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الزوار

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أنت الزائر
رقم:

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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T.Nazmi
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دعوة من الجمعية الدولية إلى
كتاب القصة والروائيين والأدباء
العرب

دعوة
إلى الانتقال إلى العالمية

§
انطلاقا
من أن الأدب يشكل جزءا هاما وحيويا من حضارة وتراث
الأمة، فإن الجمعية الدولية للمترجمين العرب ترى
أن من حق كتاب القصة والروائيين والأدباء
والمبدعين العرب أن ينتشر نتاجهم الإبداعي إلى
جميع لغات العالم.

§
وهي
أخذت على عاتقها أداء هذا الدور الحضاري من خلال
ترجمة ونشر الأعمال الأدبية عبر أعضائها ودار
النشر الخاصة بها "واتا ـ
غارانت".

§
ولهذا
الغرض، فإن الجمعية تعتزم إصدار كتاب خاص يحوي
قصصا مختارة مترجمة إلى الإنجليزية وقد بدأ
المشروع فعليا بنشر مجموعة من القصص على الرابط
التالي:

http://www.arabicwata.com/Forums/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=1927&whichpage=3

ولذا فإن الجمعية توجه دعوة خاصة
إلى النخبة من كتاب القصة إلى:

§
نشر
أية قصص مترجمة على الرابط
أعلاه

§
الاتصال
بالجمعية لتزويدها بأفضل المترجمين الأدبيين في
العالم أو الترجمة عبرها، إن لم تكن مترجمة
بعد

§
التسجيل
في الجمعية ونشر إنتاجهم على نادي الكتاب من قصص
وأدب وشعر ونثر وخواطر

§
تعميم
هذه الدعوة على جميع المهتمين والصحف والمجموعات
البريدية والمواقع المتخصصة

مع الاحترام،

عامر العظم

‏الاثنين‏، 24‏ تشرين الأول‏،
2005

Essay On Cheever's
Being Examined

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.

- Which Rida?

- Rida Arrawass,

- Eh! Rida!.. Sure I know
him. How is he?

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

- Tu le reconnez ( do you
know… mentioning my name)

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.

- Sure you can, why not?
(are you a…)

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.

- In this case why don't
you try the Swiss Airlines?

- 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.

I said suddenly while
looking to my watch:

- Did you eat?

She shook her head.   So
I suggested going somewhere to eat. I said:

- 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.

She picked up her bag,
her camera and said: agreed!

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:

-I don't think I love my
country, nothing of importance happens over
there.

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”.

She asked wondering, what
“Ytshkani” means?

- May be it is from
“Yetchkinaz”, a group of old oriental Jews.

- Are they those who
leave their hair to grow like ropes?

- Exactly! And they wax
them as well

She got more excited and
added: I saw some of them when I was in Israel

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

- Did you say that you
were in Israel?

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

- And how did you find
them?

- 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:

-what is this
word?

-It's my name

-No the word relates to
profession

-A struggler. (I
answered). The word was faded by time.

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

- Eh!.. you are all
strugglers.

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:

- He works for the
leftists in France, so his earnings are limited.

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:

-Not to that extent! We
will see him tomorrow.

She sat over my lap
showering me with her kisses

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:

- Imagine! I had
forgotten his name

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…Yeh… Hamid…that
was his name

She smiled as if
presenting in her memory the full story of
Hamid. She said:

- 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?

-It's normal. But it
means nothing to me

-Wait the story isn’t
finished yet.

She lit another cigarette
and went on:

-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

She gazed in my face to
see the influence of her story upon me, then
murmured:

-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.

look at him! How
cute he is when running, escaping

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

- This is nothing but
bourgeois hypocrisy

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:

-Ok! I am mistaken

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:

- Of whom?

-A man (I said)

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

-Who is Samih Alqudsi?

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:

-Keep up what God doesn't
want to be revealed

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:

-You always see me like a
man

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

Notes

A word means
boss, here used as a proper name

(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.

(4) - It was the widest
Lebanese airline at that period (sixties,
seventies)

(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

The
Price of A Wife

By: Naguib
Mahfouz

Translated into English
by:

Dr.
Ahmad Elsheemi

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

finding no unease in
asking him about this unusual silence:

-
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:

-
In fact,
sir, I have something to say to you but
…

He stopped
to increase the young man’s curiosity who asked
him inquiringly:

-
But
what?

-
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

after
eight o’clock.

The young man contracted his eyebrows and
said condescendingly:

-
Well …?

-
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:

-
What do you
mean?

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

-
Did you see
him getting out of the building?

-
I saw him
many times, getting out after two hours or more.

-
What does he
look like?

-
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
engineer was listening carefully to what he has
said and asked the barber:

-
Did he come
this morning as usual?

-
He did,
Sir.

-
Does it
occur that he did not come?

-
On Friday.

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 …

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:

-
You are late
today?!

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.

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