The Cairo House. Samia Serageldin
Her aunt’s voice. ‘Her cousins were engaged or spoken for at her age.’
‘Fine. I have only one daughter. I’m in no hurry.’
‘That’s evident. Look, I’m not talking about marriage yet. I’m just asking you to consider an engagement. At least you would have some peace of mind – you know what I mean.’
‘I’m not worried about anything like that with Gigi.’
‘I know she’s very sheltered, but if you think just because of that –’
‘Not at all. Girls who get into that kind of trouble lack attention and affection at home, they look for them in the arms of the first boy who turns their head. I know Gigi; underneath her bubbly ways she’s a cool, self-sufficient girl.’ Gigi could hear Papa puffing on his pipe, the way he did when he was thinking. ‘Besides, she really is too young. She should wait until she finishes college. She’s a bright girl and should do very well in her studies.’
‘All the more reason why she won’t have any trouble studying for her college degree while married. The boy is suitable from every point of view, and these days, what with the situation in the country what it is –’ She sighed. ‘You should be glad to see her get away, to have her study in Europe. You should think of her future, of her own good. Things are going from bad to worse over here. If things were different, if we weren’t under sequestration, a girl like Gigi would have her choice of suitors, but these days…’ She sighed. ‘Really, Shamel, we’re only talking about an engagement. But it’s not as if we could take our time about this. Yussef is only here for a couple of weeks, then he’ll be going back to England. His father is putting a lot of pressure on us to arrange a meeting right away.’
Yussef? Gigi tried to guess whom they were discussing.
‘His father is a hard man,’ Papa was saying. ‘A hard man in business, a hard man with women. Twice divorced, and his wives complained bitterly during their marriages. No, Kamal Zeitouni is a hard man. I don’t know if I want to hand over my only child to a son of his.’
Yussef Zeitouni. Gigi remembered being introduced to him at a wedding, and running into him again on feast days at her aunt’s. His mother Zeina, Kamal Zeitouni’s first wife, was a friend of Tante Zohra’s.
‘It’s not always like father, like son,’ Tante Zohra was remonstrating. ‘Besides, do you want her to marry one of those pious young men who’ve never been with a woman before?’
‘And have him experiment on my daughter? Allah forbid!’
‘At least let me arrange a meeting between Gigi and Yussef –’
Gigi had been standing awkwardly behind the screen, too embarrassed to interrupt once she realized she was the subject of the discussion. But now she heard her mother coming down the stairs and decided it was time she made an appearance in the salon.
Yussef, Kamal Zeitouni’s son by his first marriage, was now in his late twenties and lived in London, where he was studying for a doctoral degree. Since Tante Zohra’s visit, Gigi had met him again several times at formal teas and dinners that common acquaintances had arranged. She found him as she remembered: good-looking, tall, with his mother’s sweep of raven hair. He had come to the house for lunch, twice. After lunch they had made strained conversation in the salon while Madame Hélène sat discreetly in a corner, ostensibly engrossed in her embroidery.
Normally the next step would have been a formal engagement, followed by a few months of courtship during which the engaged couple, still more or less chaperoned, came to know each other better. Either one could break it off at some point before the wedding, and some of Gigi’s friends were already on their second engagement. But the circumstances were different in this case. Gigi knew that she had run out of time to make up her mind: she needed to give an answer before Yussef left for England. If it was favorable, he would be back in a few months for the wedding, after which they would leave immediately for Europe.
Papa assured her repeatedly that the decision was entirely hers; it was his prerogative to veto any of her suitors, but he would never influence her in anyone’s favor. Mama seemed to be favorable. Gigi’s girlfriends thought Yussef was handsome and that she was lucky to be going abroad not just for a honeymoon, but to live and study.
Gigi kept stalling; she felt she didn’t know Yussef at all, a reasoning which made Mama impatient. What she could not tell her mother was that she had only the vaguest notion of what marriage was about and did not feel ready for it, regardless of the suitor. Indeed the idea that her parents actually expected her to marry so soon came as a surprise, tinged with a slight sense of betrayal.
Tante Zohra took the matter in hand with her usual decisiveness. ‘Gigi dear, I have an idea. I know it’s hard for you to exchange more than a few words with Yussef with people around all the time. Why don’t you go spend a couple of days at my beach house in Agami? Yussef could come to visit, without all the pressure, in peace and quiet. With your governess, of course, to chaperone; and take Tamer along too, so it won’t seem too obvious. Leila has to study for an exam, but Tamer can go, he never studies anyway.’
Ever since their father’s sudden death nearly a year ago, Tante Zohra had raised Gina’s children, Leila and Tamer. Gigi got along very well with Leila, a level-headed girl only a year younger. Tamer, on the other hand, alternated between uncommunicative sulks and obnoxious high spirits. Gigi was a little disappointed that it was Tamer and not Leila who would go along on this trip.
‘See Alexandria and die,’ the ancient Greeks used to say. Gigi tried to remember the book in which she had read that. She loved Alexandria in the off-season, before the summer crowds arrived. She sat in the back of the car between Madame Hélène and her fifteen-year-old cousin Tamer as they drove up the desert road from Cairo. Omar, Tante Zohra’s occasional driver, was at the wheel, with Om Khalil, all in black, in the passenger seat next to him. Tamer gripped the dog between his knees, his long, lanky legs bent nearly in half.
Tante Zohra’s chalet, as small beach houses were called, was in Agami, on the far side of Alexandria, but they detoured through the city. Once past the salt marshes and long before they could see the Mediterranean, they caught whiffs of the sea breeze. Then they were driving along the Corniche, relatively quiet because it was only April. They stopped at Glimonopoli to buy granita: lemon and mango ices.
They parked on the Corniche. Gigi and Tamer leaned against the railing at the top of the sea wall and let the breeze blow in their faces as they licked their ices. The sun glinted on the crests of the steel blue waves that broke briskly against the sea wall. Gigi closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, her senses overwhelmed by the light and the warmth, the smell of salt and seaweed, the tang of lemon on her tongue.
At the chalet they were greeted by the familiar musty smell, soon dissipated when the creaky wooden shutters were flung open. Gigi found a battered straw hat in the hallway closet overflowing with sand-encrusted sandals, fins, goggles and inflatable rafts. She rolled up her pant legs and ran down the beach across the fine, sifting white powder. At the water’s edge she dug her toes into the cool, wet sand and the gritty, crushed cockleshells. She ran in and out of the surf, keeping a lookout for the loathsome jellyfish washed up by the tide.
‘Gigi! Will you come back in now? It’s getting dark.’ Madame Hélène’s plaintive voice called from the top of the path down to the beach. ‘Gigi! Come in now, you’ll be bitten by crabs.’
After dinner Tamer found the dog-eared deck of cards and the Scrabble game with the three missing letters; they played for hours in the dim light. The electrical voltage in Alexandria was 110 rather than the 220 prevalent in the rest of Egypt and the light always seemed weak there.
Gigi tried on the new dress she was planning to wear when Yussef came tomorrow. Mama’s ‘little dressmaker’ had just finished running it up for her. It was an apricot sundress with crisscrossing shoulder straps and a short, swinging skirt. Gigi twirled round and round in front of the mirror, making the dress flare up and out, and her long hair fly about her face.