Naguib Mahfouz - The Mirage

I found her looking her elegant self, which was the way I liked her to receive me. As I peered searchingly into that demure face of hers, now lit up with a smile of welcome, I sensed the gravity of what I was about to embark on, and a feeling of gloom and dread came over me.

With a hesitancy whose reasons she didn’t know I said, “Let’s move soon to a more suitable house, and I’ll restore to you your servants and entourage!”

She smiled and said, “These are the happiest days of my life because I’m serving you.”

I took off my clothes and went back into the parlor, where we sat side by side on a couch. O Lord, Your succor and mercy! I said to myself as angst and timidity took hold of me. It was going to be an arduous, unhappy task, but there was no avoiding it. I stole a glance at her and found her looking tranquil and secure, blissfully unaware of what I had in store for her. I felt a pang of remorse, and the strength of my resolve nearly melted away. However, I also feared the consequences of being indecisive and capitulating to weakness.

So I flung myself into the abyss, saying, “Mama, I want to speak with you about an important matter.”

She shot me a peculiar look that I took to be one of wariness and apprehension. In fact, I even suspected that she’d intuited the nature of the subject I intended to broach by the force of some supernatural inspiration. Had my tone of voice betrayed what was going on in my mind? Had I given myself away by the look in my eyes? Or was I just imagining things?

As for her, she said in a calm, inquisitive tone, “I hope everything’s all right.”

Determined to pass through the danger zone once and for all, I said fearfully, “I’m going to put my trust in God and get married.”

The phrase “get married” sounded strange to my ears, and it aroused a sense of shame in me as though I’d uttered an obscene, hurtful word. She looked up at me in astonishment. Her eyes grew big as saucers, and in them I saw a look of bewilderment and incomprehension as though she hadn’t understood a word I’d said.

“Get married?” she asked.

Having cleared the biggest hurdle, I was able to say, “Yes. That’s what I intend to do.”

She let forth an abrupt laugh that sounded less like laughter than like a cry of perplexity and distress.

Her voice trembling, she said, “How happy that makes me! This is happiness indeed. Did you just decide on this today? Now? Why haven’t you told me before? Congratulations, son.”

I was upset by the tremor in her voice and her obvious agitation.

“I’m asking for your permission,” I said, “Because I always like you to approve of me.”

“Can you imagine me withholding my approval from you for a single moment?” she exclaimed theatrically. “O God, after all the love I’ve given you, am I rewarded for it by your casting doubts on my sincerity? I’d approve of you even if you killed me. Have you forgotten that my entire life belongs to you?”

Swallowing with difficulty as I stole an uneasy glance at her, I said, “I know all that and more, Mama.”

A grim look appeared on her face and she seemed to be trying in vain to keep her emotions in check.

“That’s something everyone knows,” she went on. “After all, what mother isn’t going to rejoice over her son’s marriage, even if she’s all alone and he’s all she has left! This is life’s wisdom: for me to hold you close for a lifetime, then deliver you as a wonderful young man to your bride. I’m weeping for joy!”

She began to cry as she spoke, and she looked at me though her tears as though she were alarmed by my silence.

Then she said apologetically, “Forgive me, Kamil. These aren’t tears of sadness. They’re tears of joy. It’s just that you took me by surprise and didn’t inform me in the gentlest way. Of course, there’s no need to be gentle. Don’t you think I’m apologizing in a way that’s worse than the original offense? May my guilt be forgiven for the sake of my great love, my good intentions, and this heart of mine that I’ve given you even though you’re no longer in need of it. You know that when I get emotional, I can’t control my tongue. I congratulate you on what you’ve chosen for yourself. But, is it only now that this desire has come up? I can’t bear to think that you’ve wanted to marry before and weren’t able to. Have you wanted to do this for a long time?”

Masking my feelings with a lame smile, I said, “No, Mama. I only started thinking about it recently, when it seemed to me that I’d grown up.”

Laughing hysterically, she cried, “Listen to this, folks! It seems that Kamil has grown up! I must have lived too long, then!”

“Mama,” I groaned, “you’re grieving me.”

“Death to whoever would grieve you! A mother who makes her child sad doesn’t deserve to live. But you misrepresent yourself when you claim that you’ve grown up. What a contrary child you are! I can still see you crawling, riding on my shoulder, and prancing around wearing an officer’s uniform with that braid of yours hanging down your back!”

“I’m nearly twenty-eight years old!” I said in distress.

“My youngest child is about to turn twenty-eight! What an old woman I am! Have it your way. No matter how old you are, you’ll be the youngest of husbands, but I’ll rejoice over it like nobody’s business. Why are you looking offended? Have I said something to hurt you? God knows I’m not good at talking, but I’d rather die than hurt you.”

With a heavy heart I said, “May God forgive you, Mama.”

Then she smiled. Yes, by God, she smiled. Then she said with feigned happiness, “Let’s leave all this aside and put first things first. Listen to me, Kamil. Marry with my blessing, and I’ll choose a bride for you if you tell me to.”

I hesitated for a moment. Then, too distressed to keep quiet I said, “There’s no choice to be made. I’ve already made my choice.”

She stared at me in disbelief, then fell into a long silence.

“When did this happen?” she asked.

“Not long ago.”

A look of reproach flashed in her eyes, as though it caused her pain for me to withhold such a serious matter from her. Then she looked down in resignation.

In a calm — exceedingly calm — voice she asked, “Who is it?”

“I don’t know exactly. Most likely she’s a teacher, and she lives in the orange building across from Qasr al-Aini.”

Astonished again, she asked, “Haven’t you spoken to anyone about her?”

“Not at all.”

She thought at length, then continued, “Isn’t it possible that she’s engaged already?” Here my heart beat violently. “And don’t you know anything about her family! Who is her father?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t I tell you you were a child? Marriage is a more serious matter than you think. You may be taken by her face, but you can’t put any store by that. What matters is for you to know what kind of girl she is, what sort of people her family are, her status in society, and what their morals are like. When a young man marries, he’s marrying a family, not just an individual, and before he takes the final step, he needs to make sure who the mother of his children will be, and who their maternal uncles will be.”

Flustered now, I felt angry for the first time.

“She comes from an honorable family,” I said with certainty. “I have no doubt of that.”

“But how do you know?”

With the tone of someone who’ll brook no discussion of the point at hand, I said, “I’m just sure of it, that’s all.”

With an indignant look on her face she retorted, “A teacher! Girls who come from nice families don’t work as teachers. On the whole, a teacher will either be homely or some reckless girl who tries to be like a man.”