The Mirage (39 page)

I think I now realized why, even in my most untainted moments of happiness, I’d never been free of a certain sense of angst. Had my heart been catching glimpses of what fate had in store for me beyond the curtain of the unknown? At the same time, I didn’t want to go to excess in my pessimism, since I knew that what was concealed from me might be other than what I’d expected, and that I might find the peace and assurance I longed for in what was yet unseen.

What was I to do, then? The right thing to do, I decided, was to ask for a vacation from the ministry, then devote myself entirely to surveillance from a vantage point no one else would know about. Would it be a trivial or easy thing for me to spy on Rabab? On the contrary, it would be agony for me! But nothing can compare to the agony of suspicion.

I
set to work with an ache in my heart that only God knew. We went out together as was our custom every morning and got on the tram together. Then I got off at the ministry stop, hailed a taxi, and instructed the driver to take me to Abbasiya. I got to her place of work before she did in order to set myself up in a spot that would be well suited for surveillance. The kindergarten was located on Kamal Street, which branches off the main road to the left. Once one turned onto Kamal Street, one passed two houses, and the school was the third building on the right. As I stood at the tram stop scrutinizing my surroundings, I saw a side street that branched off the main road in the opposite direction to Kamal Street. At the intersection between this street and the main road there was a small coffee shop. If I sat there, I thought, I’d have a good view of the school from a distance and be able to watch my wife as she came and went. So I made my way to the coffee shop, whose entrance opened onto the side street, and chose a seat next to the
entrance from which I could see what I wanted to see. At the same time, I’d be able to disappear from view if need be by moving my chair back a bit. It only took one glance to see how lowly the place was. Its tables were old and its chairs were faded and decrepit, while its patrons were all Nubians. However, none of this bothered me. On the contrary, I found it reassuring. I sat down, not taking my eyes off Kamal Street for a moment. Whenever a tram came by from the city, I snapped to attention. I wasn’t kept waiting long, since I soon saw my wife crossing the street, looking right and left to avoid the vehicles that filled the roadway. After reaching the sidewalk on Kamal Street, she walked along in her pin-striped, lead-gray coat with her tall, svelte frame, her charming, refined gait, and her usual modesty and endearing poise. And as she turned to go into the school, the gatekeeper rose respectfully.

I was pained and ashamed to be in the position I was in, and my feverish, cynical heart was softened with sympathy and affection as I thought back on how I’d been dazzled by this same regal beauty the first time I saw her. O God, I prayed, If my beloved is an angel, then consume me with Your vengeance, and if she’s a demon, then consume us all. And consume the world along with us, since in such an eventuality, there wouldn’t be anything on earth worthy of Your mercy. Lifting my eyes heavenward, I murmured, “O Lord! If You’ve willed to allow the poison of treachery to penetrate the depths of this beauty, then forgive me my madness!”

I examined the street before me, wondering in dread: In a few hours, will I be seeing someone standing and waiting somewhere along this street? Will I see the two of them exchanging a signal or a smile, or see one of them following the other? And if this thunderbolt were to strike my
head, what on earth would I do? I imagined the catastrophe as though it had actually taken place, and my body trembled with rage and terror. I kept imagining it until it had taken on flesh before my very eyes. Then again I asked myself what I would do. There’s nothing easier than heroism, victory, and displays of strength in one’s daydreams. Even so, my imagination didn’t provide me with even a glimpse of any of them. It may have felt up against a wall, since the danger that threatened it wasn’t far enough away to be enjoyed as a mere dream. On the contrary, it was near enough actually to materialize. Consequently, it stifled dreams, and the hideous situation presented itself before me as though it were actually happening. I visualized it with a timorous heart and a soul on the verge of collapse. The enemy appeared to me as a real person on a street teeming with passersby, but my imagination didn’t enable me to stand up to him openly, announce my scandal to the world, or embroil myself in a battle I was certain to lose. Imagine a betrayed husband lying flat on his back after being punched in the nose by his betrayer! Damn me! How I loathed my weakness at that moment! I felt the rage of someone who’d like to level a mountain, and I sighed the sigh of someone who’s too weak to lift so much as a pebble. Yet I had no choice but to act. After all, could I see Rabab with the one who’d penned the letter and then just stand there with my hands tied? Impossible! Rather, let me assail my rival, come what may. Either that, or content myself with witnessing the crime, then wait till she comes home and say to her with calm disdain, “I saw everything with my own eyes. Now back with you to your parents’ house!” Why on earth had I done this crazy thing? Why had I gotten married? People like me shouldn’t marry.

Just then there was an outburst of uproarious laughter in the coffee shop that extricated me from my daydreams, and I came to my senses weary as a sick man. I glanced over at the black faces engrossed in never-ending chitchat with their strange, excited voices, then I looked in front of me to find that my cup of coffee was still untouched. I brought it to my lips and took a few cold sips, then looked back at the street until my eyes came to rest on the entrance to the kindergarten. Rabab would be peacefully engaged in her work right now. And who knows? I thought. Maybe all this terror will lead to nothing, in which case I might think back with chagrin on this situation some day. Would those limpid, innocent eyes lie? Could that unsullied heart ever be guilty of treachery? The minutes dragged by in relentless thought until I was roused from my reverie by the clattering sound of a window being opened. I turned instinctively to look across the street, and what should I find but a woman looking out a window on the second floor of a large building. She may have been surprised to find a gentleman like me sitting in the Nubians’ coffee shop, since she was looking my direction with interest. There was a boldness in her gaze that caused me to look away bashfully. And although I didn’t look at her for more than a few moments, I nevertheless came away with a vivid image of her homely face and her well-endowed bosom. A feeling of anxiety came over me, since the window directly overlooked the place where I was sitting. I looked up warily to find her smoking a cigarette and looking at something in front of her on the windowsill. Emboldened by the fact that she’d looked away from me, I took a long look at her. She looked to be over forty, though I was no good generally at guessing people’s ages, and despite her stylishness
and the makeup she was wearing, she was uglier than she was pretty. She had a round, thickish face and protruding eyes with heavy eyelids, a short, flat nose, full lips, rounded, puffy cheeks, and shiny, kinky hair. A short while later she disappeared from the window and my anxiety abated. However, the door leading onto a balcony next to the window then opened wide, and out she came dragging a chair. She stood for a while resting her elbow on the edge of the balcony, allowing me to see her short, stout body. Then she sat down on the chair and crossed one leg over the other. The balcony was closer to the main street than the window was, which made it possible for me to see whoever was standing or sitting on it without needing to turn my head. I began stealing glances at her plump, dark legs and her bright red slippers. Her presence delivered me from the hellish torrent of thoughts going through my head, albeit in a way that gripped me with an unexpected disquiet. She began exhaling smoke through her thick lips and looking around her. Whenever her glance came my way, she examined me with such consummate daring that I could feel my face flush with embarrassment. Awkward and uncomfortable, I wondered: When is she going to disappear? I was flustered by her insistent staring into my face, which had another, peculiar effect on me as well. It was an effect not without an element of guarded satisfaction and a sexual tension the reason for which I couldn’t discern. Whenever I looked in her direction, she would turn her head toward me and cast me a shameless, penetrating look. It was as though she could see with her ears, or as though she was endowed with a sixth sense that made her aware of glances being directed at her from any and all directions. Consequently, I began to feel wary and apprehensive. Careful not
to look in her direction anymore, I began to wonder how long this disquiet and tension would stay with me.

Then suddenly her voice—which was full and melodic—rang out as though she were addressing someone in the street. “I’m coming, Mama!” she said, whereupon she got up and went inside. I couldn’t help but smile to myself in a combination of surprise and disapproval. I was taken aback to hear her say, “Mama,” since she was clearly beyond the days of her youth. And I was amazed that, for no particular reason, she would answer her mother’s call in a voice that could be heard all the way down the street. She could simply have gone to her without saying a word, or addressed her mother after going into the room where she was. Consequently, she struck me as being not only brazen, but a bit eccentric, someone who’s fond of appearances and attracting attention while disregarding the most patent laws of common sense. Glad to have her gone and to be free from her intrusive gaze, I returned to myself, and to the street I was keeping watch over until the day was over. The time crept by tediously, and I started to get bored. Wouldn’t it be better for me to wander here and there until it was nearly time for the kindergarten to let out? But what was to guarantee that things wouldn’t happen during my absence? So then, I thought, let me remain hostage to this seat of mine till the inevitable happens. I stayed where I was, patiently enduring the ordeal minute by minute. Then I heard a noise coming from the balcony. I looked up and saw the woman move her chair to a sunny spot on the balcony, then sit down again. She happened to glance over at the coffee shop, and when her eyes fell on me, a look of curiosity and incredulity appeared on her face, as though she were wondering what would have led
me to go on sitting in such a wretched coffee shop all this time. In her usual unabashed way, she made a point of letting me see how astonished she was. All that was left now was for her to ask me what was keeping me in my seat. She lit a cigarette, then began smoking with relish and amusing herself by looking over at me from time to time. Determined to focus my attention on the purpose for which I’d come, I looked at the street. However, my feelings were occupied elsewhere. I no longer had the will to resist the temptation to look up. I felt terribly shy and awkward since, given the narrowness of the street, I felt as though this woman and I were in a single room together. At the same time, I derived a certain satisfaction from finding myself the object of a woman’s attention for the first time in my life. By this time I was fully aware of the sexual tension that was being aroused by the woman’s uncomely face and chubby legs. And although her audacity bothered me, it nevertheless brought me a vague satisfaction. Perhaps it was a feeling of admiration that didn’t want to make itself known. And I wondered in astonishment: If all women were as bold as this one, would I have spent my past lonely and companionless? Without knowing why, I felt led to draw a comparison between this delightful audacity and the lovely decorum that characterized my beloved wife. However, I soon rejected the unseemly parallel, and was filled with anger and disgust.

The woman sat on the porch for an hour, then went back inside and closed the door. I heaved a sigh of relief and muttered, “May she never come back.” From then on I waited alone, and the time passed with exhausting tedium. I started amusing myself by watching the six or seven Nubians who were the only customers left in the place.
Three of them kept up their chatter, while the others sat motionless in their seats like bronze statues. When I looked at the main street, I would count the men and women passing by and note the trams coming and going. Whenever I heard the rumbling of a tram coming from afar I would try to guess whether it was No. 3 or No. 22 and whether it had an open car or a closed one, then I’d count up the number of times I’d been right and the number of times I’d been wrong. When it was time for the kindergarten to let out, I snapped to attention again, and my anxiety and trepidation intensified. My eyes went wandering over the street until they came to rest on the school door. My heart pounded like mad when I saw a group of schoolteachers leaving the kindergarten. They were followed by Rabab, accompanied by one of her colleagues. She made her way toward Abbasiya Street as the two of them talked and laughed. They parted on the main street, at which point the other girl went left and my wife went to the tram stop. When she was standing in such a way that she had her face toward the side street, I pulled my chair inside the coffee shop sufficiently to disappear from view. As I carefully scrutinized the sidewalk, my heart was pounding so hard, it nearly jumped out of my chest, since something told me that within moments I’d be receiving the death blow. There was a smattering of men and women waiting for the tram. However, my wife kept to the far end of the waiting area, standing modestly as was her wont and looking neither to one side nor to the other, apart from an occasional glance behind her shoulder in the direction her tram would be coming from. I saw nothing that looked the least suspicious. I didn’t take my eyes off her for a moment until the tram came and she got on, at which point I got up hurriedly,
hailed a taxi, got in, and asked the driver to follow the tram from a distance. I sat next to the left window, my eyes glued to the ladies’ compartment, until we’d reached Ataba. My wife got off the tram and crossed the square to the stop for tram No. 15, which goes through Roda. Meanwhile, I had the taxi go around and let me off near the Mouski section. Seeing her standing in the midst of a crowd, I began looking frantically at the circle of people immediately surrounding her. The tram arrived, she got on, and it took her away. I followed it stop after stop until it had reached the stop for our building, then I saw her get out and cross the street to go home. The taxi took me on to the next stop, at which point I got out and walked home. On my way there I felt a mixture of relief and shame, and I wondered uncertainly: Is my girl really innocent, or will I discover things tomorrow that I didn’t discover today?