Adham discovered in Umaima a happiness he had never known before. Being naive, he expressed it in everything he said and did until his brothers made fun of him. At the close of each prayer he extended his hands, palms upward, and rejoiced, “Praise the Lord of Grace; praise Him for my father’s contentment; praise Him for my wife’s love; praise Him for the station I enjoy, in place of those more deserving; praise Him for my garden, song, flute and companion.” All the women in the mansion said that Umaima was a good wife. She looked after her husband as if he were her son, loved and served her mother-in-law and the rest of her in-laws too, and kept her home as spotlessly clean as though it were a part of her own body. Adham was a husband whose heart overflowed with love and companionship. Running the estate had always detracted from his innocent fun in the garden, and now love consumed the rest of his day, and overwhelmed him so that he did not even think of himself. The blissful days passed, lasting longer than the cynical Ridwan, Abbas and Galil might have wished, eventually giving way to a profound serenity, as a raging downhill stream ends in a placid river. Wonderment returned to Adham’s heart; he felt that time did not pass in a flash, that night followed day, that intimate conversation lost all its meaning if it lasted forever, that the garden was a true delight too good to leave, and yet that none of this meant that his heart was straying from Umaima. His heart was still all hers, but life has phases one recognizes only day by day. He went back to his favorite spot by the brook, and gazed kindly and almost pleadingly around at the flowers and birds. Umaima had followed him, radiantly lovely, and sat beside him.
“I was watching from the window to see what was holding you up. Why didn’t you ask me to come down too?”
“I didn’t want to bother you.” He smiled.
“Bother me? I love this garden. Do you remember how we first met here?”
He took her hand in his, resting his head against a palm trunk, and lifted his gaze to the branches and the sky between them. Umaima was again telling him how much she loved the garden. The more intent he was upon silence, the more she talked, for she hated silence as much as she loved the garden, and her sweetest words were reserved for praising their life within it. Then she went on at length about recent goings-on in the mansion, especially as concerned her three sisters-in-law. Then she lowered her voice almost reprovingly. “Are you there, Adham?”
He smiled. “Aren’t you always in my heart?”
“But you aren’t listening to me.”
That was true. He had not welcomed her appearance but it did not bother him. If she had tried to leave, he would have earnestly persuaded her not to. He truly felt her to be a part of him.
“I love this garden,” he said apologetically. “Before I met you, sitting here was the sweetest thing I knew. Its lofty trees and rushing brooks and twittering birds all know me as much as I know them, and I want you to love them as much as I do. Have you seen what the sky looks like through the branches?”
She raised her eyes for a moment and then smiled at him. “It really is beautiful, and deserves to be the thing you love most in life.”
Adham saw the implicit reproof in her words and hastily replied, “That was before I knew you.”
“And now?”
He squeezed her hand tenderly. “You make its beauty complete.”
She looked at him. “It’s a good thing it doesn’t get jealous when you spend time with me.”
Adham laughed and pulled her toward him until her cheek was against his lips. “Aren’t these flowers more interesting than my brothers’ wives?”
“The flowers are more beautiful,” said Umaima seriously, “but your brothers’ wives talk about nothing but you, your running of the estate—always the estate!—your father’s confidence in you, and so on and on and on.”
Adham frowned, suddenly far from the garden. “They’re into everything!”
“I really worry about the evil eye on you.”
“God damn the estate!” said Adham. “It weighs me down, turns people against me and makes me lose sleep! Who wants it!”
She put a finger to his lips. “Don’t be ungrateful for good things, Adham. Running the estate is an important responsibility, and might open new doors to us we haven’t even dreamed of.”
“All it’s brought so far is trouble. And look at Idris.”
She smiled, but her smile did not express delight as much as it underlined the deep worry so conspicuous in her eyes.
“Look at our future the same way you look at the branches and the sky and the birds,” she said.
Umaima diligently kept by his side in the garden, only rarely falling silent; he had grown accustomed to her, and listened with only half his attention, or less. Whenever he liked he picked up his flute and played whatever music came to him. He could say, in perfect contentment, that everything was good; he had even gotten used to Idris’ mischief. But his mother’s sickness grew more serious, and she suffered pains she had never known before, to his intense grief. She often called him to her side to pray lavishly over him, and once begged him to “pray to the Lord to deliver you from evil and guide you to the right path.” She did not let him leave, but wailed and lectured him and reminded him of her last wishes until she died in his arms. Adham wept for her and so did Umaima. Gabalawi came and looked at her wearily, then solemnly shrouded her up, his hard eyes shining with desperate sorrow.
No sooner had Adham gone back to his old familiar ways than an abrupt change came over Umaima. He did not understand it. It started when she stopped spending time with him in the garden, which did not please him as he had sometimes imagined it might. When he asked her why she stayed away, she gave him any excuse—work, or weariness. He noticed that she no longer greeted him with her former excitement; when he greeted her, she responded without any real joy, as if she were only showing courtesy—a bothersome courtesy. What was wrong? He had already experienced something similar himself, but his love had held, and he got past it. He might have become stern with her, and was sometimes tempted to, but was held back by her fragility and pallor, and her own incredible gentleness toward him. Sometimes she seemed sad, sometimes confused, and once he caught such a fugitive look in her eye that he felt a wave of fear and exasperation at the same time. He told himself, “Be patient with her—either she’ll improve, or she can go to Hell!”
He went to see Gabalawi in his office, to show him the month’s final accounts. His father gave them a cursory glance and asked him, “What’s the matter?”
Adham raised his head in surprise. “Nothing, Father.”
The man narrowed his eyes to slits and murmured, “Tell me about Umaima.”
His glance fell under his father’s penetrating stare. “She’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Tell me what is on your mind,” said Gabalawi with a hint of irritation.
Adham was silent for a long moment, fully believing that his father would find out everything, so he admitted: “She’s very changed. She seems afraid of me.”
A strange glint appeared in Gabalawi’s eyes. “Are you two having trouble?”
“Nothing.”
Gabalawi looked at him delightedly. “Stupid! Treat her gently, and don’t go near her until she asks you. You are going to be a father.”