Omm Husni came to see him as was her wont. She presented him with a jar of pickled lemons and sat down on the settee eyeing him carefully and making him curious. She slapped her knee suddenly and said, “By the holy Husayn, your loneliness makes me sad…”
He smiled impassively.
“Are you not aware you’re growing old?” she said.
“Of course I am, Omm Husni.”
“And that nothing is more treacherous than the passing years?”
“You’re right.”
“Where are your children to keep you company?”
“In the realm of the unknown.” He kept quiet for a short while, then said, laughing, “The matchmaker’s instinct is stirring in you, Omm Husni…”
She laughed and said, “Listen, I’ve got something special…”
In spite of his restraint, the conversation with its engaging air of mystery attracted him.
“You’ve always got something special.”
“A pretty, middle-aged widow,” she said hopefully. “A sensible woman. The daughter of the late sheikh of the quarter.”
“Eh?”
“She’s got one daughter. Fourteen years old.”
“They’re two women then, not one…”
“The girl will live with her uncle. You can be assured of that.”
“Great!”
“She is a house owner.”
“Really?”
“In Birjwan. It’s got a garden with a mulberry tree.” She stared at him with her poor eyes to assess the impression her words made. She imagined he was pleased and added, “You’ll see her for yourself.”
Omm Husni pointed her out to him in al-Sikka al-Jadida. She had a coat on, but he could tell from the slow and swaying way she walked that she had learned it from wearing the long native wrap. She was short and plump with a round face and black hair. She aroused a primitive desire in him. Like Qadriyya. Maybe she was cleaner, he thought, but her troubles were immeasurably greater. He felt sorry for Omm Husni, who knew so little about him despite their long familiarity. How could she grasp what it meant to be an auditor and translator in the Budget Department? Humankind began from clay and was then expected to take up its place among the stars; and that was its tragedy.
“What do you think?” said Omm Husni.
“She’s a fine woman,” he replied, smiling. “You’re still an expert.”
“Shall I get on with it?”
“No,” he answered calmly.
“Didn’t you say she was a fine woman?”
“But she isn’t a fit wife for me.”
The old woman proved to be more obstinate than he thought, for one afternoon she came to him and said, “What a happy coincidence: Madame Saniyya’s come to see me.”
His primitive desire was aroused and he yielded to a transient weakness. Omm Husni repeated with fresh emphasis, “She’s come to visit me…”
“Maybe she will come to visit me too,” he said mischievously.
“You could come down if you wished…” she said as she was going.
He did go down, without hesitation. As silence prevailed, Omm Husni was able to go on chattering nonstop. Othman remembered that he had never talked to anyone seriously except to Sayyida.
“This is an honor…” he was obliged to say.
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
“It’s cold today.”
“Yes.”
Omm Husni said to her, “Have you finished redecorating your house?”
She nodded.
Omm Husni also tried to bring him around to talking about his official position but he wouldn’t. He was inflamed with desire, but it was desire without hope. Finally Saniyya made as if to go and he got up at once, said goodbye, and left. But instead of going upstairs to his flat he went downstairs and waited below with a daring plan in his mind. He heard her footsteps as she came down the stairs. She was surprised to see him. He feigned surprise as well and said, “Nice meeting you…”
He made way for her and whispered as she went past him, “Would you care for a cup of tea upstairs?”
“No, thank you,” she said hurriedly.
“Please, I’ve got something to say…”
“No,” she said, protesting.
She went away as fast as she could. He had rushed things, he thought, his limbs trembling with desire. How on earth could he have imagined that she would accept! But what was to be done with sexual desire, impatience, and human frailty? He climbed the stairs, ashamed and infuriated. He would remain an adolescent, he told himself, until he settled down in a respectable family.