Shumaisi

by al-Hamad, Turki; Starkey, Paul;

  42

  It was almost six o’clock in the morning when his father woke him. He washed his face and put on his tob, threw the rest of his clothes into a suitcase together with Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead, and put on his headdress. Then he took up his bag of clothes and a small hand bag, glanced quickly around his room, sighed deeply, and left.

  His father had already made tea and was sitting drinking it in the hall when Hisham came down. He was annoyed there was no bitter coffee, but he promised himself a whole pot of it at his uncle’s house. Hisham’s lips were desperate for a cigarette, but it was impossible to smoke with his father there. He knew that his father knew he smoked – things like that couldn’t be hidden from someone as worldly as his father, but it was still impossible for Hisham to smoke openly in front of him. His father quickly finished his tea and got up.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s time to go.’ He hurried out, followed by Hisham. Before shutting the door, Hisham paused thoughtfully. He put the two cases in the car, then said:

  ‘Excuse me, father … I must write something for Muhaysin.’ He hurried inside, pursued by his father’s voice. ‘Don’t be long. The first part of the day is the best!’ Hisham raced up to his room, took a pen and a piece of paper and wrote:

  Dear Muhaysin,

  I don’t know when I will see you again, but you can be sure that our friendship will last as long as we live, even if we are separated by time and place. I am leaving you the room and its contents, but please keep the books until we meet – and show mercy to widows! I hope you get a scholarship to America, perhaps we will meet there. Who knows? My warmest greetings to Muhammad and Dais. I will miss you all.

  Affectionately,

  Hisham.

  He folded the paper carefully, then went back down to Muhaysin’s room. He was sound asleep and snoring. Hisham put the note on a small table beside the bed with his house keys, gazed one last time on his friend’s face, and hurried outside.

  Hisham got out of the car at the intersection of al-Khazzan and al-Usarat Streets. He explained to his father how to get to the university, and they agreed to meet at his uncle’s house. Then he boarded the local bus to al-Batha. The whole way to Halla, he prayed God that Adnan would not already have left. He was fairly confident of this, as it was still only a few minutes after seven o’clock. The small street was full of life. Most people there started their day immediately after the dawn prayers. He knocked quietly on the door several times. When he didn’t get an answer, he knocked again harder, worried. The door finally opened to reveal the face of one of Adnan’s colleagues, with his thick beard and completely shaven head. He was wearing long trousers and was still trying to fasten the waistband as he opened the door, yawning. Hisham asked for Adnan and was shown into the sitting room. It was only a few moments before Adnan’s thin, frightened face appeared at the door. Confused and agitated, and without returning his greeting, Adnan asked:

  ‘Is everything all right? What’s the matter, Hisham? I don’t expect you to come visiting at this sort of time!’

  ‘They’re looking for us,’ said Hisham, without preamble. ‘It’s our turn now … Comrade!’

  Adnan sat down without speaking. His hands trembled violently, and his face had turned a very noticeable yellow. Sweat covered his brow and his nostrils, although at that time in the morning the air was still cold.

  ‘After all this time!’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘Who told you? It must be a lie … Or else –’

  Before he could finish, Hisham interrupted him:

  ‘My father told me. He came to Riyadh last night, after our school principal told him they were looking for us in Dammam. It’s quite definite, and I thought it my duty to tell you.’ Adnan looked at him lifelessly.

  ‘God bless you and reward you with good!’ he muttered. ‘God grant you a long life!’ Every cell of his body was trembling and he was sweating profusely.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Hisham. ‘What have you decided?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Adnan, without giving it any thought. ‘My father must know about this. He must have a solution.’ Then he looked at Hisham and said, ‘And you … What have you decided?’

  ‘My father is waiting at my uncle’s house. We will go back to Dammam, and from there I will leave for Beirut. Why don’t you come with me?’

  ‘No, I can’t. My father must know about it first. Please tell him when you reach Dammam.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we will.’

  ‘God willing, you ought to say!’

  ‘God willing!’

  Hisham got up and walked over to the front door. Adnan followed him with dragging feet. Hisham looked at his childhood friend by the door, trying to put on a nonchalant smile.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Everything will be all right. God willing!’

  His optimism was disingenuous. Hisham’s whole being was also gripped by fear, and he was not at all confident that everything would be all right. After taking a few paces, he went back as if he had forgotten something.

  ‘Either way,’ he said, ‘it would be better for you not to go to college now, not until things calm down.’ Adnan nodded in agreement.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘In any event, tell yourself that nothing will happen to us unless God has decreed it, and he is our Master and our best support.’

  Hisham walked on. Before disappearing into one of the alleys, he gave a last glance behind him and saw Adnan still standing at the door. He waved and Adnan waved back, neither of them aware that this exchange would be their last.

  43

  When Hisham reached his uncle’s house, Abu Hisham was the only person in the sitting room. He was sitting with a silver tray in front of him, containing a large pot of coffee and a plate of Sukkari dates. He could tell how many dates his father had got through from the pits scattered all over the tray. The coffee pot was almost empty.

  There was nothing for them to talk about. Hisham picked at the dates, though he had no appetite, and poured himself a cup of coffee, which he drank without any real relish. He had to say something to break the silence:

  ‘Sukkari, eh? Nice dates, aren’t they father? Nothing so sweet except perhaps Barhi dates ... Sukkari and Barhi are the two best kinds!’ There was more silence. He tried to think of something else for them to discuss. His father spared him the trouble by wrapping his headdress round his head and retreating into a corner of the sitting room, saying:

  ‘I didn’t sleep well last night. I’ll snooze for a bit. We have a long journey in front of us.’ It was only a few moments before the sound of his snoring filled the room.

  It was still early, only a little after nine o’clock. There remained considerable time before they were to set out. Hisham had no wish to read or do anything else. He was extraordinarily tense and depressed. He thought of Suwayr and smiled … He had almost left without seeing her. He decided to meet her and try to explain why he was leaving, without of course telling her the whole truth. While his father slept, he slipped out of the sitting room and made for the front door. But before he could open it, he heard Moudhi behind him:

  ‘Where are you going? Can’t you bear to stay in this house?’

  Startled by the unexpected interruption, he wheeled around, smiling, and said:

  ‘Not at all … I just wanted to relax a little.’

  Suddenly, doing something she had never done before, Moudhi grasped his hand and pulled him into the dining room. She sat him down in a corner, closed the door, then placed herself in front of him.

  ‘Listen, Hisham,’ she said firmly, without any formalities. ‘You’re my cousin. You know how much I have respected you ever since we were small.’ She paused for a moment, then said, ‘So I want to ask you a straightforward question, and I want an honest answer without any beating about the bush. You can be confident that what you say will go no further. What is this sudden journey? We’re not in the holiday season, and your father wouldn’t come to Riyadh for not
hing. I have a feeling that there’s something going on. Please, Hisham. Tell me the truth!’

  She stared at him with eyes so wide they almost pierced her worn veil. He could hide nothing. He knew how intelligent Moudhi was, but he was afraid that she would find out about his relationship with Suwayr. Now that she had asked him directly, he hesitated to tell her the truth. It was not that he was afraid; he was fearful of hurting her. But Moudhi would not let go until she knew the truth, and if he didn’t tell her, she’d have all sorts of ideas which might lead her to investigate his connection to Suwayr. Finally, Hisham decided to tell her everything. Her reaction was silence; just staring eyes and an open mouth. Then she screamed angrily:

  ‘Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!’ as she beat her hand on her breast. Finally, she cried, weeping and weeping for a long time. Without realising he was doing it, Hisham took her hand and put it between his own, caressing it gently and tenderly, as he repeated:

  ‘Don’t worry … Nothing will happen to us if God has not decreed it.’ He let her weep for as long as she needed, until finally her tears stopped. She pulled him to her breast, hugged him and started crying again, then got up, saying between her tears:

  ‘All this was happening without my knowing … and I wouldn’t have found out if I hadn’t asked you. I believed that I was worth more to you than that!’

  ‘You know how highly I regard you. God knows how dear you are to me. But … this is how it is,’ said Hisham with great sincerity. Moudhi moved back to her place in front of him and sat down, squatting on her haunches. She moved her face so near to his that he could feel the warmth of her breath wafting onto his face.

  ‘And what about Sarah?’ she said, in a voice that was almost a hiss. ‘Is she dear to you as well, or is she more than that?’

  He leapt up as if bitten by a snake. His stomach churned so violently he thought it would rupture. His head boiled inside, but still he tried to control himself.

  ‘Sarah? Who is Sarah?’ he said, sounding like an idiot.

  She looked at him with moist eyes, saying sarcastically:

  ‘Oh! You mean, you don’t know her? Sarah … our neighbour … Alyan’s wife …’

  ‘Ah … Alyan’s wife. What about her?’

  He was trying without success to control his body, every atom of which was in turmoil. His hands trembled as he hid them in his lap. Moudhi pushed her face still nearer until he could see through her veil the youthful freckles on her face.

  ‘Don’t play with me,’ she said in a whisper. ‘What is the relationship between you? She visits me all the time and speaks only of you …’

  God curse you, Suwayr, I visit you every day, why do you visit my uncle’s house? The woman had gone mad, or else she had plans he didn’t know.

  ‘Believe me, Moudhi … there’s no relationship between us. You know me. I’m not that sort of person.’

  ‘I believed that,’ she hissed. ‘Until I saw you slipping out of her house one afternoon!’

  The bomb had exploded. He succumbed to a violent headache, as if he were in the middle of a whirlpool, or one of those violent winds in the deadly Nejdi desert during the burning days of summer. He saw, as in a vision, the glistening white statue of a Greek god explode into innumerable fine fragments. All his secrets were out. It seemed it was true that disasters never come singly. One last time, Hisham tried to defend himself.

  ‘You must be confused,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t the person you saw have been her husband or one of her relations?’

  Then, realising the uselessness of this defence, and making as if he had suddenly remembered something, he immediately added:

  ‘Howcome you say you saw me slipping out her house?’

  Moudhi spoke calmly, though the sorrow and distress in her voice were plain:

  ‘Of course there are always nasty surprises lurking beneath the surface. How cunning you are, Hisham! All this coming out about you! Anyone would think you were as meek as a lamb, but … but you … I don’t want to say … Women, politics and God knows what else …’

  She was lost for words and could not finish her sentence.

  ‘I was in the upstairs room,’ she went on, wiping away fresh tears, ‘in your old room, looking around, when I found some leftovers on the window sill. I was about to clear them away when I happened to glance into the street and saw you slipping out of there … I know perfectly well what you look like … if you’d been in a crowd of a hundred men, I would have known it was you!’

  There was no way out this time. That cursed window. It was the window that had brought him to this crisis. He promised himself that from this day forth he would never open a window; then he looked at Moudhi with eyes that had lost their courage.

  ‘I have made a mistake, Moudhi,’ he said, ‘and you’re right to despise me and not to believe me in future. But believe me, my relationship with Suwayr is innocent, just a flirtation. It’s not what you imagine.’

  She frowned at him.

  ‘You’re still flirting with her,’ she said. ‘What sort of innocent relationship is that? Oh! I suppose I have to believe you, even though I don’t!’ There was silence for a few moments. Moudhi’s eyes did not leave his face. Her gaze was too much for Hisham, and he shifted his eyes away. Then Moudhi said:

  ‘What did you like about her?’

  This unexpected turn in the conversation caught Hisham off-guard, but Moudhi didn’t even give him the chance to be surprised:

  ‘She’s fat as a cow, and dark as a dry date … and I’ve always had doubts about her morals. I’m sure she led you on, and she’s no doubt seduced others besides you. Believe me, Hisham, I know these sorts of women, who hunt out innocents like you … but you are inexperienced, you haven’t tasted life yet!’

  Hisham smiled to himself, thinking, ‘If I’m innocent and inexperienced, what terrible things would I have done if I hadn’t been so innocent?’

  ‘Never mind Sarah and her games … what are you going to do?’ asked Moudhi.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About the trouble you are in … with the authorities.’

  Moudhi’s revelations about Suwayr meant Hisham had completely forgotten about his trouble with the authorities, but now he was instantly transported back into his whirl of terror. He sat up straight and clasped his hands around his knees.

  ‘I will travel,’ he said gloomily. ‘I’ll leave the country until things calm down.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘To Lebanon … That’s what I’ve agreed with my father ... No, that’s what father wanted … The important thing is … that all this should end somehow.’ He was talking to himself.

  ‘Lebanon? You will leave one Sarah for a thousand others …’ Moudhi whispered, as if she, too, were talking to herself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing.’ Moudhi stood up, wiped her eyes with the edge of her veil, and walked towards the door, saying:

  ‘The important thing is for you to come back to us safely … God preserve you.’ She hurried out, but quickly returned again and stood beside the door.

  ‘Hisham,’ she said. ‘If I showed you my face, would I have gone too far?’

  ‘There is no “too far” between us, Moudhi. You will remain my beloved Moudhi whether you are veiled or whether you show your face.’

  With a sudden movement, Moudhi tore off her veil to reveal her face, then went up to him and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. She looked at him with red, moist eyes, then stumbled from the room.

  He stayed sitting in the dining room for a long time, daydreaming about nothing and everything, unable to move or think properly. He was only roused from his dreaming when Said informed him that there were two people at the door asking for him. Terror immediately overcame him and he began to tremble violently. Who could they be? The police? Suwayr and Alyan? Anything was possible when misfortunes all came at once. He got up, dragging his feet towards the door, almost fainting with each step.

  At the door he found Mu
haysin and Muhammad. He returned to his senses, feeling like a man recovered from a terrible sickness. Muhammad embraced him warmly.

  ‘Don’t worry. Everything will be all right. This is just a passing storm, God willing,’ he said with emotion.

  ‘God willing,’ said Hisham, thinking: So Muhaysin has told him everything.

  Muhaysin looked affectionately at Hisham:

  ‘When I got up and couldn’t find you, I was sure that you must be here. And I had to see you before you left. I didn’t attend classes at college today. I went in to find Muhammad and told him everything. He insisted on coming here with me. I wanted to find Dais too but I knew that Dais wouldn’t leave college no matter what the reason. There’s no need to disturb him now – he’ll find out everything soon enough.’

  Hisham looked at his two friends with love and gratitude. It was good to know that he was not alone. Then he invited them into the sitting room and asked Said to make tea. Muhammad wanted to know every little detail, and Hisham did not disappoint him. He knew that he would be telling all sooner or later, so why should he not talk here, to his friends?

  The three continued their whispered conversation until the sound of their voices woke Abu Hisham. Then the other occupants of the house began to arrive: Abd al-Rahman first, then Hisham’s uncle, then the oldest son Muhammad. Hamad and Ahmad did not appear that day. Hisham’s uncle insisted that Muhaysin and Muhammad stay to lunch, and it was not long before everyone gathered around the rice dish and plates of jarish, crushed wheat cooked with meat and vegetables, and qursan, made of fine bread with meat and vegetable stock poured over it.

  During the meal, Hisham’s uncle tried to find out the reason for this surprise visit and sudden departure, with questions that were frankly suspicious, but Abu Hisham maintained it was just some routine business that required Hisham’s presence in Dammam. His uncle was grudgingly persuaded, knowing there was more to it but that he wasn’t going to find out what it was. No doubt everything would become clear in due course. Abu Hisham didn’t want to upset anyone unduly. He was optimistic that he could deal with the situation, and that all would be well in the end, and so didn’t believe there was any need to worry the others with the facts. And indeed, if Hisham hadn’t told Muhaysin and Moudhi, everything would have stayed a secret as his father wished.