The Wedding of Zein (10 page)

While the whole village was in a turmoil from that affliction called Seif ad-Din, all of a sudden, following the Haneen incident, he changed as though born anew. To begin with people couldn't believe their eyes, but every day Seif ad-Din did something new. First they heard that he had gone early one morning to his mother, had kissed her head and wept lengthily before her. Hardly had they got over this than they heard he had brought together all his uncles, and had repented and asked forgiveness in front of them, and that as an assurance of his repentance he had taken all that remained of his father's fortune from his own charge and had made his senior paternal uncle a trustee over it, until he should become wholly fit for carrying out his responsibilities. No sooner had the inhabitants of the village accustomed their ears to that than to their amazement they saw Seif ad-Din repairing to the mosque for the Friday prayers. He had shaved off his beard, and had his moustache neatly trimmed, and was dressed in clean clothes. Those who attended the prayers said that when he heard the Imam's sermon, the subject of which was the honouring of one's parents, he burst into such lengthy weeping that he went into a swoon and the people flocked round to comfort him. On leaving the mosque he had immediately gone to Mousa the Lame and, telling him that he had acted wrongly towards him, had asked his forgiveness and informed him that he would treat him as his father used to do. For a month or so the village never stopped gasping as every day it heard of some new act performed by Seif ad-Din: his abstaining from wine, his withdrawal from the company of his disreputable friends, his devoting himself to his prayers, his applying himself to reviving his father's business which he had undermined, his engagement to his cousin, and finally his resolution to perform the pilgrimage that year. Whenever Abdul Hafeez, who was one of those who believed most firmly in Haneen's miracles as evidenced in Seif ad-Din, heard some fresh piece of news, he would hurry off to Mahjoub, who was known for his distaste for religious people and in particular ascetics. ‘A miracle, my friend—not a doubt about it.' Mahjoub would keep silent—in his belly a sensation of vague uneasiness assails him in such circumstances. ‘Seif ad-Din has decided to go on the pilgrimage. By God, do you credit it, friend? Do you or don't you believe it? A miracle, friend, without the shadow of a doubt.' At first Mahjoub used to say to Abdul Hafeez that Seif ad-Din had had enough of fooling about or, as he put it, ‘His fooling about had reached the giddy limit,' and that he was bound to make a change one day. But as he went on hearing something new and astounding each day, he no longer felt capable of disputing the matter and took refuge in silence.

The miraculous change in Seif ad-Din saw the beginning of a number of strange things that came to pass in the village that year. There was not the slightest doubt in anyone's mind, even Mahjoub's, as they saw miracle after miracle occurring, that it was all attributable to Haneen's having said to those eight men in front of Sa'eed's shop that night, ‘God bless you all. May God bring you His blessing.' The time was a little before the evening prayer, a time especially propitious for prayers—especially when made by such saints of God as Haneen. The village was still and silent, except for a slight fresh breeze that played with the fronds of the palm trees. The eight men who were witnesses, and the rest of the people in their houses and fields, they all remember that night as clearly as though it were yesterday. The thick velvety darkness lay over every corner of the village, except for the faint beams of light leaking out from the windows of the houses and the bright light from the large lamp in Sa'eed's shop. The time was that of the seasonal change over from summer to autumn. Sa'eed the shopkeeper remembers that the night had not been scorchingly hot like its predecessor and that his face was not moist with sweat as he weighed out sugar for Seif ad-Din, and that when ‘the hullabaloo occurred,' as he put it, and he left his scales and went out of his shop to intervene between Zein and Seif ad-Din, he remembers a cold breeze blowing on his face. The people who did not have the good fortune to be present at the incident, because they were preparing for evening prayers in the mosque, mention that as he led them in prayer that night the Imam recited a section of the
Chapter of Mary
. Hajj Ibrahim, Zein's uncle and Ni'ma's father, a man renowned for his truthfulness, states quite definitely that the Imam read the verse: ‘And shake towards thee the trunk of the palm tree, it will drop upon thee fresh dates fit to gather' from the
Chapter of Mary
, a verse which is a particularly auspicious and blessed one. Hamad Wad Rayyis, who is well-known in the village for the range of his imagination and a propensity for exaggeration, adds that on the night in question a comet appeared on the western horizon over the burial grounds. However, no one except him mentions a comet. In any event there is no doubt about Haneen, that righteous man, saying within the hearing of eight men on that auspicious night between summer and autumn, just a little before the evening prayer, ‘God bless you all. May God bring you His blessing,' and it was as though supernatural powers in the heavens had answered in one voice ‘Amen'.

After that, supernatural events came in quick succession, miracle following miracle in a fascinating manner. During its existence the village had never experienced such an auspicious and fruitful year as ‘Haneen's year,' as they had begun to call it. It was certainly true that the prices of cotton had had an unprecedented rise that year and that the government, for the first time in history, had permitted them to cultivate it, whereas previously it had been restricted to specified districts of the country. (Mahjoub alone, and on his own admission, made more than a thousand pounds from his cotton.) It is true, too, that for no particular reason—or for some obscure one they didn't know about—a large army camp was set up in the desert two miles from the village. Soldiers eat and drink, and so the village benefitted from supplying vegetables, meat, fruit, and milk to the army. Even the prices of dates had an unprecedented rise that year. Also true is the fact that the government, that creature which in their anecdotes they likened to a refractory donkey, decided all at once—again for no apparent reason—to build in their village, to the exclusion of the rest of the villages of the northern sector of the country, a large hospital for five hundred patients, a secondary school, and an agricultural school—all this despite the fact that they were people without power or influence and with no spokesman to talk on their behalf in the assemblies of the powers-that-be. Here again the village benefitted through supplying the labour, the building materials, and the food, to say nothing of the fact that the sick among them were assured of treatment and that their sons would obtain proper education. If all these indications do not suffice, how do you explain that the government, that ‘refractory donkey' as they believed, also decided that very same year, no more than two months having passed on Haneen's death, to organise their lands into a large agricultural project which the government itself, with all its power and authority, would supervise? Suddenly they found their village alive with land surveyors, engineers, and inspectors. When the government has made up its mind to something, it has the power to carry it out, and it was merely a question of day following upon day and month succeeding month before there rose up on the bank of the Nile by their village a lofty, temple-like building of red brick which cast its shadow upon the river. A little later, amidst the din of labourers and the grating of iron, the wheels of the giant began to turn and its pumps began sucking up such quantities of waters from the Nile as ten water-wheels during tens of days would not have managed—all in a flash, like a man sucking up his tea. And so the vast tract of land from the bank of the Nile to the edge of the desert was inundated with water. Some of it was land that had not seen water from early times, and there it was, after a while, swelling with life. How could this be explained? Abdul Hafeez, though, knows the secret. Scanning the expanse of field which is his, as the wind plays with the wheat so that its ranks bend down like graceful houris drying their hair in the breeze, he says to Mahjoub, ‘A miracle, my friend—without the slightest doubt.'

Tureifi sat down furtively in his chair after having told the Headmaster of the news of Zein's marriage. He seated himself on the edge of his behind as though preparing himself for flight at any instant—there was something of the hyena about both his manner and his nature. Looking around him with cunning eyes, he whispered in the ear of his right-hand neighbour, ‘We've got out of tonight's geography. I bet you the Headmaster won't finish the lesson.'

As predicted by Tureifi, the Headmaster announced in a listless, offhand voice that he was going out on an urgent matter. ‘Revise the lesson on the wheat-growing area of Canada,' and he went out with constrained steps as, watched by Tureifi, he attempted not to hurry until he got to the door of the school courtyard. Tureifi gave a mischievous laugh when he saw the Headmaster grasp the end of his
aba
and rush forward through the sand as hard as he could go.

The Headmaster reached Sheikh Ali's shop in the market, panting for breath and dry of throat, the school not being all that near to the market and the two being separated by a tract of sand into which one's feet sank; besides, the headmaster was in his fifties. Sheikh Ali's shop in the market was his favourite haunt. He was also delighted to see Abdul Samad with whom he had a bitter-sweet relationship and without whose presence he could never really enjoy any gathering or game of back-gammon. Though still ten yards away from the shop, he couldn't help starting to speak: ‘Sheikh Ali, Hajj Abdul Samad— this year's a year of miracles. What a thing to happen!'

The last sentence brought him to them and they sat him down in his favourite seat—a low wood and cord armchair.

The coffee was still hot and gave off an aroma of canella bark, cardamom, and ginger. Taking hold of the cup he brought it to his mouth, then quickly replaced it. ‘Is the news true?' he said.

‘Drink up your coffee before it gets cold,' Abdul Samad said with a laugh to the Headmaster. ‘What they say is quite right.'

Shifting the quid of tobacco from the right side of his mouth to the left, Sheikh Ali said, ‘The story of Zein's marriage? It's a hundred per cent true all right.'

The Headmaster took a large gulp from his cup of coffee, placed it on the small table in front of him, and lit himself a cigarette and took a deep pull.

‘My dear fellow, this is a most strange year—or am I wrong?' The Headmaster did not use the expression ‘chap' or ‘man' like the other villagers, but would begin his sentences by using the phrase ‘my dear fellow.'

‘What you say is quite right, Headmaster,' said Abdul Samad. ‘A really extraordinary year. Women who'd given up hope of ever being pregnant suddenly have children; cows and sheep give birth to two or three—.' Hajj Ali continued to enumerate the miracles that had taken place that year: ‘The dates from the palm trees were so plentiful we couldn't find enough sacks to carry them in; also it snowed—can you imagine such a thing? Snow falling from the sky on a desert town like this?' The Headmaster shook his head and Abdul Samad muttered incoherent words, for the fall of snow that year had been something to amaze them all, and the Headmaster, for all his vast knowledge of geography, could find no explanation for it.

‘But the biggest miracle of all,' said the Headmaster, ‘is the business of Zein's betrothal.' (He had the habit of interspersing his speech with words in the classical language.)

‘One is loath to believe it,' said Sheikh Ali—who was, like Abdul Samad, infected by the Headmaster's classical words; and they would both try to vie with him.

‘Haneen's words were not idle ones,' said Abdul Samad. ‘He said to him “Tomorrow you'll be marrying the best girl in the village”.'

‘Yes, by God, that's so,' said the Headmaster. ‘The best girl in the whole village. What beauty! What manners! What modesty!'

‘What money!' said Abdul Samad provocatively. ‘I know you had your eye on her because of her father's wealth.'

‘I? Have some shame, my dear fellow,' said the Headmaster, furiously warding off the accusation. ‘She's no older than my daughters.'

‘What have your daughters' ages got to do with it, old chap?' said Sheikh Ali, seeking to placate him. ‘A man's a man whatever his age, and a girl of fourteen's ready for marriage to any man, even if he's in his sixties like your honour.'

‘Have some shame, dear fellow—I'm in my fifties. I'm certainly younger than both you and Abdul Samad.'

Abdul Samad exploded into his famous guffaw that came from deep inside his chest.

‘Well, let's forget about the question of age,' he said. ‘What do you think about the story of Zein's marriage?'

‘That's a fantastic business,' said the Headmaster. ‘How is it Hajj Ibrahim accepts it? Zein's a dervish of a man who shouldn't be marrying at all.'

‘You should, sir, be careful when talking of Zein,' said Abdul Samad with profound conviction. ‘He's a man blessed of God and was a friend of that devout man Haneen, God rest his soul.'

‘May God rest his soul,' Sheikh Ali added. ‘He brought prosperity to our village.'

‘And it was all because of Zein,' said Abdul Samad.

‘My dear fellow, we weren't talking about miracles. Even so, though—'

‘When everything's said and done,' Sheikh Ali interrupted, ‘a man's a man and a woman's a woman.'

‘And in any case the girl's his cousin,' added Abdul Samad.

The Headmaster kept silent, for he could find no answer to their words; at least from the point of view of formalities the fact that a girl was reserved for marriage to her cousin was an irrefutable argument according to the conventions of village folk; it was an ancient tradition with them, as ancient as the instinct for life itself, the instinct of survival and the preservation of the species. Yet in the depths of his being he felt, as had Amna, that a personal affront had been directed against him.