Naguib Mahfouz - The Mirage

Lord! Do you suppose she’d heard me? Yes, she had! Blushing and blinking her eyes, she stared at me in disbelief.

A harsh, arduous time ensued. My throat went dry and my heartbeats came fast and furiously. What sort of abyss had my lunacy plunged me into? The suicidal maniac had jumped, and now it was time to cry for help. Even so, I felt a profound relief, since I’d managed to budge the hugest barricade on my life’s path. I’d spoken! The rock had spoken, albeit belatedly. At the very least, I wouldn’t die with my secret still undisclosed. However, the tram wasn’t going to give me much more time, since it was about to reach my sweetheart’s stop. She was looking out the window by now, her hand was on the doorknob in preparation to open it, and once she did that, it would be all over. With madness coming over me once more, I took hold of the doorknob to keep her from opening it. Where on earth had I gotten such nerve? Her pretty face registered a look of indignation and she looked daggers at me.

Nearly in tears, I whispered imploringly, “Just one thing.…”

For a few brutal moments, I expected the thunderbolt to descend upon my head and for her to rebuke me or send me away with angry words. This, of course, would have turned the people around us against me, and that would have been the end of me. If it had happened I wouldn’t have had the strength to bear it, and I would have perished on the spot! When the tram stopped, I still had hold of the door, and when it moved again she was still standing there, frowning and disgruntled, though without making any serious objection. A wild rush of satisfaction coursed through my body, so pleased was I with my conquest, and I imagined myself being transformed into an invincible giant before whom death itself falls prostrate after being dealt a single blow. I waited two more stops, then I opened the door and whispered, “After you.” She turned around edgily, then made her way through the crowd with me close on her heels. It was then that my elation was dampened by a troubling thought: Might she have simply capitulated out of shyness, embarrassment, and the desire to avoid a scene? Wasn’t it most likely that she had restrained her anger on the tram so that she could unleash it on me in the street away from people’s inquisitive stares? My strength about to give out, I got off the tram behind her feeling worried and distraught. Darkness had fallen, and the street was virtually deserted except for cars coming and going. She hastily moved away from me and began to cross over to the sidewalk. Propelled by the fear of letting the opportunity slip out of my grasp and emboldened by the darkness, I came up to her.

“Pardon me,” I said with a trembling voice. “Please don’t take offense at my forwardness.”

“What do you want?” she retorted. “And what is this that you did in front of everyone?”

Now I was more flustered than ever. I was hearing her voice for the first time, and I was stirred by her lovely accent despite the sharpness and anger in her voice.

“I ask you to forgive me,” I said. “I’ve wanted to say something to you for a long time, but I never had the chance until today.”

I was finding it terribly difficult to express myself, and it seemed that my fervent emotions couldn’t be put into words. I was grieved and distressed, and to make things worse, she turned her back to me indifferently and hurriedly crossed the street to the other sidewalk.

I followed her in no less of a hurry, saying, “Please, one moment. Listen to me. I’ll say just one thing, then we’ll go our separate ways.”

Without stopping or looking at me she said, “By what right do you speak to me, you …?”

Forgetting myself, I cried, “I’ve known you for more than two years!”

“What nonsense!” she said irritably.

Could she possibly not have recognized me?

How stupid could I be! Hadn’t she complied with my wishes, with the result that we’d gotten off at this particular stop? This seemed to indicate that she wanted to hear what I had to say. The opportunity was before me, but I was ruining it with my inarticulate, bumbling speech.

I mustered my strength and, in a tremulous voice, I said distraughtly, “For months and months I’ve been dying to say something. So what harm would it do for you to listen to me?”

Why didn’t I just speak rather than making these endless introductions? O Lord, loosen my tongue! It seemed to me at this point that my beloved became aware of my deadly shyness. I don’t know what caused her to stop, but I saw her turn toward me and look at me with her beautiful eyes, those eyes that I loved more than life itself.

“What do you want?” she asked me testily.

What did I want? Had I not said it yet? Here she was waiting for the word that I’d sought her permission to speak, wearying her in the process. Had I not rehearsed it? I drew a huge blank as though I’d lost the ability to speak. What was one to say? I swallowed my nonexistent saliva in near despair.

Then, seeing her make a gesture that indicated she was losing her patience and about to leave, I broke out of my silence and cried, “Wait, please! I wanted to say … I want.…” The words, “to ask for your hand” got stuck in my throat. “You understand, I’m sure. Don’t you? Is this possible?”

“Oof!” she said. “I have to go home, and don’t follow me, please.”

Seized by a panic that impelled me to speak, I said without hesitation this time, “I’m thinking … I mean, I want to ask you to marry me, if you please!”

And with that, I sighed audibly as a sense of relief and surrender flooded my being. At long last I’d spoken and gotten things off my chest. And now, let come what may.

A moment of deep silence passed, like the calm that follows a raging storm. Then she began walking with short steps without saying a word. Feeling uneasy again, I followed her.

Like someone begging for a reply, I said, “That was what I wanted to say.”

In a low voice that seemed to reach my ear placidly, without a trace of harshness or anger, she said, “It isn’t proper for you to follow me this way.”

Stumbling hurriedly over my words, I said, “I asked for your permission, so don’t leave me without a reply.”

“I’m not the one to be addressed concerning this matter!” she said impatiently.

My heart was beating passionately, overflowing with unspeakable joy.

“I realize that,” I said. “However, I was afraid someone else had asked first.”

Her voice barely audible, she said, “Suppose someone had.…”

“Have I missed my chance, then?” I cried miserably.

With an exasperated sigh she said, “Don’t follow me any farther. I’m getting close to the house.”

“Is there no hope?” I asked her as my heart strove with all its strength to break free of despair’s grip.

Walking even more quickly now, she replied, “I’m not the one to be spoken to about this matter.”

I stopped walking and stood still for a moment in a daze.

Then I cracked my knuckles, crying, “What an idiot I am! If she’d wanted to refuse me, she could easily have given me a definitive reply. Didn’t she go along with me on the tram? Didn’t she listen to me a few minutes ago? Didn’t she tell me that she wasn’t the person to be spoken to about this matter? So what more could I ask? It was a polite, indirect invitation!”

Once these facts had sunk in, my soul was suffused with a dream-like bliss, and I felt as though I were reeling like a drunken man.

I came home with the memories of the past hour singing the most dulcet of tunes in my heart. I was possessed by a feeling of boundless strength, not to mention a fair measure of pride and conceit. In a single minute I’d bidden farewell to a long era of passivity. “I’ll tell my mother about everything,” I announced to myself. I said it without fear or hesitation — and perhaps without mercy as well. I knocked on the door and she opened it for me herself, murmuring with a smile as she typically did, “Welcome, light of my eyes.”