Zeina

by Nawal El Saadawi

  “Nothing, Mahmoud. Lower your voice.”

  It was the driver sitting in front of him, the chauffeur of his black stretch limousine with blue curtains and tinted glass which made it possible for passengers to see out but kept them invisible inside. Ahmed al-Damhiri relaxed on the back seat of this luxurious car, his tired flabby backside sinking into its soft plush upholstery.

  Zeina wasn’t singing at one of the state theaters, nor at either of the auditoriums at the elegant opera house. She was in fact performing at a rundown theater in an old slum neighborhood. The theater was a tent made of some thick cheap fabric which looked like linen or gabardine, and the seats were made of wood, bamboo or braided palm leaves. Their backs were straight and hard. They were painful for people with weak backs and for people used to softer seats. The show continued for two or three hours, and every time Zeina Bint Zeinat stopped singing, there was cheering in the large hall, “Encore, Zeina, encore ...”

  Mahmoud, the chauffeur, was also one of the emir’s bodyguards. He carried a gun which was licensed by state security authorities. He walked behind the emir wherever he went, and sat in the seat right in front of him during public events. The emir’s personal bodyguard sat right behind him. This was the way the emir was protected from the front and the back. On his left, a third guard was stationed, and a fourth on his right. Three able-bodied guards surrounding the emir with his diminutive figure were like four pillars around the short mausoleum of a sheikh who was buried a thousand years ago, or of a priest buried underneath an old cloister. They called the emir “the Eminent Sheikh”, “his highness the Prince”, or “the Pasha”.

  The title of pasha had been abolished following the overthrow of the king. It came back, however, with the open-door policy, the multi-national corporations, the turban, the prayer marks on foreheads, the rosaries, the loudspeakers attached to mosques, the church and school bells, the police sirens on the streets, the water hoses, the tear gas, the proliferation of illegitimate children on pavements and in slums, the death lists, the religious rulings accusing thinkers of apostasy, the burning of cinemas, theaters and churches, the practise of women following funerals wailing and striking their faces, adolescent girls covering their heads and revealing their bellies and their bottoms in tight American jeans, the hamburger and cola shops, the red nights along the Nile Corniche and the black cloud overhanging the city day and night.

  Ahmed al-Damhiri was elated to hear the driver address him as “Your Greatness, al-Damhiri Pasha”. He remembered that when he was eight, he was immensely proud of the greatness of his father, the eminent Sheikh al-Damhiri, and his uncle, the celebrated general. At school he was proud to write his name in full: Ahmed Mohamed al-Damhiri.

  He descended from a long line of men stretching back to his great grandfather, who were all educated at the religious establishment al-Azhar or at the army and police academies. Gold stars and medals shone bright on the chests of some of them and on their wide shoulders padded with straw or cotton. Others had large turbans wrapped around their small heads and velvet sashes around the waists of their kaftans. In their hands they either held the rosary and the stick, or carried batons, guns and pistols, according to their distinguished position in the hierarchy of the state or religion.

  Mahmoud the chauffeur turned, pursing his lips. He knew, like the other guards, that his greatness the pasha would not leave his seat until Zeina Bint Zeinat’s singing and dancing came to an end.

  “Yes, dancing, by God. It’s the most hateful of arts for God and the Prophet, as his eminence the sheikh in charge of the cultural section of the group has asserted. Dancing means moving the body with the aim of arousing lust. Singing comes second on the list of abhorrent activities after dancing, because a woman’s voice, like her naked body, is forbidden and must be concealed, even if we have to use the force of arms if necessary, or the power of words. Keeping our objections in our hearts would indicate a weak faith.”

  The driver remembered one of the sayings of the Prophet: “Whoever of you sees an evil, he should change it with his hand; and if he cannot do that [he should change it] with his tongue; and if he cannot do that [he should change it] with his heart and that is the weakest of faith.”

  Was it possible that the faith of his greatness, the emir, was weak? The question vexed the driver, who didn’t have the courage to move his head either to the left or to the right because the emir’s head was right behind him.

  The driver preferred sitting behind his master to sitting in front of him. But the head of the military wing decided where each one of the guards should sit. The most experienced among them sat behind the emir to protect his back from any gunshots, since they usually came from behind. Stabs, on the other hand, rarely came from the front. But if they did, they would be intercepted by the driver’s head, no doubt.

  The driver drove the question out of his mind without moving his head, lest the emir should realize what was going on inside it, for the emir was in constant touch with God. And God knew what went on inside human minds, hearts and bellies. But the question persisted in the driver’s mind and almost flowed with his blood. He felt certain that his master, the emir, was enthralled by this whore, who was herself the daughter of a whore.

  “Women’s cunning is great,” as God has said. This whore has sullied the clean reputation of the emir, because a good, pious man can only be tainted by a woman. Cleanliness is godly and dirtiness is womanly. If he had his way, he would bring out his gun and shoot her. But it was all in the hands of the emir, who was, after all, a man like any other. When aroused, he lost two thirds of his mind.

  The head of the cultural section of the group was unhappy about the emir’s conduct. He warned him against attending public events related to politics or religion, let alone theater and opera performances.

  But the emir’s rank was higher than that of the head of the cultural section, for he was responsible for the military wing. He was in charge of arms and money. The head of the cultural section controlled nothing more than words, spoken or written. Only the words of God had weight. And the words of God followed the military wing and not the cultural section. The logo of the group contained the images of the Book and the sword. Every follower of the emir hung a tiny golden Qur’an on his chest, and in the back pocket perched on his right buttock he kept a black revolver. It was to keep up with advances made in the field of weaponry at the hands of the infidels that the revolver came to replace the sword. Each of the emir’s followers fiddled with the yellow beads of the rosary, and on his forehead the black prayer mark appeared. He wore a thick beard and a thick moustache that concealed his face like a black veil. The tiny black pupils of the eyes rolled inside two empty, bottomless holes.

  The emblem of the group changed from the Book and the sword to God’s Law and the revolver, for religion always needed military might to protect it. No religion in history had become stronger without the support of military power, while military might always needed a god or a religion to protect it. The emir walked among his soldiers strutting like a peacock, calling them God’s army. He was God’s deputy, chosen for the sacred mission of upholding God’s words above human words, and of applying God’s rules and laws gently or violently as necessary.

  Ahmed al-Damhiri inherited his faith in God from his father, the eminent Sheikh. From his uncle, the army general, he inherited faith in arms and the police. From both of them, he inherited the short stature, the fear of rats and cockroaches and the weakness in the face of lust and whims, slave girls and concubines.

  The emir had as many women as he wanted. He had the virtuous, chaste ones as well as the whores and prostitutes. He had the inexperienced virgin as well as the woman with extensive experience of men and the games of sex. At his beck and call he had an assortment of divorced women, ripe women, adolescent girls, and pre-menstrual female children. If he fancied a married woman, her husband would voluntarily give her up for the sake of God so that she might be free to offer herself to the emir. God, a
fter all, had made it lawful for the emir to have all the women he desired, for the emir stood one degree higher than other men. By the same token, men were placed one degree higher than women. God created people according to a hierarchical system, at the top of which stood the Prophet, followed by the emir. For this reason, the emir had the right to have his fill of women.

  Bodour al-Damhiri jumped out of bed terrified. She saw her cousin, Ahmed al-Damhiri, sitting transfixed in his wooden seat, staring in front of him at the moving circle of light on stage. She knew him well from childhood. If he wanted one of her dolls, he would grab it. If he couldn’t, he would steal it. But if stealing wasn’t possible, he would break it. One day he fancied one of her little dolls, a doll with large blue eyes made of two sparkling blue beads set in her fair, round face. Her mother had sewn for the doll a lovely lace dress, a silk petticoat and transparent rose-colored pants revealing her soft belly. She placed the doll’s small feet in a pair of green velvet shoes. Bodour hid her doll underneath the clothes in her cupboard to keep her from the eyes of other children, particularly those of Ahmed al-Damhiri. She turned the spring mechanism found on the left side of the doll three times. Music came out of the doll’s belly and the doll began to move its arms and legs with the rhythm. It danced and sang “Dance, little bride. Dance, lovely bride ...”

  The doll shook and moved with the rhythm. With the movement of the spring mechanism on its side, it rolled and tumbled in the air, opening its arms and legs in successive somersaults.

  During one of these jumps, Ahmed al-Damhiri glimpsed the transparent rose-colored pants as the doll opened its legs. His eyes penetrated the transparent fabric but couldn’t see beyond the belly. Moving his eyes down to the pubic area, he found no slit and no aperture of any kind. He was shocked to see the blocked body of the doll. It was very different from the bodies of Bodour and the girls of the family.

  As soon as Bodour left her room, Ahmed al-Damhiri pounced on her doll. With his short, effeminate white fingers, he dragged it under the bed. There he took off the lace dress and tore the rose-colored pants to pieces as he pulled them down to look for the slit between the thighs. But his fingers didn’t find any aperture and found only a blocked road that was impossible to penetrate.

  He grew angry imagining that the doll was stubbornly challenging him with her blocked thighs. He flung it to the ground in a rage and removed its arms, legs, and the spring mechanism on its side. He wrapped the torn pieces in a newspaper and buried it in the back garden, without Bodour or any of the children seeing him.

  Bodour sat in the first row of the large hall, together with the intellectual elite, the great writers and critics. Next to her sat her life-long friend Safi, Mageeda and her husband, magazine columnists, screen and media stars, and the leaders of political parties, groups and societies. After the great defeat and the opening of trade links with America, the creation and establishment of religious groups became legal. The easing of restrictions was intended as a blow against the enemies of capitalism and free markets, and was also meant to show support for the values of freedom of trade, freedom of faith, and democracy. Mosques and churches proliferated, with the aim of spreading the word of God in cities and villages, and in alleys and narrow lanes. At the foot of the Moqattam Mountain, the cemeteries were transformed into homes for the poor immigrants deserting the countryside. The living and the dead competed for dominance over the cemeteries. But the dead were defeated, for they didn’t have a political party to defend their rights or a religious group to speak in their name. And nor did they have any members to represent them at the People’s Assembly or at the Consultative Council.

  Ashamed of their impotence, the dead shrank in their graves. Concrete walls and minarets were built above them and loudspeakers were attached to them. Before and after dawn, as well as throughout the day and night, blasting noises resounded out of those loudspeakers.

  The loudspeakers blared out, “God is great, God is great, prayers are better than sleeping. Make haste toward success. Make haste toward prayers. There is no deity but God, and Mohamed is His messenger. Oh worshippers of God, have faith in God’s mercy. Be patient when you suffer the miseries of life. Do not seek life’s pleasures and lusts, for life is ephemeral. The hereafter is more lasting and permanent. Paradise awaits you and God’s generous face.”

  At the end of the show, there was thunderous applause from all and sundry: from front and back rows, from believers and unbelievers, from people in love with music, poetry, singing and dancing, and others who were disdainful of the arts. The emir’s group belonged to that latter category, for they believed that the sound of music banished God from the hearts of believers. The emir had issued a fatwa prohibiting these sinful arts which were inspired by the Devil. Their hands clapped nonetheless. They followed the emir with their eyes as he sat in his seat. If he clapped, they would do the same, and if he fidgeted from right to left in his seat, they followed his example. If he sighed audibly, they sighed as well, and if he growled under his breath, they produced the same sound. If his hand reached for his pocket, their hands reached for theirs. Even Mahmoud, the chauffeur, observed him closely from the corner of his left eye, his ears wide open trying to spot any slowing or acceleration of his breath, and any irregularity of his heartbeats or of the movement of his blood through his veins.

  The chauffeur was the closest aide to the emir and the one who knew most about his secrets and his private life, for he was at his beck and call day and night. On Friday he took him to the mosque for congregational prayers, and on Saturday to the headquarters of the group to attend the Executive Council. On Sunday he drove him to the club to play golf with members of the two blessed families, or on a trip with the family to the Pyramids, Fayyoum or the northern coast to the west of Alexandria. There, away from the polluted beaches of the cities, he had an elegant villa in one of the fancy resorts such as Marina, Marabella, Badr, al-Huda or al-Madina al-Munawwara lying on the route between Alexandria and Marsa Matrouh. There the emir took off his clothes and swam in the sky-blue waters under the golden sun. His wife hidden behind a black cloak covering her whole body eyed him enviously. Her husband, the emir, splayed his arms and legs in the refreshing waters of the sea, diving, tumbling and later sunbathing, while his wife sat swimming in her sweat, saliva and tears, all pouring from her nose, mouth and eyes. Within a stone’s throw of the wall, a beach was set aside for servants, cooks, drivers, and gardeners, as well as for the summer camp for young believers. Mahmoud, the driver, walked on the sand wearing bright bathing trunks colored red, green, blue, yellow, and purple. It was the Islamic bathing outfit which covered men’s thighs down to their knees. But the esteemed masculine member often stood out from underneath the colorful rubber trunks. However, it was no shame for a man to have a rebellious member that had no piety or fear of God. It was no disgrace for a man to swim in the sea. It was forbidden for women to show their faces, let alone their thighs, legs or arms. The emir issued a ruling that women’s voices were a source of shame. Every part of their bodies, in fact, was a shame, including the head, the seat of thought and intellect.

  Mahmoud the chauffeur stroked the few hairs on his chest under the rays of the sun. Then he threw himself into the sea, splaying his arms and legs to the air and sky like his master. He dived and tumbled and danced and sunbathed, thanking God that He created him male and not female like the emir’s wife and the other women soaking in their sweat under the umbrellas on the beach. God created him poor and not rich like his master, the emir. But God created him a man and not a woman, and for this, praise was due. As he saw the emir’s wife wrapped inside her black cloak, fumes almost coming out of her eyes and ears, he talked to God saying, “Thank you, Lord, for your blessings. It’s no shame to be poor, for you have distributed wealth and blessings among people, and have created the rich and the poor, the good and the evil. But women are the worst of all creatures.”

  He heard his father and grandfather say that women were the Devil’s allies. Cl
eanliness was godly while dirtiness was womanly, they often asserted. The driver knew more about the emir’s life than the emir’s own wife. The emir doubled his bonuses to make sure that he kept his secrets. The driver knew the addresses of brothels and prostitutes, and the homes of his slave girls and concubines. He kept their addresses and telephone numbers in a small notepad. He wrote their names in a childlike scrawl similar to the handwriting of primary school children, for the driver never attended school. The emir taught him the fundamentals of reading and writing, and trained him to drive and to read the Latin figures on the car gauges. He taught him to recite the Qur’an, carry arms, aim and fire accurately in a training camp, note down women’s phone numbers in his notepad, and carry out basic counting operations to be able to calculate expenses, gas charges, bonuses, and secret gifts. The driver was closer to the emir than his wife, because unlike the wife who could easily be replaced, the driver had no substitute. He was the emir’s confidant and his personal guard who accompanied him everywhere, day and night. If it hadn’t been so embarrassing, he might have accompanied him to the toilet too. But he stood totally alert in front of the closed bathroom door until the emir had finished. The emir urinated like all other mortals and the chauffeur heard the sound of the urine as it dropped into the luxurious ceramic toilet bowl imported from Europe, the land of infidels and unbelievers. The chauffeur often drove the thoughts that Satan whispered in his ears out of his mind. But when he heard the sound of the emir urinating, he couldn’t help noticing that it was peculiarly similar to his own. Princes and common folk were equal when it came to urinating, for God in His infinite wisdom didn’t discriminate between a poor man and a prince.

  At the end of the show, the emir slipped a folded piece of paper into his driver’s hand. The driver knew his cue inside out. He immediately understood the gesture, got up from his seat, and walked toward the stage. He made his way to Zeina Bint Zeinat, who was surrounded by her fans, both men and women, old and young. They shook hands with her and asked her to sign a copy of her new poetry collection or one of her songs or musical pieces. Around her were the street children that she admitted into the theater without tickets. Each one of them carried a card with his name and photograph. There was no space on the card for the unknown father. Children, in fact, could write their mothers’ names, which were accorded full respect in Mariam’s band. The religion field was also absent from the card, for the band didn’t discriminate between one religion and the next. Policemen chased children on the streets, confiscating their cards by force and disposing of them in the sewers. They put children in armored vehicles and transported them to prison or detention. There they were kicked and slapped and punched, and their young ears were assailed by nasty insults, from bastards to sons of bitches. The children lay down on the floor along with hardened criminals, drug dealers, pimps and addicts. Male adults raped young boys in the silence of the night. Childish screams were drowned by men snoring, blocked noses and open mouths. All eyes were closed except God’s open eye, which stayed as large as a teacup, seeing and witnessing what was happening to these children, but not interfering in a scene that was of no great concern. When the children were released from detention, they didn’t look out for God’s banquet in heaven but gazed on the ground under their feet and scavenged the rubbish bins along with stray cats and dogs. Zeina Bint Zeinat held them in her arms and registered their names in Mariam’s band. They tapped the earth with their little bare feet, the music flowing warm in their veins like blood, or like a mother’s milk. Their souls and bodies danced to the tune, and they sang and reeled and jumped up in the air, their heads hitting the dome of the sky, then coming down again, up and down again, dancing and singing and turning ceaselessly like the earth turning around the sun.