Naguib Mahfouz - The Mirage

Whatever the case may be, I thought, I had no choice but to broach the subject with him as though he knew nothing about it. I’d written down an outline of what I thought I ought to say, and I’d read it over and over again until I’d memorized it before leaving the house.

In a low voice I said, “I’m sorry to inconvenience you with this visit from someone you haven’t met before.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Kamil,” he said, the gracious smile never leaving his fine lips. “Are you from around here?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, happy to have been given a reason to speak. “I live in Manyal.”

“It’s a nice, peaceful neighborhood.”

Taking more and more of a liking to him, I said, “I was born there, too. My grandfather, Colonel Abdulla Bey Hasan, moved there more than seventy years ago.”

“Abdullah Bey Hasan,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I’ve heard that name before. Was he your grandfather on your father’s side?”

“No,” I said, feeling distressed. “He was my maternal grandfather. My father was from the Laz family.”

“Was he an officer, too?”

Feeling increasingly anxious, I replied, “No, he wasn’t, may he rest in peace. He was a notable.”

Still smiling, he said, “I thought he might have been an officer, since people of the same profession often marry into each other’s families.”

I affirmed what he’d said, then he fell silent, and I couldn’t think of anything else to say. As I went over the things I’d memorized, I recalled the critical statement on which my fortune in life hung. However, my tongue was tied and I said nothing. It wasn’t long before I’d gone back to feeling muddled and anxious, and my head was ablaze with embarrassment. At that moment the young servant — the one who knew me well — came in carrying the tea tray. She set it down on a table whose surface was plated with a polished mirror. Then, concealing a faint smile, she withdrew. I welcomed her arrival with the tea, since it rescued me from the awkward silence that was weighing on me almost unbearably. The bey filled two glasses and invited me to take one. I picked up my glass with gratitude and began sipping it unhurriedly while my mind raced. Then, having reluctantly finished my tea, I found myself faced once again with Gabr Bey and the mysterious, cordial smile with which he encouraged me to speak. What had to be done, had to be done. Otherwise, the session would turn into a ridiculous joke. So, I thought: let me feign a bit of manliness in the presence of the person whose son-in-law I aspire to be before I lose his respect.

Gathering my courage, I said in what was, admittedly, a tremulous, unsteady voice, “Sir, I wanted … I mean, the fact is that I’d like to have the honor of becoming your son-in-law.”

The statement I’d written out and memorized wasn’t much different from what I said. I felt muddled after I’d opened my mouth. However, God came to my rescue, and I managed to express what was on my mind with a fair degree of success. I looked over at the man and found him still smiling.

He paused a few moments that were a source of agony to my terrified soul.

Then he said ever so graciously, “I thank you for your high opinion of us.”

He fell silent for a few more pensive moments, then continued, “However, I ask you to give me two weeks to consult with other concerned parties.”

“Of course, of course,” I said. “I can only thank you for your generosity and hospitality.”

I rose to my feet in preparation to leave. He invited me to stay longer, but I declined apologetically, thanking him for his gracious offer. Then I bade him farewell and left. Once outside, I heaved a deep sigh, feeling as though a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders. Now that the ordeal was over, the task looked like a simple one that shouldn’t have caused me such fear, anxiety, and dismay. I smiled in relief, then burst out laughing.

I enjoyed the intoxication of relief and victory until evening. Then back came angst, that old cohort that never tires of my company. Would Gabr Bey agree to let a petty employee like me marry his daughter? Wouldn’t Muhammad Gawdat be the more likely candidate despite my income from our family’s estate? After all, he was an engineer like Gabr Bey, not to mention his being a neighbor and a friend. As for me, I had no such qualifications. On the other hand, Rabab hadn’t taken to him, and if she’d had any interest in him, she wouldn’t have met with me and encouraged me to meet with her father. This thought cooled my burning heart and brought back my intoxication. However, it wasn’t sufficient to eradicate the doubt and anxiety that lurked deep inside me. As the days of waiting passed one by one, I only grew more depressed and pessimistic. Consequently, I kept the matter a secret from my mother, enduring the wait and the bitterness of doubt in a fearsome solitude lest she learn of my failure if that was to be my fate. Strangely, we’d never returned to the subject of marriage since that tempestuous evening. Her behavior reflected an unaccustomed reserve that wasn’t lost on my sensitive radar. There were numerous occasions when she seemed like an angry child who’s gone off to pout. Whenever I came to her with something to talk about, she would receive me with a kind of suspicion that wouldn’t leave her until she’d assured herself of the nature of the subject to be discussed. I was annoyed by the change in her, but I continued to treat her with courtesy and affection.

During this same period of time, a fellow employee at my workplace whispered in my ear that, according to an employee in the personnel department, “somebody” had been inquiring about me. Hence, news quickly spread in the warehousing section that I was planning to marry. Accordingly, they began jovially offering me personal advice, which caused me to feel even more resentful and angry. When the waiting period was over, I went to see Gabr Bey Sayyid. However, I didn’t go to his house this time for fear that the answer I’d receive would be a disappointment. Instead, I went to meet him at the Ministry of Labor, where he gave me a warm welcome and announced his agreement! Thus my torment came to an end and I was reinstated in the land of the living. During this meeting we agreed on a date for the engagement party. If a person’s life is a mixture of misery and happiness, it seemed to me then that my days of misery were over, and that I would be rewarded for my patient endurance, misery, and fear with untainted bliss for the rest of my days. I went home, summoned my mother, and informed her of what had happened.

After listening to me in resignation and astonishment, she asked, “Why did you keep all this from me?”

“I didn’t expect it to turn out the way it has,” I said with a nervous laugh.

“My Goodness!” she said testily. “Did you really think they’d refuse you? What a naive child you are! Don’t you know that there are countless girls out there a thousand times better than yours who’d be more than happy to marry you?”

In a tone that made clear that I had no desire to pursue the discussion, I said, “I’m waiting for you to congratulate me, Mama.”

Leaning toward me and kissing my cheek, she murmured, “I’m the one who ought to be congratulated.” Then she uttered a lengthy prayer of supplication for me.

Being someone who found it difficult to hide her feelings, my mother’s face was an open book. As such, the look in her eyes betrayed a profound disappointment that roiled my peace of mind. I ignored it, however, pretending to believe her words, and before long I’d become too engrossed in my own happiness to worry about her. On that same day I wrote a letter to my brother, informing him of what had happened and inviting him to the engagement party. I visited my sister Radiya as well and invited her too. On the appointed day we all went together, though I honestly don’t know how I got the courage to attend. Linking arms with my brother Medhat, I asked him to be my escort, and I wore him out with my awkwardness, passivity, and shyness.