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  “Who is it? Who’s there?”

  “Me.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Hisham al-Abir.”

  The door opened a crack, emitting a high-pitched squeak. A dark brown boy, about eleven years old with short, curly hair and a fine, handsome face, put his head round. ‘He must be Said,’ Hisham thought. ‘How he’s grown.’ Said was his uncle’s Eritrean ‘boy’, who had come from Asmara with his own uncle, the owner of the gas shop. Hisham’s uncle had adopted him when the shop owner was unable to care for the boy, who was then no more than five years old. The last time Hisham had seen him was on his most recent visit to Riyadh three years earlier.

  “I’m Hisham, the son of your ‘uncle’s’ sister. Don’t you recognise me?”

  Said looked at him indifferently. “Come in,” he said, the door squeaking again loudly as he opened it wide. “My uncle’s not at home at the moment.”

  Said led him into the sitting room, to the right of the corridor that led to a courtyard off which the bedrooms of the boys, Muhammad, Hamad, Ahmad and Abd al-Rahman, were located. The bedrooms of their parents and the girls, Munira and Moudhi, were on the second floor overlooking the courtyard where the whole family would gather on various occasions. On cold winter days, anyone could go there to sit in the sun for warmth; if Ramadan fell during spring or summer, the male members of the family would meet here each day for the iftar, when they broke their fast after sunset. If Ramadan fell during winter, the men would have their iftar in the sitting room where Hisham was standing, and the women would have theirs in his aunt’s room on the second floor or in the large kitchen at the back of the courtyard. Occasionally his uncle and aunt would share dates and coffee together in one of their rooms, but main meals were always taken separately; this custom was familar to Hisham, though he had never followed it with his parents.

  Hisham sat down near the door, resting on one of the plush cushions elegantly arranged in a row around the walls of the sitting room and laid on top of a red carpet from Isfahan, with blue and yellow designs, that covered the whole floor. With the breeze from the three white fans suspended from the ceiling Hisham began to relax; here the fans refreshed the air, unlike in Dammam. Riyadh was dry, and its houses built of mud bricks which were a natural form of insulation. During the scorching summers they kept the heat out, and in the bitter cold winters they kept it in. Hisham felt a sense of languor spreading through his body, and dozed off for a little while, waking when he heard someone welcoming him.

  “Look who’s here! Thanks be to God you’ve arrived safely. God preserve you, cousin.”

  He opened his eyes, looked drowsily at the smiling face bent over him and smiled back. He was very fond of Abd al-Rahman, his youngest cousin. They were about the same age, although Abd al-Rahman was taller and more handsome, with lighter-coloured skin; but he was not as well read as Hisham was, nor as interested in current affairs. It was this difference that made Hisham feel superior when he compared himself to his cousin and found that, overall, the result was not in Abd al-Rahman’s favour. He had no interest in culture whatsoever; he loved life and just wanted to get on with it. All he cared about was having fun, going on trips to the desert with his friends, playing Plot and flirting with girls in Suwaiqa and al-Wazir Street. He was not interested in studying and so only just managed to pass his exams, when he passed them at all, which would infuriate his father to the extent that Hisham’s uncle would occasionally come close to beating the boy; but Abd al-Rahman’s mother would intervene, and his father – who was too good-natured a person in any case – never actually hit him.

  “God preserve you too, cousin. How are things? How is everyone?” asked Hisham happily with a big smile. He and his cousin embraced and then sat down again next to one another.

  “Where’s Uncle?”

  “At the mosque.”

  “The mosque! But it’s not prayer time?”

  “You know your uncle: he loves going to the mosque. He goes every prayer time and then stays behind afterwards.”

  “He’s a good man, no doubt about it. I’ve never met anyone like him.”

  Hisham’s uncle, Abd al-Aziz al-Mubaraki, was truly unique. His mother’s only brother and older than her, he had spent his life travelling extensively, finally settling in Riyadh. He could not bear to live in Qusaim, where Hisham’s maternal grandfather had lived out the last of his days, and had left first of all for Kuwait, where he spent several years before returning to Qusaim. Soon after the death of his father, Abd al-Aziz had resumed his travels, going to Egypt, Iraq, Syria, Jordan and Palestine as a merchant. Eventually he came to rest in Qusaim again, where he married and had Muhammad and Hamad. When his wife was expecting their daughter Munira they moved to Riyadh, where he had acquired a good position working for the government. When his family grew and his responsibilities with it, he stopped travelling altogether. In Riyadh Ahmad had been born, then Moudhi and finally Abd al-Rahman.

  Hisham and Abd al-Rahman continued chatting for a while when a young woman came in, covering her head and face with a black veil.

  “God preserve you, after coming all this way,” she said rapidly, in a high-pitched and rather loud voice. “And I was just saying to myself, ‘Why is it Riyadh looks brighter today?’ It’s because you’re here.”

  Hisham realised this was his cousin Moudhi. He had not seen her face for years, as she had worn the veil since reaching puberty and in any case had always worn it in his presence since he had come of age himself. In the past, Abd al-Aziz would sometimes bring his family to Dammam during the Eid al-Fitr holiday at the end of Ramadan and occasionally at Eid al-Adha and during the summer whenever they did not go to Qusaim or Taif. Abd al-Aziz used to travel to those cities throughout the summer months when the government moved there. Hisham remembered how happy he was when they came to Dammam to visit. Moudhi, Abd al-Rahman and he would play together and watch Aramco Television, the broadcasts from the American air base and, when the humidity was high, even Iranian television. They would go swimming in the shallow waters at ‘Half Moon Bay’ (or ‘Half Bombay’ as they used to pronounce it) and Aziziya. But their favourite outings were to al-Shabak in Dhahran, where they would gaze at the wide, clean streets, towering trees, elegant buildings and the American women driving sleek cars and wearing tight shorts. He could still remember Moudhi’s comments as she had looked at those women with a sigh: “So,” she had said, “these are their women; they’re not a bit like us. Shame on us!” With that she had covered her face with her hands.

  After all those years Hisham could still remember what she looked like. Moudhi was not a dazzling beauty, but there was something undeniably attractive about her. She was the least fair-skinned of her brothers and sisters; in fact, she was positively dark.

  When she came into the room Hisham recognised her despite her veil, from her slim figure, voice and manner of speaking. He jumped to his feet when he saw her and took her hand as she held it out to him.

  “Hello, cousin,” he said. “How are you, Moudhi?”

  “Well. And how’s the family back in the Eastern Province?”

  “They’re well. They send their love to everyone.”

  “The tea will be ready in a moment,” said Moudhi, going back into the house once the exchange of pleasantries was over. She vanished beyond the doorway, leaving behind the faint trace of perfume as proof of a recent female presence.

  “Where are the others?” Hisham asked, Moudhi’s scent lingering in his nostrils. “Where are Muhammad, Hamad, Ahmad and Munira?”

  “Muhammad’s doing overtime at the ministry, Hamad’s with his friends as usual and Ahmad’s asleep in his room.”

  “Asleep! At this time of day?”

  “That’s Ahmad for you. He can never get enough of anything.”

  “And what about Munira?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” said Abd al-Rahman, sitting up straight and smiling. “Munira got married. She’s gone to live with her husband in Jeddah. You know her hu
sband; he’s my cousin Nasir al-Suwayfi.”

  “Yes ... yes. How long ago was that?”

  “About two months ago.”

  “And none of you told us, as though we weren’t part of the family.”

  “It was a quick wedding. There wasn’t a big reception. It was all done in a rush. You know your uncle, he doesn’t like extravagance or ostentation. We tried to convince him that a wedding reception wasn’t like that, but he insisted on having a small dinner just for the bride and groom’s immediate families.”

  ‘Lucky man who married you, Munira,’ Hisham thought to himself. He could still remember her: that oval face; those big, black eyes; those full, crimson lips that would reveal her pearly teeth when she smiled; her tender, voluptuous body, eye-catching despite her short stature, and the jet-black hair that reached down to her bottom in two long plaits. All that he remembered from the time when he had still been allowed to mix with the ‘harem’. So Munira had got married ... What a lucky man Nasir was!

  “But never mind all that. What about your news?” said Abd al-Rahman, with a strange smile and an enigmatic twinkle in his eye.

  “Well, I finished secondary school and got my diploma. Tomorrow I’ll go and apply for a place at the Faculty of Commerce. I’ll be staying with you for the first year of my course until I can get things sorted out. Nothing worth mentioning apart from that, really.”

  “But why don’t you stay with us for the whole of your course? It’s a big house, and it would be fun for all of us. You know what I mean,” said Abd al-Rahman, grinning even more and giving Hisham a wink.

  Hisham felt embarrassed. He knew all about Abd al-Rahman’s exploits. “Yes ... yes. By the way, where’s your mother?” he said, trying to change the subject. “I want to say hello to her.”

  “She’s in Qusaim, visiting my sick uncle,” Abd al-Rahman said casually, before suddenly changing his position quickly, as though he had been stung by a scorpion. “Speaking of my mother,” he said enthusiastically, “I made her pressure my father into buying me a car. OK, it’s second-hand, but it’s better than nothing. Ahmad’s no better than I am. Now I can go wherever I want,” he continued, eyes shining. “Having a car really is a blessing. Last week,” he said, drawing so close to Hisham that their heads were almost touching, “I was sitting on the doorstep of the ...”

  But before he could finish what he was saying, Said came in with the tea. Abd al-Rahman broke off and took the tray from him, telling him to leave, and then continued talking in a whisper as he hastily poured out the tea and offered a cup to Hisham.

  “Last week I was sitting on the doorstep of the house in the afternoon. I had nothing to do and I wasn’t in the mood to do anything, either. Suddenly a girl passed by; I started looking at her, and when she passed directly in front of me she looked at me from behind her veil, which was very thin: it hardly hid her face at all. She was very pretty. She smiled at me and without realising what I was doing I followed her, watching her arse shake as she walked. Oh, Hisham, it was a sight to make your heart bleed.”

  Abd al-Rahman paused, his breath coming more quickly, and sipped his tea. “To get to the point,” he went on, “I carried on walking behind her until she got to a house not far from here. She opened the door and went inside, then closed the door behind her. I was disappointed, but a moment later when I was just about to leave she put her head round the door and beckoned to me to come near, calling my name in a hushed voice, ‘Abd al-Rahman, Abd al-Rahman,’ and looking left and right and back inside the house. I went up to her and she said in a hurry, ‘Today, after the evening prayers. I’ll leave the door open a bit; come inside and you’ll find me waiting for you. Goodbye for now.’ And she shut the door.”

  Abd al-Rahman paused to pour himself another cup of tea. Hisham was on the edge of his seat and urged him to finish the story. His own cup was still about half full. “After the evening prayers,” said Abd al-Rahman, “I went to her house. The truth is I was in two minds about it at the beginning, but in the end I decided to go and put my trust in God. I found the door open like she’d said and I went in, shaking all over and drenched in sweat. I shut the door behind me and then all of a sudden I felt something pulling me inside. I nearly passed out, but then I heard her voice saying, ‘Over here,’ and I came to again.”

  Abd al-Rahman drank some more tea and went on breathlessly, “She took me to a very small room and closed the door, saying, “Everyone’s watching television on the other side of the house. Now’s our chance.” Then she threw her arms around me and I felt the softness of her body, so hot it almost burned me. She pressed her lips to my mouth and then drew me further into the room. All my fear and nerves dissolved and the only thing I felt was that furnace I had in my hands.”

  “But how did she know your name?” asked Hisham, rather doubtfully.

  “You doubt what I’m telling you, don’t you? Well, in that case I’m not telling you the rest.”

  Hisham apologised and asked Abd al-Rahman to go on: he was all ears. Abd al-Rahman refused at first, but soon continued, one of his hands planted between his thighs. “I asked her the same thing myself. She said everyone in the neighbourhood knew the sheikh Abd al-Aziz al-Mubaraki and his children, and that she had been waiting for the opportunity to get to know me, until the chance had come along that afternoon.” Abd al-Rahman’s tone betrayed his pride. “Anyway, the point is, I felt as though my whole body was so tense it was going to explode. My clothes didn’t feel like they could contain so much tension. She stripped and lay down on an old carpet on the floor. Hisham, what can I tell you? I started looking at every part of her, trying to make out her body in the dim light from the window high up on the wall. My eyes fixed on that dark triangle of hers. I started getting tenser. I took my clothes off and lay down on top of her, but I couldn’t do a thing. She chuckled and whispered, ‘He must be a virgin ... and there he was, making himself out to be a right ladies’ man!’ Then she made me lie on my back and got on top of me. And all of a sudden I felt like I was drowning in a sea of moistness and heat and pleasure I can’t describe. I felt myself coming several times before we parted. Oh, Hisham, it was an indescribable moment.”

  By the time Abd al-Rahman finished his story, Hisham was worked up to an unimaginable pitch of excitement. He felt as though he had a cauldron boiling inside him. “There’s one thing I find confusing,” he said, when he had calmed down a little. “How could you have had sex with her if she was still a virgin? I gather from what you said that she still lives with her family, so she must have been a virgin?”

  “You don’t believe what I told you!” Abd al-Rahman shouted at him, flying into a temper. “Who said every girl who lives with her family is a virgin? And anyway, in her case she’s divorced but still young, and she needs the money. I’m seeing her again the day after tomorrow. I’ll show her to you just so you believe me.”

  “No, man, don’t show me anything and I won’t show you anything either. I believe you; she’s a blessing sent to you by God. But you haven’t told me, how could you –”

  Hisham did not finish his sentence, as just then he heard his uncle returning from the mosque and uttering ritual expressions of piety: “Praise be to God, thanks be to God, God is great ... God forgive me for my sins.” A moment later his face appeared around the door. He was a tall, thin man with a kindly face and a neat, short white beard; his moustache had been twisted with conspicuous care, and his forehead was broad, with a round, dark mark in the middle. Hisham jumped to his feet as soon as he saw his uncle, rushed over to him and kissed him on the forehead. Abd al-Rahman got up too and greeted him, bowing his head and saying, “Good evening, Father,” with the utmost politeness. “Good evening,” he mumbled back, and then stood there for a few moments asking Hisham all the conventional questions about his mother and father, their health and how they were generally.

  “Did you both pray the sunset prayers?” Hisham’s uncle asked, looking at Abd al-Rahman, who was still standing politely with h
is head bowed and his hands folded over his chest.

  “The truth is we weren’t able to go to the mosque, Father, so we prayed here,” stammered Abd al-Rahman in reply.

  “There’s nothing wrong with praying at home if you have to,” said Hisham’s uncle, his irritation showing on his face, “but praying in the mosque is better and more appropriate and worthier in God’s eyes. I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

  Without waiting for an answer Hisham’s uncle turned and went into the main part of the house, where he would read the section of the Qur’an designated for the day before returning to the mosque again.

  Hisham and Abd al-Rahman sat back down. “Everything about my father is good except this mosque lark,” said Abd al-Rahman, clearly fed up. “It’s always, ‘No matter what, the dawn prayers must come first.’”

  “Don’t get upset,” said Hisham. “My uncle’s one of the best people around. Try another father and you’ll soon realise just how good he is.” This remark had occurred quite spontaneously to Hisham.

  The two young men continued talking, and the conversation drifted from one topic to another. They were joined by Ahmad, who had woken up from his long siesta without Hisham’s uncle seeing him. Ahmad was extremely cunning in his relationship with his father. When the latter asked why he had not seen him in the mosque, he would take advantage of the unpredictable nature of his work at the electric company to convince the older man that he had prayed here or there, in one of Riyadh’s numerous other mosques or at work. He also treated his father with utmost courtesy, which made Abd al-Aziz so fond of this son that he was willing to believe him even when he suspected he was not telling the truth.

  The three of them continued talking until Hisham’s uncle returned to tell them to go to the mosque for evening prayers. They did as he said, feeling slightly irritated as it was not yet prayer time.