In the course of the seven years during which their two families had been joined by marriage, Kamal had been alone with one or the other of the brothers for periods of time but had never had a conversation of any substance with either of them. But what reason was there for criticism? If they had not been like that, would there have been this successful harmony between them and his two sisters? Fortunately scorn was not incompatible with affection, benevolence, and fondness.
Oh… it seemed that the conversation about the casseroles had not ended yet. Here was Mr. Khalil Shawkat preparing to have his say: “My brother Ibrahim did not exceed the truth in what he said. May we never be deprived of those hands. The food was certainly worth boasting about.”
Amina secretly loved praise and had suffered bitterly because she was so often deprived of it. She was conscious of her tireless exertions, lovingly and voluntarily expended in the service of her house and family. She had often longed to hear a kind word from her husband, but he was not accustomed to bestowing praise on her. If he did, it was brief and limited to a few exceptional occurrences scarcely worth mentioning. With Ibrahim and Khalil on either side of her, she found herself in a pleasant and unusual situation. It truly delighted her but also embarrassed her so much that she felt uncomfortable. To hide her feelings she said, “Don't exaggerate, Mr. Khalil. You have a mother whose cooking would make anyone familiar with it steer clear of all other food.”
While Khalil proceeded to reiterate his praise, Ibrahim involuntarily turned his eyes toward Khadija, where they met hers. She was staring at him as though she had expected him to look her way and was prepared for it. He smiled victoriously and told his mother-in-law, “Some people would not concede that to you.”
Yasin understood this allusion and laughed out loud. The gathering was quickly engulfed in laughter. Even Amina smiled broadly as her torso shook with suppressed giggles. She concealed her mirtji by bowing her head as though to look at her lap. Khadija was the only one whose face remained rigid. She waited until the storm calmed down and then said defiantly, “Our disagreement was not about food and how to cook it. It concerned my right to look after my household myself. And I'm not to be blamed for that.”
Those present were reminded of the ancient battle that had flared up during the first year of Khadija's marriage. It had pitted her against her mother-in-law and concerned the kitchen. The issue had been whether there would be a single kitchen for the entire household under the supervision of the Widow Shawkat or whether Khadija would have her own kitchen as she wanted. It had been a serious quarrel threatening the unity of the Shawkat family. News of it had reached her parents' home on Palace Walk, so that everyone knew about it, except al-Sayyid Ahmad. No one dared tell him about it or any of the other disputes that broke out aLfterwards between the old lady and her daughter-in-law. Khadija had soon realized that she would need to rely on herself alone in the struggle. Her husband was, as she put it, “a slugabed,” who was neither for her nor against her. Whenever she prodded him to stand up for her rights, he would entreat her almost playfully, “Lady, spare me the headache”. Although he did not come to her defense, he did not silence her either. So she had ventured alone onto the field of battle to oppose the venerable old lady with unexpected daring and stubbornness, which did not disappoint her even in those delicate circumstances.
The old lady had been amazed by the audacity of this girl at whose birth she had assisted. Soon the battle had been joined, and anger had flared up. She had proceeded to remind the girl that had it not been for her own generous interest, Khadija could never have hoped in her wildest dreams to win a husband from the Shawkat family. Although in open rebellion, the daughter-in-law had muzzled her rage and insisted on obtaining what she considered her right, without utilizing her notoriously sharp tongue, for she was restrained by respect for the old lady and by fear that her mother-in-law would complain to al-Sayyid Ahmad.
Her cunning had prompted her to incite Aisha to rebel, but she had found that her lazy sister was cowardly and unwilling to become involved, not from love for their mother-in-law but because she preferred the calm and peace she enjoyed to her heart's content under the tyrannical supervision the old lady imposed on everyone. Khadija had poured out her anger on her sister and accused her of being weak and lazy. Galvanized by her own stubbornness, Khadija had continued her crusade relentlessly and persistently, until the older woman had gotten fed up and grudgingly granted her “gypsy” daughter-in-law an independent kitchen, telling her elder son, “So much for you. You're a weak man, powerless to discipline your wife. You're getting your just reward, which is to be deprived of my cooking forever.”
So Khadija had gotten her way, retrieving the copper pots and pans that had been part of her trousseau, and Ibrahim had arranged a kitchen for her according to her specifications. But she had alienated her mother-in-law and severed the ties of friendship that had bound them since Khadija was in the cradle. Amina had not been able to tolerate the idea of a dispute but had waited patiently for everyone to calm down. Then she had set to work on the grande dame with the cooperation of Ibrahim and Khalil until a truce was concluded. Yet what kind of truce had it been? It was a truce that would scarcely come into effect before a new skirmish took place, to be followed by another truce. And so on and so forth…. Each of them would hold the other woman responsible. To her dismay, Amina was caught between the two. Ibrahim stood by like a neutral party or an observer, as though the matter did not concern him. Whenever he did choose to intervene, he did so listlessly, contenting himself with repeating some word of advice calmly a ad even coldly, paying no attention whatsoever to his mother's scolding or his wife's criticism. Had it not been for Amina's dedication and gentleness, the old lady would have complained to al-Sayyid Ahmad. She reluctantly abandoned that notion and set about venting her wrath by complaining at length to everyone she met, whether family or neighbors. She announced for all to hear that her selection of Khadija to be her son's wife had been the biggest mistake of her whole life and that she would just have to bear the consequences.
Smiling as though to lighten the impact of his correction, Ibrahim amended Khadija's statement: “But you weren't satisfied to get wtiat was rightfully yours. You attacked anything you felt like criticizing, if my memory does not mislead me.”
Her hair concealed by a brown scarf, Khadija defiantly raised her head. Staring at her husband with scorn and rage, she asked, “Why should your memory mislead you? Do you have any thoughts or concerns to burden it enough to mislead you? If only everyone else could have a memory as calm, contented, and disinterested as yours! Your memory has not betrayed you, Mr. Ibrahim, but it has betrayed me. The truth is that I did not oppose your mother's power. It was of no interest to me, and I had no need for it. Praise God, I know my duties and how to perform them in the best possible way. But I did not like to sit at home while food was carried in from outside, as though we were guests at a hotel. If that weren't enough, unlike someone I know, I could not bear 1:0 spend my whole day sleeping or playing, while another person looked after my house.”
Aisha realized immediately that she was the target of the comment and laughed before Khadija had finished. As though motivated by compassion, the younger sister commented tenderly, “Do what you think best, and don't worry about other people or those you know. There's no reason for you to be unhappy now, for you're the mistress of your own destiny may Egypt achieve that too. You work from dawn to dusk in the kitchen, the bath, a ad on the roof. At one and the same time you look after the furniture, the chickens, and the children. The maid Suwaydan doesn't dare approach your apartment or pick up one of your children. My Lord… why all this exertion when a little would do?”
Khadija responded with a thrust of her chin, while she fought off a smile betraying her pleasure with Aisha's comments. Then Yasin commented, “Some people are born to rule and others to serve.”
Revealing his overlapping incisors, Khalil Shawkat smiled and said, “Madam Khadija is a sterling
example of a housewife, except that she overlooks her right to relaxation.”
Ibrahim Shawkat expressed his total agreement: “That's my opinion exactly. I've told her so repeatedly. Finally I decided to keep quiet to spare myself the headache.”
Kamal looked at his mother, who was filling Khalil's cup for the second time. He thought of his father and his dominance. His lips curled up in a smile. Then he looked at Ibrahim with astonishment and commented, “You seem to be afraid of her!”
Shaking his large head, the man replied, “I attempt to avoid trouble whenever I can. Your sister attempts to avoid peace whenever she can.”
Khadija shouted, “Listen to this wisdom!” Then pointing at him as though challenging him to disagree, she continued: “You try your best to find a way to sleep.”
Giving her a warning look, her mother said, “Khadija!”
Ibrahim patted his mother-in-law on the shoulder and remarked, “This goes on all the time at home… but see for yourself.”
Yasin was looking back and forth between the powerful, chubby Khadija and the slender, delicate Aisha in a way intended to draw people's attention to them. Then he said incredulously, “You've told us that Khadija works nonstop from dawn till dusk, but where's the evidence of this toil? She looks like the loafer, and Aisha the worker.”
To ward off the evil eye, Khadija spread her fingers apart and held up her hand with the palm facing Yasin, reciting, “And from the evil of the envious person in his envy” (Qur'an 113:5).
Aisha was not satisfied with the turn the conversation had recently taken. A look of protest was apparent in her clear blue eyes. Ignoring the point of Yasin's remark and feeling a little jealous, she hastened to defend her slimness: “Plumpness is no longer in fashion nowadays”. Sensing that Khadija'shead was turning her way, Aisha corrected herself: “Or at least, many think slimness as fashionable as plumpness.”
Khadija commented scornfully, “Slenderness is in vogue among women who can't gain weight.”
Kamal'sheart pounded when the word “slenderness” reached his ears. From his unconscious mind the image of a tall figure with a slender- build sprang into his imagination. Hisheart danced to a spiritual music inspiring raptures. A pure delight captivated him. Within that deep, calm dream he forgot himself, his location, and the time. He did not know how long it was before he became aware of a dark shadow of sadness, which frequently trailed along after his dreams. It did not arrive as an intrusive stranger or an incompatible element but flowed into his splendid dream like one of the threads from which it was woven or a melody forming part of its harmony. He sighed profoundly and then with his dreamy eyes glanced at the faceshe had loved for as long as he could remember. They seemed in one way or another to be challenged by her beauty, especially the fair-complexioned one of his sister Aisha. H e had once thirsted to drink from the place her lips had touched on the cup. He was embarrassed and almost unhappy to recall that, for he felt he should be devoted to no type of beauty save that of his beloved, even if other varieties might merit his affection and love.
“I don't like slenderness, not even in men,” Khadija continued. “Look at Kamal! He ought to gain some weight. Brother, learning's not all there is to life.”
Kamal listened to her with a scornful smile. He was examining her body, with its folds of fat and flesh, and her face, which had become so plump that its defects were no longer apparent. He was amazed by the happiness and victory her appearance conveyed but did not feel inclined to debate with her.
Yasin responded with defiant sarcasm: “Then, Khadija, you must like my looks a lot. Don't try to deny it.”
His right leg was folded under him while his left one extended to the floor. It was hot and he had opened the collar of his house shirt. Tufts of the thick black hair of his chest could be seen above the wide neck of his undershirt. Khadija cast a penetrating look at him before replying, “But you've overdone it just a tad, and the fat's gone to your brain. So that's an entirely different question!”
As though at a loss for an answer, Yasin sighed and turned to ask Ibrahim Shawkat sympathetically and compassionately, “Tell me how you survive, caught between a wife like this and your mother?”
Ibrahim lit a cigarette, took a drag on it, and exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. He thus joined his brother Khalil, who had not removed his pipe from his mouth except to speak, in polluting the air of the sitting room. Then he responded with apparent disinterest, “I act as though one of my ears was made of clay and the other of dough. This is what I've learned from experience.”
Looking at Yasin, Khadija commented in a loud voice that showed how angry she was, “Experience has nothing to do with it. I swear by your life with me that experience hasn't taught you this. The fact is that our Lord gave him a temperament as smooth as Uncle Badr the Turk's ice cream. Even if the minaret of al-Husayn Mosque started shaking, not a hair of hishead would be ruffled.”
Amina raised her head and gave Khadija a critical, warning look until the daughter smiled and lowered her eyes as if embarrassed. Then Khalil Shawkat said with gentle pride, “This is the temperament of the Shawkat family. It's an imperial one. Isn't that so?”
Although Khadija laughed to lighten the impact of her words, she remarked pointedly, “Unfortunately for me, Mr. Khalil, your mother did not inherit this ‘imperial’ temperament.”
Amina's patience was exhausted, and she shot back, “Your mother-in-law has no equal. She is a lady in every sense of the word.”
With a gleam in his protruding eyes, Ibrahim tilted hishead to the left to gaze down at his wife. Then, sighing victoriously, he said, “A witness from her own family has testified. God bless you, Mother-in-law”. Then he addressed the whole assembly: “You're all aware that my mother's getting on in years. She's at an age when she needs to be treated with consideration and restraint, and my wife knows nothing of the latter.”
Khadija was quick to defend herself: “I don't get angry unless there's a reason. I've never been an irritable person. My family's present. You can ask them.”
Silence prevailed. The members of her family did not know what to say until a laugh escaped from Kamal. They all looked at him, and he could not keep from saying, “Dear Khadija is the most irritable self-restrained person I've ever known.”
Yasin found enough nerve to add, “Or the most self-restrained irritable person, and only God knows for sure.”
Khadija waited for the gale of laughter occasioned by these remarks to quiet down before gesturing toward Kamal as she shook her head regretfully. She said, “I've been betrayed by someone I held on my lap more often than I have my own sons, Ahmad and Abd al-Muni'm.”
Kama] replied somewhat apologetically, “I don't think I've revealed a secret….”
Amina changed sides to defend Khadija, who appeared to be in trouble. With a smile she said, “Only God the Exalted is perfect.”
With equal suavity, Ibrahim Shawkat remarked, “You're right. My wife has virtues that must not be overlooked. God's curse on anger, which strikes the angry person first of all. In my opinion there's nothing in the world worth getting angry about.”
“How lucky you are!” Khadija said with a laugh. “That's why -and I dou't envy you no matter how many years pass, you're impervious to change.”
For the first time Amina's serious disapproval was evident. To v/arn Khadija she said, “May our Lord preserve his youth and that of others like him.”
Making no attempt to conceal his pleasure at his mother-in-law's prayer, Ibrahim laughingly asked, “Youth?”
Addressing his remarks to Amina, Khalil Shawkat responded, “In our family, forty-nine is considered young.”
Amina said apprehensively, “Don't talk like that. Let's be done with it.”
Khadija smiled at her mother's evident anxiety, for she knew what motivated it. Any frank expression of praise for a person'shealth was disliked in the old house, because it showed an ignor-auce of the dangers of the evil eye. Even Khadija herself would not have re
ferred to her husband's good health if she had not spent the last six years with the Shawkats, who paid little more than lip service to many beliefs, such as the danger of envy and the evil eye. They also delved fearlessly into various subjects, such as the jinn's conduct, death, and ill health, which were not discussed in her old home, because of the residents' anxiety and caution.
The tie between Ibrahim and Khadija was firmer than it appeared on the surface and was not something a casual word or deed would harm. They were a successful couple, and each of them sensed deep inside that he could not do without the other, regardless of flaws. Strangely enough, it was when Ibrahim fell sick once that Khadija was able to reveal the love and devotion she harbored for him.
Yes, there was always some quarrel going on between them, at least from her side. His mother was not her only target. Despite his diplomacy and calmness, she was never at a loss for something to criticize about him how much he slept, the way he lounged at home instead of going to work, his dismissal of any consideration of a career, his endless chatter, and the way he ignored domestic quarrels and disputes. According to Aisha, days and days would pass when her sister's conversation was totally given over to suspicious and acid remarks about him.
In spite of all this, or perhaps because of it for an argument may improve a relationship like cayenne pepper, which adds zest to food their emotional commitment to each other remained strong and uninfluenced by moments of apparent annoyance with each other. It was like a deep current in the water that keeps a steady course, unaffected by surface turbulence or spray. Moreover, it took little effort for her husband to appreciate her exertion, evidence of which was everywhere in his sparkling residence, delicious meals, smart clothing, and tidy sons.
The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street Page 66