In the forest where
none can pass but you, I track you through the dark looped tunnel.I can hear you panting heavily, gusts of your
hot breath touch my skin but I can never reach you.I stretch my arm towards you; my muscles ach
with it, my pulse quickens, the veins on my wrist pulsate loudly with the need
to feel you. I keep crawling behind you
trying to keep your pace but sweet starts to bead on my forehead and seep into
my eyes.My heart drums heavily; my
chest feels like an old accordion struggling to stretch. I long for more
oxygen; I pause to take a deep breath, I try to draw in a whole lungful of air
but it feels like steel splinters piercing through my lungs. Suddenly there is more light than my eyes can
handle; I squeeze my lids shut and slowly open them to adjust to the light;
there is more space to move and air to breath but you are gone. I rise on all
fours; I stretch my back upwards like a cat in the sun; every muscle and tendon
ach with the attempt. I force myself into standing; my feet squawk and my knees
shake under the weight. My body feels funny erect after all that crawling, my muscles
are tense; my shoulders are stiff and clenching. I look for you in all directions,
there is no trace of you, only the pain intensifies in my neck with every move.
I think I will lose you forever; I will never be able to reach you or touch you
again. With these thoughts the pain
gets wilder, creeping slowly from the right eye, to the right ear, then passing
quickly from the back of the neck to the other side of the head; I feel you in
my bones, defying, accusing and mad at me. The pain stretches its paws to cover
the back of my head, rushing towards both shoulders. It feels like soft yet
heavy liquid cement passing through tubes in my head until it hits splashing on
the open surface of my shoulder plates and upper back. It changes instantly
into thick sheets of hard concrete spreading layer upon layer forming a stiff
heavy bulk that makes the slightest movement a torture. For a moment, I think I
will never be able to move from that
spot.Then, I can hear your voice, sweet
and tender like always, calling my name. I turn around but there is no trace of
you; your presence permeates every cell in my being; I feel you under my skin.
Here you are walking slowly behind me, the way one creeps away from an animal
that might attack. You look at me with scared eyes. Do you think I might hurt
you? I turn around; I reach for your hands but you take a step backward, out of
my reach and run towards the tunnel again. I try to move; I drag my feet
through the dirt; I am heavy and aching; the blood vessels in my temples jump
with rage; my hands ball into fists. That concrete plate on my back stretches
to cover my chest. I stoop; I crawl slowly towards the tunnel, hoping to get a
feeling of your breath around me.
The Wedding Excerpt from a novel-in-progress, The Scent of Paper, byAbeer Elgamal(Egypt)
Hala ran from the front door to answer the phone, but the ringing stopped before she could reach it. She had come home after driving the children to school and attending a meeting in the department. She hated it when Salem assumed she was still out if she failed to pick up at once. He called every now and then, making it impossible for her to complete any task without interruption. She threw her keys and handbag on the sofa and sat down on the rocking chair, moving nervously back and forth; she knew he would call again soon. Part of the chair's base was on the wooden floor while its front rested on the carpet. With every movement it produced two different, though equally annoying, sounds, and it threatened to plunge backward at any moment. She had just received the news: the university had withdrawn the scholarship from the English department. There was no way she could go to the States for her PhD. It was the end of a dream she had worked so hard to accomplish.
It was her day off and she had planned to be alone with Salem. Things had gotten worse lately as she was preoccupied completing the requirements for the scholarship, and she hoped she could do something to amend matters. She could not bear Salem's silence and his moods; his sarcasm and bitterness cut through her being every day and she blamed herself for not trying hard enough to soothe his worries about their future.
She sat there, waiting for him, dreading the storm, anticipating what shape his eruption would take this time. She knew it would not be like the previous ones. There would be something more violent than breaking things or burning her diary or throwing stuff on the floor. That scholarship meant so much to him; he counted on it more than she did; it could have been a safe escape from the tedious life he had been living since those problems started at work. It would have given him a pretext to skip the family obligations that were starting to weigh heavily on his shoulders, with one unmarried sister, Maha, and a widowed one with four children, with all their problems. One question kept circling her mind like a whirlpool: How can I tell him this? A feeling of heaviness and stagnation took over her body as she continued to rock herself back and forth on the chair, despite the dizziness she started to feel.
Salem called again and she grabbed the telephone instantly. She did not dare tell him the news over the phone. Instead she said that her mother had volunteered to take the children from school to sleep over and to take them to the club next morning. His voice on the other end was tired and confused, with the sounds of heavy machinery in the background. She repeated what she had said to make sure she got the same answer more than once. Strangely, he did not seem to mind her arrangements. Maha was not coming over that weekend; she was in Alexandria with Laila since her husband had died and it would be the first time in three or four years they would spend the weekend without her. It was a shame she would have to tell him the bad news then, when they had it to all to themselves…
What had happened to the Salem she had fallen in love with? When did all this start? At the wedding and the three months of frustration that followed? Or on the first night, when Maha had stayed over, to the dismay and anger of her mother? Automatically, her hand reached out for the diary, hidden under piles of books, and she began to write:
Salem invaded me from the first moment. I liked his self-confidence and the authoritative way he spoke to me, looking directly into my eyes and exploring me from inside. He accused his mother of not informing him he had such "beautiful relatives," referring to me and Mother, the first time we met. It was mid-year vacation, and we were visiting my grandparents in Mansoura, just me and Mother because Ahmed was on a trip to Luxor with the university. Even Mother, who was rarely impressed with anyone, liked his way with words. It was the first time we had ever met, but he began using the term " we": we are going to do this, and we will go this place and so on, as if he could decide for us, as if we belonged to him. Mother believed that his education abroad had certainly done him good. I knew later that our meeting in the club was not accidental. His mother, a distant relative of my father's, had seen me once in Cairo on a family visit and had called Aunt Ameena to arrange a meeting. It was my first year after graduation and I had spent a turbulent summer trying to get the job I wanted in the department, until I finally did so in September. They were supposed to come and visit us in Cairo but Mother, who had not seen him before, did not want to have any obligations towards them if they made a formal proposal. Besides, she knew how I felt about matchmaking, after I had refused her best friend's son a few months before. She believed then he was a perfect suitor and accused me of being a romantic and naive girl who did not know what was good for her; she even blamed father for not supporting her.
Salem was different. He kept calling me every day, inviting me to go out on our own. It did not feel right and I said no every time until he stopped and was satisfied with long phone calls. He was working in a big company and everyone kept stressing what a brilliant engineer he was. There were no mobile phones then and he had to use the land line. We talked for hours and he asked me all sorts of questions, thousands of them, and somehow I enjoyed how he invaded my life. I looked forward to the time I would finish teaching, and rather than hang out with Deena and Nesreen or go home and read a book or talk to Ahmed on the balcony, I'd pick up the phone when he called and allow him to go deeper and deeper into my being. He never contradicted me; he read me like a map with all its details, and I loved it. He made me feel I was the center of his universe. When I asked him about himself or his job, he said nothing mattered to him anymore.
Strangely, Mother knew it was him who kept me on the phone for hours, and she did nothing about it. Then one day she said, "Salem and his mother are coming on Thursday to see your father. If you want me to turn them down, say so now. We don’t want to lose all our friends because you refuse their sons!" She was as matter-of-fact as ever, but she did not hide a sense of cheerfulness, mixed with her usual pride. I kept silent. He did not call that day and I was angry he had not told me he was proposing formally. I was confused: why did he have to be so mysterious and secretive? It was obvious it was only a matter of time before he proposed. I was waiting and I wanted to hear it from him; I wanted him to ask me and I wanted to say yes, before anyone else knew what we were planning. My anger faded away when they came. We were engaged on that very first visit, without a party, without even telling Uncle Mahmud or my friends or anyone.
His mother insisted we get married as soon as possible. Mother did not like to be rushed into any decision, but she managed to accept this without a big fuss. Ahmed was happy for me and said he would finally get rid of me, but I knew it would not be easy for him, or for me. From that night on, Father never went to bed before spending an hour or more with me. He said that I had become a guest in his house and he had to make sure I was perfectly satisfied. I waited for him, no matter how late he came from the clinic. His hug made me feel protected, like the times when we were young and he would come to check on us before he slept.
I was already considering wearing a hijab before I met Salem, a stylish and modern one. The idea became more appealing when Salem encouraged me, or rather, pushed me into wearing it. He said he would not share my hair with anyone, and that if he spotted any man looking at me he would kill him. I loved his aggression with words: I will kill; I will tear; I will smash. I never took them as real signs of violence. I loved his strength and decisiveness and his ability to lead anyone to the conclusion he wanted.
Uncle Mahmud was in Paris, then, attending a conference. He was thrilled about the news of the engagement and the hijab. "I will go with anything that makes you happy, my little princess," he said over the phone. The silk scarves he brought me were the most beautiful gift he had ever given me. I loved to wear them. They were so soft and kept sliding away from my hair, and Salem would watch me push my hair under them and smile. "You look more attractive in a hijab. Where can I hide you from eyes? Maybe I have to eat you all up and bury you inside me," he always teased. Indeed he did this, but in a completely different sense.
The wedding hall radiated with her happiness. She chose baby orchids and white pearls to decorate everything, the kosha (wedding throne), the guest tables, the buffet. And Uncle Mahmud insisted on paying for them, as part of his wedding gift to her. Her dress and her flower bouquet, which she had no chance to throw to the girls at the end of the party, had the same theme. It took Hala, Deena and Nesreen endless visits to the dressmaker to get the dress and veil embroidered the way she envisioned it: three different sizes of pearls alternating with lace orchid flowers threaded through the corsage and the train, small ones on top, bigger ones following. The veil had the same pattern; it was made up of three layers, all embroidered like the dress's train. Hala's mother Nahid checked with the hotel every day to make sure everything was going according to plan. It was perfect: the scent of the flowers, the reflection of the tiny white lights on the pearls, the soft music and the lovely couple dancing in the center with all eyes focused on them. Salem, handsome in a black suit, white shirt and red bow-tie, whispered something into Hala's ear as he pulled her closer to him. She blushed as she caught sight of Ahmed, looking distracted at the farthest end of the hall. I know how he feels; he has been avoiding me for a long time for fear of this moment. I was too busy to notice his withdrawal; how I will miss you, brother.
Salem did not allow her to think of anything; he was holding her tight, then letting go of her waist to look deeply into her eyes. It was her first dance in public and she was afraid she might look awkward or trip over his foot in the highest heels she had ever worn. Her fears were not justified; Salem was almost carrying her around, lifting her body off the floor. She felt she was gliding.
I was happy. No, no, happy is not the word, elated, soaring above the world, with Salem literally lifting me off the floor and holding me so tight to him that I could hear his heart beating against the music and the clapping of our friends, whenever he bent to kiss me or whisper into my ear. I did not know if people noticed all that or not. Nobody had time to comment; nobody talked about that night ever after. It all went so fast and then came the black out, inside me and out.
I wanted to go on dancing forever. He said he was not ready to stay till the end of the party and that he would take me home when the guests were busy eating. I laughed my heart out. Mother would kill us then, after all the trouble she had gone through to prepare the party the way she believed fit for us. Then Salem's mother Aunt Fatma sent Maha to ask us to sit down and rest for a while, which we did. She wanted me to wear my shabka (present from the groom) early on in the party so that all the guests would get a chance to see it. She handed Maha a tray decorated with lace and ribbons, with the red velvet jewelry box open on it. Then she left Salem's side and stood by me, next to my mother. Maha stood by Salem and handed the shabka to him, piece by piece, starting with the rings. He took such a long time fastening the necklace around my neck. He was facing me and did not see that all the young guests, his friends and mine and Ahmed, had clustered round us with cameras to capture that special moment. Then I felt something falling heavily on the ground and saw Maha dropping the tray and running in front of me to the other side. Father ran towards Aunt Fatma who was stretched on the floor, her head right under my feet. I had never seen mother as devastated as she was that night. She moved quickly behind me, holding me in my chair with all her power, preventing me from standing up, as if she knew I was about to faint. The last thing I saw were Maha's eyes blaming me for their mother's death.
I did not see Salem for three months after that night. He came every now and then and I refused to see him. I could not look him in the eye, until Uncle Mahmud convinced me to go home. He said Salem was a mature man, and a believer as well. There was no way he would blame me for his mother's death. His words touched my heart and I began seeing Salem when he came to visit. In a couple of weeks, he convinced me to go home. Maha was there too.
Ahmed inserted the Quran cassette in the car player, hoping his mother would calm down when she heard it reciting. He had seen his mother angry many times before, but he had never seen her face so red with rage like that night. They had just left Hala's apartment after taking her to Salem, three months after the wedding party. Hamdy could not see why his wife was so upset, which made things even worse for her.
"What kind of people are these? How can she allow herself to be with them on their first night together after those terrible months? How can Salem let her do this? What about her married sisters? Don't they have any sense at all?"
"You just said it. Things have been terrible for all of them, not just for our daughter."
But this is their special night; they are starting a new life. Can't she leave her brother alone with his bride? Haven't they been through enough? Isn't it sufficient that Hala decided to go to her house wearing black in order not to hurt his sister's feelings? She is a bride, for God's sake. Can't you all see that?"
"Why didn't you let me ask her to come with us if you were so sure she would leave anyway? It would have been a nice compliment to drive her home."
Hamdy had to interfere again in his calm, reassuring voice to prevent Nahid's outburst against Ahmed. He knew she would go on blaming him forever.
"That would have looked terrible – for us to ask her to leave. It is her brother's house after all; we are not entitled to do that."
"Poor Hala, how can I help you, my daughter? You have fallen into a deep well! And your father and brother don't even care."
Nahid continued to wail in the back seat of the car, lamenting the bad luck of her daughter until they got home. She wanted to call Hala and make sure Maha had left, but Hamdy and Ahmed talked her out of the idea.
As soon as her parents and Ahmed had gone, Hala began to serve the dinner her mother and Dada had spent the whole morning cooking. The meal was still hot, but Salem and Maha took some time to come to the dining room and it was beginning to cool. She felt nervous; there was something weird about the place; it did not feel like the same warm, cozy home she and Salem had spent days supervising workers over and arranging furniture in. She had to reheat the dishes when Salem and Maha finally came into the dinning table. She felt she was sharing a table with strangers in a place she had never seen before. Maha did not bother to help her clean up after dinner, so she made tea, served dessert and joined them in the living room. She felt they were a united front she could not penetrate. They would stop their conversation abruptly the moment she entered the room. Their other sisters called to say hello to her, one after the other. She felt that everything was prearranged, and that she was excluded from their inner circle; she was the outsider. There was something about them that made her feel guilty, unwelcome, banished, and utterly lonely, in her own home.
In the morning she felt too embarrassed to go and shower after Salem did. He tried to make it sound normal, and advised her to get used to Maha's presence with them, at least for a while until she could go home and stay by herself. She dried her hair and wore the lovely rose lace dress her mother had suggested for the occasion, and the necklace that came with her shabka. She prepared breakfast and tried to feel at home. When her family came in the afternoon, with the wedding presents, she did not feel like a bride on her saba7ya (day following the wedding, when the bride's parents come to give gifts) . She felt she was performing a role in a play. The house and the people around her were fake; she could not bond with anyone, not even with her own family. All that mattered was preventing any reference to the night before. She made sure she was never alone with her mother because she knew she would ask all sorts of questions. She enlisted Ahmed's help so that Nahid would not embarrass Maha with questions, and he came to the rescue, never leaving his mother's side. Hala sat by her father and felt a sudden urge to put her head on his shoulder, as she did when he would come to check on them every night as children. She wanted to hug him and talk to him about her day like she did then, but there was a glass wall separating her from the rest of the world.
