pension and my work are not enough. And whathas Hassan done? Nothing. None of them will accept Soliman, and nobody better than Soliman will ever come to me. How can I make sure that he is really interested in me?
With her eyes fixed on Amm Gaber Soliman’s grocery store, she continued until she reached the alley. She thought of going to the grocery to buy something…anything. Without hesitation, she went to it. The old Amm Gaber Soliman was sitting at his small desk, busy working on his ledger, while his young son Soliman Gaber Soliman stood behind the counter at the entrance. As soon as the girl stood before him, the young man became aware of her; he looked at her with a jubilant face, and his narrow eyes brightened. His features betrayed foolishness, bestiality, and cowardice. The only part of his face that could be described as handsome was his short mustache. He spoke first. “Anything I can do for you, Miss Nefisa?”
Blinking in confusion, she replied, “Give me one piaster’s worth of Tahania sweets.”
He took a knife, cut an ample portion, and, slicing a little extra piece, he said to her in a low voice, “This slice is for you alone, Miss Nefisa.”
He wrapped up the sweet in a paper and handed it to her, then took the piaster, watching his father out of the corner of his eye. Noting that his father was busy working on his ledger, he became encouraged.
“I shall keep your piaster for good luck.”
She smiled faintly and went away. She had smiled deliberately as if she wanted to encourage him. That cost her a great effort.
He is no longer content with the language of the eyes, and he did well when he spoke,
she thought, and in spite of his humble position and appearance, her heart beat with delight and she was overcome with excitement. Before it actually happened, she had played the scene over in her mind while she was engaged in her work for the bride. Reality turned out to be only slightly different from her imagination. She had imagined herself standing before him to buy Tahania sweets, and he, devouring herwith his eyes, had said to her, as he was taking the piaster, “You are sweeter than sweet.” He hadn’t actually said that, but he’d said something similar. She sighed with relief and her imagination flew to the memories of her past loves! Her first was a minister whose picture she had seen in
Al Musawar
magazine, and she had embroidered around his picture some rosy daydreams in which she imagined herself begetting a unique child by him. The second was Farid Effendi Mohammed himself, and because of her love for him, she quarreled with his wife and family. As for Soliman, he was the worst of the lot. Yet he was the only one who actually existed.
When she reached the middle of the courtyard, she began to fear that her mother would scold her for spending the whole day outside the house. This aroused her resentment and she imagined herself replying:
“Stop scolding me, I can no longer bear it. What I am suffering from is enough.”
Her voice rose, ringing in the staircase. Cautiously, she looked around her, and with her fingers suppressed a laugh that almost escaped her lips.
TWENTY-ONE
Hassanein left Farid Effendi Muhammed’s flat and closed the door behind him. He was extremely depressed. He walked toward the stairs, suffering with despair and frustration. But he stopped, putting his hand on the banister. He raised his head to follow the rustle of a dress. He saw the hem as the wearer climbed the last flight of stairs leading to the roof of the house. Who was it? He knew all the occupants of the house very well. Which of them was it, dressed in that red color? His heart beat violently, and he felt some power urging him to climb upward. He cast a wary look at the closed door and listened with attention and anxiety. On tiptoe, he crossed the corridor in front of the flat and walked toward the last flight of stairs leading to the roof. Perhaps it was she. He had seen her no more, either in the
With her eyes fixed on Amm Gaber Soliman’s grocery store, she continued until she reached the alley. She thought of going to the grocery to buy something…anything. Without hesitation, she went to it. The old Amm Gaber Soliman was sitting at his small desk, busy working on his ledger, while his young son Soliman Gaber Soliman stood behind the counter at the entrance. As soon as the girl stood before him, the young man became aware of her; he looked at her with a jubilant face, and his narrow eyes brightened. His features betrayed foolishness, bestiality, and cowardice. The only part of his face that could be described as handsome was his short mustache. He spoke first. “Anything I can do for you, Miss Nefisa?”
Blinking in confusion, she replied, “Give me one piaster’s worth of Tahania sweets.”
He took a knife, cut an ample portion, and, slicing a little extra piece, he said to her in a low voice, “This slice is for you alone, Miss Nefisa.”
He wrapped up the sweet in a paper and handed it to her, then took the piaster, watching his father out of the corner of his eye. Noting that his father was busy working on his ledger, he became encouraged.
“I shall keep your piaster for good luck.”
She smiled faintly and went away. She had smiled deliberately as if she wanted to encourage him. That cost her a great effort.
He is no longer content with the language of the eyes, and he did well when he spoke,
she thought, and in spite of his humble position and appearance, her heart beat with delight and she was overcome with excitement. Before it actually happened, she had played the scene over in her mind while she was engaged in her work for the bride. Reality turned out to be only slightly different from her imagination. She had imagined herself standing before him to buy Tahania sweets, and he, devouring herwith his eyes, had said to her, as he was taking the piaster, “You are sweeter than sweet.” He hadn’t actually said that, but he’d said something similar. She sighed with relief and her imagination flew to the memories of her past loves! Her first was a minister whose picture she had seen in
Al Musawar
magazine, and she had embroidered around his picture some rosy daydreams in which she imagined herself begetting a unique child by him. The second was Farid Effendi Mohammed himself, and because of her love for him, she quarreled with his wife and family. As for Soliman, he was the worst of the lot. Yet he was the only one who actually existed.
When she reached the middle of the courtyard, she began to fear that her mother would scold her for spending the whole day outside the house. This aroused her resentment and she imagined herself replying:
“Stop scolding me, I can no longer bear it. What I am suffering from is enough.”
Her voice rose, ringing in the staircase. Cautiously, she looked around her, and with her fingers suppressed a laugh that almost escaped her lips.
TWENTY-ONE
Hassanein left Farid Effendi Muhammed’s flat and closed the door behind him. He was extremely depressed. He walked toward the stairs, suffering with despair and frustration. But he stopped, putting his hand on the banister. He raised his head to follow the rustle of a dress. He saw the hem as the wearer climbed the last flight of stairs leading to the roof of the house. Who was it? He knew all the occupants of the house very well. Which of them was it, dressed in that red color? His heart beat violently, and he felt some power urging him to climb upward. He cast a wary look at the closed door and listened with attention and anxiety. On tiptoe, he crossed the corridor in front of the flat and walked toward the last flight of stairs leading to the roof. Perhaps it was she. He had seen her no more, either in the
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