Naguib Mahfouz - The Mirage

As I was seated, still clinging to Medhat’s arm, I whispered in his ear, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Buck up,” he whispered back. “Otherwise, your bride will seem less shy than you are!”

Hardly had the harrowing moment of reception passed when Gabr Bey Sayyid came up to introduce me to his coterie of specially invited guests. As I stood there, flustered as usual, I went to work shaking hands as my tongue repeated mechanically, “Nice to meet you.… Nice to meet you.” I sat down again without having memorized a single name. There then ensued a lengthy exchange that I couldn’t comprehend, still less take part in. Still my usual shy self, I grew more and more self-conscious, and everyone seemed to be winking at each other mockingly or laughing at me in their hearts. Time dragged on until I was invited to sign the wedding contract, an event which, much to my relief, was to take place in a room that was nearly empty. On the way there, however, there was an explosion of joyful ululations as if the guests were engaged in a fierce competition to see which of them could outdo the rest, and again I had the urge to disappear.

I returned to my seat and to my muteness and time continued to pass, though to me it was a time for nothing but silence, frenzied thoughts, and a wild desire to flee. Then we were invited to a meal that was being served on the roof in the open air. For someone like me, dinner would just be one more ordeal. Unlike conversation, however, it was at least tolerable, since the guests would be too busy eating to do anything else, and that would give me some peace and quiet. After the meal we returned to our seats, my arm still locked in my brother’s, and then the singing began. The amateur vocalist and his band — who were amateurs as well — took their places at the front of the reception room. He belted out “Oh, How I Miss You!” in a reasonably pleasant voice that, in my opinion, was better than that of the singer at the vegetable market pub. Gabr Bey Sayyid brought the band a couple of bottles of whiskey, while others were served brimming glasses.

“Won’t you have a drink or two?” my brother whispered in my ear.

I gave him a look whose meaning he didn’t comprehend and said curtly, “Impossible.”

I said it as though I were shocked at the mere suggestion, then retreated into silent recollections. How I’d adored getting drunk! So wasn’t it amazing that I hadn’t tasted a drop of liquor since the day I’d mustered the courage to speak to my beloved? I’d abandoned it without the slightest difficulty as though it had never been, and I hadn’t been tempted to go back to it even once. The singing and conversation continued and the laughter grew louder. If it hadn’t been for my awareness of the critical moment that awaited me, I might have taken to the atmosphere and gotten over my discomfort and tense nerves. As it was, however, I couldn’t stop wondering: When will I receive my bride? Where? And will it take place out of other people’s sight?

More time passed, then suddenly I was roused from my reverie by Gabr Bey Sayyid, who was standing in front of me and placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Let’s go, Kamil,” he said in a low voice. “The time has come!”

Looking up at him apprehensively, I murmured, “Is it time to go?”

“Not yet!” he said with a laugh, “But after a simple procession.”

“No! No!” I cried in horror as a shudder went through my body. “We’d agreed that there wouldn’t be any procession!”

“It isn’t what you think,” he said. “In the big parlor we’ve set up seats of honor on a dais for the bride and groom, so you come in with your bride and the two of you sit down on it. After all, everybody wants to see the newlyweds. And what fault is that of mine?”

His words were transformed in my imagination into fearsome images. I saw myself walking out past everyone to the bride’s room, then bringing her back with guests surrounding us on all sides with applause and cheers. Then I saw us sitting there at the mercy of everyone’s stares! O Lord! I thought. I’m sure to faint!

“But this is a procession!” I said heatedly. “And I can’t do it! Please don’t make me do it, sir! I can’t.”

“It’s easier than you think. And what has to be done, has to be done. Otherwise, what will the guests say?”

Panicking, I cried, “Let them say whatever they like. I can’t. I’ll wait for the bride on the landing, then she and I will go home.”

The man laughed in spite of himself. Then, raising his voice so that he could be heard over the singer, he shouted, “The landing! What an odd groom you are!”

Medhat, who’d been listening to us without saying anything, squeezed my arm and said firmly, “What kind of childish thinking is this? Don’t you want to come out with your bride? Aren’t you capable of making your way down an aisle in front of a selected group of respectable ladies? Do you want Gabr Bey to have to apologize to everyone on your behalf that you’re too shy to appear in front of the female guests? What a scandal!”

Gabr Bey was heartened by what my brother had said. As for me, I stared at my brother in disbelief. I’d never imagined that the fatal stab would come from the very person I’d been counting on! My brother chuckled at my panic and bewilderment and was about to speak when I interrupted him, grieved and desperate, saying, “How can you push me to do something I’m not capable of? Do you want to make me a laughingstock in front of the women here?”

Moved by my desolate, pitiful tone of voice, Gabr Bey said gently, “All the ladies who’ve been invited are members of the family. You met them on the day of the engagement. And you’ll see that I’m telling you the truth.”

Still terror-stricken, I said imploringly, “I beg you in God’s name to have mercy on me!”

As if he could see that words would get them nowhere, my brother addressed himself to Gabr Bey, saying, “We might agree on some sort of compromise. The bride can come up to the dais escorted by her girlfriends, then I’ll escort my brother to her and the two of them can sit there for a while surrounded by family before they leave.”

Gabr Bey gestured to me not to raise any further objections, then left.

As for me, I turned to my brother in a fury and said, “What a traitor you are! How can you call this a compromise when all it is is a way of torturing me?”

With a resounding laugh that reminded me of our father, he replied, “You’d disgrace an entire country! Now quit your arguing and we’ll go together. As for me, I’d be happy to be escorted down an aisle of pretty ladies any day!”

He fell silent for a moment, then thumped me on the shoulder and said, “If you’ve got cold feet, then run away and give up the bride!”

And with that, I resigned myself to reality, feeling hopeless, weary and dismayed. As the band played “Here Comes the Bride,” my heart throbbed with dread, and I could feel the danger drawing near. And as I heard the ululations coming from the parlor, my strength gave out on me.

I turned to Medhat, saying, “Isn’t there any way out of this?”

Pulling me by the arm, he rose to his feet as he replied, “There’s one way, and it’s the way that leads to the dais in the other room. I swear, you’re like a little boy being dragged in to be circumcised!”

He started walking. Meanwhile, my feet moved while my heart sank.

As we came through the door, he whispered to me, “Now look up. Stare into those pretty ladies’ faces until they look down in embarrassment!”

However, I advanced slowly, my head lowered the entire time. I was certain that my appearance would make anybody want to laugh. I heard a woman’s voice asking, “Which one is the groom?” “The tall one!” another voice replied. The place was packed, and I saw innumerable legs and white shoes along either side of the path that had been cleared for us.