Chicago, Alaa Aswany [first e reader .TXT] 📗

afraid of the responsibility? Or was he an inexperienced boy who didn’t know how to deal with women? Did he want to put her to the test before committing to her? Could he have a fiancée in Egypt and he was keeping the engagement secret by taking off the ring? Worse than that: could he be unsure that she was fit to be his children’s mother? Like her he came from a conservative religious family. Did he take their spending time together as proof that she was loose?

That would really be a catastrophe! He must understand that she went out with him only because of the exceptional circumstances of her being away from home. Had he met her in Egypt he wouldn’t have got from her anything but a casual conversation like any other colleague. Why didn’t he say anything? She had hinted and encouraged him several times, but he ignored the hints. O God, all she was hoping for was one sentence: “I love you, Shaymaa, and I want to marry you.” Was that too much for him to say? She had been assailed by apprehensions and worries since yesterday, so she woke up this morning having made up her mind. She had to stop at the college lab to check the samples of her research, and then catch up with Tariq in Lincoln Park, where they had lunch together every Saturday. I won’t accept any more stalling. Today I bring everything to a definitive resolution, she said to herself as she carried her palm-frond bag. She raised her chin and pursed her lips and quickly went to the L station, where the train took her in a few minutes to the park. Tariq was there, sitting as usual on their favorite marble bench close to the fountain. He welcomed her warmly, but she responded in a reserved manner. She sat next to him and spread a blue tablecloth, and then placed the sandwiches and dessert carefully on paper plates next to the thermos filled with mint tea. Tariq devoured two large pita sandwiches filled to the rim, one with chicken bologna studded with olives and the other with scrambled eggs with basterma. Then he took visible delight in sipping a cup of mint tea. Then, looking with interest at the bowl of mahalabiya garnished with raisins and coconut, “May God save your hands, Shaymaa. The food is fantastic, as usual.”

She immediately began carrying out her plan.

“Have you read Sheikh Shaarawi’s commentary on the glorious Qur’an?” she asked.

“I used to follow it on television in Egypt.”

“You must read it. I brought it with me and I read it every night.”

“Sheikh Shaarawi was a great scholar.”

“God have mercy on his soul. God gave him the ability to explain the greatness of Islam.”

“God be praised.”

“Islam has not neglected any aspect of life, great or small.”

“Of course.”

“Would you believe that Islam has spoken of love?”

Tariq turned toward the fountain and began to study the water gushing from its openings.

“Islam encourages love so long as it doesn’t lead to sin,” she went on.

Tariq sighed and looked somewhat worried, but she kept at him. “Sheikh Shaarawi has issued a fatwa that if a young man and a young woman were to feel love for each other it would not be forbidden so long as they intended to get married.”

“That stands to reason, of course.”

“What do you think?”

“By the way, Shaymaa, I’ve discovered a very inexpensive pizza place on Rush Street.”

She fixed him with an angry look and said, “Why are you changing the subject?”

“What subject?”

“Shaarawi.”

“What about Shaarawi?”

“He asserts that love is not forbidden so long as it leads to marriage.”

“You’re repeating what you’ve said already. I don’t understand what this has to do with us,” he said sharply. A profound silence ensued, interrupted only by the sound of the water in the fountain and the shouts of the children playing nearby. She got up suddenly and said as she gathered her things in the bag, “I am going back to the dorm.”

“Why?”

“I just remembered that I have an exam tomorrow.”

“Stay a little. It’s early and it’s so nice out here.”

She looked at him irritably, then adjusted her glasses with her finger and said in exasperation, “Enjoy it all by yourself.”

“Wait a minute, Shaymaa,” Tariq shouted to stop her, but she moved away quickly. He got up and almost hurried after her, but a few moments later he returned to his seat and followed her with his eyes until she disappeared in the crowd.

CHAPTER 12

Despite the fearsome aura that surrounded Ahmad Danana, a closer look would uncover an ambiguously feminine side to him. This doesn’t mean that he is a hermaphrodite, God forbid, for he was born fully male, but there are various traits that make him look more like a shrewish woman than a stern man: his soft body is chubby with no visible muscles; the way he raises his eyebrows when surprised; the way he purses his lips and places his hands on his hips when angry; his fondness for details and secrets and his passion for gossip and use of expressions that have double meanings; his always kissing those he meets on their cheeks; and his use of womanly terms of endearment such as “darling” and “my heart’s love.” This feminine side came as a result of the influence his late mother, Hagga Badriya, had on him. For even though she was illiterate, she was a strong-willed and intractable woman who ruled with an iron fist a large household of four boys, two girls, and their father. One glance from her was enough to confound any member of the family, beginning with her husband, who with age had turned into something akin to a private secretary or an obedient underling. Danana had so internalized his mother’s personality that, unconsciously, especially when he became tense, he started adopting her mannerisms in expression, emulating the tone of her voice, her glances, and all her