Voices Page 7

  that she couldn't understand what I was saying), 'You have visitors.'

  Then I pushed the door all the way open to let the others in. She jabbered a bit in her native tongue, greeting us (or perhaps damning us, who really knows?), and Nafeesa laughed back at her. Then she sighed in surrender and turned off the music with a push of her finger. She started to collect the papers spread out on her table. Then she spun around suddenly when she heard the sound of Um Khalil slamming the door shut.

  There was no way for us to talk to her. Nafeesa closed the window and we surrounded her. She reeled around terrified, looking for a way out. We grabbed her. The screaming was frightening us, so I covered her mouth with my hand. Then we threw her down on the rug in the middle of the room, and we raised the ends of the ample skirt she was wearing. She wasn't wearing anything under it. We were holding her tightly, and she was fighting with all her strength trying to free herself from the four pairs of hands.

  Then Nafeesa said, 'Didn't I tell you?'

  With those words she began cleaning Simone up first with her scissors, then with hot putty made from molasses, clearing away all that filthy hair between Simone's legs.

  Then Nafeesa snorted and said to my mother-in-law, 'Look, didn't I tell you? She's not circumcised!'

  Nafeesa was still working with the putty while Simone's body trembled between our hands, when Nafeesa suddenly proposed that we circumcise her, there and then. The women were all enthusiastic about the idea,

  and my mother called out, 'Why not? What's preventing us? . . . but what if she tries to make a scandal out of it?'

  'Don't worry,' Nafeesa said with confidence, 'She won't make a sound.'

  She had finished up the shaving business and now pulled a small bottle of anesthetic out of her bosom. She took off its cover, and the smell of chloroform wafted out. Then she took out a piece of cotton, also hidden in her cleavage, soaked it in liquid from the bottle and put it over Simone's nose.

  In the light of the lamp I saw Simone's eyes open as wide as they could, filled with horror. For a second I thought I would save her: push all the others away from her and help her up. I was imagining myself in her place. But then I thought of how intoxicated Hamid must be by her wild spirit—not to mention her body which was as white and soft as Turkish delight—all because she was uncircumcised.

  Her body went limp beneath our hands and she stopped fighting. The suppressed moans rising from her lips stopped, and her eyes shut for a second, then stayed half-open, and I told myself, 'It's started now, and it must be finished. We shouldn't stop here. What's been done has been done, and we've got to finish it. Even if we did stop now, Hamid would be no less angry.' And I assured myself he'd cover the whole thing up to avoid dragging his wife and himself into a scandal.

  Meanwhile, Nafeesa began doing her work with obvious delight as the others stood around, relaxed, and watching her sacred and sublime operation with extreme excitement and satisfaction. She pulled the thing out as

  far as she could with her hand, then used her other hand to take out of her pocket a sharp straight-edged razor, like the ones used in shaving. She opened it out, wiped it on her clothes, then pressed down and flicked its sharp edge quickly until the flap of flesh came off, she held it between her fingers, and a river of blood burst forth. None of us had seen so much blood in all the ceremonies we'd seen performed on village boys and girls.

  Nafeesa started to press down on the wound all the cotton she had to stop the hemorrhaging, but the pieces of cloth kept soaking up the flow from that hapless woman. Nafeesa used both her shawl and Simone's shirt, pressing them into the wound for a long time. But the blood kept coming. And the cloth was soaked in a sea of red.

  My mother-in-law slapped her cheeks with her hands and cried out, 'What a disaster.'

  Nafeesa's face went pale, then the faces of the other women blanched as well. Our shocked and horrified voices mixed together while Simone lay, motionless, totally unaware of what we'd done to her or what we were doing now. Nafeesa screamed at us to shut up lest we bring a scandal down on our heads and demanded that I bring her all the coffee grounds, ashes, and red earth I could find, and I ran out stumbling and falling all over everthing as my knees trembled beneath me.

  I brought Nafeesa what she'd asked for, and she began scooping up handfuls and putting them on the wound: first the coffee, then the ashes, then the red earth. Then we waited. First the coffee grounds were soaked, then the ashes, then the soil. The bleeding colored it all red, then

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  stopped. I wanted to lift her up on the bed, but Nafeesa ordered me to leave her as she was until the wound had dried.

  Then I saw a sight I'll never forget. It was my mother-in-law. Something long asleep in her suddenly woke up. She picked up the razor and turned toward Nafeesa. The women all ran out of the room and escaped into the streets. Nafeesa, meanwhile, began backing away from my mother-in-law muttering, 'I didn't do a thing, I didn't see a thing.'

  When her back touched the door she felt for the door knob without turning around. When she finally found it, she fled out of the house and escaped.

  Um Khalil, who'd stayed behind, said to my mother-in-law, 'Patience, Um Ahmed. She won't be hurt badly. It's God's will, we are all slaves of our own destiny.'

  Then my mother-in-law turned toward her and she too fled the house. Then it was just my mother-in-law, Simone and myself. My mother-in-law opened the window, spat on the razor, and flung it into the fields; then she closed the window again and turned to me. She pulled me by my hair and shook me, but I didn't fight back. In fact, I wanted her to kill me. But she let go and turned around and began slapping her cheeks again. She squatted down beside Simone and put her head in her lap.

  She bent down and kissed her forehead and whispered to her passionately, 'My darling! My daughter!'

  Then she began to rock back and forth and cry, 'You came here of your own free will, from your own land . . . To be tortured.'

  She looked at me in fury and said, 'And you! Why are you standing there like that? Why didn't you stop me? I've grown old and crazy. But you . . . you're still young, and healthy in spirit . . . Healthy? Hah! . . . you were jealous of her, you and Nafeesa, and Um Khalil. All of you! All of you! I want to cry . . . but I can't. I want to cry just one tear, but it won't come. Oh, scandal of scandals! My little girl! Hamid! My darling! Oh, scandal!'

  She was still rocking back and forth while she talked, and the sight of her and the words she was saying tore my heart to pieces.

  She paused for a moment then screamed in my face, 'Hurry up! Go break an onion. Bring me some cologne. Wake her up, Zeinab.'

  I ran out and broke an onion and came back with a bottle of cologne which Simone had given me as a present along with a handbag and some dresses. We held the cologne under her nose, then poured it out all over her face. I tried massaging her chest and squeezed the onion under her nostrils, then Simone began sluggishly moving her head in the lap of my mother-in-law, who called out to her: 'Simone, my darling.'

  Simone groaned and blinked her eyes a little. She cried up to me weakly as I stood over her, then managed a wan, fleeting glance before her head lolled to one side, her eyes still half open.

  'She's dead,' I screamed. 'Mother! She's dead!'

  A roaring sound surged out of my chest. My mother-in-law began cursing me, not wanting to believe she'd died. She tugged at her arm, realized that she was dead

  and began slapping her cheeks again. Slapping. Slapping. Slapping ... as she rocked back and forth with the head of Simone still resting in her lap.

  The Maamur

  I had to deal with the situation promptly, what a scandal! If the Omda had been in my presence at that instant instead of having telephoned me at home with the news, I would have shot him dead on the spot. How could such a thing have happened to the sweet and gentle Simone? And in my region! What is this barbarism that I must rule over and live in? Even toward foreigners! . . . and toward women! . . .
Bird from the East? The Saint's Lamp? Ha! How could we have fallen so low? I pity you, Hamid. The Siren called to you, and you came over land and sea to lose your most cherished possession, here in your own homeland.

  I gave the doctor a ride in my car and informed him of everything that had happened, just as the Omda had relayed it to me. Then I left him alone a while to think about how he would act. I considered the idea of arresting the Omda, the village elders, the night watchman and Ahmed, and whipping them all mercilessly until they died. But if I did that, I told myself, I'd simply be repeating the same thing Darawish's damned women, those hags in black, had done.

  I asked myself, what is it that makes us envious of beauty and leads us to want to crush it with our bare hands? Like the lamps, whose light changed our nights into day. And Simone . . . poor Simone.

  I consoled myself with the thought that what had happened to Hamid and his wife had been carried out by his mother and sister-in-law, and right under the nose of his inattentive jackass of a brother. But was there any consolation for Hamid in what had happened? Of his own will he walked into his eternal torture. If he'd never left his country none of this would ever have happened. If he'd never left Paris, responding to the call of the Siren, none of this would have happened. If... if... if ... I think I am losing my mind.

  'What will you do?' I asked the doctor.

  He answered without turning to face me, 'Maybe she's still alive.'

  'And if she isn't?' I said.

  'Then she will be dead,' he replied, like an imbecile.

  I asked again, 'What will you do? How will you handle it?'

  He threw me a cold stare without speaking. I said:

  'And what about us? The cause of death. Listen to me. Whatever the cause, it need not become public knowledge or ever leave the confines of this region.'

  'How could that be?' he asked.

  'Fix it,' I said. 'You're the doctor. You must know a thousand causes of death.'

  I was thinking to myself that life itself could be reason enough for death. Then he said to me, 'What about justice?'

  I answered firmly, 'Look, I'm not a judge. Think of the scandal. Think of my destiny and the destiny of every official in the district. And your destiny, and the position of the government in all this.'

  'And if I did it,' the doctor said. 'Who would protect me against informants going to the authorities?'

  'Listen,' I said. 'If there are any informants they'll never get to the authorities, even if they go through the mail.'

  He said, 'And Hamid? Who would protect me against him?'

  'Leave him in God's hands for now,' I said helplessly. 'For now, the important thing is that you order her immediate burial.'

  Then he went back to 'And Hamid?'

  'We'll send for him as soon as we've finished everything,' I said.

  We entered Darawish and the doctor and I got out of the car followed by the assistant officer and a soldier. We left our cars behind us at the bridge. It was a dark, black night, the moon having disappeared about an hour ago. I found that all of Darawish knew what had happened

  and had already started to add to it. There was a large group of them surrounding the house. I issued an order that everyone return to his home, then sent out the soldier and the night watchmen to enforce the order sternly by beating any violators with the utmost severity.

  I entered the Al-Bahairi house and found the Omda sitting with his head bowed. I spoke to him harshly, and he stood up before me. Then I raised my hand and slapped his face, and he cried. I saw Ahmed standing against the wall in a state of shock. I felt like seizing his protruding Adam's apple with my teeth and ripping it out of him; but I spat in his face instead. He didn't even raise his hand to wipe it away. The doctor had gone into her room. Something inside me wanted to see her. But I was afraid to confront death— hers in particular. I kept pacing up and down in the living quarter until the doctor came out and closed the door behind him. After a moment spent staring into our faces, he said, 'She's dead.'

  And then he wrote out a paper, which he gave to me saying, 'This is the burial permit.'

  Then I said in a loud voice for all to hear, whether they were present in the room or not, while I winked at the doctor from the corner of my eye: 'How did she die?'

  He answered with an icy coldness, 'She died as a result of a cardiac arrest — severe and sudden.'

  Then I repeated his statement in a loud voice, 'Did you all hear? She died of heart failure. Understood?'

  Then I told the Omda, 'Bring a carpenter to prepare her coffin. We'll bury her tonight in the family cemetery plot.'

  hi

  And I turned to Ahmed and said, 'Did you hear that? In the family plot. So you can remember her always. You and your mother, your wife and all of Darawish, you scum!'

  Ahmed moved his mouth a little and said in disbelief, 'Coffin? With no washing of the body?'

  'Silence,' I screamed in his face.

  He went dumb, and I sat trying to think what I should do to Nafeesa. I decided she shouldn't escape punishment, no matter what the official cause of death.

  When the living quarter emptied a little, I took the doctor aside. He, the assistant officer, and I were the only ones left in the room. The two of us sat down. I thought briefly about the unbearable ordeal Hamid would be going through tomorrow. It would all start tomorrow and continue whether he stayed in Darawish or fled back to Paris. Then I thought about how Simone had died and that this doctor knew death as well as he knew life. I whispered:

  'Tell me. What was the actual cause of death?'

  The doctor had been off somewhere in a daydream. Finally, he said in confusion, shock still written all over his face, 'Right, huh . . . whose death are you talking about . . . our death ... or hers?'