They had gone quite a distance, and she presumably expected something. She seemed ready and responsive — as if she did not belong to the Shaddad family. In fact, she was not a Shaddad at all. The Shaddad family was finished. Its time had passed. "The person walking along with you is just one of many unlucky girls," he reflected.
She turned toward him with a tentative smile and said gently, "It's been nice to see you."
"Thanks."
Then what? … She seemed to be waiting for a further step on his part. The end of the street was approaching. He had to make up his mind to commit himself or to say goodbye. She had probably never imagined that they would part without even a hopeful word. The intersection was only a few paces ahead. He was painfully aware of the disappointment she would suffer, but his tongue refused to cooperate. Should he say something, no matter what the consequences? She stopped walking, and her smile, which appeared more deliberate than natural, seemed to say, "It's time for us to part". His confusion reached a climax. Then she held out her hand, and he took it. He said nothing for a terrible moment and then finally murmured, "Goodbye."
She withdrew her hand and turned into a side street. He almost called out after her. For Budur to depart in this manner, spattered with failure and embarrassment, was an unbearable nightmare. "You're a past master of miserable situations," he chided himself. But his tongue was frozen. Why had he been following her for the past two months?
"Is it in good taste to spurn her when she comes to you herself? Is it nice to give her the same dismissive treatment meted out to you by her sister? When you love her? Will she pass a night similar to the one that, though long behind you, still lights up the gloomy past like a burning coal with its smoldering pain?"
He walked on, wondering whether he really wanted to remain a bachelor so he could be a philosopher or whether he was using philosophy as a pretext for staying single.
Riyad told him later that what he had done was incredible and that he would regret it. His inaction really was unbelievable, but did he also regret it?
Riyad asked, "How could breaking off with her have seeined so trivial to you after you had been talking of her as the girl of your dreams?" She was not the girl of his dreams, for that girl would never have come to him.
Finally Riyad told Kamal, "You won't be thirty-six much longer. After that, you won't be fit for marriage". Angered by this remark, Kamal succumbed to despair.
161
Clad in a wedding gown, Karima came by carriage with her parents and her brother to Sugar Street, where Ibrahim Shawkat, Khadija, Kamal, Ahmad, and Ahmad's wife, Sawsan Hammad, were waiting to receive them. There was nothing to suggest a wedding reception except the bouquets of roses lining the sitting room. The men's parlor, which opened on the courtyard, was filled with bearded young men, in the midst of whom sat Shaykh Ali al-Manufi. Although a year and a half had passed since the death of al-Sayyid Ahmad, Amina did not attend the reception, promising instead to offer her congratulations later.
When Khadija had invited her to this low-key wedding, Aisha had shaken her head in amazement, replying nervously, "I only attend funerals". Although she was offended by this remark, Khadija had grown accustomed to observing exemplary restraint with Aisha.
The upper floor at Sugar Street had been furnished for a second time with a bride's trousseau. Yasin had outfitted his daughter properly and, to finance this expenditure, had sold the last of his holdings, except for the house in Palace of Desire Alley.
Karima, who looked exceptionally beautiful, resembled — especially in the warmth of her gaze her mother, Zanuba, at her prime. The girl had only reached the legal age of consent during the last week of October. Khadija, as was only appropriate for the mother of the groom, seemed happy. Availing herself of a moment alone with Kamal, she leaned toward him to say, "At any rate, she is Yasin's daughter and, no matter what, a thousand times better than the workshop bride."
A small buffet dinner had been set out in the dining room for the family and another in the courtyard for Abd al-Muni'm's bearded guests, from whom he differed in no respect, since he too had let his beard grow. At the time, Khadija had commented, "Religion's lovely, but what need is there for this beard, which makes you look like Muhammad al-Ajami, the couscous vendor?"
Members of the family sat in the parlor, except for Abd al-Muni'm, who kept his friends company. After helping his brother welcome them for a time, Ahmad returned to the parlor, where on joining his family he said jovially, "The gentlemen's parlor has reverted a thousand years back into history."
Kamal asked, "What are they discussing?"
"The battle of El Alamein… loudly enough to make the walls rattle."
"What's their reaction to the British victory?"
"Anger, naturally. They are enemies of the English, the Germans, and the Russians, too. And so they don't spare the bridegroom even on his wedding night."
Seated next to Zanuba, Yasin, who in his finery looked ten years her junior, said, "Let the armies eat each other alive, so long as they don't do it here. It's our Lord's mercy that He has not made Egypt a war zone."
Smiling, Khadija remarked, "You probably want peace so you'll be free to do as you like". Then she cast Zanuba a sly look that made everyone laugh, for it had recently been reported that Yasin had flirted with the new tenant in his building and that, having caught him in the act, or almost, Zanuba had hounded the woman until she had vacated the apartment.
To hide his discomfort, Yasin said, "How can I do as I like when my home is under military rule?"
Zanuba protested resentfully, "You're not embarrassed not even in front of your daughter?"
Yasin replied plaintively, "I'm innocent and the woman wrongly accused."
"I'm in the wrong? I'm the one who was caught knocking on her door at night and who then excused himself by saying he had lost his way in the dark? Huh? You spend forty years in a building and then can't find your apartment?"
They roared with laughter, but Khadija said ironically, "He often loses his way in the dark."
"And in the daylight as well."
Then Ibrahim Shawkat asked Ridwan, "How are you getting along with Muhammad Effendi Hasan?"
Yasin corrected his brother-in-law: "Muhammad Effendi Scum!"
Ridwan replied furiously, "He's now enjoying my grandfather's fortune, which went to my mother."
Yasin said argumentatively, "It's a considerable inheritance, but whenever Ridwan approaches her for assistance with some small purchase or other, her insolent husband makes problems for the boy and interrogates him about his expenses."
Khadija told Ridwan, "You're her only child. It would be better if she'd let you enjoy her money while she's still alive". Then she added, "And it's time for you to get married, isn't it?"
Ridwan laughed feebly and answered, "When Uncle Kamal does."
"I've given up on your uncle Kamal. There's no need for you to imitate him."
Kamal listened resentfully to these remarks, but did not allow it to show on his face. If she had despaired of him, so had he. In order to acknowledge consciousness of his guilt, he had stopped walking along Ibn Zaydun Street. He would stand near the streetcar stop, where he could watch her on the balcony without being seen. He could no more overcome his desire to see her than he could deny his love for her or ignore his alarmed aversion to the thought of marrying her. Riyad had told him, "You're sick and refuse to recover."
Ahmad Shawkat asked Ridwan in a knowing tone, "Would Muhammad Hasan interrogate you about your expenditures if your Sa'dist Party were in power?"