The mother understood the purpose of his whisper. Instantly, she attacked him with this question: “As the head of the family, what have you prepared for the feast?”
“We have an admirable mother, nice, witty, and charming. What should I say, Mother? God has not yet ordained that I should have earnings. However, it is enough that I have relieved you of the burden of sustaining me. You can count the number of times I’ve eaten at your place since my father’s death,” he said with a laugh.
Realizing the futility of blaming him or giving him advice, she sighed mutely.
Hassanein was encouraged, and pursued the subject, inquiring, “What shall we eat on the day of the feast?”
“Meat, of course. This is God’s commandment and it cannot be ignored,” Hassan replied.
Nefisa gave a laugh, but quickly stifled it lest she be accused of encouraging him. “It’s God’s commandment, indeed, but how can we fulfill it?”
Flattering his mother, Hassan said, “We depend on your extraordinary merits to fulfill it. You are a blessing to our home. Your firmness and judiciousness can always be counted on. Besides, you are the greatest cook in the world. How is it possible for the feast to pass without our filling our bellies with all sorts of meat, with roasted meat, boiled meat, fried meat, cutlets, sausages, and shin? How sumptuous the table of Lady Umm Hassan always was, filled with delicious foods!”
His words released a pleasant breeze of merriment into the atmosphere of pervasive gloom. A faint smile appeared on his mother’s stern face. But she said sorrowfully, “A good cook whose hands are cut off!”
Nefisa cast a meaningful look at her mother. “Listen. We have learned that Farid Effendi will present us with half a sheep,” she said to her brothers.
Stunned, they all looked at her. Finding it impossible to keep silent, Samira described how Farid Effendi had discreetly suggested it, and how she had thanked him but declined his present. Farid Effendi had been upset, even angry, and reminded her, among other things, that they were one family. A somber look appeared in Hussein’s eyes and Hassanein seemed to find it difficult to swallow, but Hassan was pleased, and praised his virtue and faithfulness.
“It’s impossible. We cannot allow this to happen!” Hassanein shouted, pained and suffocated. “It doesn’t detract from our dignity. It’s just observance of tradition. Anyhow, Farid Effendi is no stranger to us,” Hassan replied, and Nefisa began to fear that her revelation might cause an argument.
“There is no need for you to quarrel. If you decline the present, we shall buy some mutton,” she said.
“How much?” Hassan asked sharply.
“As much as we can afford. Let’s say ten pounds of mutton.”
“Only ten pounds for the four days of the feast! You cannot decline the present. Remember, our Prophet accepted presents. Besides, do you want to anger a family that wishes their daughter to marry into ours?” Hassan cried in alarm.
“This is begging!” Hassanein shouted at him.
“No. Begging is something else; I can tell you all about it. This is definitely a present,” Hassan said with assurance.
“A present such as those we used to give to the street sweeper and the baker’s apprentice on feast days,” Hussein replied, unable to keep silent any longer.
This retort angered Hassan, who had hoped to win Hussein over to his side, or at least prevent his opposition.
“Don’t confuse presents with alms. What you give to the street sweeper is alms, but what you give to a friend is a present,” he said indignantly.
Hassanein knew that Hassan’s argument was specious, and objected. “It is the duty of a fiancé to give presents to his future bride,” he said, lowering his eyes with pain and shyness.
“True enough, if he has asked for her hand, but not if she has asked for his,” Hassan sarcastically replied. “Spare us your philosophy, which does nothing to fill a hungry stomach. I assure you there is nothing shameful in accepting this present. Ahmad Bey Yousri used to bring presents to us in the seasons. And why has that son of a bitch forgotten us this year? He is not a faithful man. But Farid Effendi is, and we should accept his present if we want to be courteous. I assure you that if there had been anything undignified about it, I would have been the first to decline his present.”
“Imagine what they’ll say about us!” Hussein said gloomily.
“Imagine the meat roasting on the fire, the delicious odor permeating the house.”
Hassanein turned to his mother. “What do you intend to do?”
“I have no choice but to accept,” she answered without looking at him.
Silence prevailed, not only because none of them dared to object but also because accepting saved them from the conflict raging within themselves between their sense of wounded pride and their desire to enjoy the delights and pleasures of the feast day. Besides, they had great confidence in their mother’s judgment, as though she were infallible, and they told themselves that if she accepted the present, that meant there must be no harm in accepting it. Or so they told themselves as a way out of their quandary. Samira felt particularly upset. The only possible consolation to her came from the fact that Farid Effendi, with his persistence and warmth of friendship, had obliged her to accept the present. She was glad that Nefisa had brought up the subject, and had hoped that her sons’ approval would give her solace. But when her two important sons objected, it only increased her pain, and so her declaration that she had accepted the present amounted to a confession of her own guilt. It pained her more and more to see her children enjoying food only on feast days, like the poor folk who used to come to them and others asking for charity. Their condition was progressively deteriorating, and God only knew where that deterioration would take them!
Reassured, Hassan saw no harm in philosophizing. “Once the Prophet accepted a present from a Jew. So, can Farid Effendi be worse than a Jew?” he sermonized.
“Who said that?” Hussein asked in astonishment.
“History.”
“Which history?!”
“I thought they taught you everything at school,” Hassan shouted.
“Tell us about the history you have learned in the streets,”
Hassanein retorted sharply.
Hassan pretended to be angry. “I swear by the majesty of God, if you had not been the cause of the present, I would have broken your head. However,” he added, “they should have presented us with a whole sheep, and not just half a one.” Then he turned to Nefisa and said, “Be careful not to accept the present unless it contains half the sheep’s liver, too.”
THIRTY
They stood face to face waiting for the tram to arrive. She was dressed in her old overcoat, which she wanted to replace with a better one, even if she had to get it secondhand. He was wearing a suit which obviously didn’t fit him very well, and he was visibly nervous as he tried to screw up the courage to say something that had been weighing heavily on him. He was afraid the tramcar might come before he was able to speak his mind.
“Nefisa, I am very ashamed to tell you something,” he said.
“What is it?” she asked.
“My father ordered me to accompany him today on his visit to the Sheikh of the Al Shazliah sect. I refused, and he got angry,” he whispered.
She felt inexplicably fearful, perhaps because of the mention of his father. Expecting to hear unpleasant news, she looked at him, silent and inquiring.
“He got angry at my obstinacy and refused to pay me my wages for the day.” He was whispering again.