Chapter XVI. A Must-Try

Running around the room like a madwoman, ripping her hair, tightening her palms, grinding her teeth, shouting, she doesn’t know what happened, this girl was meant to be of Pharaonic blood! However, Zainab gives birth to a duplicate of the Hassan family for the second time.

Hatshepsut was very mad, as she had never been before. She hit her head with her hand. Oh, how could this happen? Screw him and his family.

She went forward and looked at my little eyes for the thousandth time since her birth a few days ago, looking closely for something in them, she bit her lips, closed her eyes, clenched her teeth again, wanted to cry, raised her head to the sky, her eyes sparkled, she screamed at the top of her voice: Screw them all. There is no trace of me in her eyes, where did my child go!

Zainab: Calm down, you started to get on my nerves with your behavior! You’re scaring the little baby, calm down.

-baby?!

Hatshepsut looked at her again, started searching around the room, where is the oil, where is that damned dish?!

Zainab, in a loud voice, a stern, indisputable tone: No, don’t even think about that, you won’t kill her like you killed Qamar.

Hatshepsut: Qamar? I killed her?!

She advanced to her, mockingly, and maliciously added: Rather, you killed her, O Zainab, with this finger of yours, with which you blocked her small throat and her beautiful mouth, until she suffocated.

Zainab, in disapproval: But she was playing, my finger tickled her, and she fell asleep on my arm!

Silence prevailed throughout the room, Hatshepsut calmed down and approached her: Yes, Zainab, you did not kill her, nor did I, she suffocated in her sleep, may God have mercy on her.

Zainab: We will call her Narcissus; Hassan chose the name.

-Yes, yes, Narcissus, the Ottoman, where is the damned oil plate?!

-Stop, Hatshepsut, there is no need to dilate her throat, see her mouth is not quite like her grandmother’s mouth, it does not look that small!

Prejudiced, with a look of disgust: Maybe.

Zeinab loved her, yet Hatshepsut did not, a bitter reality that they could not help but accept. She treated her harshly, and between love, contentment and tenderness, doses of torment.

It is necessary to try to conceive, as Hatshepsut is determined to achieve what she wants, for a full ten years. In addition to Narcissus, she gave birth to a girl named Amina, and three sons, Yunus, Saber, and Fouad.

They are all united by a sign that cannot be ignored, as they all resemble their father’s family.

Given her advanced age and the fact that she had not yet been successful in giving birth to a child who would be eligible for transfer, Zeinab went insane and was unable to control Hatshepsut.

If she does not succeed, the fate of Hatshepsut will be unknown, perhaps she will be able to move, but her authority over the host will not be strong, or perhaps she will simply burn, and cease to exist. All she knows is that her fate is now suspended by the fate of a baby born of Pharaonic blood, from the womb of Zainab.

With the passage of time, Zainab stopped trying. She became withdrawn, depressed, and cruel with her children. She treated them like servants, flogged them, burned their skin with fire, bullied them, and soon reminded them of their Ottoman origins, which was a shame for them, from Zainab’s point of view.

She changed the facts, lied, tyrannized, everything in her grew bigger, even her tyranny and control. Her permanent nature became the sharp tongue, and the rest was just momentary fluctuations in her mood, satisfied at times, and angry at times.

Unimaginable domestic violence, which caused them to be in schizophrenia, in light of the complete inability of the weak father to confront her, or to protect the family from this madness, a weak one who only wants to save his family from this bitter reality.

Zainab has completely tightened her grip on the family to an extreme, hating them all, and loving them at the same time. Nobody has the guts to face her for fear of her torment or her savage tongue.

A struggle is going on inside her, between Zeinab the mother, and the cursed Hatshepsut, who hates the blood of the Ottomans, looking for a host for her from the core of the blood of the Pharaohs, this host that has yet to come! It seems that he will never come.

The moments of her solitude with herself, while reading a book or magazine about the Pharaonic civilization, became as if they were hours of nerve relief that everyone in the house needed, to the extent that they brought her all kinds of books related to the Pharaohs, hoping to distract her from them a little.

Except that, at least, in the midst of this torment, there is something beautiful, their trade never dies, they grow richer than they are, aristocratic feudal lords, like the kings of southern Egypt.

She did not interfere in the future of the children, and they did not mean anything to her.

Let those who want to marry, get married, and let those who leave, go. Her interest takes precedence over everyone else. Her interest is now limited to destroying the lives of others. Each child of them should have been the expected host of Hatshepsut, except that, in one way or another, they betrayed her, and carried the blood of their father. She hated and tortured them.

How painful it is, when the torment, the humiliation, the suffering, comes to you from the people closest to you, the one who is supposed to be the most careful of you.

Your emotions betray you, leaving you torn between your wish for a mother who is just like other mothers, a cruel reality that cannot be ignored, and hopes for change.

Instead of pouring the bulk of your focus on success, progress, achievement, and excellence, your first concern, and your preoccupation, becomes saving yourself from those who are supposed to be your support and refuge and running after them, to patch up and mend what is caused by their recklessness, insignificance, madness, and indifference.

Zainab has become like a parasitic being, living and subsisting on their suffering, as a lump of flesh, moving on the ground, with no benefit in its existence, except in spreading the spirit of gloom and destroying others.

1950 AD;

Hassan in his fifty-seventh year.

Zainab in her fifties.

Narcissus is twenty-four years old, married to her uncle Mahmoud’s son, lives in Cairo, and has one child.

Amina is twenty-two years old, married to the son of her aunt, Aisha, and lives in Alexandria.

Yunus is in his twenties, not yet married.

Saber in his fifteenth year.

The youngest, Fouad, is in his tenth year.

And after years of ceasing to have children, Zainab is unexpectedly carrying a child in her womb.

The father and all the kids are waiting at the room’s door for the good news. Unexpectedly, a new visitor will join the family in the hopes that he will start spreading some cheer once more.

The maid opened the door, her beaming face preceded her tongue with the good news.

Congratulations sir Hassan, she is a beautiful child.

I’ve never seen her so beautiful, she’d be so charming, no doubt about that.

Her beauty is breathtaking, captivating.

She smiled, she said with humor

She is nothing like her mother Zainab

Nor do you, sir

In fact, she is unlike any of you!

She looks like she come from prehistoric times

Pharaonic belle, to the core!!