Читать книгу Omm Sety's Egypt - Hanny el Zeini - Страница 15

SIX

Bulbul

“When she opened her eyes she saw a shimmering,amorphous something next to the bed.”

The senior Abdel Meguids expected the bride and bridegroom to live with them for at least a year before setting up housekeeping on their own. They also expected that by the end of that year there would be a new baby in the family. Only their second expectation came to pass.

When I knew Omm Sety well I asked her about when she became pregnant. “After the third month of marriage I was sure I was pregnant. So you see, Imam did not waste any time.” I said, “Well, you didn’t lose any time either.” We laughed.

I asked her how she behaved herself in the house of her in-laws. “Oh, for the first ten days after the wedding it was the usual procedure, and then after that, Imam was supposed to go and resume his work. For entire days I was practically alone because his father went to his work in the government office, his mother didn’t speak a word of English, and there was no other family living with us in the big house. So one day I gave myself the liberty to go out. I was really quite clumsy about it because as a matter of courtesy to the old lady, my mother-in-law, I should have asked her permission first.”

Gypsies again

That was the day Bulbul set out on a sort of scouting tour of the quarter, walking along el Muezz Street and stopping to admire the arabesque architecture, the street vendors, the people and their interesting attire. A boy of about 12, seeing a foreigner rambling aimlessly in the district, approached, saying, “Have you lost your way, Madame? May I help?” His English was excellent. “No, my dear boy,” she answered, “I am discovering the area where I shall be living.” That was a great surprise to the boy. “But,” he said, “foreigners do not choose our quarter to live in. This is Old Cairo, Madame.”

“This I know, young man, but I would like to live here, even if most foreigners don’t. It looks good enough to me.” She regarded the boy for a moment. “What are the most interesting things that I can see today? I mean anything nice and exciting…”

“There are lots of buildings in the old style; there are mosques, schools, and there is the Beit el Sehemy – it is very famous.” Then he smacked his forehead as if remembering something quite exceptional. “There is a feast near Bab el Futooh, the Northern Gate. It is a long walk from here. Today is the feast of the Gypsies. They come from every part of the country and have a big festival with Gypsy dances and fire-eating and a lot of other strange things. If you wish, I can go with you to protect you. One should keep his eyes wide open because they are very sharp thieves.”

At the word “Gypsy” Bulbul snapped to attention. She accepted the boy’s invitation on the spot. His name was Tarek. And so began a strange adventure that would get the new Mrs. Abdel Meguid into trouble.

She and the boy walked the length of the famous road, starting from Bab Zwele, the Southern Gate of Old Fatimid Cairo, up to Bab el Futooh (also known as the Gate of Conquests), through which victorious armies had marched after campaigns in Syria and Mesopotamia – and beyond the gate into the largest and oldest Muslim cemetery in Cairo, where a large crowd of people was gathering. The cemetery had been in use since the Arab conquest of Egypt in AD 640, and the tombs were in every style imaginable, from step pyramids and pharaonic designs to domed buildings, in endless variations.

The sanctity of this atmospheric place was disturbed by the shouts of children, mostly foreign, running about. European sight-seers waited expectantly. The Gypsy festival was of no particular interest to the native Egyptians, although it was known that this pagan extravaganza always took place on a full moon in autumn. Perhaps the biggest reason Cairenes avoided it was that this was a gathering occasion for opium smokers and hashish addicts; the air was filled with the smooth, tingling smell of both drugs. Gypsies were extremely resourceful in running drugs past the watchful eyes of the coastal police, the young guide said, and punishments for smuggling were severe and swift. That was the story that Tarek related to her as they entered the cemetery grounds. He looked so absolutely innocent and well bred that she wondered if she should be protecting him, and not the other way around. “Last year,” Tarek said, “there was a man who swallowed an entire sword right into his stomach. A German surgeon was able to feel. And there was a Gypsy girl who could roll herself into a perfect ball while her partner pushed her around in circles.”

The hubbub of the growing crowd was punctuated by the loud voices of a group of Italians, while the Britishers, some in knickerbockers, talked among themselves in reserved tones as they waited for something to happen. And then a distant wailing sound became audible – sad, sad tones of painful tragedy, as if from some remote past. The Gypsies had arrived. An elderly woman wearing a head cap embroidered with seashells and swathed in bead necklaces and bangles began to call out to her troupe in short, croaking phrases, to which they replied with a rising hum of encouragement. Bulbul asked Tarek what the words meant, but he shrugged his shoulders. “Nobody but a Gypsy can tell you the meaning of the words, and even then you can’t believe anything they say.”

Bulbul and her guide wandered among the crowd. The real fair wouldn’t start until evening. Tarek couldn’t stay that long and he left the English lady to find her way back alone. She had brought a sandwich and a thermos of minted tea. Unaware of the passing of time, she moved deeper into the colorful crowd.

Meanwhile, Imam had returned home to find his dear bride absent. Worse, she had told nobody where she was going or when she would return. Not that Imam feared for her safety; Cairo was one of the safest cities in the world. Policemen were always in plain view with their heavy black boots hitting the asphalt hard with every step, announcing the presence and alertness of the law. I had my own experiences with them as a boy in Cairo. Occasionally they would declare their presence by an audible baritone cough, which we youngsters called the government cough. Sometimes when they felt uncertain about a pedestrian they would demand to know who was there, and one had to answer, giving his full name and address. If that satisfied the alert watchman he would say, Maa el Salama – Go in peace. Some of them we knew by their voice and cough and we would salute, saying, Izzayak Ya Shawish – How are you, Sergeant?”

No, what really bothered Imam that evening was that Bulbul had just walked out of the house without a word to anyone. This was un-Egyptian in the extreme and quite lacking in good taste – unacceptable from any member of the family. In the time they had spent together in London, Imam was well aware of her free, adventurous spirit and he had thought it charming. But now she was in Egypt. This would not do at all.

The eastern end of the cemetery is a large area of barren desert. There the Gypsies lit their fires at dusk and the fair began, with children excitedly watching first the jugglers, then the bareback horsemen with their wild, daring tricks. Bulbul found herself pushed into an area where a man was engaged in a comical performance with two monkeys. The female monkey did a double backward somersault and other acrobatics, but the male was rebellious. The Gypsy waved a stick at him and said some harsh words, then hit the monkey on his hindquarters. Losing patience, the man began striking him repeatedly about the face while the monkey cowered and whimpered. Bulbul couldn’t bear to watch such cruelty. She rushed up and put herself between the man and the pitiful creature, wrenching the stick from the man’s hand. A group of Gypsies pulled her away. “No good, Miss…no good!” one of them shouted to her. “Very bad luck for you…bad luck for family too!” Surrounded by the hostile mob she looked around frantically for a way out.

Miracles do sometimes happen. Tarek, perhaps feeling unchivalrous for leaving her earlier, was suddenly there again, and with the help of one of the gypsy men, waded into the mess and pulled her to safety. The man gave her a strange, intent stare as she left with Tarek.

When she was home again with her Egyptian family, explaining in utter truthfulness what had happened, she was not greeted with understanding but with extreme disapproval. There were no words to make her behavior acceptable. Imam was careful to keep his fury under control. It was unbecoming to make a row with his bride so soon after their wedding.

The next day his father went out before sunrise to perform his morning prayers in the nearby mosque, as was his lifelong practice. On his return his face had the serene expression that Bulbul found to be a source of comfort and happiness each morning when he greeted her. At the morning’s breakfast table he leaned towards her and said gently in a low whisper, “My dear daughter, do not ever do that foolishness you did last evening. We must know where you plan to go. You are new to this country and you have all the time to get to know Cairo well. But please do not choose such unwholesome places like the festival of those Gypsies. Besides, you must never forget that it is your husband’s right to know where you are going.” His voice became more firm. “In our class of people each married partner must know where the other is going and when he is supposed to be back home. This is indispensable to keeping the family structure in good order.” Heavy silence fell upon the family at the table. There was nothing more to say.

the obedient wife

Now, when Bulbul wanted to leave the house to go to the museum or to the area of Giza to watch the excavations of the famous archaeologists working there, she abided by the rules. She would ask permission from her father-in-law or mother-in-law, but not before asking for the consent of her husband.

Things went smoothly until one day, a few months later, when Imam informed her that they would be moving into their new apartment on the Cairo island of Manya el Roda by the end of the month. Imam’s declaration of independence came as a shock to his bride even though he had written his feelings about this in letters to her before they were married. His parents had dismissed his “too modern” idea of living apart from the family home so soon after the marriage and thought the matter settled. But apparently it wasn’t.

Bulbul didn’t want to leave the atmospheric beauty of Old Cairo. She wanted things to stay just the way they were. She always knew that sooner or later she would have to be mistress of her own house, but these pampered and spoiled honeymoon days in Imam’s father’s house were so pleasant! Here she never had to go into the kitchen; if she ever had, she would probably have been completely lost in it. So far, she had been saved the ordeal of having to actually cook for her husband, let alone manage a household. She could never be even a little like her beautiful mother-in-law whose every gesture spoke of nobility and the womanly virtues.

Imam’s will prevailed, and they moved into the apartment he had selected in a very pleasant, tree-lined area of Manya el Roda. Bulbul tried to be a good sport, but she knew right away that being a good Egyptian wife would be an effort, especially the matter of cooking for Imam.

Earlier, during one of her ramblings in Cairo’s business center she had visited the Anglo-Egyptian Bookstore where she found an English language book on French cooking. She thought she discovered a treasure, the solution to her culinary woes. Unfortunately, she was too optimistic about the powers of her “miracle book.”