It was characteristic of him to devote all his attention to a woman’s body and neglect her personality. He also tended to concentrate on individual parts of the body and ignore the way they fit together. These investigations allowed him to keep his hopes alive, refreshing them with possible opportunities he could set aside for today or tomorrow. He seemed a man with no goal in the world that took precedence over women. On rare occasions he succeeded in making a good catch on these sexual excursions.
Late one afternoon he was sitting beneath the small window in al-Sayyid Ali’s coffee shop when he saw the lute player leave the house alone. He rose at once to follow her. She turned into al-Tarbi'a Alley, and he turned too. When she stopped at a store, he stood beside her. She had to wait while the proprietor of this perfume shop tended to some other customers. So Yasin waited. She did not turn toward him. From her attempt to pretend he was not there, he inferred she was aware of his presence. She must also have guessed from the outset that he was following her. He whispered into her ear, "Good evening".
She continued to look straight ahead of her, but he noticed her mouth move slightly in a smile of greeting or at least of recognition for all the time he had spent following her, evening after evening. He sighed with relief and victory, confident now that he would pluck this fruit he had patiently pursued. Lust surged inside him, the way a ravenously hungry man’s mouth waters when his nose smells meat being broiled for him.
He thought the best thing would be to pretend they had come together. So he paid for her purchases of henna and tonic with the good humor of a man who believes he will acquire an enjoyable and entertaining right by rendering this small service. He did not mind when she seemed inclined to purchase several more things once she was sure he was paying. As they returned, he told her, with the haste of a person who fears the end of the road is in sight, "Beautiful and lovely lady, I have spent my whole life following after you, as you have seen. Can't a lover aspire to be rewarded with at least a meeting?"
She cast him a mischievous glance and asked sarcastically, "At least a meeting?"
He was almost consumed by laughter, body and soul, the way he usually was when intoxicated by joy, but he quickly shut his mouth tight to keep from causing a commotion that would attract attention. He answered her with a whisper, "A rendezvous and everything that goes with it".
She observed critically, "Each of you asks for a rendezvous, as though there were nothing to it, but it’s an important matter that does not take place for some people until after a proposal, negotiation, recitation of the opening prayer of the Qur'an, a dowry, a trousseau, and the arrival of a religious official to write the contract. Isn't that so, sir… you, the gentleman who’s as tall and broad as a camel?"
He blushed in confusion and said, "No matter how harsh your rebuke, coming from your lips it’s like honey. Hasn't passion always been like this, beautiful lady, since God created the earth and the people on it?"
She raised her eyebrows until they were level with the top of the cylinder connecting her veil to her scarf and resembled the spreading wings of a bee. "My camel, how would I know about passion?" she asked. "I'm just a musician. Do you suppose passion has things that go with it too?"
Trying not to laugh, he replied, "They're the same things that go along with a rendezvous".
"No more and no less?"
"No more and no less".
"Not one more than another?"
"Not more of one thing than another".
"Perhaps that’s what they call illicit sex".
"One and the same thing".
A laugh escaped from her. She said, "You've got a deal… wait in the coffee shop of al-Sayyid Ali, where you've spent all these evenings. When I open the window, come to the house".
He waited evening after evening after evening. One evening she went in the cart with the troupe. Another evening she went in a carriage with the chanteuse. Still another evening there was no sign of life in the house. Here he was waiting. His head was worn out from looking up at her window for so long. It was past midnight, the shops were closed, the road was deserted, and al-Ghuriya was enveloped in darkness. He found, as he often did, that the darkness and emptiness of the street acted as a strange stimulus for the desire latent in his body. He became more and more agitated.
Yet everything has an end, even waiting that seems endless. He made out a rattling noise coming from the direction of the window, which was lost in the darkness. This breathed a spirit of new hope into his senses just as the drone of an airplane inspires a person lost at the North Pole with hope that people are arriving to search for him in the snow. Light could be seen coming from the opening of the window. Then the musician’s silhouette was visible at the center of the opening.
He got up at once and left the coffee shop to cross the street to the performer’s house. He pushed against the door without knocking. It swung open as though it had been left unlatched on purpose. He made his way inside, where it was too dark for him to find the staircase. He stayed put in order not to bump into something or trip. A question that made him a little nervous leapt into his head. Did the performer know that Zanuba had invited him? Did she allow the girl to meet her lovers in this house? But he dismissed the thought disdainfully. No obstacle was going to make him abandon this adventure. In any case, there was no need to worry about the consequences of a lover’s being caught in a house that depended for its very existence on lovers.
He cut short these reflections when he saw a pale light coming from upstairs. Then he noticed it slowly advancing down the walls. He could make out that he was an arm’s length from the bottom step of the staircase. It was not long before he saw Zanuba approaching with a lamp in her hand. He went to her, drunk with desire. He pressed her forearm affectionately with gratitude and lust. She laughed softly. Despite the softness of her laugh, it showed she was not trying to be cautious. She asked mischievously, "Did you have to wait long?"
He touched the hair at his temples and complained, "My hair turned gray while I waited, may God forgive you". Then he whispered, "Is the lady here?"
She jestingly imitated his whisper: "Yes… she’s alone with a fantastic man".
"Won't she be angry if she learns I've come at this hour?"
She turned around, shrugging her shoulders in disdain. She started up the stairs saying, "Is there a more appropriate hour for a lover like you to come?"
"So she won't see anything wrong with our meeting in her house?"
With a dancing motion of her head, she replied, "Perhaps she would think it very wrong if we didn't meet".
"Long live the lady!"
She resumed speaking, proudly this time, "I'm not just her lute player. I'm her sister’s daughter. She’s not stingy with me… You can enter in peace".
When they reached the foyer upstairs they could hear some delightful singing accompanied by lute and tambourine. Yasin listened a little and then asked, "Are they alone or is it a party?"
She whispered in his ear, "Alone and a party both. The sultana’s lover is a good-humored man who loves music. He wouldn't bear for even an hour of his soiree to pass without lute, tambourine, wine, laughter… and you know what else".