Two Women in One by Nawal El Saadawi

she heard a voice calling, ‘Bahiah.’
    She turned and saw Dr Alawi behind his white spectacles, surrounded by female students.
    ‘Bahiah, where’ve you been?’ he asked in his authoritative tone. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
    Momentarily at a loss, she said, ‘I’ve been in the girls’ lounge.’
    ‘Come to my room for five minutes’, he said in a tone that bordered on command.
    A female student whispered in her ear, ‘He’ll cane you with a ruler.’
    Another laughed, clapping her hand over her mouth, ‘He’ll dissect you with his forceps.’
    A third leaned forward and said, ‘He’ll tear you to pieces.’
    A fourth sighed, ‘Lucky you — I wish it was me!’
    Moans, groans, sighs, and gasps, a hidden burning desire buried within her like a germ that sought to torture her body, rip it apart, destroy it so completely that nothing would remain.
    She followed him into his office. He had already taken off his white coat and spectacles. The tension had gone out of the lecturer, who now stood as an athletic young man, slim and with a pale complexion, now reddish in the gleaming sunlight. His eyes were wider than usual, as if he was surprised: ‘What’s the matter with you these days, Bahiah? This is not the Bahiah we used to know.’ She shuddered in panic, as if he had stripped off her clothes and glimpsed part of her so private that she had concealed it from others’ eyes and kept it for herself alone. Pulling the collar of her blouse up around her neck, she said angrily, ‘I’m the same as usual.’
    He replied in the quiet tone of the confident lecturer, ‘What about skipping your anatomy classes?’
    ‘I was busy with the exhibition.’
    ‘No, Bahiah. It’s not the exhibition. You’re busy with something else.’
    Her lips parted in astonishment, but she pursed them quickly, as if angry. She turned to leave, but he blocked the way and continued to lecture her. ‘You’re busy with something else, Bahiah.’
    She raised her eyes to his: ‘No.’
    As if he had not heard her reply, he asked in a quiet, confident voice, ‘What’s bothering you, Bahiah?’
    ‘Nothing’, she said again.
    There was something between herself and Dr Alawi — something unspecified and incomprehensible but nevertheless real and palpable. She sensed it in his blue eyes when he looked at her, and in his voice when he spoke to her. Sometimes she wondered what it could be. She had seen him once in a dream. He was wearing a shirt and trousers and he was as slim as an athlete. His arm was hairy and looked reddish in the sunlight. He picked her up and tried to embrace her, but she slipped away. He put his arms round her, tore her hands from her mouth, and kissed her. She pushed him away, only to find there was no one there. She had been dreaming. She was surprised that Dr Alawi could force himself on her in her dreams, whereas she did not desire him when awake — on the contrary, she loathed him. She detested his piercing blue eyes and his laugh. He did not laugh like other people. His laugh was dignified and masterful. His guffaw was fake and abrupt. No sooner had it started than it was cut off. He always made people feel as if he was a lecturer, someone who knew what they did not and owned what they did not. He mounted the podium with steps like other lecturers: slow, self-confident, even relaxed. His bottom was a little flabby from sitting too long on comfortable chairs.
    One of his hairy reddish hands was on the door knob, the other on her shoulder, patting it as teachers do their students. But now his hand rested there a moment, a quick touch like an involuntary contraction of the muscles. There was a slight tremor in his voice as he said, ‘Bahiah, you know I care about you.’
    He collected himself quickly, resuming his quiet confident lecturer’s tone: ‘Exams are coming up soon. And I want you to pass.’
    At the tram stop she looked at her watch. Half past three. Her heart pounded. As she reached in her