He answered proudly, "As of yesterday, I had given five talks. I've drafted two important manifestos and distributed tens of handbills. I owe the government more than two years in prison."
"I owe them many more years than that!"
He deftly stretched out his hand to place it affectionately and appreciatively on her soft brown one. Yes, he loved her, but his efforts for the cause were not motivated by this love. Did she not seem at times to doubt his sincerity? Was she teasing him or did she feel apprehensive about the bourgeois characteristics she suspected he still harbored? His belief in the cause was as firm as his love for her. He could not sacrifice either.
"What is happiness if not the discovery of a person who truly understands you and whom you truly understand?" he asked himself. "Particularly one from whom you're not separated by artifice of any kind. I worship her when she says, 'I've endured poverty for a long time.' This candid statement elevates her above all the other members of her sex and makes her seem part of me. But we are reckless lovers, and prison lies in wait for us. We could marry and elude these difficulties, contenting ourselves with the pursuit of happiness. But such an existence would lack spirit. How strongly I've felt at times that the cause is a curse cast upon us by an irrevocable decree…. Part of my blood and my spirit, it makes me feel responsible for all mankind."
"I love you."
"What's the pretext for saying this?"
"It's true with or without a pretext."
"You talk about the struggle, but your heart is singing of contentment."
"Separating those two things would be as silly as separating the two of us."
"Doesn't love imply contentment, stability, and an aversion to prison?"
"Haven't you heard about the Prophet, whose struggle for the cause by night and day did not prevent him from marrying nine times?"
Snapping her fingers, she exclaimed, "You've borrowed your brother's mouth! What prophet are you referring to?"
Laughing, he answered, "The Muslims' Prophet!"
"Let me tell you about Karl Marx, who devoted himself to writing Das Kapital while his wife and children were exposed to hunger and humiliation."
"At any rate, he was married."
"The pool's water could be liquid emeralds," he mused. "This gentle breeze comes to us without any authorization from June. The duck is swimming around with its bill cocked to pluck bits of bread from the water. You're very happy, and your infuriating sweetheart is even more delightful than the rest of the natural world. I think she's blushing. Perhaps she has set aside politics for the time being and begun to think about…."
"What I was hoping, my dear comrade, was that we would have a chance for a sweet conversation in this garden."
"Sweeter than our talk so far?"
"I mean a discussion of our love."
"Our love?"
"Yes, and you know it too."
There was a long silence. Then, lowering her eyes, she asked, "What do you want?"
"Tell me that we want the same thing."
As if merely trying to humor him, she answered, "Yes. But what is it?"
"Let's stop beating around the bush."
She appeared to be reflecting. Although his wait was short, he found it extremely bitter. Then she said, "Since everything is so clear, why do you torment me?"
Sighitig with profound relief, he replied, "How glorious my love is!'
The ensuing silence resembled a musical interlude between two songs. Then she said, "One thing is important to me."
"Yes?"
"My honor."
Shocked by the very suggestion, he protested, "Your honor and mine are identical."
She said resentfully, "You are well acquainted with the conventions of your people. You'll hear a lot of talk about family and breeding…."
"Meaningless words…. Do you think I'm a child?"
She hesitated a little before saying, "There's only one thing threatering us and that's the bourgeois mentality."
With a forcefulness reminiscent of his brother Abd al-Muni'm's, he responded, "I have nothing to do with that!"
"Do you comprehend your statement's serious implications, both persona] and social, for the basic relationship between a man and a woman?"
"I understand them perfectly."
"You'll need a new dictionary for old terms like 'love,' 'marriage,' jealousy,' 'faithfulness,' and 'the past.'"
"Yes!"
This interrogation might imply something or it might not. He had often brooded about these ideas, but the situation demanded extraordinary courage. Both his inherited and acquired mentalities were on trial in this frightening inquisition. He imagined that he had caught her drift, but perhaps she was merely testing him. Even if she was serious, he would not retreat. Although gripped by pain as jealousy pulsed through him, he would not back down.
"I consent to your conditions. But let me tell you frankly that I was hoping to win an affectionate woman, not merely an analytical mind."
As her eyes followed the swimming duck, she asked, "To tell you that she loves you and will marry you?"
"Yes!"
She laughed and inquired, "Do you think I'd discuss the details if I had not agreed in principle?"
He squeezed her hand gently, and she added, "You know it all. You just want to hear it."
"I'll never grow tired of hearing it."
159
"It concerns the reputation of our entire family. If nothing else, he's as much your son as he is mine. But you're free to hold your own opinions."
As Khadija spoke, her eyes glanced swiftly and anxiously from face to face, from her husband, Ibrahim, who was sitting on her right, to her son Ahmad in the opposite corner of the sitting room, uot omitting Yasin, Kamal, and Abd al-Muni'm on the way.
Imitating his mother, Ahmad said playfully, "Pay attention, everyone. The family's reputation is at stake, and I'm your son, if nothing else."
She complained bitterly, "What is this ordeal, son? You won't listen to anyone, not even your father. You refuse advice, even when it's for your own good. You're always right, and everyone else is wrong. When you stopped praying, we said, 'May our Lord guide him.' You refused to go to Law School like your brother, and we said, 'The future's in God's hands.' You said, 'I'm going to be a journalist.' We replied, 'Be a cart driver if you want.'"
He replied jovially, "And now I want to get married…."
"Get married. We're all delighted. But marriage has certain conditions…."
"Who sets these conditions?"
"A sound mind."
"My mind has chosen for me."
"Hasn't time shown you yet that you can't rely only on your own intellect?"
"Not at all. Asking advice from other people is possible in everything but marriage, which is exactly like food."
"Food! You don't just marry a girl. You marry her entire family. And consequently, we marry along with you."
Ahmad laughed out loud and exclaimed, "All of you! That's too much! Uncle Kamal doesn't want to marry, and Uncle Yasin would like my bride for himself."
Everyone laughed except Khadija. Then before the smile vanished from his face, Yasin commented, "If that would remedy the situation, I am more than ready to make the sacrifice."
Khadija cried out, "Go ahead and laugh! This just encourages him. It would be far better if you'd give him your frank opinions. What do you think of a person who wishes to marry the precious daughter of a printshop employee who works for the girl's own magazine? It's hard for us to bear your working as a journalist. How can you want to marry into the family of a pressman? Don't you have an opinion about this, Mr. Ibrahim?"
Ibrahim Shawkat raised his eyebrows as if he wanted to say something but kept quiet. Khadija continued: "If this disaster takes place, the night of the wedding your home will be jammed with press operators, artisans, cabdrivers, and God knov/s what else."