Muhtashimi Zayed
L ittle sleep. Then a moment of expectation full of warmth beneath the heavy cover. The window lets in a faint streak of light which powerfully penetrates the forbidding darkness of the room. O Lord, I sleep at Thy command and awaken at Thy command! Thou art Lord of things. There goes the call to the dawn prayer marking the birth of a new day for me. There it is calling Thy name from the depth of silence. O Lord, help me tear myself away from my warm bed and face the bitter cold of this long winter! My dear one is bundled up deep in sleep in the other bed. Let me grope my way in the dark so as not to wake him up. How cold the ablution water is! But I derive warmth from Thy mercy. Prayer is communion and annihilation. God loves those who love to commune with Him. Blessed not is the day in which I draw not closer to the Lord.
At long last, I tear myself away from my reveries toawaken those asleep. I am the alarm clock of this exhausted household. It is good to be of some use at this advanced age of mine. Old, indeed, but healthy, praised be the Lord! Now it is all right to switch on the light and knock on the door, calling, “Fawwaz,” till I am able to hear his voice crying out, “Good morning, Father.”
I then return to my room and switch on the light there too. Here lies my grandson, fast asleep, nothing showing except the center of his face, tucked in between bedcover and bonnet. Nothing doing. I must drag him out of the realm of peace and into hell.
My heart goes out to him and his generation as I whisper, “Elwan, wake up.” He opens his light brown eyes and yawns as he mutters with a smile, “Good morning, Grandpa.”
This is followed by a rush of feet and a loosening of tongues as life begins to throb between the bathroom and the dining room. I sit and listen to the morning recitation of the Quran on the radio until Hanaa, my daughter-in-law, cries out, “Uncle, breakfast is ready!” Food is the single most important thing that remains for me out of the pleasures of life. Manifold indeed are God’s blessings in this life of ours. O Lord, protect me from sickness and disability. No one any longer to take care of anyone anymore. And no money left over in case of sickness. Woe unto him who falls! Now it is beans or falafel for breakfast. Both of these are more important than the Suez Canal. Gone are the days of eggs, cheese, pastrami, and jam. Those were the days of the ancien régime or B.I.—that is, Before
Infitah
, Sadat’s open-dooreconomic policy. Prices have long since rocketed; everything has gone berserk. On a diet rich in bread, Fawwaz continues to gain weight. Hanaa too, but she is also aging prematurely. At fifty, today, one appears to be sixty.
“On certain days now, we’ll have to be working mornings and evenings at the Ministry, so I’ll have to give up my job at the firm,” said Fawwaz in his loud voice.
I grew perturbed. Both he and his wife work in a private-sector firm. Their income, my pension, and Elwan’s salary combined are hardly sufficient to meet the bare necessities of life, so how would it be if he were to leave the firm?
“It may be for just a short while,” I said in a hopeful tone.
“I’ll do some of your work for you and bring the rest home. And I’ll explain your circumstances to the Chief of Division,” said Hanaa.
“That means I’d have to work from crack of dawn to midnight,” Fawwaz retorted angrily.
I have always been hoping that we could try not to discuss our problems at mealtimes. But how?
“The father of my professor, Alyaa Samih, drives a cab in his spare time and, of course, earns much more this way,” said Elwan.
“Does he own the cab?” his father asked him.
“I think so.”
“And how would I buy one? Is your professor’s father rich or does he take bribes?”
“All I know is that he’s a respectable man.”
“When all’s said and done, he has chosen a respectable path,” I said.
“Maybe one day I’ll
L ittle sleep. Then a moment of expectation full of warmth beneath the heavy cover. The window lets in a faint streak of light which powerfully penetrates the forbidding darkness of the room. O Lord, I sleep at Thy command and awaken at Thy command! Thou art Lord of things. There goes the call to the dawn prayer marking the birth of a new day for me. There it is calling Thy name from the depth of silence. O Lord, help me tear myself away from my warm bed and face the bitter cold of this long winter! My dear one is bundled up deep in sleep in the other bed. Let me grope my way in the dark so as not to wake him up. How cold the ablution water is! But I derive warmth from Thy mercy. Prayer is communion and annihilation. God loves those who love to commune with Him. Blessed not is the day in which I draw not closer to the Lord.
At long last, I tear myself away from my reveries toawaken those asleep. I am the alarm clock of this exhausted household. It is good to be of some use at this advanced age of mine. Old, indeed, but healthy, praised be the Lord! Now it is all right to switch on the light and knock on the door, calling, “Fawwaz,” till I am able to hear his voice crying out, “Good morning, Father.”
I then return to my room and switch on the light there too. Here lies my grandson, fast asleep, nothing showing except the center of his face, tucked in between bedcover and bonnet. Nothing doing. I must drag him out of the realm of peace and into hell.
My heart goes out to him and his generation as I whisper, “Elwan, wake up.” He opens his light brown eyes and yawns as he mutters with a smile, “Good morning, Grandpa.”
This is followed by a rush of feet and a loosening of tongues as life begins to throb between the bathroom and the dining room. I sit and listen to the morning recitation of the Quran on the radio until Hanaa, my daughter-in-law, cries out, “Uncle, breakfast is ready!” Food is the single most important thing that remains for me out of the pleasures of life. Manifold indeed are God’s blessings in this life of ours. O Lord, protect me from sickness and disability. No one any longer to take care of anyone anymore. And no money left over in case of sickness. Woe unto him who falls! Now it is beans or falafel for breakfast. Both of these are more important than the Suez Canal. Gone are the days of eggs, cheese, pastrami, and jam. Those were the days of the ancien régime or B.I.—that is, Before
Infitah
, Sadat’s open-dooreconomic policy. Prices have long since rocketed; everything has gone berserk. On a diet rich in bread, Fawwaz continues to gain weight. Hanaa too, but she is also aging prematurely. At fifty, today, one appears to be sixty.
“On certain days now, we’ll have to be working mornings and evenings at the Ministry, so I’ll have to give up my job at the firm,” said Fawwaz in his loud voice.
I grew perturbed. Both he and his wife work in a private-sector firm. Their income, my pension, and Elwan’s salary combined are hardly sufficient to meet the bare necessities of life, so how would it be if he were to leave the firm?
“It may be for just a short while,” I said in a hopeful tone.
“I’ll do some of your work for you and bring the rest home. And I’ll explain your circumstances to the Chief of Division,” said Hanaa.
“That means I’d have to work from crack of dawn to midnight,” Fawwaz retorted angrily.
I have always been hoping that we could try not to discuss our problems at mealtimes. But how?
“The father of my professor, Alyaa Samih, drives a cab in his spare time and, of course, earns much more this way,” said Elwan.
“Does he own the cab?” his father asked him.
“I think so.”
“And how would I buy one? Is your professor’s father rich or does he take bribes?”
“All I know is that he’s a respectable man.”
“When all’s said and done, he has chosen a respectable path,” I said.
“Maybe one day I’ll
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