As the days passed by, compounded of work in the office and wretchedness at home, secret longings took fire in his heart. It appeared that the universe had come to a standstill and that Abdullah Wajdi had become as immovable in the position of Director General as the Great Pyramid.
“There isn’t a flicker of hope!” he thought.
How would the miracle happen this time? There he was with only a few black hairs remaining on his head: his eyesight was now poor and he had to wear glasses, his digestive system had lost its usual rigor so that he had to use drugs for the first time in his life, and his back had grown humped from years of bending over a desk and taking no exercise.
“I’m still strong, thank God!” he would say to himself. And he would spend a long time looking at himself in the mirror, which was not his habit, and thinking, “I still look all right!”
At that time he had written a comprehensive book on employment regulations which caused a sensation in official circles. Despite his advancing age he continued to slave away both at his office work and on his translations—partly because he enjoyed it and partly as an escape from the burden of his marital life on the one hand and his emotional excitement, reckless and frivolous as he thought it, on the other.
“There’s no denying that the hour I spend with her looking at the mail every morning is my share of happiness!”
The exchange of greetings and smiles. Comments on work. Disguised flirtation. Discreet compliments on her hairstyle, her shoes, or her blouse. On one occasion he was admiring her hairstyle when she said, “I’m thinking of having it cut short.”
“No, no!” he protested.
She smiled at the warmth of his protest over something quite unconnected with administrative statutes.
“But…”
“Leave it as it is!” he interrupted.
“But the fashion…”
“I know nothing about the fashion, but I like it the way it is.”
She blushed. He studied her carefully but found no trace of displeasure in her face. He decided to put to use the lessons he had learned during the happier moments of his past. So one morning he presented her with a handsome little case. Radiya was taken aback.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“A small thing for a great occasion!”
“But…but how did you know?”
“Many happy returns.”
“In point of fact it really is my birthday.”
“Of course it is.”
“But…you’re so kind…I don’t deserve…”
“Say no more! With you, silence is more expressive!”
“I’m really grateful.”
“And I’m really happy!”
He sighed, gathered his strength, and then surrendered completely to his emotions. Without further thought he burst out, passionately and in dead earnest, “What can I do? I’m in love!”
She looked down, accepting his confession and happily surrendering to whatever it should bring.
“It is the last thing I ought to speak about,” he went on, “but what can I do?”
Her brown face flushed darker, but she stayed where she was sitting submissively as if waiting for more.
“I’m not a young man, as you see.” He was quiet for a long while and then went on: “And I’m married.” What was it he wanted? Perhaps what he didn’t want was to face the possibility of failure or in the end death, all alone; without the warmth of love and without children.
“But what can I do?” he said again. “I’m in love.”
Silence reigned again. Nothing mattered any longer and he asked her almost jokingly, “What do you say to that?”
She smiled and mumbled something indistinct.
“Maybe you think I’m selfish?”
“No, I don’t,” she whispered.
“Or senile?”
She laughed softly and answered, “Don’t do yourself an injustice!”
“What you say is very kind but what shall we do?” For the third time there was silence.
“I really do want to know what you think,” he said again.
“It’s a delicate situation and rather bewildering,” she said gravely. “And I don’t like to be inhuman or cruel.”
“Are you hinting at my wife?”
“That’s something you surely must consider.”
“Leave that to me, it’s my responsibility.”
“Very well.”
“But I want to know what you think apart from that.”
She was now in much better control of her emotions and said, “Haven’t I already made that clear in what I’ve been saying?”
“I’m so happy, Radiya, to hear that…It shows that my love for you has your blessing.”
“Yes, it does,” she said without hesitation. He was drunk with rapture.
“I don’t mind what happens now!” he said with royal abandon, and then added in a voice that pleaded for sympathy: “I must tell you that I have never known happiness.”
“Can that really be so?”
“I’ve had a difficult life and a miserable marriage!”
“You never gave me that impression.”
“How so?”
“You have always seemed such a wise person to me, and it’s my belief that wise people are happy people.”
“What an idea!”
“I’m sorry.”
“But your love makes me happy.”
He believed he had won the greatest prize of his life and that next to the power of almighty God, the power of love was the greatest.
Later on he went with her to her place in al-Sayyida Zaynab. She introduced him to her old spinster aunt. From the beginning it was obvious to him that the woman was not in favor of the marriage and she made her feelings only too clear. The matter was discussed from all aspects.
“Divorce your wife first!” she said.
But he rejected the idea, explaining apologetically that his wife “was ill.”
“You are an old man and an untrustworthy one,” she blurted out sharply.
Radiya rushed to his defense.
“Don’t be cross with my aunt!” she said.
“What do you propose to do?” asked the aunt after a while.
“I want our marriage to remain secret for a short period until the time is suitable to make it public.”
“Well, that’s a fine story, I must say!” cried the aunt. “And what do you think of that?” she asked, turning to Radiya.
“It’s something we have agreed on. I’m not very happy about it, but I haven’t turned it down.”
“Do as you please!” she shouted at her. “But the whole thing seems to me wicked and sinful.”
“Aunt!” screamed the girl.
“Are you trying to take advantage of us because we’re poor and have got no one to protect us?” said the aunt angrily, turning on Othman.
“I’ve known poverty and loneliness more than anyone,” retorted Othman, feeling exasperated for the first time.
“Then let each of you go your own way,” answered the aunt imploringly.
“We’ve already made up our minds to stay together,” came Radiya’s adamant reply.
“What can I do? God’s will be done!”
One month later the marriage took place in the aunt’s house. They bought furniture to suit their new life. Othman said to himself that life was a series of dreams and nightmares and that his last dream was the happiest of all. He would stay in Radiya’s flat until about midnight and then go back to Rawd al-Faraj, where Qadriyya, lost in her own world, never asked him where he had been or what he had been doing. Wisely he decided to postpone having children until he had made the marriage public, so that his new wife would not find herself in an embarrassing situation at the office.
In his overwhelming happiness he forgot how old he was and how totally bogged down were his hopes for the Director General’s position; and he forgot Qadriyya. He told himself that life had only been created as a stage for the performance of the wonders of Providence.