21

I HAD TO CHOOSE

Me or my father.

My happiness or his.

My love or his.

My life or his.

There wasn’t any other way. I couldn’t find a solution that would reconcile his happiness and mine. Kawthar and Samir had laid their ingenious plan without leaving me a way out.

Maybe the blame lay with me, since I’d covered up Kawthar’s betrayal. Kawthar knew I wasn’t covering up for her out of love for her or support for her cheating, but out of love for my father and my desire to keep him happy. She turned that love and determination back on me, as a weapon to swindle me out of my money and my life.

But what could I do?

Could I expose her? Bring the house down on her head, on my father and myself?

And why was God punishing me?

Was covering up her sin a crime that deserved this retribution?

Was that my only crime?

My life flashed through my mind like a movie. I watched my victims. The young man I’d lured to the house for the doorman to beat up. Kawthar herself, whose love for Medhat I’d destroyed—her first love. Then my friend Mervat, when I made up a story about her and told it to her mother. Then Auntie Safiya and my uncle, whose relationship with my father I cut off with a vile plot. And the nights I freed myself from all of society’s chains and spent in Mustafa’s arms. I even saw my doll that I destroyed when I was a child, as if it was one of my victims. And the servants I got fired. And Nanny Halima, whose love I blocked and who I treated harshly. Whenever an image of one of my victims passed through my mind, I felt like something inside me was screaming out in terror.

But I tried to atone.

I tried so hard, Lord.

So why do You not forgive me?

Maybe I was too clever for my own good and possessed an intelligence without principles. I didn’t have principles that I protected and that protected me.

That was it. I didn’t have any principles.

No one had tried to teach me principles. As a result, my intelligence was not guided by a moral compass. It set out alone, my impulses leading the way, my feelings of hatred, egotism, conceit, and jealousy. It meant I made mistakes and would go too far, and then I would fall and not be able to get up.

I had made a mistake when I picked Kawthar as a wife for my father.

This was a terrible error.

Regret wouldn’t do me any good. But should I give in to this mistake? Should I bear all its consequences without resistance?

Still sitting in my spot, I asked myself again: was Kawthar serious about her threat? Would she divorce my father if I didn’t marry Samir? Would she sacrifice all that my father provided her? And why? To marry Samir if I didn’t? But if she wanted to marry him, why was she letting him marry me?

I almost believed that Kawthar couldn’t be serious in her threat, but feared that if I didn’t marry Samir, he wouldn’t leave Kawthar alone. He’d push her until she divorced my father. What did he care if she divorced him? He could then marry her or not—it would make no difference to him. Even if my father didn’t divorce her, she’d ruin his life. She’d turn his life into hell. I knew her. She was capable of anything.

I felt my heart pounding as this terrifying nightmare crouched on my chest. I hid my eyes in my hands as if I was cowering before the knife she was brandishing. I didn’t want to see myself as a victim trampled under the feet of Kawthar and Samir, as they relished tearing me apart.

There was a severe pain in my head. Through this pain, I tried to think. I was trying to figure out what to do.

Why didn’t I leave my father? What would I do if this was his lot in the world? Why didn’t I reveal the truth and be done with it? Then I could rest. After that, let what would happen happen. But he was my father. More than that, he was my father and my mother. My father, who deprived himself of his youth until I was sixteen. He had lived for me—for me alone.

I remembered him carrying me to bed when I was a child. I remembered him reading books to me. I remembered him standing next to Nanny Halima as she changed my clothes. I remembered him worried when I was sick. I remembered the nights he spent by my bed until I fell asleep. I remembered him surrounding me with love and tenderness when I was a young girl and then a teenager. Every one of my days was a part of him.

I imagined him looking over me with his kind, handsome face, smiling at me with his sweet, innocent smile, looking at me with kind eyes. I heard the words he had told me that morning: “I love Kawthar. I love her more than you can imagine. I never thought I could love someone so much.”

Could I abandon him?

Could I open his eyes to the fantasy that he was living?

No. No, I couldn’t. Impossible. My love for him was stronger than for myself.

So . . .

I’ll abandon Mahmoud.

My love, Mahmoud.

I’ll abandon my love, my happiness. I’ll destroy all my dreams with my own two hands. I’ll leave the garden and throw myself into hell.

I felt as if my heart was being torn apart. I could almost hear the sound of my ribs being broken like pieces of kindling.

Mahmoud, the decent honorable man. The fortress I’d prepared to seek refuge from myself and the world. Could I sacrifice him now that I’d found him—this man I wanted as a husband?

Why, Lord?

Lord, are You there?

Where are You to show mercy on me, to save me?

I don’t know how long I spent in this state, but I woke up at the sound of the door opening and my father coming into my room.

He looked at me in surprise.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What are you doing? You still haven’t washed your face?”

“No, not yet,” I said. “I woke up tired. I got out of bed and came to sit down on this chair. I’ve been here ever since.”

“Okay. Go wash your face and come back,” he said, passing his hand over my hair as if trying to straighten my scattered locks. “I brought a surprise for you.”

He turned around.

“Kawthar!” he called. “Where are you, Kawthar? Kawthar!”

He left my room. I got up and I ran after him.

“Kawthar is having lunch today at her aunt’s,” I said, trying to keep my voice natural and calm. “Her mother called and said her aunt is sick. She went to her mother’s and they went together to go see her.”

I knew there wasn’t a phone at Kawthar’s aunt’s house.

“Very sick?” my father said, his eyes troubled, as if it was hard for him to be deprived of Kawthar for even one lunch.

“I don’t think so,” I said, avoiding his eyes.

“Why don’t we go check?”

“Why? There’s no need. You know Kawthar’s family. When one of them is a little sick, they all rush to see them.”

“She didn’t say when she’ll be back?”

“Right after lunch, I think.”

“Why don’t we go and get her now?” he said. “We need to plan what we’ll do for dinner. Samir is coming tonight.”

When he said Samir’s name, it felt like a slap in the face, but I collected myself.

“If we go now, they’ll keep us for lunch. It’s not worth it.”

My father sighed, as if letting out all of his breath.

“Fine,” he said submissively.

He headed to his room, and I followed.

“What’s the surprise?” I asked, managing to put a smile on my face.

“When Kawthar comes,” he said listlessly.

“Tell me, Daddy,” I said playfully.

“It’s only a surprise if Kawthar’s here.”

He went into his room and stayed there for a few minutes. Then he came back out and sat in the sitting room.

I went to my room, washed my face and put foundation on, and then went back to him.

We sat down for lunch.

We didn’t talk much. I didn’t raise my eyes to him. I had a grave expression on my face, putting the food in my mouth without noticing how it tasted. I didn’t think about Mahmoud or Samir or my father. I was only thinking about Kawthar. I was collecting all my energy and trying to turn it into evil.

I wanted to become evil again.

More evil and cunning than before.

I no longer had a crime that I was regretting and trying to atone for. Instead, there was one facing me and I simply could not submit to it. I had to fight evil with evil, to take revenge against the criminals, to grip the reins myself. I needed all my strength, all my cunning, and all my intelligence.

“So, what have you decided about today, Nadia?” my father asked as we were finishing lunch.

“We agreed you’ll know tonight,” I said in a low voice, as if I was shy.

My father smiled trustingly as if he knew everything in advance.

I got up and went to the sitting room to wait for Kawthar.

I had to see her before my father.

As soon as I glimpsed her behind the glass door at about four o’clock, I got up and opened the door for her.

She gave me a defiant look, a mocking smile on her face.

“I said you had lunch at your aunt’s,” I told her in a low voice before she said anything.

“When will Samir come?” I continued. “Did he tell you?”

Kawthar smiled.

She thought that I’d given in to her.

She went in and gave her cheeks to my father for him to kiss longingly, as if she’d been gone for years.

“I’m sorry, Ahmed,” she said. “I had to go to my aunt’s.”

“How is she now?” my father asked as if gathering his spirits.

“Thank God, she’s not sick. You know my aunt. As soon as she coughs, she thinks she’s going to die.”

“May God keep evil away,” her good husband said.

Kawthar went in to take off her tailored jacket and came back to us after she’d tidied herself up. She sat down, looking at me questioningly as if she didn’t believe that I’d actually given in to her, and so easily.

“I was preparing a surprise for Nadia,” my father said. “I didn’t want to show it to her until you came.”

He put his hand in his pocket and took out a small box covered in blue velvet.

“This is the surprise, my dear.”

He opened the box and an eighteen-karat solitaire diamond ring flashed from it. He presented it to me, the flash of his smile almost overshadowing the flash of the diamond.

Before I reached out to take the box, Kawthar snatched it from his hand.

“Wow!” she said, staring at the diamond with eyes so wide they seemed to swallow half her face. “What’s that? Look, Nadia, look! How lucky you are! I’ve never seen a stone so beautiful!”

She handed me the box reluctantly. I looked at the diamond coldly. I tried to be happy about it, but I couldn’t. I felt choked.

“Merci,” I said, lowering my head as if I was a fortune teller looking at a dark future in the crystal ball. “What’s the occasion for this surprise?”

My father leaned back in the chair, stretching his feet out before him.

“This stone belonged to my mother, may God rest her soul. She gave it to you the day you were born. I took it, set it in this ring, and then put it in the bank. I decided no one would see it until I gave it to you the day you got married,” my father said proudly.

“But I’m still not married,” I said.

“I feel like you’ve gotten married.” He was silent for a moment. “I’d love to see you wear it tonight at dinner.”

“Yes,” Kawthar said quickly. “That’s a great idea. It will be a surprise for Samir.”

“We’ll see,” I said, getting up.

I went to my father and leaned over to kiss him. He pulled me and embraced me.

“May you be happy, my dear,” he said.

“Merci, Daddy. Merci beaucoup.”

I left the two of them and went to my room gripping the small blue box as if clutching a burning ember.

I opened the box before I put it in my dresser and looked at the big diamond again. I tried again to be happy about it, to feel its beauty, but I couldn’t.

I wasn’t happy and I wasn’t sad.

It seemed to me that I’d never be happy and I’d never be sad.

I’d lost my heart.

I’d lost my feeling.

I tried to think about Mahmoud, to confide in him as usual, to conjure up his image, which was suspended in my mind, to summon his opinions and principles, but I couldn’t. Mahmoud seemed very far from me, his image blurry in my imagination as if he was fleeing from me.

I found myself cold.

Cold as ice.

I felt like I’d remain as cold as ice my entire life: heartless, emotionless, not loving or hating, not happy or angry, not calm or upset, not delighted at beauty or upset by ugliness. Cold, dry, hard, like a beautiful stone statue.

Kawthar came to my room. She stood at the door, resting her arm on the doorframe and sticking out her hips.

“You know, that ring is very valuable,” she said, looking at it with a wicked smile on her lips. “There aren’t any others like it.”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t believe you agreed to Samir so quickly,” she said, getting close to me.

“Why? He’s a good guy and I like him.”

“But you didn’t like him this morning.”

“You want the truth? I was afraid you’d be upset.”

“Me? On the contrary!”

“The truth is that I do like him. But I can’t say I’m in love with him.”

“Aren’t you in love with someone else?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, raising my eyes to her and then lowering them as if I was being shy.

“That’s it?”

“As the saying goes,” I said, echoing her, “marriage is one thing and love is something else.”

She came up and embraced me. She started swaying with me as if she were a child playing with another.

“We’re going to do some things, my dear,” she said in a loud, happy voice. “We’ll have a blast.”

We both laughed.

Her laugh was loose and pure, as if she’d achieved all of her dreams.

My laugh was loud and hollow, like a bell.

“I’ll go see what the cook is making for dinner,” she said. “I know what Samir likes.”

And she left.

I threw myself on my bed. I felt the fumes of hatred collect in my chest and then rise up to my head. Something in my head began moving, crawling and writhing. I began feeling as if I were in darkness and could see the devils of revenge dance in front of me. Their leader came forward, picked me up in his arms, cackling, and threw me to his followers. They tossed me back and forth between them. I felt intoxicated as I flew up and down into the arms of the devils: the intoxication of fear, darkness, cunning, the intoxication of the gambler as he plunges into the unknown, gambling with all his money, greedy for the win.

I was setting my plan. I was weaving its threads precisely and skillfully, like an experienced old spider. It seemed to me that the fly had fallen into its web and I would soon be sucking its blood.

It was seven o’clock in the evening when this darkness began creeping around me. I got up and sat in front of the mirror to get myself ready for dinner.

I looked at my face.

It was just as it had been.

The innocent face of a child, untouched by age and crowds of people, her purity unpolluted by the crush of life. My eyes the color of green fields wet with dew. None of what was inside me ever flashed in them. Even when I cried, they didn’t express my grief. Instead, tears flowed over them like a strange hand coming forward to cleanse them. My small mouth traced by two firm lips. I never needed to put on lipstick—my lips were always the color of cherries, so you imagined blood would burst out of them the instant you touched them.

I smiled at myself. I opened a drawer next to me to take out a jar of cream. My eyes lit on a picture of Mahmoud in the drawer, so I closed it again quickly. The drawer closed on my finger. But I wasn’t in pain.

There was nothing left in me that could feel pain.