The Map of Love (62 page)
Authors: Ahdaf Soueif
In my old room at Tawasi, with the windows open to the veranda to let in the evening breeze, I remember the day when my elder son was just three months and I was carrying him in a sling against my breast and standing at the deli counter in Selfridges’ foodhall. He looked up at me with the serious gaze with which he had entered the world and I put my tongue out at him. When he put his tongue out in reply I almost fainted with delight. When they said their first words, when they took their first steps, when they put on their new school uniforms and picked up their bags, at every point I was filled with wonder and thought, This is the most enchanting phase yet.
In Anna’s words I read her love for her child and Sharif Basha’s grateful and amazed delight. I see the black-haired little girl, her ears already pierced and set with golden studs, her violet eyes serious, concentrating. She takes one tottering step down into the fountain and the small, plump feet stand on the cool, wet floor. So much to choose from: down on hands and knees again she explores the squares and triangles, the blue and white and red of the tiles, till looking up she catches the glint of sunlight on the spray and stretches a hand towards it.
Her father sits cross-legged by the edge of the fountain, in the rough linen trousers he uses for working in the garden. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, his feet are bare. He adjusts the baby’s sun bonnet, then dips his fingers into the water, stirring it lazily, making more patterns for her to see. He glances up at Anna’s window and from behind the lattice she smiles down.
I consider whether to go to the school and decide to stay with Anna. Tareq
Atiyya’s men are doing a good job. Two young men with intermediate diplomas, they take it in turns to man the school five nights a week. They help the children with their reading and maths and the village is grateful to them and sends them home from time to time with gifts of eggs, butter or pastry. I ask them veiled questions about changes on theAtiyya land and they say no, there’s nothing and nobody new. I should call Tareq, or write him a note to thank him.
Cairo
15 May 1906
Dear James
,
Thank you so much for yours of 20 April and for all the papers. Is it not amazing that a man who has never been abroad except once — and that to France — and who speaks not one foreign language should be in charge of British Foreign Affairs? I am sure your mania is relieved that you turned down the offer of the posting to Syria — are you at all disappointed that you cannot be in a place where you can make more use of your Arabic? Sir Charles wrote to me what you said about not wishing to be involved in British foreign policy and I imagine the sad events in Natal will only serve to reassure you that you have made the right decision. I believe you can do more good where you are — and remain truer to yourself
.
Matters here, thank goodness, can never be as bad as in South Africa, even though Cromer chooses to represent the political unrest here as fanatical in nature. Yesterday al-Muqattam asked if the Egyptian Army should fight on the side of the British against His Majesty the Ottoman Sultan Abd al-Hamid Khan (for half the Fifth Battalion was sent into Sinai), or should it mutiny? In truth we do not know whether to be disappointed that the Sultan has backed down over Taba or relieved that the prospect of war has been averted. The common sentiment was very much for Turkey and I did, in fact, ask my husband whether Turkey’s being Moslem had to do with it; he said that in ‘98 the people were for Marchand in the Fashoda affair and France is not a Moslem state. I do not know how Cromer squares this, for I do not believe he would lie. But he perceives things as he chooses to and if the Government should grant his demand to double the Army it will be very ill received here. He has now taken to promenading the Army through the country in a show of force — and but two years ago he had declared that he could govern Egypt without an army, as he was widely accepted as a friend of the fellaheen!
We would dearly like to spend more time in Tawasi, but for the impossibility of persuading Baroudi Bey to leave his shrine
and our reluctance to take Nur away from Zeinab Hanim (and Ahmad too, for where Nur goes he goes), so we continue much as usual and Nur does new things and gives us more pleasure every day. I am working on my tapestry but it is exceedingly slow; I am on the feet of Isis now
.
We are planting a magical grove for Nur which is to be completed before she reaches her first birthday. It has an Italian Cypress, a Jacaranda, a Poinciana, a Magnolia, a Persian Lilac and a Palestinian Willow and her own special pool with a fountain. Zeinab Hanim is not happy about the Persian Lilac because of its poisonous fruit, but my husband says that Nur will learn that good and bad can come of the same tree
.
I am sending you a watercolour I made of her and Ahmad. The figure reclining in the easy chair is Shukri Bey al-Asali, our cousin from Nazareth. He is most concerned about the situation in the Holy Land, and the loss of Sheikh Muhammad Abdu has been a bitter blow to him for he had counted on his support. He says, however, that the new Mutasarrif of Jerusalem, Ali Ekrem Bey, is known for his integrity and will act honestly on the anti-immigration laws. He has brought with him a most fascinating and disturbing book
, Le Réveil de la nation Arabe,
which I would send you a copy of but that it is illegal here and we would never get another. But it is published in Paris and so you must get a copy. I would be very interested to know what you think of it
.
We have had a new addition to our household in the form of Mahrous, a little boy of four who is Mabrouka’s great-nephew. The child was orphaned of his mother and on his father marrying again, Mabrouka wished to have him. My husband gave his consent readily for, as he said, she has brought up all the children of the family and it is but fair that she should now have one of her own. He is a little black boy with perfectly delicate features and springy hair and — being fresh from their village near Tantah — is still somewhat shy. Ahmad is not quite sure how he feels about him but I am certain they will become friends in the end
.
We are thinking of going to Italy again in September and
perhaps to Paris. If we do, I shall try to prevail upon Sir Charles to meet us there —
Sharif Basha is digging in the garden when Anna comes to him. He is planting Nur’s ‘magical grove’, that collection of brave bedraggled trees, still trying to flower in the new slum in Touloun, where Isabel and I had sat, drawing triangles in the dust.
10 June 1906
He digs in rhythm with Fudeil, the gardener’s son: one man rising, his spade describing an arc over his shoulder, the soil scattering from it like a shower on to the mound behind him, while the other swoops down, digging his spade deep into the earth. Nearby, Abu Fudeil, the old gardener, is preparing the young cypress for planting.
‘We shall be finished in a minute,’ Sharif Basha says.
Abu Fudeil lowers the cypress carefully into the ground and holds it straight while Fudeil and his master gently shovel the loose earth in around it. When they have finished, Sharif Basha lays his spade on the ground. ‘Water it well now,’ he says, then turns to Anna. ‘Why, whatever is the matter?’ he asks. He puts his arm around her and as they move away, Fudeil is on his knees patting the earth into place while his father fetches the bucket of water that has been standing nearby.
‘I’ve just received these from London.’ Anna holds out some sheets of paper. She is pale and the papers in her hand shake.
‘What is it?’ Sharif Basha asks again. ‘What has happened?’
‘James,’ she says, ‘James sent me this. It is a letter — a copy of a letter — that was sent to Sir Edward Grey. It is a translation. The original, in Arabic, fell into Cromer’s hands here in Cairo. It describes a plan for an uprising in August.’
‘Uprising? What uprising?’
They have both come to a stop and Anna’s hands are on her husband’s arm, her eyes searching his face:
‘Sharif? You would have told me?’
‘What are you saying? What uprising?’
‘A nationalist uprising.’
‘There is no such thing. Come, read me the letter.’ He walks her into the house. ‘Come in here. And for God’s sake, don’t look so frightened.’
They go into Sharif Basha’s study. He makes Anna sit in an easy chair and pours her a glass of water.
‘Now. Translate for me. Barrington’s letter first.’
‘ “Dear Anna. I am writing in haste because you should have this immediately. This letter was forwarded to the Foreign Office in support of Lord Cromer’s request for reinforcements in Egypt. It is meant to be a translation of a letter in Arabic that was given to the Oriental Secretary by one of his native spies. For me it does not ring true but I could be mistaken. Show it to your husband.” ‘
‘Now the letter.’
‘ “To the Branch of the Fair Tree, the Light Rain of the Generous Cloud, the Son and Daughter of the Prophet — ” ’
‘The what?’
‘ “The Son and Daughter of the Prophet”.’
‘This is nonsense.’
‘Well, if it has been translated from Arabic into English and now I am translating it into French —’
‘It is still nonsense.’
‘So there is no uprising?’
‘Anna, darling. An uprising with what? The army is scattered in the Sudan. The man in the street? The fallaheen? Where is the organisation? Our spirits have never been at lower ebb since ‘82. And the Porte has just shown it cannot support its own positions, let alone ours. Do you think we are mad?’
‘No. No, I know
you
are not mad. But there are others —’
‘Give me the letter. I shall have it translated back into Arabic’
‘But Sharif —’
‘Don’t worry. I shall tell no one how I came by it.
Barrington’s name will not be mentioned at all. You keep his letter. And thank him on my behalf. And please — look, come here —’
He pulls her to her feet, sits her down on the diwan and sits close by her. He puts his hand under her chin and tilts her face so that she looks into his eyes. ‘Do you think I would be part of any plan that must jeopardise all our lives? Do you think I would do such a thing and not tell you?’
‘No,’ Anna shakes her head but her eyes fill with tears.
‘What then? Do you think something like this can be planned without my knowing about it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes?’ He is surprised.
‘Oh, Sharif!’ The tears come flooding. ‘People can do things without telling you. You think they won’t but they can. It is not only the British who dislike you. The Khedive does not like you, you have turned down government posts, resigned from the Council, you were a friend of Sheikh MuhammadAbdu —’ Anna’s voice is choked with her tears. ‘The Turks know that you want Egypt independent from them, and now you are also involved in Shukri’s campaign against the settlements in Palestine. The Islamists hate you for your position on education. We
know
there are more radical nationalists who think your way is too cautious, too slow. And there must be people who do not believe you can be married to me and yet have nothing to do with the British, who suspect you of playing a double game —’
