Him, Me, Muhammad Ali. Randa Jarrar
if I thought we were cursed, and I spat in my chest and said, “Let’s hope to God we’re not.” She asked if I knew of someone who might break the spell if there was one, and I told her I did. Perihan leaned into the edge of her seat, her back straightening, and said, “When can we go see her?” She smoothed her bangs and I said, “Well, not now. . . . Maybe tomorrow.”
The next day we took the bus out to Abu Qir. Perihan gawked at the ponies and carts that passed by. I nudged her with my shoulder and she stifled her giggles. We walked between two buildings into a cobbled sand-brown hallway that was windy and salty, the blue of the ocean ahead a rectangular marine box. We found the woman’s door and knocked. She sent her girl to answer it, and the servant stared at the two of us—an odd pairing in differing ensembles, she must have thought: one crinkled, one starched—then ushered us in. We described our woes to the woman, who was the size of Shadia but eighty years old, her neck an accordion. The servant made cups of coffee; we drank them and the old lady told us to push our thumbs into the base of the demitasses. We did, and passed the cups back. She read Perihan’s cup first: Perihan was a fool in love, she said, but soon, she would find a man. She didn’t have to pretend to be anyone else; she just had to be the way she was and a wonderful husband would appear. He’d be tall and have a goatee. It would happen within the next three months. Perihan nodded silently. I was confused as to why she wasn’t excited. Maybe she didn’t believe in fortunes?
Then the woman labored over my cup, huffing and tut-tutting. She turned the cup over and over in her hand, and finally she exhaled loudly and said, “There is no power nor strength without God. My girl, I see nothing in your cup but darkness, long darkness with small bursts of light once a year. I am sorry, daughter.” I nodded and stood up. Perihan looked at the old woman with hateful eyes, then blurted out, “Why did you say that to her? We were both going to pay you the same exact amount. You’re a fraud. Besides, I don’t like men.” I grasped her by the arm to silence her, pulled her off the couch, and we left.
By the time we walked home from the bus, the sun was setting, and the girls were sitting by Mother at the edge of the dump, eating grilled ears of corn and grinning. From where we stood, they looked just like we used to. Perihan said goodnight and told Anna to go up to sleep when she was done. Anna was confused, so Perihan said it in English, then Anna argued, negotiating a longer stay, but Perihan wouldn’t budge.
After Anna went up and Shadia came in for her bath, I thought about the old lady of Abu Qir, about what she had said about my darkness. I looked around my apartment: ever since I could remember, our walls have been covered in rugs, rugs in red, orange, blue, and green. Our house is colorful and serene; Mother says it reminds her of home down south, and Father, a wise man who likes to maintain peace, agrees with her as he does on everything. Outside the house are my flowers and plants and upstairs, in the homes of the people for whom I work, the walls are white and everything is bleak.
After Shadia slept, I watched the street and the sky. A woman’s voice floated down from her balcony. “Mother of Shadia! Mother of Shadia!” Perihan was the only person who called me that. Normally, I hate when summer folks want me to do something for them this late in the evening, but for Perihan, I was willing to let go of my annoyance. I climbed the stairs and found her on the third floor. “Do you smoke?” she asked. “Bongo, I mean?” I gasped, then laughed. I had never smoked drugs before but I couldn’t imagine anyone else I’d want to share them with. “Yes,” I said, and she took a long white cigarette out of her pocket. I whispered that she was nuts and to put it back in her pocket; we had to go to the roof if we wanted to do something that illicit. She obliged and followed me up.
We climbed the ladder onto the roof and watched as the wash fluttered in the breeze. She lit her cigarette, took a drag, and passed it along to me. I smoked and, halfway through, got the giggles. She laughed too, and we watched the beach and the street below. My mind felt light, and my body relaxed. We told each other funny stories, but an hour later, Perihan began to get morose. “I hate not being a little girl,” she said. “When I was little I wore a nightie in the street and no one looked at me. No one whistled at me. I felt invisible and happy. I had no money and I was happy. Look at you. You still wear what you used to wear. You live the same life you’ve always lived. You have a home here, and you always will. You raise Shadia without her father, but not alone; your mother and your sisters and all the neighborhood helps. I envy you.”
I couldn’t believe what she was saying. No one had ever told me they envied me. And why would Perihan, the light-skinned beauty who lives in America and who’s been on an airplane, envy me?
“That’s silly,” I said. “No one helps me. I was punished for leaving Shadia’s father. My mother still won’t look me in the eye. I’m considered worse than a widow, and my honor is constantly in question, just because I’ve had . . . sex.” I was high. “Besides,” I giggled, “it should be the other way around.” I was not ready to be morose. “I should envy you. You’re getting the man with the goatee.”
We both laughed at this, big laughs that stole away our breath, cascading giggles and tears. Perihan said, “Listen, I know I’m paranoid right now, but listen, I think she switched our fortunes.”
“No.” I slapped her arm.
“Yes, yes, yes. In the next three months you will meet your man. My life is dark and miserable except for the summers, when I’m not teaching and I can travel. Yours was my fortune. Trust me.”
I laughed and blushed and told her I hoped we both could get love. She smiled and said, “From your lips to the heavens.” Then she stared at my lips for a long time and I felt a warmth spread through me.
“Do you want to see the phantom apartment?” I said, and she squealed and nodded. We pushed the timed light-switch and ran down as quietly as possible to the third floor. She held on to my dress, laughing. Inside, she gawked at the white sheets and marble floors, sat down and ran her hand against their surface.
“I saw them install this floor,” I said. “Burly men carried the slabs up on their shoulders.”
Perihan sat back, her body stretched out against the floor. I sat next to her.
“Do you ever bring men here?” she said.
I spat in my chest. “Of course not.”
“Why not?” she insisted.
“Someone would see them. Mother or Father, even Shadia. It’s too risky. And I haven’t met anyone to do that with.”
“If you met someone, would you? You could easily disguise the man as a friend of a family here. You’re the eyes and ears of the neighborhood, so you can sneak in anyone you wanted. There are rich girls all over Egypt who wish they could do the same.”
She was right. “Sometimes,” I divulged, “I see men beautiful enough to invite here. But I don’t, I just come here by myself and imagine them touching me.”
“You come here to masturbate?”
My face flushed and I looked away.
“Don’t, Aisha. Don’t be embarrassed,” she said, and took my face in her hands. I felt strange and still warm. She kissed my cheek. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she said and stroked my face. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she said and kissed my eyelids. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she whispered and pecked my lips. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she said, her tongue sliding into my mouth. I hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I didn’t know why. I imagined my mother finding us, spitting on me, her mouth grimacing in disgust, and I pulled away. Perihan put her hands on my waist and said again, “Don’t be embarrassed,” and slowly wedged her knee between my legs. I let out a sharp cry and smelled her hair. It was sweet and salty at once. She slid her hands over me, then kissed my neck, my shoulders, my breasts, my stomach, my hips, all the while whispering for me not to be embarrassed. I couldn’t help it. Soon, her hair was caressing the inside of my thighs, and her tongue was on the ridge of my sex. She darted it over me and hummed and groaned, and I looked at the white sheets all around me and sighed. Then she slid a finger inside me and thrust