Yitzhak Goren - Alexandrian Summer

Now David believed that he’d been in control of the entire matter from the start, and if he was engaged to Lilly Elhadeff rather than to Robby’s sister, that meant this was his desire and his choosing. The face in the mirror, the delicate, fair features, spread light over the glass. He could sit like this for hours, stroking his eyes over his reflection, studying each feature, trying to crack his own puzzle, as if the sphinx itself were smiling from the mirror. Suddenly he truly pitied Robby’s sister. If she could only open her eyes and see what she was missing! That Lilly Elhadeff, that smiling skeleton, she’ll win the jackpot, it’s practically being forfeited to her. He sighed, still believing deep in his heart that a loving hand was guiding the world, and his life especially.

His mother’s reflection appeared in the mirror. David looked at fat Emilie and was appalled. His confidence in himself had been shaken: he could see his career sinking into a pit of fat, drowning in it with a gurgle. He’d inherited the curse of weight from her. A trickle of hate toward her suddenly dripped inside his heart, as if by her mere existence she’d sentenced the jockey David Hamdi-Ali to failure.

“Emilie isn’t fat.”

“She isn’t thin either, is she?”

“Chubby. As they say en français, potelée ,” Robby’s grandmother said.

“ Potelée or not, it certainly doesn’t become her.”

“I think it looks nice. The Turks have always preferred their women with a little cushion, not like those skeletons walking around today with a boy’s haircut!”

Who can argue with Grandma when she gets her evidence from the Turks?

Madame Marika, whose own size was way beyond what was fashionable, could not comprehend why everyone was so understanding of Emilie’s figure, even going so far as to point out her loveliness, while her own figure inspired nothing but ridicule and wrinkled noses. She’d always carried her extra weight as a sort of protest, but this wasn’t to say that she didn’t feel wronged and persecuted. The cascades of fat had been part of her life ever since she was a little girl in Izmir. True, Turkish men do like chubby women, Madame Marika thought, but nobody liked fat women. Tears of rage rose in her throat, but then she remembered her husband, Vita, her skinny, modest Vita, whose weight she could barely feel the first time he climbed, like a long-limbed cricket, atop her voluptuous belly. She felt a sort of tickle back then, and almost laughed, but resisted, knowing that was no way to treat a man as he, breathing heavily, mounted the woman he’d married that very day. Vita was prepared to accept her just as she was, along with the considerable dowry her widower father had paid. But that was long ago. Since then they’ve had Eliyo, Becky, Julia, Rose and Nissimiko, whom they sometimes called Nisimachi, as was the Turkish manner, and counting. Renée Marika felt a little better and was ready to go to battle.

“What’s for sure is that David’s wife won’t be fat. Not even potelée .” Madame Marika giggled. “She’ll be skinny como un palo !”

“You’re saying my granddaughter is skinny as a stick?” Grandma asked innocently.

“Who’s talking about your granddaughter?” Madame Marika laughed maliciously. “You know Fortunée Elhadeff?”

“Of the Cairo Elhadeffs?” Grandma pretended not to know what this was about.

“Of the Cairo Elhadeffs,” Marika confirmed. “From Heliopolis.”

“Of course I know her,” Grandma said and could not contain a heavy sigh.

“Fortunée has a daughter.” Meaningful pause. “Did I say skinny como un palo ? No, skinnier than that. Skinny como un fideio , a noodle.”

“What’s that got to do with David?”

“Here’s Emilie Hamdi-Ali in the flesh. Why don’t you ask her if what I’m saying isn’t true?”

“What isn’t true?” said Emilie with her familiar innocence.

“It isn’t true? Who says it isn’t true?” Marika cried. “I keep saying it is true, that your little David is going to marry la cocona d’Elhadeff .”

Silence. The buzzing of afternoon flies filled the summer air, along with the heavy breathing of the women, shocked by the words that had been spoken. Fateful words, an irreversible verdict. Alexandria could not handle such explicitness. What you don’t talk about doesn’t hurt so much, you can turn a blind eye, pretend it never happened. But an explicit word sends waves through the peaceful standing water …

Grandma could not focus on rummy at all that day. Even the joker, with his cheeky smile, could not cheer her up.

During the next Kudjoocome, Grandma cornered Robby’s sister and demanded an explanation.

Robby’s father told her off, “ No té mesklés , don’t intervene!”

“ Ma porqué? ” Grandma protested. “Why not? Aren’t we human beings? Don’t we deserve answers? Shouldn’t she explain herself to her mother?”

“She’s almost twenty years old. She knows what she’s doing.” Then he added, hiding a smile, “I hope.”

“What do you think, Papa? Should I marry David?”

This direct question upset him. She was asking for a clear answer, real advice. Robby’s father didn’t put much stake in advice. One never asks for someone else’s advice before having already made up his mind, wanting nothing more than support for his decision, a confirmation that contributes nothing. He sighed. What should he tell her? Did he even know David Hamdi-Ali? He’d barely spoken to him since his family moved in. Just a few nods. Nevertheless, Robby’s father knew for certain that Hamdi-Ali junior was a superficial boy, not too bright. Robby’s father never had much patience for fools. As it turned out, he did have an opinion in the matter. The girl acted wisely, turning David down. Still, he was comfortable not voicing his opinion, not having the matter discussed in a family forum. If this forum began discussing all the romantic involvements of his children, what would be the end of that?

Everyone waited for him to speak. No one dared urge him, not even Grandma.

Finally he sighed and said, “ I wouldn’t marry David Hamdi-Ali.”

The oracle had spoken. The matter was settled. A short, clear-cut answer. Robby’s sister looked at her father gratefully. Their eyes met. A hint of a smile drained into the corners of his eyes, and she returned the favor with a wide smile of her own. They understood each other. How great the distance was between David’s loud arrogance and her father’s confident quiet, which contained endless fountains of wisdom. She adored him and vowed to only ever marry a man who would measure up to him. Her eyes wandered over to her mother’s good, slightly plump face. She was so attached to these people! They were both still in the prime of their lives, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before their hair turned silver. Wrinkles would appear on her mother’s smooth face, the skin of which was taut and rosy, especially after the siesta. The thought was too sad and she wanted to cry, but was afraid that her grandmother might interpret her tears as a lament for the end of her affair with David Hamdi-Ali. Grandma’s skin had already yellowed slightly, and age spots had spread over her concave forehead. Her green eyes, quick and stubborn, stuck out of deepening sockets. She loved Grandma. They’d always had a secret bond, in spite of their constant bickering. She must know that this wasn’t merely a whim. This was too serious a matter. Robby’s sister decided at once to break her vow of silence, and spoke.

Grandma was shocked. She was under the impression that her granddaughter had rejected David due to frivolity. Now this cocona was giving her a list of thought-out reasons she could barely stand to deny. This one most of all: