One morning, as she lounged upon her cushioned window-seat, smoking her narghileh and listening to the voices wafted with the sunlight through her lattice, Fatûmah came and with a grin announced that Hamdi Bey desired an audience of her Honour. She gave the word, and in came Hamdi, knuckling his two eyes.
“O day of pitch!” he cried. “O vile nefarious day! O my beloved sister, hide me, save me! My father has enforced my mother’s harsh command. I am to be married to-day to that unholy child of dogs—against my will. I wished to wait a thousand years. Ghandûr is waiting at this minute to conduct me to the bath.”
As if in confirmation of his words, the voice of Ghandûr shouted in the street without: “Make haste, O Hamdi! Lo, the sun is high! The shadow is already on the stone thou fixedst for a limit when I let thee enter.”
“Thou hearest,” snuffled Hamdi, “how they hound me? He has my wedding garments in a bundle—O my hatred! Guests have been bidden—may their fathers perish! Go to my mother (she will hear thee); plead that I may be allowed a few months’ respite. It is Na’imah who, through her mother, hastens on the match. She would destroy my new-found freedom and torment me.”
Barakah could not help laughing, though she uttered words of comfort. Na’imah was a very pretty girl, she pointed out, and not ill-natured, though a great coquette. He would have none of it, but shook his head with ominous frowns.
“I hate her!” he declared. “And knowest thou? I have a mind to drown myself this morning at the bath.”
Then, as Ghandûr’s calls became insistent, he left the room with slow, reluctant steps.
The wedding was a small affair, the parties being children of one house, and their betrothal (which is legal marriage) having taken place in infancy. The bride, enthroned, showed none of the reluctance felt by Hamdi. A bright-eyed and determined little maiden, she was wreathed in smiles; and when Barakah inquired if she were truly happy, replied, “The praise to Allah!” with decision.
Next day the house was full of smothered laughter. Hamdi was completely changed. He and his bride were now the fondest pair. The lady Fitnah, who had always held that matrimony was a panacea for the crotchets of young people, male and female, rendered praise where praise was due. For many days, through shame, the bridegroom hid from Barakah, and from every one else to whom he had proclaimed his dread of marriage.