Naguib Mahfouz - The Mirage

Then I heard my brother whisper in my ear, “We’ve arrived at the dais. Get up there and greet your bride, then sit down.”

After ascending a couple of steps, I lifted my eyes cautiously and fearfully and saw my beloved sitting beneath an arbor of flowers. She was decked out in a white bridal gown, and on her head there was a tiara of sweet-smelling jasmine blossoms from which silk ribbons cascaded down her back. She herself was splendor and light, jasmine and roses. When she saw me, she lowered her gaze and a faint smile appeared on her lips. By now I was just a step away from her, and I remembered my brother saying, “Greet your bride and sit down.” But how was I supposed to greet her? By shaking her hand? Or by saying, “Good evening”? I hesitated, confused, and in her gentle, demure smile I could see that she was, in fact, awaiting my greeting. Then I remembered anew what I’d forgotten about for a few short moments: I became aware once again of the eyes that were staring at me and nearly burning a hole in my back. And with that I lost my composure and sat down on the empty seat without saying a word or moving my hand.

I’d made a mistake, of that there was no doubt. What would the women say? What would my beloved think? Ugh, what a situation! If I’d known earlier what I knew then, I would never have even thought of getting married. The music was playing, the ululations were ringing out, and the air was redolent with sweet perfumes. To die would be easier than to marry! Was I doomed forever to be the victim of platforms and podiums? The lecture podium at the Faculty of Law had put an end to my future, and this evening, the bridal dais was about to put an end to my life!

And, I wondered, what will the women say about the fact that I kept my eyes glued to the floor the entire time?

Then suddenly I thought of my mother. I wondered where she was sitting, and knew she must see me at that moment. The thought of it made me several times more bashful than before, and I felt like someone who’s been caught doing something wrong. Responding to an irresistible urge to see where she was, I looked up cautiously, only to find that she was closer than I’d imagined her to be. She was sitting in the first row, directly in front of the dais. Our eyes met and we exchanged a faint smile. Then my imagination carried me back to an image from the distant past. I saw myself standing behind the fence at the primary school as she stood on the sidewalk on the other side of the fence sending me a look of encouragement and farewell. The memory caused an ache in my heart.

I sighed with relief when Madame Nazli came up to us and said with a smile, “And now, home with the two of you. Adieu!”

Then she said to me in a whisper, “The servant woman, Sabah, will be coming with her young mistress because she can’t bear to part with her. So be good to her, and you’ll find her to be the best of cooks.”

Then she stepped aside with tears in her eyes. We rose from our places, I took my bride by the hand and we made our way for the door at a measured pace as well-wishers bade us farewell with ululations and song. A friend of Gabr Bey’s had placed his car at our disposal for the evening, so we disappeared inside the vehicle and it whisked us away.

Turning toward her with a sigh as though I were seeing her for the first time, I said contentedly, “What an ordeal that was!”

“And what a bashful guy you are! Was it really that bad?”

I laughed to conceal my embarrassment, then immersed myself in a gladness that filled heart, eye, and spirit.

I closed the bedroom door with a trembling hand. This wing of the flat was empty and silent. It was separated from the other, where my mother’s room and the sitting room were located, by two small parlors that opened onto each other. Our room was square, with the bed located in the center. Directly to the right of the entrance there was a long seat covered with pink upholstery, and on the opposite wall were the dressing table and the clothes rack. Rabab went over to the other side of the room and sat down at the dressing table, whose mirrors formed a half-circle around her, thereby framing her with reflected images of herself. She began removing her crown of jasmine blossoms, while I stood in the middle of the room with my elbow resting on the bed’s wooden frame. As I stood there I looked back and forth between her lissome back and her reflections, every one of which made claim to be prettier than all the rest. This room was my world, and with it I would be content. This girl was my share of the universe, and with her I would be content. She was my love, my happiness, and my hope, and from this day forth I would ask the world for nothing more.

My beloved finished removing her crown and began combing out her chestnut locks with the deliberateness of someone who wants to gain as much time as she possibly can. Sooner or later, however, the waiting period was bound to come to an end. And what was to be done then?

Lord! My heart was wakeful and eager, my knees were trembling, and I wondered timorously what the next step would be. I realized, despite my agitation, that we ought to change our clothes. However, I didn’t know how this was supposed to happen when we were both in the same room with the door closed! She seemed to be waiting for me to do or say something. She’d finished arranging her hair, though she was pretending the opposite, and there was a look of uncertainty and embarrassment on her face. I knew some things, this was true. However, there were details that I’d missed, and I was at a loss for both what to do and the determination to do it. If only I’d asked my brother Medhat for information and advice; if only I had friends I could have consulted concerning such matters. Curses on the shyness that stood as a barrier between me and others, including even my own brother! Damn it! I thought. Why won’t it leave me even now that we’re alone together?

I’d had it with my muteness and inaction, and I was furious with myself. I am going to speak, I said to myself, even if it happens to be the weakest expression of faith.

So in a strange sounding voice that I hardly recognized I said, “How beautiful you are.…”

It was the first flirtatious word I’d ever uttered in my life. Aiming her gaze at my reflection in the mirror, she smiled, then looked down and folded her arms over her chest. It wouldn’t do any longer to pretend she was still doing her hair, so she sat there with her arms crossed as though she were waiting. Feeling more awkward than ever, I bit my lip angrily. The matter of changing our clothes seemed like the biggest problem in the world. So were we going to remain in this painful state till morning? Why didn’t I just go over to her and press her to my bosom until the problem had solved itself? But how was I supposed to take this momentous step? I could imagine it, and I could talk to myself about it. As for actually doing it, that was an impossibility. My heart was filled with anguish and rage, and I felt increasingly powerless and humiliated.

Determined at the very least to break out of my silence, I said, “Would you like to change your clothes, sweetheart?”

Figuring I’d arrived at the ideal solution, I took advantage of the opportunity and calmly began taking off my clothes, being careful not to let on how uncomfortable I was feeling. I placed my suit on the bed and picked up my pajamas, which were draped over the long seat. Then I stuffed myself inside them without budging from my place.

I waited for some time, then I asked her, “Are you finished, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she answered in a whisper.

I got up, and when I did so, I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I saw that I was still wearing my fez, so I took it off with a smile. Looking timidly over at her, I found her sitting where she had been before. Now, however, she was wrapped in a white silk robe and was sitting with her back to the dressing table. Going back to where I’d been standing before, I rested my elbow on the bed frame and stood there looking at her happily and amorously.