The birds whet their beaks when they see Naziha, and say she’s a little fig tree whose fruit is ripe and ready to eat. Yet no one has reached for her, even though all around her were men with a deep, savage, and ancient hunger which must one day get all it wants. One evening Naziha found herself on the telephone to her mother, sobbing and gasping. Her mother was surprised and asked, “Are you crying because you regret having left your family home and rented a place of your own where you live by yourself as good-for-nothing people do?”
Naziha reproached her mother for her question and said she was crying because she came back home from work tired as usual and was surprised to find a man she had never seen before in her kitchen. She didn’t know how he got into the house, but he demanded that she marry him right away. Her mother said, interrupting, “An offer like this is not to be rejected if the man is rich and comes from a respectable family.”
Naziha made it clear to her mother that she had turned down his proposal and had advised him to see a psychiatrist, but he had offered to marry her right away, without a wedding. The mother asked inquisitively. “And what did you do?”
Naziha said in an irate voice. “Don’t ask what I did; ask what he did. He carried me like a baby and set me down on the kitchen table. Then he married me without a wedding.”
The mother asked, puzzled, “I don’t understand. How could he marry you without a wedding?”
Naziha answered: “What took place can’t be spoken about, and don’t forget I’m very modest.”
The mother then asked in a cheerful voice, “Did you resist?”
Naziha answered, “I resisted with the strength of a hundred women. There isn’t a spot on his body that I didn’t bite with my teeth or scratch with my fingers.”
The mother chuckled, as if all she had heard was nothing but a joke. Then she asked, “Are you sure that what happened to you isn’t one of your usual fantasies?”
Naziha did not get the chance to answer because the line suddenly went dead. She waited for her mother to call back, but the telephone never rang. Naziha was angry with her mother and thought her egotistical. She then called Hanan, whom she considered the best of all her friends, and asked her to listen to what she had to say without a single word of interruption. She related to her that as she was about to open the door of her house she was taken by surprise by a young man and woman who pushed her inside, put a gag around her mouth, and tied her hands and feet. They then disappeared into the bedroom for an hour or two and came out laughing, their cheeks rosy. They thanked her as they left the house, the girl saying in a whisper as she untied her, “You’re a woman and you know the problems young men and women face when they don’t have a place.”
“I’ve said all there was to say,” Naziha said to Hanan. “Now it’s your turn to speak. Tell me what you think of what happened.”
“Next time,” Hanan said, “remember you’re the mistress of the house. Let them do what they want on condition they tie you up inside the bedroom.”
Naziha let out an indignant cry and hung up. She then called the police and told them in a halting, trembling, and alarmed voice that a strange man whom she didn’t know had forced his way into her house and intended to rob her of her clothes, jewelry, and furniture. She said he was going to take even the clothes on her back and rape her at least twice if they didn’t rush to her rescue. The policeman to whom she was talking asked, “This man, where is he now?”
“He grumbled about feeling dirty and went into the bathroom to take a bath,” Naziha said. “And he’s now singing in a loud voice that disturbs the neighbors.”
The policeman said, advising, “Try to run away at the first opportunity that presents itself.”
“This house is my house,” Naziha cried out in an astonished, disapproving, and distressed voice. “So why should I be the one to run away?”
“What does he look like?” asked the policeman, whispering. “Remember the details. Details are important to us.”
If I remember correctly,” answered Naziha, “he is tall and well-built, with blond hair and a smile that starts in his eyes and then drops down to his lips.”
“We’ll be sending a police patrol as soon as possible,” the policeman said. “Keep calm and try not to make him angry or provoke him. Do whatever he asks, so that no harm will come to you.”
Naziha’s fingers let go of the receiver, and she listened, but no sound of a man singing in the bath reached her ears. She smiled in confusion, for when the police arrived they would find that the stranger was content just to bathe and run away.