Naguib Mahfouz - Palace of Desire

He went to the wardrobe, opened it, and began looking at his clothes and belongings. He hesitated a little before executing his decision, Turning toward Kamal, he said, "I'm going to marry this girl. The fates have decreed that for me. God knows, I'm convinced that I'm not betraying Fahmy's memory. You recall, Kamal, how much I loved him. Why shouldn't I? If anyone gets hurt by this marriage, it will be me."

A servant girl led Yasin into the parlor and then disappeared. He was visiting the home of the late Mr. Muhammad Ridwan for the first time ever. Spacious and with a high ceiling, the room was like those in his father's house. Its latticed balcony overlooked Palace Walk, and its two windows opened on the side alley where the door of the house was located. There was a small carpet on the floor. Couches and armchairs were lined up along the walls. The door and windows were hung with gray velvet curtains, which had grown pale with age. In a large black frame on the wall facing the door there was an inscription reading: "In the name of God". At the center of the wall to the right, above the main sofa, was a portrait of the late Mr. Muhammad Ridwan, showing him in the prime of life. Yasin picked the first couch on his right and sat down. He carefully examined the place until his eyes came to rest on the face of Mr. Muhammad Ridwan, who appeared to be looking at him with Maryam's eyes. Yasin smiled contentedly and started to flick his ivory fly whisk at nothing in particular.

A problem confronting him since he had first thought of coming to ask for Maryam's hand was the absence of any men in her house and his failure to obtain a female representative from his family. He had come alone, like "a branch cut from the family tree," as he put it. This embarrassed him a little, since he was a man who had absorbed from his milieu a pride in family and kin. All the same, he was confident that Maryam had prepared the way for him with her mother. The mere announcement of his visit would suffice to reveal the reason for it and to create a fine atmosphere for the performance of his mission.

The maid put in another appearance, carrying a coffee tray, which she placed on the table in front of him. As she retreated, she informed him that the senior mistress was on her way. He wondered if the junior mistress knew of his visit. What impact would it have on her delicate soul? He was going to carry her and her beauty off to Palace of Desire Alley, no matter what. Who would have thought that Amina could get so angry? She used to be as meek as an angel. "May God destroy grief!" he thought.

His father had grown angry too when Yasin had confessed at the store that he had left home. But it had been a compassionate anger, revealing how upset and sad he was.

"I wonder if Amina will tell him about Maryam's past. The anger of a bereaved mother is a frightening thing, but Kamal promised to persuade her to keep quiet about it. Back at Palace of Desire Alley you encountered the first happy surprise of this stormy affair… the death of your late mother's former lover, the fruit seller. His place has been taken by a watchmaker. To the grave!

He heard someone at the door clear her throat. As He rose he turned his eyes in that direction. In no time at all he saw Mrs. Bahija. She was making her entrance sideways, since only one panel of the door was open and the space would not have been wide enough for her had she come in straight. Without meaning to, he observed the lines demarcating the divisions of her voluminous body. He could not help but marvel when her hips came into view, for their crest almost reached the middle of her back, while their bottom flowed down over her thighs. They were like inflated balloons.

She advanced toward him with steps slowed by the extraordinary weight of her flesh and flab. Then she extended a soft white hand, which emerged from the sleeve of her loose white dress. She was saying, "Welcome! Welcome! You honor and illumine us."

Yasin shook her hand politely and remained standing until she had seated herself on the nearest sofa. Then he sat down. He was seeing her up close for the first time. Her long-standing ties to his family and the status of matriarch she had acquired over the years because of her age and prestige had kept him, when he saw her at a distance in the street, from scrutinizing her the way he did other women. Thus, it seemed he was making a new discovery. The dress she was wearing covered her body from her neck down to her feet, which she had concealed in white socks despite the warm weather The sleeves of her dress reached to her wrists, and her head and neck were enveloped in a white scarf, the ends of which spread over her breast and back. She presented a modest appearance suiting the occasion and fitting her age, which was close to fifty, so far as Yasin knew. Yet she also appeared to be in splendid health, suggesting a mind at rest and a youthful heart. One thing he noticed was that her face was free of makeup, although he knew her reputation for loving to show herself off to advantage. For that reason she had long been the established authority in the whole quarter for everything relating to feminine taste in clothes and cosmetics. He remembered how Amina had once defended this woman whenever anyone criticized her excesses of self-adornment but over the past few years had attacked Bahija for the most trifling reasons, accusing her of immodesty and of disregard for the decorum appropriate to her age.

"A noble step, Yasin Effendi."

"May God be generous to you". He almost ended his words with "Auntie," but at the last minute an instinctive fear prevented him, especially since he had noticed that she had not called him "my son," as he would have expected.

"How are all of you?" she asked. "Your father, Fahmy's mother, Khadija, Aisha, and Kamal?"

Feeling embarrassed because she had inquired about people who were hostile to her for no clear reason, he answered, "They're all fine. It's hoped you're in good health."

No doubt she was thinking of the cold reception she had received in his father's home after Fahmy's death. After a lifelong friendship she had been forced to stop visiting his family. What rude treatment! No, it had been the beginning of a cold war. His stepmother had soon announced her "feeling" that Maryam and her mother had not grieved sincerely for Fahmy. May God not bring any more evil, why? She had said it was inconceivable that they would not have heard back then in one way or another about al-Sayyid Ahmad's refusal to allow Fahmy to ask for Maryam's hand. If they had not heard, they could have deduced it. And if they knew about it, they would inevitably hold a grudge against Fahmy's family. She frequently repeated that she had heard Maryam at the funeral lament Fahmy's passing by saying, "I'm sorry you didn't get to enjoy your youth". Amina interpreted this to mean: "I'm sorry you didn't get to enjoy your youth, because your family stood in your way," adding to that interpretation whatever else her sorrow and grief dictated. No stratagem had succeeded in weaning her from her "feeling". Her behavior toward Maryam and Umm Maryam had quickly been transformed, and relations had been severed.

Still under the influence of his embarrassment and uneasiness, he said, "God curse the devil!"

Endorsing his sentiments, Bahija said, "A thousand curses! I've frequently asked myself what I did to be treated the way I have been by Mrs. Umm Fahmy, but I keep on praying that she may lind some consolation, the poor lady…."

"May God reward you magnificently for your noble manners and good heart. She's truly in a pitiful state and in need of consolation."

"But how am I at fault?"

"You re not. It's the devil, God's curses on him."

The woman shook her head as though she were an innocent victim and was silent for a time until she happened to turn to the cup of coffee, which seemed to be sitting forgotten on the tray. Gesturing toward it, she asked, "Haven't you drunk your coffee yet?"