When she was much younger, Aida had found the teenage Phares a source of annoyance: the overbearing older brother who always knew better. His sister Camelia, who was a year older than Aida, would often invite her over to Hathor, the Pharaonys’ family home, in the school holidays. Phares would sometimes make an appearance when he was still living at home, studying for his college exams. One afternoon, when Aida was nine or ten, he had caught her hurtling down a garden slope far too quickly on her bicycle. When he had called out to her to stop, she had lost control of the handlebars and ended up in a hedge with a badly grazed shin. Phares had quickly helped her into the kitchen, all the while admonishing Aida for her reckless behaviour.
‘If you hadn’t shouted at me, I would have been fine,’ she had protested vehemently.
But Phares would have none of it. ‘Girls aren’t meant for wheels, they should stay on their feet,’ he had told her with a stern look. And while silently outraged by his response, she appreciated how much care he took in cleaning the blood off her leg so that it didn’t hurt too much.
Another time, Aida had found an injured bird in the gardens of Karawan House. She and Camelia had been working out what to do with it when Phares arrived to fetch his sister home for supper. Immediately taking charge, he had instructed Aida to find a well-ventilated box and a small towel. Returning with it, she was told by Phares that he would take the bird back to Hathor. Aida had objected immediately. ‘But it’s my bird, I found it!’ she cried. ‘I can look after it here.’
‘It needs to be kept still. Warm and quiet,’ Phares told her as he placed it in the box. ‘Undisturbed by you noisy girls.’ With that, he strode off with the bird in the box, his sister Camelia following at his heels, throwing Aida an apologetic look. The next day, when Aida rushed over to the Pharaonys’ house to see the little bird, Phares told her that it had recovered and flown away. Aida remembered the equal feelings of relief and disappointment that had washed over her, and witnessing the apparent confusion on her face, Phares had smiled indulgently, his stern features softening as he did so.
As she grew into a teenager, Aida’s feelings regarding Phares became more confusing to her, and she was acutely aware of the times he returned home from medical school in France. Increasingly, she noticed a restlessness in him and was told by Camelia that when he wasn’t studying, he would disappear into the depths of the desert to spend time with the Bedouins in their camps. For the young Aida, discovering this unexpected wild side to Phares intrigued her even more, for reasons she couldn’t fathom.
One time she had been picking flowers with Camelia in the gardens at Hathor when she saw Phares arrive with a group of friends. Among them was a local girl, Isis, who was walking far too close to him for Aida’s liking. Dark and statuesque, the older girl was laughing at something Phares had said, and Aida’s stomach experienced a sudden uncomfortable lurch, a feeling unlike anything she’d felt before. For the first time she felt every bit the chubby, awkward teenager, and when later that evening she had lamented her situation to Dada Amina, the nanny had shushed the youngster’s frustrated tears, drying her face with a handkerchief.
‘You will not be the duckling for long, ya binti. Every girl needs time to grow into her looks. One day you will become a swan, and men will be falling at your feet.’
Aida had given her a trembling smile and kissed Dada Amina fondly, feeling instantly better, but she continued to watch Phares, wondering why he made her feel so miserable and excited at the same time.
Whenever he dropped by Karawan House or they met at Hathor she began to feel physically strange, her pulse giving a little kick. It soon became clear to her that she had developed a crush on him. Mortified at the thought that he might find out, she took it upon herself to argue with him at every opportunity, whether it was about going to parties where there might be boys present or staying out after nine o’clock in the evening. All her foreign friends – Greek, Italian, Armenian or English – were allowed these privileges, yet she was not.
‘Like it or not, Aida, you are Egyptian and for us, it’s just not done,’ Phares had told her impatiently.
Later, she complained to Camelia, ‘Why is he always so concerned about my reputation? Doesn’t he realise that I’m not a little girl anymore? I have just as much right to be independent as the English and Greek girls.’
Although he was never unkind, Phares in turn seemed to enjoy baiting Aida, which only made matters worse. Camelia, meanwhile, guessing her best friend’s secret admiration for her brother, teased Aida about it and watched the sparring of the two with great amusement.
With a sigh, Aida opened her eyes, pulling herself away from those distant memories. To think that if things had been different, by now she would likely have been the wife of Phares Pharaony. A scent of heliotrope and roses stole up from the garden below, mingling with the aromatic breath of eucalyptus trees and the piquant tang of orange blossom. It was very still; no sound at all save the occasional ahem of Kherallah as he went on his nightly rounds of the estate and the muffled cough of a hyena or a desert fox.
How wonderful it was to be back, and yet tonight the place was filled with ghosts. It was too quiet and a little desolate, and the young woman felt its silence almost as a reproach. Still, now she had come home. It didn’t matter about Karawan House being shabby and neglected, about the weeding not having being done and the crops being poor. The warmth of Dada Amina’s embrace and the household’s welcoming reception of her removed all these things to the back of her mind. Karawan House had opened its arms to her and, deep down, Aida knew she would never want to go away again.
She paced slowly up and down the veranda, the anguish of the past becoming a searing torment. Naguib’s words went round and round in her head: ‘I wouldn’t dismiss an alliance with the Pharaonys so cavalierly, habibti … think about it.’ Knowing how she felt about Phares, her father had welcomed the union at the time, even encouraged it, but that was before … How could she marry the son of the man who had betrayed her father?
A knock at the door drew her out of her reverie. ‘Otkhol, come in,’ she called out, coming back into the room and closing the window to the increasingly chilly night air.
Dada Amina came in, bearing a tray with her dinner.
‘What are you doing in the dark, ya binti?’
Aida flicked the light switch and the room was immediately bathed in a golden glow from the crystal Waterford chandelier. ‘I was on the veranda. The nights are so beautiful here.’
‘I brought your dinner up. I thought you’d be too tired to go downstairs after your long journey.’
‘Shukran, I think I am tired, though I don’t really feel it yet. I’m so excited to be back.’ The flight had indeed been long – the BOAC Flying Boat had taken her via Marseille and Sicily before reaching Cairo, and then another plane to Luxor – but ever since Aida had gazed through the small aircraft window and spotted the pyramids of Gizeh in the distance, any trace of fatigue had vanished. ‘Place the tray just there, thank you.’ Aida smiled at her nanny and looked at the variety of dishes set in front of her on the little round table. ‘Let me see, what do we have here?’ She couldn’t help but compare this lavishness to the meagre meals she had become accustomed to in England. ‘Goodness, it looks wonderful! But why so much? This amount would feed an entire family in England.’
‘They’re some of the dishes you used to like.’
Yes, Aida could see that. There was aish baladi, the delicious native wholewheat bread that looked like a large flat stone, thick and airy on the inside with speckles of cracked wheat throughout; shorbat adas, yellow lentil soup; keshk, a tasty chicken dish made with yoghurt; torly, a tray of baked vegetables and tomato sauce; maḥshi warak enab, vine leaves stuffed with a rice mixture of ground beef, onions and herbs; salata baladi, the equivalent of mixed salad, and a big plate of basboussa. The only consolation was that whatever food was left over would never be wasted – Aida knew it would automatically be shared among the servants to
eat either in the kitchen or be taken home to their families.
‘There are far too many dishes. One would have sufficed,’ she sighed, looking at the food guiltily. ‘In England, people live on the bare minimum. Everything is still rationed even though the war has ended.’
‘That is why you have grown so thin. When you left Egypt, konty zay el warda el mefataha, you were like a flower in bloom.’ Dada Amina put her hands on her own ample hips. ‘You must eat and put on some weight.’
Aida laughed. ‘Ah yes, I’d forgotten that in Egypt, beauty is measured with scales – curvy women are considered more beautiful.’
‘You have grown into a beautiful lady, but you are a little pale.’ The older woman settled herself into one of the armchairs in the corner of the room. ‘Ostaz Naguib told me that you are a nurse now. Ayoub Bey would be very proud of you.’
‘Yes, I hope so.’ Aida took the seat opposite. Being in her own room again brought back so many memories. She gave a quiet sigh. ‘I miss him, Dada.’
Her old nanny nodded sadly. ‘Me too, ya binti.’ She gazed at Aida, her expression full of concern. ‘I know how hard it was for you, ya danaya, that day Ayoub Bey was taken from us right before our eyes, may God rest his soul.’ She crossed herself, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘I held you in my arms like you were a baby again. It was terrible how you were afterwards, refusing to see anyone except me for days on end. I thought my little one would die of grief.’
Aida swallowed a lump in her throat and stared numbly at the floor. ‘Yes, I think I did too. It hurts to remember.’ She looked up and fixed a bright, brave smile on her face. ‘But let’s not speak of Father sadly. He would have been happy that I did my part for the war effort in England, at least.’
‘Allah! He would have been worried sick about you every day.’ Dada Amina drew a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her eyes. ‘I am just happy that it was God’s will to spare you and return you to us.’ Her watery gaze became suddenly intent. ‘You were alone in England. I hope your English uncle looked after you properly. You must have had the eyes of many men on you.’
At this, Aida raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, Uncle George was very protective of me … Dada Amina, what are you getting at exactly?’
‘All I’m saying is that you weren’t interested in any of the Egyptian men you met here, always wanting to go your own way. You were rebellious since the day you were born, just like your father.’
The old servant looked at Aida over her glasses. ‘Phares Bey has never married, you know.’
Aida gave her nanny a sidelong glance. ‘Really … and why are you telling me this, Dada Amina?’
‘There was once talk about a marriage between you and him. You may not have been engaged but since you were children there was an understanding, so to speak. Ayoub Bey was very keen on a union between your two families.’
‘That was a long time ago. I’ve grown up since, and I’d no more marry a man I don’t love than fly.’
Dada Amina shot her a look of astute surprise. ‘Your heart has changed, then? You used to like Phares Bey¸ even though you used to be so rude to the poor boy.’
Aida frowned and reached for the flatbread, tearing off a piece. ‘Most of the time he deserved it. Besides, what did I know about men and love at eighteen or life in general? Brought up like I was, protected in a cocoon.’
‘You were brought up as a lady of your class should have been.’
‘Well, I’ve changed. The world here is so cut off from reality. It’s been frozen in the past. People live as our ancestors did thousands of years ago. Though I love this country, I’m not sure how I’ll be able to adapt to it again. Perhaps it will have to accept my values, not the other way around.’
A shadow crossed Dada Amina’s brow. ‘Have you given your heart to a khawaga, a foreigner?’
Aida laughed. ‘No, don’t worry … my heart has remained intact and is still mine to give, or not, ala mazagui, as I please.’ She ate the bread, in truth wondering if she would ever find an Egyptian man who could make her truly happy.
Aida had never fallen in love. When she left Egypt, she had been an innocent teenager who had only mixed with families in her social circle who knew the rules of the game. If a young man was interested in a girl, there were no illicit meetings. He would ‘dekhul min elbab’, ‘enter from the front door, as the saying went in Arabic, and ask for her hand. The young couple would then use the period of engagement like a halfway marriage, in order to get to know each other. Although she had many suitors back then, Aida had turned them all down and Ayoub, a broad-minded man who himself had lived a great love story with his wife, was not one to enforce his will on his daughter on a matter as serious as marriage. When the subject had arisen, Aida had told her father how she felt about Phares, and Ayoub, who had always considered the young doctor dependable and serious with a brilliant future, was happy to entrust to him his dearly-beloved only daughter without a qualm. Still, nothing had been officially arranged; Ayoub had died under a cloud of disgrace, then Aida had left Egypt.
In the early days in England, lost and bereaved, Aida had had no impulse to do any of the bright things that other young girls took as a matter of course. Then, inevitably, what in the beginning had been no more than the restraints of her mourning became settled habit. Her training to be a nurse, then her work, absorbed her more and more. The misery she had witnessed in the hospitals compelled her to grow up overnight, not only leaving no place for love in her life, but also inculcating in her psyche a deep taste for her freedom.
Aida’s thoughts were interrupted by Dada Amina’s voice, saying, ‘The Pharaonys have been good to us over the years. Since you’re a trained nurse, why not ask Phares Bey to give you a job at his hospital?’
‘His hospital?’
‘Da garrah add il donya, he’s a great surgeon now with his own hospital, El Amal. He had it built three years ago. You get much better care there than at the government hospital on the edge of town.’
‘He must charge an arm and a leg if he’s that important,’ Aida muttered.
‘Abadan, not at all. He has a department where he treats patients for free. He may be a proud man but he has always been kind and generous. Even as a boy, he used to give food to the beggars in the road.’
‘Well, anyhow, I don’t know why we’re discussing Phares and his family. I want nothing to do with them.’
The old servant gave Aida a rueful look. ‘Phares Bey has never married. You broke his heart when you refused his proposal, ya haram, poor thing.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Aida jumped up from her chair and began pacing. ‘We hardly knew each other.’
‘Allah! Habibti, has the war addled your brain? How is that true?’
Aida knew she was on shaky ground with Dada Amina, who had witnessed all her emotional ups and downs when she was growing up. She tried a different tack. ‘You forget that he’d been away for years when he was studying in France and only came back for the holidays.’
‘Same as you.’
‘Maybe. Anyhow, he disapproved of my thinking and my ways. He always said I was too liberal and impulsive. Phares was doing what every eldest son from a landed family does … wanting to add to his dynasty’s riches. My land adjoined his land. I was the only heiress of the estate. My father had already put it in my name.’ She flung her hand up in derision. ‘By Egyptian standards it was a marriage made in heaven.’
‘La ya danaya, no, my dear child, you’re wrong. I used to see how Phares Bey looked at you when he came to visit. Even when you had those fiery arguments … I think that, deep down, he admired you.’
Aida stopped in her tracks, for a moment disconcerted by the idea that Phares Pharaony might have regarded her with anything approaching respect. She folded her arms. ‘Well, all that is in the past and you can forget about our union … it will not happen.’
Dada Amina sighed deeply. ‘Does anybody know what fate has in store for us? Al maktoub alal guibeen la bodda an tarah el ei
n, what is written on the brow will inevitably be seen by the eye. What is written will be fulfilled,’ she enunciated with confidence.
Aida laughed. ‘Ah yes, your favourite saying. Well, fate or no fate, I’m telling you there will be no alliance between the El Masri and El Pharaony families. And now enough of that, I’m much more interested to know about you. How have you been all these years?’
‘I can’t complain. Ostaz Naguib took care of us, Allah ye barikloh, God bless him, and kept all our salaries going.’
‘Well, I’m back now and there’s nothing to worry about anymore. I will take care of everything,’ Aida promised, though she was not feeling altogether as confident as she sounded.
As if sensing that the moment for trying to influence Aida had passed, Dada Amina gestured to the unopened luggage at the foot of the bed. ‘You came with a very small suitcase. Where are all your belongings?’
‘Life in Europe is still all about belt-tightening. No fancy clothes, I’m afraid. People have barely enough to eat.’
‘Ya haram, poor thing. You must tell Sit Nabila to take you to her dressmaker fil bandar, downtown.’
‘I’m better off going to Cairo for a week or so. I’ll stay at Shepheard’s Hotel. I’ll go to Cicurel – they always had the latest fashion. Is Au Rève des Dames, their haberdashery and ladieswear, still at 19 Kasr al-Nil Street?’
Dada Amina looked horrified. ‘Maarafsh, I don’t know. One thing I do know is that you can’t think of leaving us again when you’ve only just arrived,’ she said sulkily.
Aida went to her old nanny and leaned over to put her arms around her. ‘I’m not going anywhere yet, I have too much to do here first. And when I do, it’ll just be for a few days.’ She paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘You said it yourself – I have nothing to wear and, besides, I need to pay my respects to the British Ambassador, Sir Miles Lampson. I have a letter from Uncle George to give him as they’re old school friends.’
Song of the Nile Page 4