Naguib Mahfouz - Morning and Evening Talk

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 passed 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 God!” 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 God always granted salvation and nothing that warranted gossip passed 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 class. The hanems’ gentle natures and fine breeding and the fact that, despite appearances, they shared the same attitudes 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 assisted 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 superstitions 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 God 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 gods alongside God.”

“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 damnation 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 principal 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 Nasser, who was the last leader she would know and who raised her grandchildren to the skies then plunged the greatest among them into destitution 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.”