Ridwan laughed bitterly and answered, "He's not the only one who calls me to account nowadays. But patience… it's only a matter of a few more days or weeks."
Sawsan Hammad asked him, "Do you think the days of the Wafd Party are numbered, as its foes suggest?"
"The length of its rule depends entirely on the English. In any case the war won't drag on forever. Then it will be time to settle accounts."
With great earnestness, Sawsan said, "Primary responsibility for the tragedy lies with the people who helped the Fascists stab the English in the back."
Khadija gazed at Sawsan scornfully and disapprovingly, astonished that her daughter-in-law would join the conversation in such a manly fashion. She could not keep from remarking, "We're supposed to be at a wedding party. Let's talk about more suitable things."
To avoid a clash, Sawsan fell silent, while Ahmad and Kamal exchanged a smiling look. Ibrahim Shawkat laughed and remarked, "Their excuse is that our weddings aren't what they used to be … May God be compassionate to al-Sayyid Ahmad and provide him with a fine dwelling in paradise."
Yasin said regretfully, "I've been married three times, but I've never had a proper procession with a shivaree."
Zanuba asked acidly, "You blab about yourself and forget your daughter?"
Laughing, Yasin replied, "We'll have the proper festivities the fourth time, God willing."
Zanuba remarked sarcastically, "Postpone that until you've escorted Ridwan to his bride."
Ridwan was annoyed but said nothing. "God's curse on all of you and on marriage too," he thought. "Don't you realize that I'll never marry? I'd like to kill anyone who brings up this damn subject."
After a short silence, Yasin said, "I wish I could stay at the ladies' buffet, to avoid mingling with those bearded fellows, who frighten me."
"If they knew what you've done, they'd stone you," Zanuba taunted him.
Ahmad said scornfully, "Their beards will get in the food. It will be more like a battle than a dinner. Does my uncle Kamal like the Brethren?"
Smiling, Kamal answered, "I like one of them at least."
Turning to the silent bride, Sawsan asked affectionately, "What does Karima think about her husband's beard?"
Karima hid her laughter by ducking her crowned head but said nothing. Zanuba answered for her, "Few young men are as pious as Abd al-Muni'm."
Khadija remarked, "I admire his piety, which is a characteristic of our fimily, but not his beard."
Laughing, Ibrahim Shawkat said, "I must acknowledge that both my sons — the Believer and the apostate — are crazy."
Yasin roared his mighty laugh and commented, "Insanity is also a characteristic of our family."
Khadija gave him a look of protest. Before she could say anything, he attempted to humor her by adding, "I mean I'm crazy. I think Kamal's crazy too. But if you want, I'm the only crazy one."
"That is the unvarnished truth."
"Does it make sense for a man to condemn himself to bachelorhood so he can have time to read and write?"
"He'll marry sooner or later and be eminently sensible."
Ridwan asked his uncle Kamal, "Why don't you marry, Uncle? Td like to know at least the basis for your objections so I can defend myself in a similar way if I need to."
Yasin asked, "Are you planning to boycott marriage? I'll never give you permission to do that so long as I live. Just wait until your party is in power again. Then you can have a spectacular political wedding."
But Kamal told his nephew, "If there's nothing to prevent it, you ought to get married at once."
"How handsome this young man is," Kamal mused. "And he has expectations of status and of wxalth. If A'ida had seen him when she was young she would have fallen in love with him. If he favored Budur with a glance in passing, she would become wildly infatuated with him". Kamal went around in circles while the whole world advanced. He kept asking himself, "Are you going to get married or not?" Life seemed to offer nothing but gloomy confusion. His opportunity was neither ideal nor worthless. Love was difficult. It was characterized by controversy and suffering. If only she would marry someone else so he could free himself from this confusion and torment.
Then Abd al-Muni'm, preceded by his beard, came to announce, "Please help yourself to the buffet. Our festivities today are limited to the stomach."
162
At about ten o'clock one Friday morning Kamal was strolling along Fuad I Street, which was crowded with pedestrians. The weather was pleasant, as it normally is for most of November. He was very fond of walking and had grown accustomed to assuaging his emotional isolation by plunging into crowds of people on his day off. He would wander about aimlessly, entertaining himself by observing people and places.
On his way, he had run into more than one of his young pupils, who had greeted him with a salute. He had returned their greetings politely and cheerfully. How many pupilshe had! Some had already found employment. Others were at the University. Most of them were in either elementary or secondary school. Fourteen years of service to learning and education was quite a substantial contribution. Kamal's traditional appearance was little altered: neat suit, glistening shoes, fez planted squarely on his head, gold-rimmed spectacles, and bushy mustache. Not even his civil service rank trie sixth had changed in fourteen years, although there were rumors that the Wafd was thinking about rectifying such inequities. One visible change was the gray spreading through the hair at his temples. He seemed delighted by the salutations of these pupils, who loved and respected him. No other teacher had garnered a comparable popularity, and he had accomplished this in spite of his huge head and nose and the unruly deviltry in vogue among students.
When his meanderings brought him to the intersection of Fuad I and Imad al-Din streets, he suddenly found himself face to face with Budur. His heart pounded as if a siren had gone off inside. The paralyzed stare of his eyes lasted for a few moments, and then he started to smile in an attempt to obviate some of the awkwardness of the situation. But she turned her eyes away, clearly pretending that she did not know him. She did not soften her expression at all as she walked past him. Then, and only then, did he notice that her arm was around a young male companion's.
Kamal stopped and followed her with his eyes. Yes, it was Budur, in an elegant black coat. Her escort, who was just as dapper, was probably not yet thirty. Kamal did his best to control himself, but the surprise had given him a jolt. He wondered with interest who the young man might be … not her brother or her lover, for lovers do not parade their relationship down Fuad I Street, especially not on Friday morning. Could he be?… Kamal'sheart beat apprehensively. Then without any hesitation he started after them. His eyes never left them, and his attention was fixed so keenly on them that he sensed his temperature rising, along with his blood pressure. The pounding of his heart sounded like a death knell. He saw them pause before the display of a store selling suitcases. He slowly drew closer, directing his eyes toward the girl's right hand until he could see the gold ring. He felt scorched by a burning sensation that seemed a symptom of his profound pain.
Four months had passed since the incident on Ibn Zaydun Street. Had this young man been spying on him from the end of the street, just waiting to take his place? There was no cause for astonishment. Four months was a long time, long enough for the world to be turned upside down. Kamal stood in front of a toy store a short distance away, as if examining the toys. She seemed prettier today than ever before … the spitting image of a bride. But what was the black color that had transformed all her garments? A black coat was nothing unusual. Although that was quite fashionable, why was her dress black too? Was it attributable to style or mourning? Had her mother died? He was not in the habit of reading through the obituaries, and how did it concern him? What really mattered was that Budur's page in the book of his life had been turned. Budur was finished. The anxious question, to marry or not, had a conclusive answer. After all his anxiety and suffering, he should be happy. He had often wished she would marry someone else, so his torment would end. Lo and behold, she had. He should be delighted to be released from his suffering. He imagined that a person being executed might experience the sensationshe was feeling then as the gates of life closed in his face and he was expelled beyond its walls.