Respected Sir, Wedding Song, the Search Read online

  “God, I’m trying to guide her. In Your mercy, grant me the strength!”

  But his effort was of no avail. Indeed, he had brought to her a degree of misery she could never have imagined. In the past she had been miserable, but hardly realized it; and in drink and opium she found a welcome refuge. But today she faced the void with hideous awareness, her eyes wide open and full of terror. There was nothing to console her: no love and no children.

  “As a prostitute,” he would say to himself, “she was a consolation to me and a pleasure, but in this comfortable home she is hell itself.”

  “If we each went our own way,” he would also tell himself, “with a miracle I might still attain happiness. Where’s my old solitude? Where?”

  One evening he went back home to be greeted by bloodshot eyes and a stupefied grin.

  “Have you been drinking again?” he said with horror.

  She nodded with an air of resignation. “Yes, thank God!”

  “And soon you’ll be taking opium again too,” he sighed.

  “It’s already happened,” came the sarcastic reply.

  “What do we do then?” he asked sharply.

  “Everything is fine,” she said calmly. “Last night I dreamed of my mother.”

  “I shall absolutely despair of you.”

  “That’s all I want you to do.”

  He watched her as she gradually dissolved into her own world of illusions, keeping out of his way. He felt somewhat relieved, for in this way he was able to regain his solitude. And he decided, with an uneasy conscience, that this time he would let her go to pieces without opposition on his part. Addressing himself to God, he said, “Forgive me my thoughts, Oh God! They are part of life and therefore cruel like it.”

  While he was on fire with these thoughts, Radiya Abd al-Khaliq was appointed his secretary. The Head of the Personnel Office had asked him to choose a suitable secretary for himself.

  “It’s your right to choose your own secretary,” he said. “You may even appoint a relative of yours, somebody you trust.” Did the man really know nothing about his origins? Throughout his long service he had known the ingenuity of employees in digging up the most hidden secrets. It was certain that his “donkey cart” origins were no secret to anybody anymore.

  “I leave the choice to you.”

  “You really are a model of propriety, sir,” the Personnel Head flattered him.

  On the following morning a young woman introduced herself to him.

  “Radiya Abd al-Khaliq, Your Excellency’s new secretary if you will be so kind as to approve the appointment.”

  “How do you do,” he said, feeling gratified. “Which section do you come from?”

  “Personnel.”

  “Fine, and what are your qualifications?”

  “A B.A. in history.”

  He nearly asked her about her age, but he checked himself. He put her at about twenty-five. She had a remarkably good figure and her coal-dark hair flowed on either side of her long, brown face, enveloping it like a halo. Her eyes were small, clear, intelligent, and attractively bright. She had protruding incisors, sometimes considered a defect, but in her case they made her face even more attractive. Her prettiness excited him and he privately cursed the Personnel Head for his happy choice. “In this inferno of mine how I need a place of refuge!” he thought.

  From the first look he took to her, perhaps driven by a secret desire for protection. And as days went by his affection for her grew even stronger, particularly when he knew that she was an orphan who lived with a spinster aunt. His inner dreams and desires were no secret to himself, but he was in no frame of mind to consider, even to consider, committing a folly.

  “It’s enough that I can see her face every morning,” he said to himself.

  The refinement of her manners, coupled with her gentle nature and the mellow look in her eyes, captivated him. All this he explained as the proper behavior of a secretary toward her boss, especially when the boss was as old as her father. But why was he thinking of her more than he should? His whole being was suffused through and through with the scent of her. He told himself that there were moments in life when those who took life seriously and those who made a joke of it were equal.

  “Lord, have mercy!” he prayed.

  He watched her work with interest and one day he asked her, “Do you find work in my office demanding?”

  “Not at all. I love work,” came the warm answer.

  “So do I. Indeed, I’ve always done so since the day I first took up a job. And I can assure you, hard work is never wasted effort.”

  “But they say…”

  “I know what they say,” he interrupted her, “and I don’t deny it. Favoritism…nepotism…party politics…preference for members of the ruling party…and even worse things. But efficiency is also a factor that cannot be ignored. Even incompetent people in high positions find themselves in need of someone with real talent to cover up their own inadequacy.” He smiled, secretly overcome by her charm, and went on: “I have forced my way up relying on Almighty God and my work alone.”

  “So I’ve heard everywhere.”

  Had she? And what else had she heard? The thing that stopped Omm Zaynab, the marriage broker, from ever coming back? But that didn’t matter any longer.

  “I ought to tell you that I’m very pleased with your work,” he said to her.

  “It’s all due to your kind encouragement,” she said with a delighted smile.

  Such purity of atmosphere was unmatchable. A purity pregnant with promise, distilling into the heart of holy joy. From such a starting point as this the lover sets out on the road that leads to happy marriage and true friendship. In this way, a man in his perplexity may stumble on situations rich with the prospect of happiness in unpropitious circumstances. The place, for instance, may be right but the time wrong: or vice versa. All this confirmed that happiness exists, but that tracks leading to it may not always be smooth. And from the interplay of time and place came either good fortune or absurdity. But you shouldn’t forget mistakes either. Mistakes? Sayyida, Asila, and Onsiyya.

  As days went by he would tell his heart to beware. As usual, he started to fear Radiya as much as he liked her. And as usual too, he surrendered himself to the current and waited for life’s course to be determined by an unknown destiny.

  Thirty-Five

  As the days passed by, compounded of work in the office and wretchedness at home, secret longings took fire in his heart. It appeared that the universe had come to a standstill and that Abdullah Wajdi had become as immovable in the position of Director General as the Great Pyramid.

  “There isn’t a flicker of hope!” he thought.

  How would the miracle happen this time? There he was with only a few black hairs remaining on his head: his eyesight was now poor and he had to wear glasses, his digestive system had lost its usual rigor so that he had to use drugs for the first time in his life, and his back had grown humped from years of bending over a desk and taking no exercise.

  “I’m still strong, thank God!” he would say to himself. And he would spend a long time looking at himself in the mirror, which was not his habit, and thinking, “I still look all right!”

  At that time he had written a comprehensive book on employment regulations which caused a sensation in official circles. Despite his advancing age he continued to slave away both at his office work and on his translations—partly because he enjoyed it and partly as an escape from the burden of his marital life on the one hand and his emotional excitement, reckless and frivolous as he thought it, on the other.

  “There’s no denying that the hour I spend with her looking at the mail every morning is my share of happiness!”

  The exchange of greetings and smiles. Comments on work. Disguised flirtation. Discreet compliments on her hairstyle, her shoes, or her blouse. On one occasion he was admiring her hairstyle when she said, “I’m thinking of having it cut short.”

  “No, no!” he protes
ted.

  She smiled at the warmth of his protest over something quite unconnected with administrative statutes.

  “But…”

  “Leave it as it is!” he interrupted.

  “But the fashion…”

  “I know nothing about the fashion, but I like it the way it is.”

  She blushed. He studied her carefully but found no trace of displeasure in her face. He decided to put to use the lessons he had learned during the happier moments of his past. So one morning he presented her with a handsome little case. Radiya was taken aback.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “A small thing for a great occasion!”

  “But…but how did you know?”

  “Many happy returns.”

  “In point of fact it really is my birthday.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “But…you’re so kind…I don’t deserve…”

  “Say no more! With you, silence is more expressive!”

  “I’m really grateful.”

  “And I’m really happy!”

  He sighed, gathered his strength, and then surrendered completely to his emotions. Without further thought he burst out, passionately and in dead earnest, “What can I do? I’m in love!”

  She looked down, accepting his confession and happily surrendering to whatever it should bring.

  “It is the last thing I ought to speak about,” he went on, “but what can I do?”

  Her brown face flushed darker, but she stayed where she was sitting submissively as if waiting for more.

  “I’m not a young man, as you see.” He was quiet for a long while and then went on: “And I’m married.” What was it he wanted? Perhaps what he didn’t want was to face the possibility of failure or in the end death, all alone; without the warmth of love and without children.

  “But what can I do?” he said again. “I’m in love.”

  Silence reigned again. Nothing mattered any longer and he asked her almost jokingly, “What do you say to that?”

  She smiled and mumbled something indistinct.

  “Maybe you think I’m selfish?”

  “No, I don’t,” she whispered.

  “Or senile?”

  She laughed softly and answered, “Don’t do yourself an injustice!”

  “What you say is very kind but what shall we do?” For the third time there was silence.

  “I really do want to know what you think,” he said again.

  “It’s a delicate situation and rather bewildering,” she said gravely. “And I don’t like to be inhuman or cruel.”

  “Are you hinting at my wife?”

  “That’s something you surely must consider.”

  “Leave that to me, it’s my responsibility.”

  “Very well.”

  “But I want to know what you think apart from that.”

  She was now in much better control of her emotions and said, “Haven’t I already made that clear in what I’ve been saying?”

  “I’m so happy, Radiya, to hear that…It shows that my love for you has your blessing.”

  “Yes, it does,” she said without hesitation. He was drunk with rapture.

  “I don’t mind what happens now!” he said with royal abandon, and then added in a voice that pleaded for sympathy: “I must tell you that I have never known happiness.”

  “Can that really be so?”

  “I’ve had a difficult life and a miserable marriage!”

  “You never gave me that impression.”

  “How so?”

  “You have always seemed such a wise person to me, and it’s my belief that wise people are happy people.”

  “What an idea!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “But your love makes me happy.”

  He believed he had won the greatest prize of his life and that next to the power of almighty God, the power of love was the greatest.

  Later on he went with her to her place in al-Sayyida Zaynab. She introduced him to her old spinster aunt. From the beginning it was obvious to him that the woman was not in favor of the marriage and she made her feelings only too clear. The matter was discussed from all aspects.

  “Divorce your wife first!” she said.

  But he rejected the idea, explaining apologetically that his wife “was ill.”

  “You are an old man and an untrustworthy one,” she blurted out sharply.

  Radiya rushed to his defense.

  “Don’t be cross with my aunt!” she said.

  “What do you propose to do?” asked the aunt after a while.

  “I want our marriage to remain secret for a short period until the time is suitable to make it public.”

  “Well, that’s a fine story, I must say!” cried the aunt. “And what do you think of that?” she asked, turning to Radiya.

  “It’s something we have agreed on. I’m not very happy about it, but I haven’t turned it down.”

  “Do as you please!” she shouted at her. “But the whole thing seems to me wicked and sinful.”

  “Aunt!” screamed the girl.

  “Are you trying to take advantage of us because we’re poor and have got no one to protect us?” said the aunt angrily, turning on Othman.

  “I’ve known poverty and loneliness more than anyone,” retorted Othman, feeling exasperated for the first time.

  “Then let each of you go your own way,” answered the aunt imploringly.

  “We’ve already made up our minds to stay together,” came Radiya’s adamant reply.

  “What can I do? God’s will be done!”

  One month later the marriage took place in the aunt’s house. They bought furniture to suit their new life. Othman said to himself that life was a series of dreams and nightmares and that his last dream was the happiest of all. He would stay in Radiya’s flat until about midnight and then go back to Rawd al-Faraj, where Qadriyya, lost in her own world, never asked him where he had been or what he had been doing. Wisely he decided to postpone having children until he had made the marriage public, so that his new wife would not find herself in an embarrassing situation at the office.

  In his overwhelming happiness he forgot how old he was and how totally bogged down were his hopes for the Director General’s position; and he forgot Qadriyya. He told himself that life had only been created as a stage for the performance of the wonders of Providence.

  Thirty-Six

  For the first time in his life he was seen striding about in handsome clothes: a gray suit made of English wool and English shoes too. As for his shirts and ties, Radiya had chosen them herself. For the first time too he used eau de cologne and shaved every day, and if he had not been too shy he would have dyed his hair. And again for the first time he took vitamins, and he looked after his health and cleanliness more than he had ever done in the past. He said to Radiya, “With you, my darling, I will begin a new life, new in the full sense of the word.” He kissed her and went on: “We shall have children…” He paused for a long while and then continued: “Nobody knows when his time will be up, but I come from a long-lived family. May God give us long life!”

  Radiya kissed him and said, “My heart tells me we’ll have a happy future.”

  “The heart of a believer is his guide! I’ve got enough faith to make up for a multitude of sins and I’ve served the state with enough devotion to atone for many transgressions; and when things have settled down, I will go on the pilgrimage to be reborn, soul and body.”

  As for Qadriyya, she was steadily going downhill, and this relieved him altogether of responsibility for her. He was not without sympathy for her but he remained afraid of telling her about his second marriage.

  He did not forget that he was approaching the end of his service with no real hope of attaining his life’s most treasured dream. But as the days went rapidly past, something unexpected took place. Abdullah Wajdi was appointed Under Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, so all of a sudden Othman saw the Director General’s post vacan
t in front of him. He closed his eyes and tried to master the beating of his heart. With the vacant post occupying the foreground, everything else in his life—his bride, his joys, his hopes—was consigned to oblivion. His suppressed ambition exploded and once again he worshipped in the sacred temple of advancement.

  Radiya said to him, “Everybody is talking about you as the only candidate.”

  “God grant our hopes come true,” he said piously, and went on in an air of genteel thanksgiving: “Isn’t life amazing? In just one moment it wipes away sorrows that the oceans themselves could not wash off. A kind mother, that’s what life is, though sometimes she treats us cruelly.”

  Othman went without delay to the Foreign Office to congratulate Abdullah Wajdi. The latter welcomed him. “Let me confess to you, Mr. Bayyumi, that I was doubly gratified,” he said courteously. “Once at my own appointment as Under Secretary, and once because I knew for sure you would replace me at the ministry.”

  Othman left the Foreign Office intoxicated with happiness. He wondered whether they would first appoint him Acting Director General and then give him substantive promotion or let him stay where he was until he was promoted. Every day of waiting was a torment. Suffer indeed he did, despite his knowledge that the Minister had a good opinion of him and that he was the special protégé of the Under Secretary of State. When his patience had been exhausted he went to see Bahjat Noor, the Under Secretary of State. The man gave him a warm welcome as he said, “It’s as though I read your thoughts.”

  Othman smiled in confusion and was lost for words.

  “But you do not read my thoughts,” the man went on.

  “I owe to you everything good in my life,” Othman answered pensively.

  “A little patience is all I ask of you,” the Under Secretary of State said, smiling. “I trust I will have good news to tell you in the end.”

  Othman left the man’s office feeling grateful but wondering why he had asked him to be patient. He told himself that the omens were good but even so he did not feel completely secure. Patiently he suffered. After one week the Under Secretary of State called him to his office. Othman thought he read a cool look in the man’s eyes and his heart pounded.