Story 2

Continued from the previous page ( Cheever's The Enormous Radio)

Irene got up from the table and went into the living room. Jim went to the door
and shouted at her from there. "Why are you so Christly all of a sudden? What's
turned you overnight into a convent girl? You stole your mother's jewelry before
they probated her will. You never gave your sister a cent of that money that was
intended for her — not even when she needed it. You made Grace Howland's life
miserable, and where was all your piety and your virtue when you went to that
abortionist? I'll never forget how cool you were. You packed your bag and went
off to have that child murdered as if you were going to Nassau. If you'd had any
reasons, if you'd had any good reasons -"

Irene stood for a minute before the hideous cabinet, disgraced and sickened, but
she held her hand on the switch before she extinguished the music and the
voices, hoping that the instrument might speak to her kindly, that she might hear
the Sweeneys' nurse. Jim continued to shout at her from the door. The voice on
the radio was suave and noncommittal. "An early morning railroad disaster in
Tokyo," the loudspeaker said, "killed twenty-nine people. A fire in a Catholic
hospital near Buffalo for the care of blind children was extinguished early this
morning by nuns. The temperature is forty-seven. The humidity is eighty-nine."

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Cheever's "…Enormous Radio" is a well built short story that criticizes hypocrisy in general in a middle class American family and its style of life at the writer's time in the forties of the twentieth century. Told in the third person, the author used an old radio in the plot to let several sub-plots , tiny stories and enormous human experiences be unfolded through a sensitive radio transmitting both the public information and the privacies of other neighboring people of the same class and social position of the Westcott's family whose life will be examined and affected by the unfixed instrument of communication which they used to hear "serious music" and to make Irene's life happy with her husband Jim and their two children.

Cheever, whose writings were the outcomes of an experience of life after he had been expelled from Thyer Academy at the age of seventeen, examined life before publishing a "steady stream" of his short stories and novels at the age of 28. So, "Unexamined life is not worth living" as Socrates said not so far in time from his teacher's "Plato's Republic".

Not missing his melancholic and sense of humor, Cheever characterized life before being examined through Irene's personality; "a pleasant rather plain girl …wore a coat of fitch skins dyed to resemble mink". She and her husband Jim "were the kind of people who seem to strike satisfactory average of income". Though, Jim bought his eve the enormous radio to be happy before their relation, and one life in the paradise of music for nine years, had been examined.

At first, the naïve Irene "was struck with the physical ugliness of the large gumwood cabinet "of “intentionally naïve” Jim’s surprise which "was delivered at the kitchen door" and decided before testing it that “tone was most important and that she could conceal the cabinet behind a sofa…among her intimate possessions like an aggressive intruder". The irony of appearance and content will be developed until the climax in page 90 to reach self-recognition and insight with the last three pages of the story.

Irene's decision prepares for the upcoming development of her character. Instead of enjoying the "purer tone" of Mozart quintet and other composers' music " streaming out of the speaker”, she listened, then liked it, to what was going on in other flats of the same apartment .This didn't affect her life and relations at first, since she enjoyed it with Jim, (page 87). But after, she will discover that her life was not different from those other couples of their time and social position.

During 9 years of their marriage Jim worked hard to maintain living near Sutton Place and "they hoped someday to live in Westchester". Irene doesn't work outside her house to gain both money and experience or to feel her husband's burdens. She used to have a maid, listen to music, go to the park, have luncheon dates, and go to theatre "on an average of 10.3 times a year". She didn't show any intimate relation with her children and husband through the context. Instead she got self occupied by what the “aggressive intruder” exposes of others’ lives. Like eve, she wanted to know everything and at the same time to make her husband, who came tired from work, to interfere in her neighbors’ private affairs. Jim himself was not aware of Irene’s other human needs. Actually life needs. Though, he noticed the change in her behavior late, after she had dropped a bill “into the tambourine…there was in her face, when she returned to her husband, a look of radiant melancholy that he was not familiar with. And her conduct at the dinner party…” bottom of page 89.

The Enormous stream of life coming from an ugly shaped radio affected her. She was surprised, sordid sometimes, to hear, know about others’ realities, hypocrisy, care for money, and severe need of money to be cured in Mayo Clinic, pages 87-90.Irene is a metaphoric symbol of life in her all aspirations, beauty, misery and obscenities. Life contains ugliness and beauty intermingled, decent and indecent people in one apartment if not in one family.

الأستاذة نجمة حبيب

اسمحي لي بإعادة وضع قصتك المترجمة في هذا المنتدى:

A Cat Called Rayess

Rassmi Abu_Ali

At last we reached the building, it was around midnight; two or three boys were washing the entrance with soap and water. It was cold and Simone was wrapping herself in an expensive black coat collared with fur; it didn't match with the pants that she wore, pants soaked with water at the edges, smeared with spots of dirt all over. Since the power was cut off, we started ascending the stairs toward the tenth floor, when we reached, we were breathing heavily; Simone stopped in the middle of the aisle that leads to the apartment, she looked as if not sure which of the apartments she was after. All of a sudden she rushed towards one of the doors and started knocking the door harshly and calling “Rayess, Rayess” “1” in a way that transmitted vague tenderness.

She told me more than once that he was not a pretty cat at all and that he was dirty, over his body could be living some bucks and other parasites and that someone had volunteered to cut off his Whiskas. She added, in broken English, that that should be the case when a cat was deserted, but for now he started little by little gaining back his cleanness.

A man with a candle in his hand opened the door. He was a chubby young man dressed with a transparent dishdasha“2” I assumed that the man is either Saudi or Kuwaiti, I asked myself: Is it possible that we still have tourists in spite of this mad war?

Simone rushed like an arrow to one of the rooms calling Rayess! Rayess! I explained to the dishdasha man, who was taken by surprise, that she is looking for a small cat. The man made no comment. He started to explain who he is and why he is there. Even without me asking, he started to say that he is Rida's brother, adding that I should have known him. The signs of frustration that appeared on the man's face made me pretend that I knew Rida. I made a face pretending as if my memory had been revived.

The man was relieved and looked less stressed. While we were walking towards the room where Simone rushed, he said:

Rida is the owner of this apartment, as you know, but because of the war and the bombs and all the losses…(and he added many other things about the family that meant nothing to me.

I asked Simone if she found the cat, she shook her head with sorrow, then said; “Impossible! He was here this morning.” She looked to the man as if accusing him, he got confused. A queer idea crossed my mind “this man had eaten Rayess”. As if the man felt what was going on in my head, he started defending himself by assuring that he didn't see any cat at all in the apartment, then he turned around making the suggestion to look in other rooms. I noticed the number seven (written in English) on his flannel T-shirt, which he wore under the transparent dishdasha. I decided not to embarrass him with any more questions, though I was sure that he simply opened the door and kicked the cat out when he came to check his brother's apartment.

I met her in one of the Athawra”3” offices, and because I was free from any other obligations, I found it interesting to start a relation with her. I came around, where my friend was having a conversation with her and asked him who she was. He showed a free liberated spirit and asked her in a loud voice

She raised her eyes towards me; her look was friendly but didn't express any specific emotion. I smiled and nodded my head calmly. I noticed that she had no great interest in me.

I noticed that my friend was pushing us towards one another. He suggested to us to communicate in English (a language I knew better than he did). She looked interested and started to speak English. She found it difficult to find the words to express her ideas. She wanted to go back to Geneva and asked if she can do that through Beirut.

No! No! Nothing like that! The problem is that I came from Geneva through Damascus, because Beirut airport was closed due to war, and I am looking for an airline that accepts me as a passenger from here (she meant Beirut). I scratched my head and my friend did the same, then I suggested asking the Middle East Airlines”4”.

My God! I already done! It was the first thing I did. They said it's impossible.

- Here is the problem! Is this Airline working these days? I couldn't reach any answer, I kept asking and got no answer

This is my opportunity, I said to myself, I raised of my seat, and suggested calling the information center at the airport, they should have a solution for sure. I went to the other room where the telephone handset was placed. She followed me with a sign of relief on her face. My friend stood up and said: I have to go, he looked towards me with an encouraging smile on his face

I started making connections while she was sitting there watching me and smoking heavily. After several attempts, I got an answer from the information office telling that the Swiss Airline is still not functioning. It was affected by bombing, and it will be back in business when the damage is fixed. They gave me a phone number to contact, there I could get help.

I told her about the result of my researches. While she was offering me a cigarette I tried the telephone again and got no answer. I looked at my watch and said, “its lunchtime it could be better to try later on.” We smoked two cigarettes out of her packet (a habit she caught from our tradition as an expression of hospitality). Her way of introducing the cigarettes was tough and ridiculous, it made me smile. I think we are on the way to give up this habit, many stopped practicing it. From her side she was trying to show a kind of belonging in this ridiculous way.

- let's go to Ar-rawsheh”5”. She wanted, going to the downtown ruined commercial center, to shoot some photos of the great damages caused by war. I said:

-Let us from wreckage and ruins, I like to be at the sea, it's a long time since I was there. I miss the sea very much.

When we were on the street I suggested that we pick up a taxi, she said: no, we will go by service”6”

In this case (I explained): we have to walk for about ten minutes, do you mind? I don't think you do, since you, in Switzerland, are used to walking and skiing. She smiled and asked me not to treat her as a Swiss because she wanted to relate to humanity in general, then added as if for her own self:

It was a warm, sunny winter day. Our steps were slow but our breathing was heavy and I was trying to keep my breath inaudible, but, she, from her side, remained natural. She was talking, allowing her breathing to be heard. I wasn't paying any attention to the surroundings; she was telling me about the Jewish family that neighboured hers when she was a child. She talked about the nice humane Jewish lady that pitied Palestinian and Jewish children and suggested that because of them the great men should do something. I kept silent. I didn't want to share in an issue that sickened my heart. I asked her to stop talking and I started looking towards the sky and saying something about the sea, but as if not listening she continued:

I think that I have a Jewish blood, my surname sounds Jewish, this matter means nothing to me. My parents are Christians.

I answered: It doesn't make any difference if you are a Jewish or a “Yetchkani”.

The word pierced my ears, and I found myself stopping involuntarily saying in a slow deep tone as if in investigations:

-Yes… In 1974, after the war”7”, I went to see what happened to them over there.

- They were nice to me, but the costs of living were impossible, I wondered how they could survive these imaginary prices!

We reached a military barrier, though these barriers didn't usually target people on foot (they are after passing cars), the armed man in charge, looked towards us and ordered in a sign of his automatic gun to come forward. He asked for my identification, I gave him my Athawra card. He looked deeply through it, moving his sight between me and Simone who started searching for her identification. The man looked for a second time at my card and pushed it to my face saying:

He put away the gun and the card and nodded his head in a sarcastic deep sense, saying while handing me my card:

He looked at me once and at Simone gave another look. Without saying any word, I held her hand and started walking forward without looking back.

I couldn't imagine how things could have gone between us if it wasn't for John Pierre Philipe who appeared at the same moment we took our places in that restaurant that over-viewed the sea. It was like destiny to have John Pierre as our third companion all the time. He also left the country at the same time that Simone did, but on a different plane.

I felt from the very first moment that I was not going to like this man by all means. There is a sort of people that you couldn't like however hard they try to please you, and John Pierre was one of them. There was something in him that made me feel uneasy and it had nothing to do with Simone. The painful truth was that he was the nearest to Simone’s heart. He was able to make her burst in a loud scandalous laugh, which bitterly embarrassed me every time we were out in public. I was sure that it wasn't because he was the only Westerner around. (Beirut at that time was full of Western journalists and spies).

I admit that his jokes and comments were very funny, they were nice even with the broken English he expressed himself with. He was a nice person, but there was something in him that made me reluctant in his presence, Our contest over Simone has nothing to do with the issue, I was sure that Simone liked him more. She made it clear when she asked me, after a couple of days of living together, if he could move in with us. She explained that he had no money left and had no place to stay. I asked how could a journalist be left without money! She said:

She started to talk about him in a sincere manner more than you usually talk about a friend or a colleague, in a motherly passionate manner. I felt sympathetic when I heard that tender woman pitying that huge man who was not less than thirty-five years of age. This made me change my attitude towards him. I started welcoming him warmly and I suggested to go looking for him and bring him home. She showed no enthusiasm about the idea, but moved her hand and said:

As I said before, I didn't like the man when seeing him for the first time at that restaurant. He greeted her from a distance the same moment we set to a table on that open restaurant, He was wearing a Kufia”8” that covered all his head and his ears and sat on a table few meters away from ours, and started eating, then he moved his head up and moved his Kufia a little aback and asked her something in French, she answered, he went back to his eating. He raised his head another time, asked another question, got the answer and back to his plate. He did that for several times. It made me feel as if he was in possession of invisible scissors that enabled him to cut a conversation at any time. When he directed his last question, I noticed that he was wearing small round eyeglasses and was almost bald. I hated his glasses and his baldness, and the Kufia that he was wrapping himself with. I was about to shout: “To hell with you and your Kufia and the small round eyeglasses”, but I kept silent and sipped a big sip of wine that made my stomach swell. I watched to see if Simone was embarrassed, since she kept moving her field of vision from me and him and back, turning her head in a complete turn toward him as a sign of admiration, every now and then. The situation started to look ridiculous, so John Pierre put an end to it not by leaving us alone and concentrating on his eating, but by carrying his plate and joining our table. I discovered that what I had considered an insinuated commitment from Simone to me was nothing but illusion in my head. So I started to accept John Pierre as a real truth that could not be escaped.

For the first few days she seemed confused, she looked about her as if looking for something that could not be found. This made me think that she was a kind of gypsy woman or a street cat. I confessed to her about all my doubts, and that I thought her to be a dangerous woman. She was concerned and asked wondering: “why?” I said that I thought of her as a kind of a woman who makes a man falls, all of a sudden, on solid concrete. She was shocked by my way of thinking and denied my accusation firmly. She asked me frequently what made me think of her in that way. I said that I had no concrete reason but unexplained tangibility (feeling). (There were reasons, but I wasn't brave enough to declare them, they were due to egoistic beliefs that made me imagine that I had the right over her, but that right wasn't clear enough to be disclosed). She lit another cigarette and nodded her head with anguish and said: “You are wrong”, then added that she doesn't like to talk about the so called the past, though she started telling me about an Iranian man that she lived with for about a year. She tried to remember his name; she cracked her fingers many times and said while laughing:

I smiled as if to say: you see! This is what I meant exactly. You lived with a man for one year and you forgot his name.

- Hamid kept saying for the whole year that we spent together, that I meant nothing to him and he would put an end to our relationship. Did you hear me? He used to say so, while he was sleeping with me three times a day. One day he went on a holiday, after a last farewell, as he named it. I felt the urge to cry but I forced myself not to, I never cry. [She cried a couple of days later]. I pressed on his hand and kissed his black pretty eyes. When he left, the first thing I did, was jump at the first available man. Is this normal?

-When Hamid returned from his holiday he came rushing to me without even a phone call. I told him that I was with another man, he said: “leave him. I love you!” He knelt on his knees, joined his hands together and implored, as it happens in the movies

-You see! I am not a kind of woman who deserts a man just like that (making a meaningful sign with her hand).

Rayess looked frightened and unsettled, as if expecting a kick at any time. That was the result of being deserted for days after that night with the dishdash man. (Simone found him a certain morning later on). Bit by bit he started to be more relaxed and confident, it was due to the passion and warm love she flowed over him. She was ready to kiss him and pamper him at any time even when we were to be in our most intimate moments, she might kiss his dirty mouth and his body which was full of fleas and bucks. For the first couple of days he used to excrete around the corners of the rooms, and she was to get up from the warm bed to wash with soap and water the excretion he had left, adding few drops of kerosene (an idea I had suggested). Occasionally she would become tough on him and punish him, crying angrily at his face. Her anger would ease down at seeing him run away, frightened, to the kitchen.

She called him kindly, he came huddling, she gave him a motherly tender passionate hug. When he felt the warmth and the love again he sat curled and started sucking one of his nipples (not only female cats have nipples, males do have them as well, as I learned). When I saw that for the first time I felt disgusted especially after seeing some red spots over his belly. I assumed that it was some kind of a disease, but Simone explained that they were his nipples, and what he did was a kind of compensation, because when Rayess was a baby his mother, for certain reason, didn't breast feed him long enough and now he was compensating. It's the same way that children do, suck their thumbs, when their mothers stop breast feeding them. John Pierre who was listening to all of that, commented that that was a cheap sentiment, assuring that there are millions of children deserving of care and love more than cats. He jumped straight to attacking strongly that great concern about domestic animals, saying in a sharp tone and a trembling nose

Here, Simone lost her temper and started talking aggressively; neglecting to include an expression of apology, as it was the case when she usually wanted to express herself in a diplomatic way. John Pierre lost his temper in return and I kept on watching the hot fight calmly without comprehending any word except “Tal-Ezzatar” “9”. They were mentioning the word five to six times in a minute. Simone proved that she was strong enough to stand firmly for her beliefs and her beloved ones, the cat and myself. ( Since I had loved Rayess). I found myself outside that family argument; so I shrunk to the kitchen, opened a can of sardine, gave half of it to Rayess and ate the other half.

Her eyes were blue in the morning, green at noon and olive on the evening. She has got the longest and darkest eyelashes I had ever seen in my life. I assumed that they were artificial, but she corrected me and to prove me wrong she started tugging at them. It worried me that she might hurt herself, so I held her hand and stopped her from doing it and said:

Her face was full of freckles. After a while, I got used to them and saw her as attractive as a wild flower. She had sexy swollen lips. I saw in her, especially when she blinked with her left eye, the charm of the first feminine cell when acknowledged itself as a woman. Opposite to that, were her thin legs and her way of walking. She walked in a ridiculous way, twisting her legs in no harmony at all, a matter that drove me to think that she must have had polio when a child. Asking her, she denied and said it was only her way in walking. Once, looking deep into her face I made her wonder what I was be thinking and I told her that she reminded me of a certain person. She asked:

After few days an idea crossed my mind. She looked like my friend Sameeh Alqudsy.

she asked with a French accent that destroyed the meaning and the pronunciation of the name

I told her the story of a man that I had known in Amman (capital of Jordan) more than twenty years ago. Sameeh went on to accomplish university education in Turkey. Instead of concentrating on studying he chased Turkish women, sending news to his father, at the end of each schooling year, that he had gone well. He kept lying for five years. To cover up his failure, he followed an intelligent plan. He was to treat every person coming from Amman to Turkey very well, welcoming him warmly and treating him with exceptional generosity. When the visitor was up to return home, he was to press his hand and say:

Once, I noticed that she had a smile similar to that of Hussein Fahmi, the famous Egyptian movie star. When I told her that, she got upset. She turned her back and said in a childish way:

I explained that I did not intend to hurt her feelings, but her smile was really like that of Hussein Fahmi. I suggested that we go watching a movie at Strand”10” theatre to let her know that I was not joking. (For my good luck, there was a movie starring our look-a-like). When we reached the theatre, we saw at the entrance five photos showing the movie star, with that deep smile on his face. When she saw the photos she cracked her loud scandalous laugh and kicked my back, then stuck her body to mine murmuring: “mon amour”. She wanted to kiss me, I stopped her while looking around and said: “not in this place”.

We passed slowly from bewilderment to cognition, to unity, till at last we became not able to sleep but on each other's arm, where she lay naked the whole night.

She used to say: “Bonjour” every morning and evening. During the nights, her eyes glowed with light and honey. God bless that small woman.

She left and kept her cat in my care. He and I have to live up with that situation for a full long winter

(2) - A white gown known as the traditional dress for men in the Arab Gulf such as Saudi Arabia and Kuwait

(3) - During the seventies many offices were opened in West Beirut for different Palestinian parties, such as, Fatah, Popular Front for Liberation of Palestine, and others, and were known by the name Athawra offices.

(5) - A tourist place in Beirut known for its elegant coffee shops and restaurants that look over the sea and the famous rock known by the same name.

(6) - A commuting way known in Lebanon and other Arabic cities, that carry people from place to place in a car of the same size and shape of a taxi. The difference is that you pay the fair as a passenger: that is one fifth of the taxi fair

(7) - In 1973 a war took place between Israel and Egypt. Israel was defeated and this led to a peace treaty between the two countries and to Israeli withdrawal from the occupied parts of Egypt (Sinai and Sharm sheikh which were under occupation since 1967)

(8) - A cover for the head has worn by men in some rural areas in the Middle East such as Lebanon, Palestine and Syria. In the last few decades it became as symbol of Palestine

(9) - A Palestinian refugee camp was located in the eastern suburb of Beirut. All its people were killed or massacred or evacuated on the hands of the Lebanese Christian Militia, in 1977

(10) - One of the famous theatres in what is known as Alhamra Street, a famous suburb in West Beirut.

Translation and Notes

Nejmeh Khalil-Habib

Sydney Australia

He sat looking to his image in the big mirror, following, with his eyes, the barber’s hand while cutting his hair lightly and expertly. Signs of composure and contentment filled his face as it ought to happen to a young man in the third week of his honeymoon.

Nature has given him the sweetest of funs which males of all species like to drink to the lees. The virtuous man, the engineer, Hamdy Effendi was one of the most sublime of all species, got married to the daughter of one of his professors and colleagues, a beautiful gracious girl he has heard about and saw in her what increased his affection of her. Now he is her husband, enjoying with her the fun of funs which nature bestows upon those who abide to its laws and norms.

On his tranquil seat the engineer noticed that the barber was not garrulous that day as before. Now he was sullen when he was a frequent laugher, speechless when he was talkative with an unsteady tongue. The engineer wondered but he lacked the courage to ask him about his concerns, and preferred to enjoy the silent moments instead of the barber’s babble and nonsense. When the barber finished his work the engineer stood upright

- I noticed you silent today as if you have failed to find something to talk about?

The barber felt relieved when the engineer asked him this question because he was truly willing to talk but he did not know how to get into the subject. When he noticed that his customer was about to finish his dressing he was afraid that the chance may go unexploited and said:

- Some suspicions are sins, man sometimes misjudges things. Actually I spent long time thinking about the matter and finally I saw that duty dictates on me to uncover my conjecture whatever the results may be.

- The young engineer fastened his necktie, wore his jacket, fixed his fez, pointed a sharp look to the barber’s eyes and said:

- If you see that it is really your duty to uncover what is in your mind, what is the meaning now of your hesitation and stammering?

- “Well Sir... I have actually noticed things…” said the barber with a sigh.

- Two weeks ago I saw a young man frequenting the building you live in every morning

- He drew my attention with his appearance and punctuality … I exploited the morning leisure in watching him. I noticed that he comes through Assim Street at seven and takes his seat in Nejmah Café until you leave your house to the ministry, then he pays for his coffee and leaves the café directly to the building.

The engineer – in spite of his tender age – was a self-possessed steady man, far from being lightheaded or imprudent. He bit his lower lip as he always does when he faces a situation like that as if he wanted to overcome the perturbation crawling unto him. He asked the barber wrathfully:

The barber’s face went yellow and regretted starting off this kind of aching speech but he couldn’t help but to go on saying:

- I hope I am in the wrong sir, I really hope God reveals it all untrue. I actually was hesitant to talk to you, but I saw that outspokenness and honesty with all their evils are better than concealment with all peace and safety. What increased my doubts was that I saw him observing you stealthily many times while you are on your way, following you with dubious looks until the road curve absents you, then he rises quickly and sneaks away inside the building

- A young man in his early twenties … well-dressed with an effeminate shape, had it not been for his hanging around in the morning I would say he is a student.

When the barber saw gloom and silence riding to the engineer’s face, and that his innermost feelings unveiled solicitude and sadness he said painfully:

- I beg your pardon, sir, and don’t rely on my ill suspicions. I beseech you to be patient as wise me should be, and try to investigate the matter yourself. In fact I am not sorry for what I have just told but I blame the circumstances.

The young man bit his lower lip again and all that he said on leaving the barber’s shop:

- I thank you for your sense of honor and nobility; I wish you become all eyes until I come to you tomorrow morning

He did not go to his house although it was close by and the time was noon, instead, he felt a desire to ramble around aimlessly for a while.

Hamdy was a young man in his thirtieth year, distinguished by his meager size and pale complexion, a glance of intelligence glittered in his eyes. His chin curved in such a way that characterized those recognized by their iron will and determination. What distinguished him most were his tranquility and repose, calmness and self-possession. No one of his acquaintances saw him agitated or deeply stirred for sorrow or happiness. But frailty and cowardice were not among his characteristics; he gets angry when something angers him, but in his way of anger: no rage, no cursing, no quarrel but tough punishment or horrible vengeance. Thus he progresses in his life like a bulldozer; slow, grave sober-minded, irresistible and demolishing anything in his way.

He murmured to himself while rambling aimlessly in the streets: “The man hints to an adultery, an adultery in the honeymoon! Undoubtedly it is the first of its kind; it is like abortion that destroys the embryo before it gets complete … Who believes this … how could this happen at all? How did this young man find his way to my bride’s bed? Did he know my wife before I knew her? Yet, it is unbelievable, incredible.” When he reviewed his short marriage life he remembered uncountable and indescribable moments of happiness and enjoyment; he did not doubt that in his tomorrow he will find a laughable mistake, a mistake that will be his lifelong joke.

However, he cannot get rid of this ill-favored feeling rankling in his heart... this feeling of painful suspicion. Memoirs of past days of engagement now pass along his mind against a dark fearful background and he has to think them allover again. He remembers how his wife met him – in the days of engagement – with dullness and sulkiness as if she were meeting a grandfather and not a fiancé, and how she did not open a speech with him or share him his speech with any degree of enthusiasm, and how her answers to his questions were as concise and short as those of the English diplomats.

He thought it was all graceful coyness, it might have been right and it might have been wrong, who knows? Perhaps it was hatred and abhorrence, he ought to inspect and investigate.

He remembers also that her ways did not change after marriage; she still keeps reticent, solemn and cool. ‘Cool’! he has not mentioned this word before. He wished his bride were playful and merry. Now how could he know that she was not a playful coquette, and that she simulates coolness only in his presence? What a regretful thing? What misery and what suffering? Hamdy was not an expert in women’s affairs; he was always out of their favor. In his bachelorhood he preferred to stay virtuous and ascetic, spending his years grief stricken and thinking that marriage will be the remedy and salvation. When he got married he was happy and contented. He thanked God for all his blessings. Now he is face to face with failure, disappointment, losing the only hope of happiness and peaceful life; the wife is about to be revealed deceitful!

But he did not give up completely to pessimism, and did not submit completely to despair; he stuck to the remaining hope that things will not be as he thought, and that doubts will not be as he supposed. He wished he could wipe away this dark cloud perching on his heart and restore some of his former serenity and exultation. He had the ability to analyze his heartaches and his delights, and when he decided to do something nothing on earth can change his mind.

He walked for a long time and began to feel tired. He went back to his house hotheaded and inflamed with ardor. He got into his flat, feigning a smile and self-possession and when he saw his bride sitting with the lunch dishes well arranged on the table and heard her saying in a tone of reproof:

He cast a hasty look to his face lest she should read his mind in his eyes. He sat beside her and put a gentle kiss on her cheek as a young bridegroom should do with his bride.

- “I passed by the barber’s and the shop was crowded.” he said apologetically.

In the morning he left the house as usual, and took his usual way to the ministry. Passing by Nejma Café he resisted a strong desire to look into the faces of the sitting thinking that two shining eyes were watching him cautiously and derisively. Blood boiled over in his head and his pale face turned red with the feeling of embarrassment and shame. He did not go to the ministry but hanged around in the streets for a while looking in his watch every now and then. At seven-thirty he carefully came back to the barber’s shop and sneaked in cautiously. The shop was empty of customers.

- “Good morning, sir.” Said the barber. “He came as usual and sneaked inside the building a quarter of an hour a go.”

The young engineer stood stiff in his place for a while because he felt that he was facing a turning point in his life after which his whole happiness and honor will be destined. Rage overwhelmed his nerves instead of composure. He felt a fearful wane and heard the barber asking him: “Do you like me to attend you?” The barber’s question ached him and replied strictly: “No.”

He left the place without delay and entered the building. He mounted the stairs with heavy steps looking up at the door with rigid eyes.