Throwing Sparks (33 page)

I wondered what had come over Issa. Did he want to reproduce before he turned into dust again? Was he not afraid of handing down his genetic legacy or did he really think he could just root out the past and start afresh with a home, a wife, children and a nice life? Was there still time for that?

Only demolition can widen a narrow street. The three of us were on a very narrow path and the further down the path we went, the more constricted it became. We could barely pick our way from under the bodies that we had strewn along the path. I seriously doubted that we still had it in us to raise families at such an advanced age.

It was only by standing in as his witnesses that Osama and I fully grasped the extent of Issa’s grievous dilemma. He took us aside and told us of his secret love for Mawdie that had weighed on him these many years. He was at the point where he felt that he wanted us to bear witness to his very life, not just to his marriage.

The first registry clerk refused to draw up the marriage contract.

He shut his ledger and stood up, apologising. Mawdie’s family name lay in the way of his pen. Fearing that news of his plans would get out, Issa took the clerk aside and nimbly spun him a tale of woe. It was sufficiently convincing for the clerk to agree to be sworn to secrecy.

Salwa and Issa’s mother had to postpone their ululations while Osama went to find a marriage registrar willing to draw up the deed.

Issa and I chatted as we waited. I steered the conversation to Salwa and asked Issa how she was doing with Waleed Khanbashi. He had nothing good to say about Waleed, whom he likened to a stagnant bog compared to the lake of pure blue that was Salwa. Waleed was untrustworthy and he was oblivious to all that Salwa had done for him, Issa said. It would be his undoing and it would haunt him to his dying day.

I tried to get him to elaborate, but he would go no further. It was a disjointed conversation in any case because he had to jump up and attend to his mother whenever she called him. Mawdie also needed to be calmed. She was growing very anxious and was determined to have the contract drawn up that night.

Osama was soon back with a marriage clerk in tow who looked churlish and disgruntled. A very crooked set of teeth accentuated his fake smile and he grumbled about the absence of guests.

Issa greeted him expansively and explained that an enormous wedding celebration was planned in Mecca as soon as the marriage formality was concluded. The clerk grudgingly accepted the explanation and began taking down the personal information of the bride and groom and their witnesses, after I had reminded Issa to provide him only with Mawdie’s given name.

Just as he was finishing recording all the information, the clerk asked for the personal ID card of the bride’s guardian. He was taken aback when he heard that the bride was an adult and could consent to her own marriage without a guardian. She was not a spinster and did not need a guardian, Issa told him.

The clerk scoffed and told Issa he was insufficiently versed in Islamic jurisprudence and that the consent of a guardian was essential even if a woman was wizened and her hair had turned grey. Any marriage that was not physically witnessed or verbally attested to by the bride’s guardian would, he declared, be null and void.

‘In whose religion?’ Issa asked, his voice rising.

‘Don’t lecture me on religion!’ the clerk retorted, rising to his feet and refusing to proceed.

Before leaving, he insisted on being paid for his trouble. Even though it had been a waste of time, he demanded the same payment as if the formality had been concluded. The man protested vehemently when Issa offered him 20,000 riyals to do the deed. Issa raised the amount incrementally with every outburst until he offered him 100,000 riyals. At that, the clerk changed his tune and the focus of his ire shifted; he began to lambaste the ‘narrow-minded systems’ that denied people their freedom of choice.

‘I’d really like to help,’ he said, now apologetic. ‘But it is not within my power to conclude this contract. I’m so sorry.’

But Issa and Mawdie were determined not to let anything stand in their way. To overcome this latest obstacle to their marriage by hook or by crook, Issa went and fetched his mother’s Indonesian driver and sat me in the middle of the room.

‘You attended our neighbourhood mosque for a good period of time when we were there.’

‘So?’

‘You know some of the
suras
by heart, don’t you,’ he insisted, ‘and some prayers, right?’

‘Yes, I still remember a few, but—’

‘Great,’ he interrupted me, ‘then you can conclude this marriage formality.’

I hesitated but he urged me on. Mawdie hastily sat down facing Issa and he asked me to begin. Unable to summon up the verses that are recited for such occasions, I substituted with other verses that I knew by heart.

I swore in as witnesses Osama and the Indonesian driver, and had Issa and Mawdie proclaim their acceptance of each other in marriage. The deed was done and I congratulated them warmly.

Now, Salwa’s
zaghroutas
could fill the air, and his mother also trilled, although she sounded more like a rooster going to slaughter.

When I asked Mawdie if she accepted Issa as her husband, her
niqab
slipped – as it had the first time I ever saw her. Here before me were those same eyes in all their glory, the very eyes that had bewitched me that day when she had asked if Issa had returned from his trip.

*  *  *

Mawdie built him up like a tower, one brick at a time.

But before she could unveil her handiwork and proudly reveal his existence, Issa collapsed into a pile of rubble.

It was for her that he had single-mindedly pursued wealth and status, so that he could be considered deserving of her.

With the assistance of Dr Bannan, who had opened the university gates for several of the Master’s acolytes, Issa had obtained a university degree. He endeared himself to his professors by offering them a multitude of services, from the simplest to the most involved. He provided them with gifts, aeroplane tickets, nights in world-class hotels, invitations to wild parties, anything that would help him get one step closer to his goal.

He obtained a Bachelor’s degree with highest honours, and went on to get both a Master’s and a Doctorate from Cairo University. He travelled there twice to defend his Master’s thesis and, later, his doctoral dissertation, even though they were mere formalities both times, consisting of a welcome address and a presentation of the thesis chapters. There were no questions to answer nor any substantive discussions. He came away with a PhD in international law with the highest distinction and a recommendation his thesis be published.

As soon as the verdict was announced, he turned away from his well-wishers and got on his cell phone. He must have dialled more than a dozen times trying to reach Mawdie to tell her the good news, but every time he dialled he got through to a recording that the number was out of service.

All the congratulations and praise left him indifferent. The only voice he wanted to hear was hers, and hers alone.

He left Cairo University with an academic title and was irritated whenever people failed to address him as ‘Doctor’.

*  *  *

Under the Master’s wing, Issa had been able to invest in many projects which made him very wealthy. He often made use of the Master’s name to open doors that would otherwise have remained firmly shut.

When his collapse came, it was sudden and unexpected.

No one had imagined that the Master would find out about Issa and Mawdie so quickly, and I felt that I had surely hastened his fall by divulging their secret. I had slipped up one evening when I was out with Maram.

Her silences bothered me and I would try and cheer her up with stories I embellished here and there. She was often sad and morose; when she was in that mood at the beginning of an evening, she would gradually become dejected and sink into silence. Maram would freeze up, like a beautiful but cold statue, as if all her vitality had been sucked out of her, leaving her to stare blankly into space.

When we are not strong enough to face the reality of our situation, we flee to our inner worlds and hide. There we can despise those we dislike and punish those who have humiliated us and who remain out of reach. We think that by fleeing we can obliterate whatever undermines or defeats us. When Maram fled to her inner world, I would try my best to bring her back and cheer her up although I myself was on the run from my own defeats and from those who had inflicted them.

Whenever the Master was busy, Maram took the opportunity to enjoy herself and do what she pleased, although she was cautious and circumspect about it.

‘What’s new with your friend?’ she asked me that night.

As a rule, when she said ‘your friend’ she meant Issa. To lighten the mood I told her the story of Issa’s wedding and how I ended up officiating at the ceremony.

Secrets spread like infectious diseases. I would later wonder if she had been with me simply because she wanted to isolate the virus that would take down Issa.

She planned our rendezvous and put together elaborate plans for us to meet without having to go to hotels and beach resorts where my presence would be noted. We started meeting in the homes of her girlfriends. She would have her driver drop her off at a friend’s house and dismiss him; then she would change her outfit and have the friend’s driver take her to another friend’s home, from where she would call me to come over.

After we had had our fill of each other, she would reverse the procedure. Sometimes she would make a reservation for the entire wing of a hotel, using the name of her friend’s husband. Then she would call me and I would drop everything and rush to meet her.

By the time I arrived, she would be laid out in all her splendour and I would plough her every furrow, from the top of her head to the soles of her feet.

I was sure she was besotted with me.

But every time we met, she would gather one more strand from the thread of Issa’s story.

*  *  *

If not for Mawdie, I would not have known that the Master had found out. She had taken considerable risks to reach me, leaving the family wing of the Palace several days in a row and asking her driver to drive around the compound on the off-chance of running into me.

When at last they located me, the driver hopped out and called me over to speak to her. Leaning out of the window, she asked me if I knew what had happened to Issa. I was transfixed by her eyes, as ever, and said that I had no news of him.

‘My brother found out about our marriage,’ she whispered urgently. ‘I don’t know what he’s done to him, but please, please find out and let me know.’

She ducked her head into the car briefly, opened her handbag and fished out a cell phone which she handed to me. ‘This is a secure phone and I’ll call you for news,’ she said. She turned to the driver and told him to drive on.

The car had not gone a few feet when it stopped again and Mawdie leaned out of the window once more. ‘This will be the last time I see you. I’m moving to the new palace in Sharm Abhar,’ she said. Choking back tears, she added, ‘Please tell Issa if you see him!’

I wondered if she had any inkling of what might happen.

20

Osama’s condition had worsened. He was constantly in a drunken stupor, and as soon as his inebriation wore off he reached for whatever alcohol was at hand. Nadir’s recently discovered sexual proclivities were to blame and Osama could no longer stand being fully conscious.

In his stupor, he would conjure up Tahani and express his longing for her as if she could hear him. He would say a jumble of things, some heartfelt and sincere, others corny; sometimes he recited love poetry or hummed a popular song. Then he would keel over and fall asleep as his inebriation got the better of him.

Osama found out about Issa’s love for Mawdie before I did.

Issa had no one else to share his sorrow with but Osama. Even as he valiantly climbed all the necessary rungs, earning academic degrees and making untold amounts of money, Mawdie remained out of reach – and she would always remain so.

Mawdie had been made to marry her cousin against her will. Were it not for Osama’s presence by his side that night, Issa might have died of a broken heart.

He had just returned from Cairo with his doctorate, confident that this highest qualification would supersede the class divide. Now, he felt, he could venture to approach her brother, the Master, and ask for Mawdie’s hand in marriage.

The Palace was sparkling when he arrived. Every corner of the grounds was festooned with wedding lights and all the courtyards, gardens and the open plaza thronged with guests. Waiters circulated with refreshments, tables heaved with food and streams of musicians and singers entertained the crowd. As the bride could not be seen in public, well-wishers were lining up to congratulate the groom.

The city’s elite would not have missed this wedding celebration for the world, especially as it provided them with the opportunity to pay tribute to the Master and congratulate him.

No one even noticed Issa still desperately holding his phone up to his ear and dialling repeatedly to get through to the number that had remained unanswered all week.