month to his pension.
He was quite happy with his life. His new wife was experienced in the ways of the world. She met his violent moods and vulgarity with excellent cunning and paved the way for a stable existence with no visible cracks. He never stopped visiting the old house nor loving his mother and his brother Qasim; their eccentricity delighted him and he always had fun with them. He would let his mother kiss his brow affectionately and bowed his head for her to perform spells on and recite Surat al-Samad over and some of the daily prayers she knew by heart. He wouldquestion his brother about his stars and future, tour his childhood haunts, and read the opening sura of the Qur’an at al-Hussein, which represented the beginning and end of his religious life. He also visited his sisters’ houses and his brother Amer at the Dawud family residence. During this period, his relations with Abd al-Azim’s son Halim grew stronger, for the two suffered an identical fate at the hands of the revolution. So did his relations with his cousin Labib. He smoked hashish with the former and drank with the latter. Their hearts united in criticizing the revolution, contempt for its men, and remembering the good old days. His happiness was only disturbed by a nagging awareness that Wahida and Salih harbored for him only a fraction of the love he had for them and that they much preferred their mother. He was moved by the tragedies of the nation and his family. He lived through the October 1973 attack and in the period that followed began to feel weak. He was initially diagnosed with anemia, but his wife learned from laboratory results that he had leukemia and death was waiting at the door. He did not know what hit him. He was moved to the hospital not knowing what was going on. His wife, Wahida, and Salih were present for his final hours of agony. As the end approached, he asked to see Radia, but circumstances prohibited it for she was over a hundred and did not know her son was sick, nor did she find out before she died. He gave up the ghost after much suffering, seen off by the tears of his wife, Wahida, and Salih. But death did not lighten Shakira’s deep hatred of him.
Habiba Amr Aziz
If Bayt al-Qadi Square, the alleys that emptied into it, and the towering walnut trees left a trace in the hearts of Amr and Surur’s families; if the minarets, dervishes, strongmen, wedding feasts, and funeral ceremonies; or the fairy tales, legends, and ifrit left a trace, it was the life that flowed through the blood andhid beneath the smiles, tears, and dreams in the heart of Amr Effendi’s fifth child, Habiba, who could never bring herself to leave the quarter in spite of dazzling opportunities. No one loved their father and mother, brothers, sisters, cousins, even neighbors and cats, as much as she did. She wept over every death until she became known as “the mourner.” She kept memories and promises and was permanently intoxicated by the past and its happy times. Her beauty nearly matched Samira’s but for a film on her left eye. Her share of education went as far as erasing ignorance, which would soon return due to disuse. She knew nothing of her religion other than her mother’s popular version but was convinced that fervent love for al-Hussein was the best route to the Hereafter. When she was sixteen, one of her brother Amer’s friends, an Arabic language teacher called Shaykh Arif al-Minyawi, proposed and she was married to him in Darb al-Ahmar. After one happy year together she gave birth to Nadir but the next year the man fell into the clutches of cancer and died.
“Oh darling daughter, your luck is dreadful!” Radia cried in anguish.
Habiba lived with her mother-in-law on the proceeds of shops in al-Mugharbilin and dedicated her life to her son—a widow though not yet twenty. She loved Nadir as any mother loves her child, but she loved him too with a heart that seemed created to love. When Nadir came to the end of Qur’an
He was quite happy with his life. His new wife was experienced in the ways of the world. She met his violent moods and vulgarity with excellent cunning and paved the way for a stable existence with no visible cracks. He never stopped visiting the old house nor loving his mother and his brother Qasim; their eccentricity delighted him and he always had fun with them. He would let his mother kiss his brow affectionately and bowed his head for her to perform spells on and recite Surat al-Samad over and some of the daily prayers she knew by heart. He wouldquestion his brother about his stars and future, tour his childhood haunts, and read the opening sura of the Qur’an at al-Hussein, which represented the beginning and end of his religious life. He also visited his sisters’ houses and his brother Amer at the Dawud family residence. During this period, his relations with Abd al-Azim’s son Halim grew stronger, for the two suffered an identical fate at the hands of the revolution. So did his relations with his cousin Labib. He smoked hashish with the former and drank with the latter. Their hearts united in criticizing the revolution, contempt for its men, and remembering the good old days. His happiness was only disturbed by a nagging awareness that Wahida and Salih harbored for him only a fraction of the love he had for them and that they much preferred their mother. He was moved by the tragedies of the nation and his family. He lived through the October 1973 attack and in the period that followed began to feel weak. He was initially diagnosed with anemia, but his wife learned from laboratory results that he had leukemia and death was waiting at the door. He did not know what hit him. He was moved to the hospital not knowing what was going on. His wife, Wahida, and Salih were present for his final hours of agony. As the end approached, he asked to see Radia, but circumstances prohibited it for she was over a hundred and did not know her son was sick, nor did she find out before she died. He gave up the ghost after much suffering, seen off by the tears of his wife, Wahida, and Salih. But death did not lighten Shakira’s deep hatred of him.
Habiba Amr Aziz
If Bayt al-Qadi Square, the alleys that emptied into it, and the towering walnut trees left a trace in the hearts of Amr and Surur’s families; if the minarets, dervishes, strongmen, wedding feasts, and funeral ceremonies; or the fairy tales, legends, and ifrit left a trace, it was the life that flowed through the blood andhid beneath the smiles, tears, and dreams in the heart of Amr Effendi’s fifth child, Habiba, who could never bring herself to leave the quarter in spite of dazzling opportunities. No one loved their father and mother, brothers, sisters, cousins, even neighbors and cats, as much as she did. She wept over every death until she became known as “the mourner.” She kept memories and promises and was permanently intoxicated by the past and its happy times. Her beauty nearly matched Samira’s but for a film on her left eye. Her share of education went as far as erasing ignorance, which would soon return due to disuse. She knew nothing of her religion other than her mother’s popular version but was convinced that fervent love for al-Hussein was the best route to the Hereafter. When she was sixteen, one of her brother Amer’s friends, an Arabic language teacher called Shaykh Arif al-Minyawi, proposed and she was married to him in Darb al-Ahmar. After one happy year together she gave birth to Nadir but the next year the man fell into the clutches of cancer and died.
“Oh darling daughter, your luck is dreadful!” Radia cried in anguish.
Habiba lived with her mother-in-law on the proceeds of shops in al-Mugharbilin and dedicated her life to her son—a widow though not yet twenty. She loved Nadir as any mother loves her child, but she loved him too with a heart that seemed created to love. When Nadir came to the end of Qur’an
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