One night Adham was awakened by low cries. He floated a moment between sleep and waking before he recognized Umaima’s agonized moans of “Oh, my back! Oh, my belly!” He sat up and looked toward her.
“You’re always doing this now, and it turns out to be nothing. Light the candle.”
“Light it yourself,” she groaned. “This is really it.”
He got up and groped among the kitchen utensils for the candle, found and lit it and stuck it on their low table. In the feeble light, Umaima lay half propped on her elbows, groaning and raising her head to breathe with obvious difficulty.
“That’s what you think whenever you’re in pain,” the man said.
Her face fell. “No, this time I’m sure this is it.”
He helped her support her back against the wall of the hut.
“It will be this month, anyway. Can you hold on until I go to Gamaliya and get the midwife?”
“Be careful. What time is it now?”
Adham went outside to look at the sky, then said, “It’s almost daybreak. I’ll be quick.”
He set out walking briskly toward Gamaliya, and before long was threading his way through the blackness holding the hand of the elderly midwife to guide her. Umaima’s screams were shredding the silence as he neared the hut. His heart pounded and he lengthened his strides until the midwife protested.
They entered the hut together, and the midwife took off her cloak and spoke cheerfully to Umaima. “This is your happy ending—be patient and you’ll be fine.”
“How are you?” Adham asked.
“I’m almost dead from the pain,” she moaned. “My body is being broken apart—my bones are breaking—don’t leave me.”
“He’ll be fine waiting outside,” said the midwife.
Adham left the hut for the open air, and discerned a figure standing nearby, someone he recognized before he saw him clearly. His chest constricted, but Idris affected politeness.
“Is she in labor? The poor thing—my wife went through it not that long ago, but the pain doesn’t last. Then you take your luck, whatever fate has in store—that’s how I got Hind. She’s a sweet thing, but all she does is wet herself and cry. Take it easy.”
“It’s in God’s hands,” said Adham through clenched teeth.
Idris laughed harshly. “Did you get her the Gamaliya midwife?”
“Yes.”
“She’s a filthy, grasping old thing. We used her, and she cost too much, for what she did, so I kicked her out. She still curses me out every time I go past her house.”
“You shouldn’t treat people that way,” said Adham a little hesitantly.
“Little man, your father taught me to treat people badly.”
Umaima’s voice rose in a ragged scream, like an echo of the tearing going on inside her; Adham pressed his lips together to keep in what he wanted to say, then went worriedly over to the hut and called out in a gentle voice, “Be brave.”
“Be brave, Umaima,” Idris repeated very loudly.
Adham was concerned that his wife would hear Idris, but he swallowed his anger and said only, “I think we should stand farther away from the house.”
“Come home with me. I’ll give you tea, and we can watch Hind snore.”
But Adham moved away from his hut without heading toward Idris’, silently cursing his brother. Idris followed him.
“You’ll be a father before sunup,” said Idris. “It’s a big change, but one of the good things is that you can enjoy the kind of bond your father broke with such ease and empty-headedness.”
Adham gave voice to his exasperation: “You’re bothering me with that kind of talk.”
“What else do we have to talk about?”
Adham kept reluctantly silent for a few moments, then said almost pityingly, “Idris, why do you always follow me around when you know we’re not even friends?”
Idris burst into laughter. “You impudent boy! I was woken up from a deep sleep by your wife’s screaming, but I didn’t get mad. On the contrary, I came over to help you. Your father heard the screaming just as well as I did, but he just went back to sleep, like some heartless stranger.”
“We both know the fate he had in store for us,” said Adham crossly. “Can’t you ignore me the way I ignore you?”
“You hate me, Adham, not because I was the cause of your being kicked out—you hate me because I remind you of your weakness. What you hate in me is the reflection of your own sinfulness. I no longer have any excuse for hating you; in fact, now you are my comfort—you help me to forget. And remember, we’re neighbors, and the first living things in this desert. Our children will learn to walk here side by side.”
“You love to torment me.”
Idris did not reply for such a long time that Adham hoped the conversation was over, but then he asked, “Why can’t we get along?”
“Because I’m a peddler earning a living, and you’re a man whose hobbies are fighting and trouble.”
Umaima’s screams intensified and rose in pitch, and Adham raised his head imploringly, seeing suddenly that the darkness was lifting—that dawn was ascending over the mountain.
“How terrible pain is!” cried Adham.
“And how wonderful leisure is!” laughed Idris. “You were born to run the estate and play your flute.”
“Go ahead and laugh. I’m in pain.”
“Why? I thought your wife was the one in pain.”
“Just leave me alone!” yelled Adham, touchy with anxiety.
“Do you think you can become a father without paying a price?” asked Idris with maddening calm.
Adham exhaled but said nothing.
“You are wise,” said Idris sympathetically. “I came to offer you some work that could help make your descendants happy. What we hear happening in there is a beginning, not an end—our yearnings can only be satisfied by building a hill of noisy children over our heads—what do you think?”
“It’s nearly light—go and get some sleep.”
Sustained screams rose again, until Adham felt useless where he was and went back to the hut, now emerging from the dark. As he got there Umaima was letting out a deep sigh, like the end of a sad song.
“How are you?” he asked as he came to the door.
“Wait,” said the midwife. His heart was eager for relief, as the voice had a triumphant ring. Before long the woman appeared at the door.
“Two boys!”
“Twins?”
“God bless them both!”
Idris’ laughter rang out behind his back, and he heard him say, “Idris is now the proud father of a girl and uncle to two boys!”
He headed back to his hut, singing, “Where have luck and fortune gone? Tell me, Time, tell me.”
“Their mother would like to name them Qadri and Humam,” said the midwife.
Transported by joy, Adham murmured, “Qadri and Humam—Qadri and Humam.”