mother and Aisha came to see me. The moment I opened the door and saw them, I flung myself into my mother’s arms. She burst out crying and said, “I can’t believe that I’m coming to visit you in your home, Saleha. May God have mercy upon you, Abd el-Aziz. If only you had lived to see your daughter married.”

I hugged and kissed her and tried to calm her down. My mother and Aisha had brought enough food to last a week. Duck stuffed with onion, pigeon stuffed with cracked wheat, three roast chickens as well as a pan of savory rice with clotted cream. After a while, Abd el-Barr came out of the bedroom, welcoming my mother and Aisha and joining us in the sitting room. He was polite and friendly as usual. I got up to make some tea, and my mother and Aisha followed me into the kitchen. My mother was flustered, but Aisha was laughing.

“We’ve come to see if you’re all right! Is everything fine?”

“Thank God, yes,” I said, putting the kettle on.

Aisha sidled over to me and asked in a low voice, “You mean the thing’s been done?”

I said nothing, dying of embarrassment.

My mother took pity on me and grabbed Aisha away by the hand, saying, “That’s enough, missus! The girl’s shy.”

Aisha, a few steps away, looked me up and down. “So,” she asked, “are you…satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Fantastic!”

She made me laugh in spite of myself and put her arms around me, whispering gently, “Do you want help with anything?”

At that moment, I felt I loved Aisha. For all her faults, she, unlike her daughter, Fayeqa, was a wonderful, sincere person. Day by day, I started getting used to my new life. The feeling of being a housewife made me happy. My home was my kingdom to organize the way I wanted. I would wake up at first light and take a shower, get myself ready and go and make my husband’s breakfast. Abd el-Barr needed a few hours’ more sleep than I did. He never woke up before noon. I would make him a hot breakfast of mashed fava beans, falafel and an omelet. Then he would take a shower and go to work, and I would not see him again until after midnight. When he came home, he would find me dressed up and waiting with what should have been his dinner. It was taking me a little time to get used to the shift in my daily routine. I was an early sleeper, and I ended up having to drink a big mug of coffee in order not to doze off before my husband came home. Marriage did not change Abd el-Barr’s character. He was still as generous and kind as he had been during our engagement, and in the first days I felt almost happy. But there was something that caused a ripple in the halcyon calm, something I felt too ashamed to even think about. I tried to ignore it, but it kept me awake at night, preying on my thoughts.

Nights with Abd el-Barr continued along the same lines: he would sit on the edge of the bed, completely naked, and then ask me to take off my nightdress in front of him. At the beginning, when I protested, he just stared at me and said, “You should do what your husband asks. Get undressed.”

I did as he ordered, trying not to look at him. He gazed at my naked body, filling me with shame. Then he would start kissing me and get me to lie down on my back, at which point he would wrap himself around me and wriggle a little on top of me until I felt a little wet spot on my body. Then he would jump up and go to the bathroom. When he returned, he would plant a little kiss on my cheek, before lying down with his back to me and sinking into a deep sleep. I always waited for him to drop off before going to the bathroom. Standing under the hot shower, I would go over it and feel strangely sullied. I felt like I had been accosted and would sob quietly so that Abd el-Barr would not hear me. I had no idea why I was crying. Was it because he forced me to get undressed? Or because he just plumped himself on top of me without saying anything? Shouldn’t he say “I love you” or whisper some sweet nothings? I felt sure that what we were doing in bed was not normal. None of the things Aisha had explained to me took place. I noticed that Abd el-Barr was waking up a little tense in the morning. He would not look at me and hardly said anything. As we ate breakfast together, he would gradually come back to himself. As time passed, it became clear to me: it was I who was suffering from some defect and most certainly incapable of satisfying my husband in bed. It was obvious that he could hardly bear me and was just making do. Overwhelmed by guilt, I tried to ingratiate myself with him. I made him ever more delicious dishes to eat, pranced around and tried to get him to laugh. All of this to try to make up for the defect he had discovered in me. I could manage to put it out of my mind during the day, but each night brought the same ordeal.

After a few weeks, I could not bear it anymore. I had to do something. I told Abd el-Barr that I wanted to go and visit my mother. As I was walking up the stairs, I felt very emotional, realizing just how much I missed our home, and the wonderful memories flooded through my mind. Rather than going straight in, I knocked on Aisha’s door. She saw the state I was in.

“What’s the matter, my little darling?” she asked me.

Feeling sorry for myself and unable to withstand her kindness, I started crying. Aisha put her arms around me and started soothing me. Then she went and made me a glass of lemonade. This time when she asked what was wrong, I answered weakly, “I’ve got a problem with Abd el-Barr.”