The pasha enjoyed her conversation and went along with her, although he would sometimes tease, “But Sitt Umm Amer, you appoint other saints and ifrit as gods alongside God.”
“Never!” she would reply with conviction. “His will is behind all things. If it wasn’t for Him my master al-Naqshabandi could not be in Mecca, Baghdad, and Cairo at the same time!”
She and Amr shared similar beliefs so they always enjoyed conversation and mutual understanding. She watched the 1919 Revolution through the mashrabiya of the old house and registered a new saint called Sa‘d Zaghloul in her timeless dictionary. When Amr took part in the civil servants’ strike she asked herself anxiously, “Will they imprison him like they imprisoned Shaykh Mu‘awiya?” She cut through streets swelling with riots and visited the tomb of Sidi Yahya ibn Uqab and invoked eternal damnation upon the English and their queen — for she believed Queen Victoria was still alive. She was beset with anxiety over Amer’s role in the demonstrations and Hamid’s punishment when he was accused of spurring the strike at the police academy. “Lord save us from these evils! Lord let the oppressed triumph!” her tormented heart cried at the tomb of al-Hussein.
She educated her children in her heritage, then when everyone began talking about the nation and Sa‘d and the field of consciousness expanded, events became their principal educator. She kept her health and, like her mother, lived beyond a hundred. Meanwhile, her children became families and grandchildren grew up. She heard of a new leader called Mustafa al-Nahhas and eventually Gamal Abdel Nasser, who was the last leader she would know and who raised her grandchildren to the skies then plunged the greatest among them into destitution or jail. Thus, she blessed and cursed him alternately. During her lifetime, her own mother and sisters, Ahmad Ata, Amr, Surur, and Mahmud Ata perished, as did others she did not know about. Two events affected her more than any other: the death of Amr, whom she grieved over for the rest of her life, and Qasim’s tragedy, especially in the beginning. Yet she stood firm with unusual strength and overcame her worries with a rare energy. She did not retire to her house until she was over a hundred and, even then, continued to shuffle about in the hallway until her final year. When the end was decreed, death came kindly and gently. Sadriya sat cross-legged at the end of her bed. She heard her mother sing in a feeble voice, “Come back to me, O night of greatness, come back.”
Sadriya laughed and asked, “Are you singing, Mother?”
“I’m singing this song and dancing between the well and the stove,” Radia replied.
Her head inclined to the left, and she sought refuge in eternal silence.
Rashwana Aziz Yazid al-Misri
She was the first child of Aziz Effendi and Ni‘ma Ata al-Murakibi. She was born and grew up in the family home in al-Ghuriya where Yazid al-Misri lived on the first floor and Ata al-Murakibi, her maternal grandfather, on the second. It was obvious when Amr and Surur were born that the two boys were better looking than their sister, but Rashwana was not ugly and she had a fine figure. Her father cast her loose with her brothers, but she trained hard at housework. By nature, and with her mother’s influence, she inclined to piety and was known throughout her life as God-fearing and devout. When she was fifteen, Sadiq Barakat, a flour merchant in al-Khurnfush, wanted to marry her. He was a business associate of Ata al-Murakibi and through him had got to know Aziz, the fountain watchman and husband of Ata’s daughter, Ni‘ma. Sadiq asked for the hand of Aziz’s eldest daughter and she was wedded to him at the house he owned in Bayn al-Qasrayn, a short way from her father’s fountain. Sadiq Barakat had been married twice before but had no children, and years went by without Rashwana falling pregnant. Then she gave birth to their only daughter, Dananir, and everyone rejoiced, Sadiq Barakat most of all. His financial situation was good, much better than Ata al-Murakibi’s or Aziz Yazid al-Misri’s. Rashwana’s life was pleasant, her kitchen filled to capacity, and her veil ornamented with gold. She would visit her parents in al-Ghuriya and brothers, Amr and Surur, in Bayt al-Qadi laden with gifts.
Dananir was similar in looks to her mother, perhaps a little prettier. She displayed talent at school so her father encouraged her to continue, despite Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi’s objections. Rashwana supported her husband’s plan so that her daughter could keep abreast of Fahima and Iffat, the two daughters of her cousin Abd al-Azim Dawud, although she envisaged marriage as the happy ending to education. Thus, she trained Dananir in housework during the long school holidays and waited anxiously for a suitable man. When Sadiq Barakat’s tragic illness confined him to his bed, she accepted that there was no alternative except for Dananir to continue her education, at least until she was able to marry. The need for this intensified after Sadiq Barakat died and she lost her source of income. She would not have seen any harm in Dananir marrying with the proviso that her uncle, Mahmud Bey, support her, had her daughter not refused and insisted on work, even if it meant being deprived of her legitimate right to marry. Rashwana’s father, Aziz, had died leaving her nothing to support herself with, and her mother, Ni‘ma, died poor because Ata al-Murakibi’s fortune came to him from the wife he married after Sakina, his first wife and Ni‘ma’s mother, had died. (Sakina was the daughter of the owner of the pantofle shop that Ata inherited — or rather managed on his wife’s behalf — and liquidated when she died.) Rashwana hated the thought of Dananir sacrificing herself for her sake and tried in vain to bring her round to her uncle Mahmud’s generous offer, which his brother, Ahmad, most gladly joined him in. But Dananir refused, saying, “We’ll keep our honor even if it costs us.”
She did not conceal her abiding criticism of her uncle and the rest of the family from her mother. “They worship money and rank and have no honor.”
“You’re a harsh judge! They are good, God-fearing people,” Rashwana said in dismay.
“You are good. You judge them generously. There’s your mistake,” Dananir replied gently.
Rashwana conveyed her anxiety to everybody — her brother Amr, Radia, Nazli Hanem, Fawziya Hanem, and Farida Hanem Husam, Abd al-Azim’s wife. Not one of them endorsed the girl’s pride. They predicted she would end up regretting it when there was no need, while Radia asked herself: Who is the infidel who prohibits women teachers from marrying?