Sadiqa Mu‘awiya al-Qalyubi
The third daughter of Shaykh Mu‘awiya and Galila al-Tarabishi, she was born in the old house in Suq al-Zalat half a year after the shaykh was put in prison. She was more beautiful than her two sisters, Radia and Shahira. Indeed, with her fair complexion, rosy cheeks, symmetrical features, ample black hair, and succulent slender body she was an unrivaled beauty in the quarter. In the family she was surpassed only by Amr and Radia’s daughter Matariya, who shared the same roots but was more light-hearted and urbane. She was the only one not to claim her portion of the shaykh’s religious upbringing and grew up the pure fruit of Galila’s heritage. She was kind toward others and loved singing, justified by a fine voice. Because of her beauty and geniality, she enjoyed the greatest share of Radia’s children’s affection.
A few years after her father’s death and one year after Shahira married, a Syrian dentist resident in the quarter presented himself and she was wedded to him. They moved into a new building in Faggala. It was not long before disaster struck; her husband died before she conceived and she herself contracted tuberculosis. She returned to Galila’s arms, seeking warmth and healing. The family’s hearts were shaken by her bad luck. Her beauty withered and her life was transformed. Pain assailed her and there was no hope of recovery. She felt she was sinking into the abyss. She grew tired of the desperation, the suffering, the insomnia, the coughing, and in a moment of dark despair threw herself into the well. Galila screamed and caring neighbors rushed to her side. They extricated her on the point of death. She suffered hours of agony through a long feverish night, surrounded by her mother and sisters, Radia and Shahira, the doorway choked with male relatives and neighbors. After an excruciating struggle she passed away shortly before dawn, at the height of youth, despair, and suffering.
Galila grieved for a long time. She ordered a firm wooden lid to be placed over the well and that it never be used again. She dreamed about her daughter from time to time and once said to Radia, “On the night of Sidi al-Sha‘rani I saw Sadiqa standing on a white cloud near the well. Her face was bright and she was smiling.”
Radia had deep faith in her mother. “Did she speak to you, Mama?” she asked.
“I asked her how she was and she told me that God had forgiven her for taking her life. She told me this to put my heart at rest,” Galila replied.
“Praise God, the Merciful and Compassionate,” cried Radia.
“I saw her at her most beautiful, like in the old days,” said Galila.
Safa Hussein Qabil
She was the second child of Samira and Hussein Qabil. She was born and grew up in the house on Ibn Khaldun Street. She suckled in her wholesome, affluent cradle under the protective shade of days of glory and well-being and the lush greenery of al-Zahir Baybars Garden. Samira’s children were good looking, healthy, and successful, but Safa was the most beautiful and joyful of all. How she played with and danced for her grandmother Radia and exuded pure warmth everywhere she went. She grew up modest and forbearing and worshiped life above the various principles of her brothers and sisters. Hussein Qabil adored her; to him she was a treasure more beautiful than any he bought or sold. She did well at school and enrolled in the English language department at the faculty of arts. Hussein Qabil died, leaving a deep wound in her heart. She could feel her mother’s pain as she adjusted the family to a different standard of living, and a darkness blacker than the darkness of war and air raids settled over her. On her rounds she met her young male relatives from the families of Surur, al-Murakibi, and Dawud but it was Shakir, her uncle Amer’s son, who cast the net of interest and admiration over her. He was a medical student and they were able to meet often away from family traditions. Her heart was weaned in his hands and she believed he was the man of the happy future she anticipated. She noticed he was keen to shroud their relationship in secrecy but did not grasp the significance. “Who are you afraid of?” she asked him one day.
“Mama!” he replied bluntly, annoyed.
She was surprised at him and his mother and surmised he was not the man he ought to be. One day she returned from college and found her mother dejected and frowning. Knowing the strength of her mother’s restraint she realized something was wrong. “Your uncle’s wife, Iffat!” Samira said indignantly.
Her heart contracted and she felt her hope disappear.
“She told me categorically that I must keep you away from her son,” Samira said.
“But I’m not pursuing him,” she cried angrily.
“Close the door with latch and key,” Samira said distressed.
There was no way out. No escape from the pain. But why?
“They look down on us,” Samira went on. “It was the same for your aunt Matariya before.”
“How do they see themselves?” she asked furiously.
“That’s nothing to do with us. I want to trust you.…”
“You can trust me completely,” she said disgusted.
She drank pain and humiliation. However, she had inherited some of her mother’s unique personality traits, namely the ability to withstand calamity, and the relationship was severed in disdain.
She graduated and was appointed as a translator in the university administration — thanks to the good offices of senior men on her mother’s side. She caught the attention of the assistant secretary and he asked to marry her. The man was about twenty years older than her but enjoyed high rank and a good income. She weighed up the offer and decided it was perfectly suited to her circumstances; she realized too that she was more “practical” than she had thought. She was married to Sabri Bey al-Qadi in his villa in al-Qubba Gardens. Her new existence accorded her the life of plenty, doting and generous husband, and motherhood of two sons — Ali and Amr — that she desired. The July Revolution played as it liked with her family, and so her brother Hakim prospered while Salim perished. It was her good fortune that Sabri al-Qadi was related to an important officer so was quickly promoted and appointed to the post of head clerk of the ministry of culture. He was pensioned off in old age but continued to encourage her until she became a director general. She supervised Ali and Amr’s education until they entered the diplomatic service. Thus, this branch shone in the diamond era of bureaucracy and was spared the evil of the storms.
‘Ayn
Amer Amr Aziz
THE FIRST GIFT FROM THE UNKNOWN to flood Amr and Radia’s hearts with joy, satisfaction, and pride, Amer confirmed the conviction held in Bayt al-Qadi Square that a boy is better than a girl. He came resplendent with a handsome face that borrowed the best of Radia’s features — a straight nose, high forehead, and the fine facial symmetry for which Samira would later be known. His calm nature, piety, and impulse to lead and protect came from his father. How often he would assemble his brothers and sisters on the roof to play at being the Qur’an school shaykh, wielding in his hand a stick that timidity and kindness prevented him using. He grew into a smart and elegant young man who would stroll about the city quarters smiling and musing and sit cross-legged before al-Hussein’s tomb in fervent prayer. He was always good at making friends with neighbors of his own class and higher ones, and scoundrels could never provoke him. He was also a favorite at the mansion on Khayrat Square and with the Dawud family. He did well at school, excelling in science and mathematics and, thanks to eminent relatives, was granted a remission of fees. Thus, his father was relieved of a burden he could not bear while embroiled in arranging the marriages of Sadriya, Matariya, and Samira. From childhood, Amer and Abd al-Azim Pasha Dawud’s daughter Iffat were drawn to one another. It began on the roof in the shade of the hanging washing and, with passing days and visits, developed into love and hope for the future. This all took place in secret, but exuded its scent like a rose. Love was the first thing to get the better of the arrogant girl who saw her family as superior, as though God had created no one but them for nobility.