The Wedding of Zein (14 page)

The Talha people came along to the very last man, as the saying goes, and Ahmed Isma'il looked after them and found them quarters. He tied up their riding animals and brought them fodder, then ordered food and drink to be supplied to them.

People came from up river and people came from down river.

People came across the Nile in boats; they came from the fringe villages, on horses and donkeys and in lorries, and they were put up group by group. In every house there was a party of them and they were waited on by members of ‘the gang', for this was their day: they had made every preparation for it down to the smallest detail. They touched no food and tasted no drink till the people had eaten and drunk.

A solitary ululation followed by a series; a single murmuring drum followed by many drums with echoing voices. The men waved their hands and shook their sticks and swords, while the Omda fired off five shots from his rifle. Amna said to Saadiya: ‘I hope you have enough food for all this lot.' Saadiya said nothing.

Camels and oxen were slaughtered. Herds of sheep were placed on their sides and their throats slit. Everyone who came ate and drank till he had had his fill.

Zein was like a cock—indeed, as resplendent as a peacock. They had dressed him up in a
kaftan
of white silk which they had encircled with a green sash, and over it all he wore an
aba
of blue velvet, so full and flowing that when it was caught by the wind it looked like a sail. On his head he had a large turban that slanted forwards slightly. In his hands he carried a long-crocodile leather whip and on his finger he wore a gold ring in the shape of a snake that sparkled in the light of the sun by day and shone under the glare of the lamps by night, for in its head was set a ruby. He was intoxicated, without having drunk, from the great din and clamour around him. He smiled and laughed, coming and going among the people, swinging his whip, springing into the air, patting this man on the shoulder, pulling that by the hand, spurring someone on to eat more, and swearing to another he would divorce his wife if the other didn't have another drink.

‘Now you've become a man,' Mahjoub told him. ‘Your swearing to divorce has at long last got some meaning.'

The town's merchants came, as did its government employees, its notables and leading men. There attended too the gipsies who camped out in the forest.

The best singers and the best dancers, drummers and
tunbour
players had all been brought along. Fattouma, the most famous singer to the west of the Nile, sang in her stirring voice:

They dragged Zein along and pushed him in among the dancers. He swung his whip above the singer and placed a pound note on her forehead. The ululations exploded like gushing springs of water.

Contradictions came together during those days. The girls of ‘the Oasis' sang and danced in the hearing and under the very eyes of the Imam. The Sheikhs were reciting the Koran in house, the girls danced and sang in another; the professional chanters rapped their tambourines in one house, the young men drank in another: it was like a whole collection of weddings. Zein's mother joined in with the dancers and likewise took part in the chanting. Stopping for a moment to listen to the Koran, she would then hurry out to where the food was being cooked, urging the women on in their work, running from place to place as she called out, ‘Spread the good news! Spread the good news!'

Said Haleema, the seller of milk, so as to annoy Amna: ‘What a joyful wedding it is!'

The drums gave out brisk, staccato beats. Fattouma sang:

The men stood in a large circle round a girl dancing in the centre. Her head-dress had fallen down and her chest was thrust forward so that her breasts stuck out. She danced like a waddling goose walking, her arms at her sides, moving in harmony with her head, chest and legs. The men clapped and struck the ground with their feet, making whinnying noises in their throats. The circle around the girl tightened and she tossed her perfumed and loosely combed hair into the face of one of the men. Then the circle widened again. The ululations swelled and surged, the clapping became more vehement, the rapping of feet on the ground louder, as the song poured forth, smooth and urgent, from Fattouma's throat:

Ibrahim and Taha, intoxicated by the singing, called out: ‘Ah, let's have it again, God bless you.'

Ashmana the Dumb danced, Mousa the Lame clapped, while the beating of the drums soon slowed down and became a muffled humming: they were beating out the Jabudi rhythm. The whinnying noises that came from the men's throats grew louder and Salama entered the dance circle. She moved about, circling round and strutting proudly like a filly; she was the best one at dancing the Jabudi and many were her admirers as their eyes followed her and she slithered away from them like a fish in water. The crowd round the dance circle grew more dense, the clapping increased and the men's voices blared out when Zein entered the circle. This time he entered of his own accord; for a long while he swayed above Salama as she struck at him with her long hair that hung down over her shoulders, and beckoned to him with her eyes. The Imam, who was sitting in a group of men in Hajj Ibrahim's
diwan
overlooking the courtyard of the house, happened to turn round and his gaze alighted upon Salama as she performed her dance; he saw her prominent breasts, her large rump shaking and quivering as she stamped on the floor like two halves of a water-melon with a valley between them into which her dress slipped. In her dance Salama bent over so far that her body assumed the shape of a circle, her hair touched the ground, her breasts became even more exposed and her buttocks bulged out more than ever. The Imam caught sight of her right leg and part of her plump thigh as the dress was drawn back, and as he turned to the person he was talking to his eyes were as cloudy as turgid water.

‘Ayyouyyouyouya' This was Haleema, the seller of milk, ululating in hopes of benefits to be gained from the families of the two spouses.

The drumbeats changed to those of the Arda: two swift beats followed by a single one. The men began prancing about in the manner of horses and the Koz bedouin crowded on to the dance floor, leaping about and shouting and cracking their whips: men of short stature with knotted muscles and bodies that were supple, delicate and earth-coloured, men who lived off camel's milk and the flesh of gazelles. Each of them was dressed in a robe tied round at the waist, the ends slung across the shoulders. As they leapt into the air their bodies glistened in the sunlight. On their feet they wore slippers and bound to the arm of each was a scabbard containing a knife. The voices of the dancers and the beating of the drums, blending with the sound of the tambourines and the religious chanting, all became merged in the adjoining house where another gathering had collected, also in the form of a circle, in which two men revolved, each holding a tambourine. One of them was Kortawi, recognised as the leading local chanter. He was declaiming:

People's eyes filled with tears and some broke into sobs, especially those who had performed the pilgrimage and visited Mecca, Medina, and the other places described by the chanter. The man continued chanting with that certain huskiness for which he was famed.

The ululations of the women in the circle of chanters mingled with those of the women on the dance floor. Sometimes a group from the dance floor would move across to the chanters' circle. In the former place their feet would be set in motion, their zeal fired; in the latter their eyes would water with tears. So, too, a group would move from the chanters' circle to the dance floor, making a migration from religious rapture to clamour. Suddenly Mahjoub was alerted.

‘Where is Zein?'

Like the rest of his ‘gang' he had been busily engaged in organising the wedding feast and Zein had disappeared from his sight.

He asked everyone else, but they all said they had not seen Zein for about two hours. Abdul Hafeez said he remembered last seeing him listening to the chanters.

They began looking for him, though without attracting anyone's attention for fear of upsetting the others. They did not find him with the group congregated with the Imam in the large
diwan
; he was neither in the circle of chanters, nor with any of the dance groups scattered throughout the houses. They entered the kitchens, where the women were busy in front of the ovens and cooking-pots, but Zein was not there. At this they were overcome with alarm, for there was no knowing what Zein might do—he could well forget all about the wedding and just vanish. They split up in their search for him and left no place untouched. Some of them struck into the desert that lay opposite the quarter, while others went in the direction of the fields, right up to the Nile bank. They entered the houses, going through them house by house; they looked under the trunk of every date palm, every tree.

There remained only the mosque, though never in his life had Zein entered it. The time by now was early night: a night of dense darkness. The mosque was quiet and empty. The light from the wedding lamps streamed in through the windows in lozenges of brightness, some of which were reflected on the carpets, some on the ceiling, some on the prayer niche. They stood listening, but heard not a sound except for those that reached them from the wedding party. They called his name and searched in the corners and halls of the mosque, but Zein was nowhere to be found.

They lost hope: he must have taken himself off. But where to, with the whole village congregated together in one place?

Suddenly an idea struck Mahjoub. ‘The cemetery!' he shouted. They did not believe it. What would Zein be doing in the cemetery at that time of night? But when Mahjoub went off ahead, they followed him.

They walked in silence behind Mahjoub among the graves, with the sounds of singing and ululation coming to them, loud and distinct, then low and distant. The place was a wasteland except for
salam
acacia and
sayal
trees scattered among the graves. The gaps between their branches were filled with darkness so that they looked like squatting phantoms. The domes erected above the graves of the holy men were like ships on ocean waves. The large tomb in the middle looked mysterious and forbidding. Suddenly Mahjoub stopped and said to them, ‘Listen.' At first they heard nothing, but when they listened closely there was a faint sound of sobbing.

Mahjoub moved forward, the others following him, till he came to a stop above a squatting phantom form at Haneen's grave.

‘Zein, what brought you here?' said Mahjoub.

Zein made no reply, but his weeping increased till it became a high-pitched wailing.

For a while they stood watching him in bewilderment, then Zein said in a broken voice choked with tears: ‘If he hadn't died our revered father Haneen would have attended the wedding.'

Mahjoub placed his hand gently on Zein's shoulder. ‘May God have mercy upon him,' he said. ‘He was a man blessed of God. But tonight's your wedding night and no man cries on his wedding night. Come, let's go.'

Zein got up and went off with them.

They arrived at the large house where most of the people were assembled and were met by the great din. At first their eyes were blinded by the bright light coming from the tens of lamps. Fattouma was singing, the drums were roaring, and in the centre there danced a girl surrounded by a great circle of tens of men clapping and stamping and making whinnying noises in their throats. Zein slipped through, gave a high leap into the air, and came down in the centre of the circle. The light from the lamps illuminated his face still wet with tears. His hand outstretched above the dancer's head, he shouted out at the top of his voice: ‘Make known the good news! Make known the good news!'

The place bubbled with excitement like a boiling cauldron, Zein having transfused into it new energy. The circle of men widened and narrowed, widened and narrowed, the voices growing fainter and then rising again to a pitch, the drum thundering and raging, while Zein stood, tall and thin, in his place at the heart of the circle, like the mast of a ship.