He almost abandoned his studies. If it hadn’t been for his fear of failing, he wouldn’t have gone to college at all. His teachers were astonished by the alarming drop in his grades, though some of them continued to give Hisham good marks because of his excellent reputation. He took to visiting Suwayr almost daily. They would just talk and relax in each other’s arms, without going to bed. Suwayr sometimes tried to tempt him, but he had lost all his desire. Once he tried to make love, but couldn’t do it, which just compounded his existing anxiety. He kept away from Raqiyya, whose wild triangle no longer aroused him at all. Conflicting feelings ripped him apart internally, but Suwayr seemed as calm as he was fraught; her eyes radiated happiness. She seemed happier than at any other time during her life. Whenever she opened the door to him she wore a radiant smile, and she glowed with pleasure whenever she stroked her belly, gazing at him and smiling with the happiness of a child promised a gift. They sat and talked for hour after hour about anything that came to mind. In fact, Hisham did most of the talking. Suwayr would prop her head against his shoulder, take his palm between her hands, and lie with her legs stretched out before her. From time to time she would run his palm over her belly or kiss him as she savoured the smell of his neck.
These were fleeting moments of relaxation for Hisham, the only ones granted him since discovering the new life forming inside Suwayr. When he dragged himself away, as soon as her door shut behind him, he returned to his personal hell. Even sitting and chatting with Muhaysin, Muhammad and Dais had lost its charm. However much life bustled around him, he felt lonely wherever he went. Nothing interested him any longer. He felt he had aged internally, that he was now more than a hundred years old and his life had gone on far too long. The only thing he looked forward to now was the call to afternoon prayers, which signalled that he could go to Suwayr’s house afterwards. Sweat was his nightly companion, soaking him until he lost consciousness and slept without knowing how or where. Muhaysin warned him of the dangers of excess, both financially and physically, but Hisham just raised a glass in his face, cackled nervously and said:
‘Your health! Cheers! A la vôtre! Who cares!’
Hamad, who supplied him with drink, also warned him of the likely consequences of excess, but Hisham made no effort to listen to either of them. Drink gave him some comfort, though by the time he woke up this had transformed into terrible sadness, with the result that he turned to alcohol again. Intoxication no longer made his veins pulsate with sexual desire, or filled his head with delicious musings. Rather, he indulged the exquisite melancholy that gripped every atom of his soul. Sometimes the first glass would stimulate desire in him, but later glasses filled his mind with a terrifying image that drove out all other thoughts: his mother’s eyes, Suwayr’s belly, Noura’s lips, Raqiyya’s bottom and Moudhi’s hand merged into a weird whole that really frightened him. Suddenly, Suwayr’s belly burst open and blood spilled over Raqiyya’s bottom and Moudhi’s hand, then Suwayr started to lick the blood from Raqiyya’s bottom and Moudhi looked at her hand and screamed. Then she licked her hand, laughing, while red tears flowed from his mother’s eyes. Her face had become a lifeless waxwork, ghostly white. Noura’s lips grew so bloated that her whole face became just two giant lips, and she laughed hysterically as she approached him, trying to kiss him. He would back away as she pursued him, still laughing.
With every cup he drank, his sorrow grew, and with it grew his self-indulgence. When he reached the dregs, he raised his cup in the air to shout, ‘A la vôtre, Françoise Sagan! Bonjour, Tristesse!’ Sometimes, Muhaysin would come to his room and join him in a glass or two, but he soon left, shaking his head over his friend, now living in another dimension. Several times Muhaysin tried to find out what had happened; but Hisham wouldn’t speak and stayed silent, smoking and drinking. Even the tears refused to fall from his eyes, though he had a great need for them.