Chapter XXIII. The Noble Turkman

Death is a thorny dilemma. We do not know when it comes and how, and sometimes we do not know why. It is a sudden shock.

In her sixtieth year, she suffered a severe stroke, as a result of which Zainab’s mind, heart and body stopped working. Death did not allow her to say a final word or even ask for forgiveness, perhaps from Hassan and the children, for what she had done to them during her life. She was caught off guard, without warning.

She died in his arms while she stared into his eyes with the same expression she had when she was in the basket when she was ten years old, saying, “Save me, Hassan,” but death is above all, and neither the guards nor the palaces nor the history of his family can stop It from happening.

-This is what I can’t save you from, Zainab.

She wanted to say something, but her mouth was clenched and she was unable to utter a single word. Perhaps she wanted to apologize, or say goodbye. As a tear fell from her eye, she realized that it was her last moment. She surrendered, giving her soul to her Creator, and Zainab closed her eyes for good.

Alara is in shock, she cannot understand her loss, she could not bear it, successive nervous breakdowns, continuous crying and wailing, she will not get over her ordeal easily, everyone is afraid for her, weeks have passed since Zainab’s death, and she is still in isolation, she refuses to talk, or to leave her room, despite their attempts.

There in Libya, Sardar checks the mailbox every day, no letters, he made his decision, this relationship will end, something suspicious, so what prevents her from sending her picture and any details proving her sincerity, if they are true.

He becomes confused and unsure of her, needs more time to get over his own predicament, forgets an image in his imagination, and a year-long love affair with a girl who appears to be a liar.

Three months after her death, Alara finally decided to come back to life. A letter was thrown in the wardrobe. It arrived days after the tragedy. She decided to open it. She wrote a very brief reply.

“Forgive me, Serdar. I haven’t sent you for a long time. My mother died. My nerves collapsed. Until now, I still can’t get over the ordeal. I look forward to your next message. I apologize again for ignoring the reply.”

Eight days later, in the morning, Alara was sitting thinking about him, flipping through his old letters, a voice on the building steps. Steps she knew well, moments and then the door knocked, the postman knocked, it’s delivery time in their neighborhood.

It is unlikely that it was a message from Sardar, as eight days are sufficient for her message to reach him, but it is not sufficient for his response to arrive. I clung to hope, perhaps he carries an urgent message from him.

She quickly got up to the door, eagerly opened it. Perhaps something had been written that would comfort her ailing heart, make her forget about her mother’s death, if only for a few moments, and take her into the world of dreams again.

The postman is standing in front of the door.

-Hello, Miss Alara.

She looked at his hands, he doesn’t hold any letters!

-Welcome, what’s wrong, any messages?

-No, no messages for you today.

He added as if to himself: This is the house, sir, good-bye.

She noticed a silhouette by the door, took a step forward, looked at him, a man in his mid-twenties, tall, blue-eyed, black-haired, neatly dressed, good-looking, handsome-faced, he didn’t seem to be from this country at all. She could hardly see his features; He didn’t even raise his eyes at her when he talked to her with a clear Iraqi accent.

-Hello Alara, I apologize for being late, your message arrived only yesterday.

She did not utter a word, she did not even blink, tears blurred her vision, she wanted to speak, to welcome the Knight of Dreams, nothing escaped from between her lips except the inhale of crying, her feet could no longer carry her, she fell to the ground, leaned her back against the door, put her hands on her forehead.

Her fingers ran through her silky-smooth hair, which fell down to cover much of her gentle face. She was expecting nothing more than a hurried message, a few words at best. This young man, however, will not water down what being a man means.

One day before, her letter hit his mailbox at work, he didn’t even come home, he didn’t pack his bags.

Except for him, chivalry and gallantry decline to be a description of anyone.

Sardar spent an hour looking for the address as he was lost in the laneways. He begged the postman who was standing in front of him to take him home in exchange for a generous tip.

After today, images are no longer necessary; what a fool I was. She would have done herself an injustice if she had sent her photo because no photograph in existence can do justice to her beauty.

Innocent, pure as snow, beautiful as the moon, grieving, sad, poor, suffering alone, afraid of tomorrow, she needs a strong man to save her, and give her newfound hope in life. what a deadly mixture, for a noble and chivalrous knight like Sardar.

After two months, he spent most of them in Egypt, a small family celebration, Alara’s engagement, some of Sardar’s family had come to her engagement, on a wedding date after a few months, at least a year must have passed since Zainab’s death.

The groom decided that he had to stay where his bride was, he would open a branch for his business in Cairo, at the expense of liquidating his company in Jordan, and moving all his money here.

He bought an apartment in the prestigious area of Maadi, with luxurious furniture. A bright future awaits her.

Life smiled at her, she overcame her ordeal for the first time, she roamed happily here and there, as if she was a princess who had been imprisoned for a long time, until the knight came on his white horse to fly her in a world that does not become more than dreams for many girls of her generation, but for her, a reality that she sees before her eyes and lives it every moment.

Day by day, she grew more radiant and attractive.

Fouad has become a close friend to him, their ages are close, and their ideas as well. The most important thing is that Fouad is the closest of Alara’s brothers to her, and their relationship is very strong.

One thing is disturbing about him, a twenty-nine-year-old man who has been married for years to an Egyptian classmate of his in-university days, has not had a child yet, lives in the apartment across from them, somewhat reckless, carries a lot of revolutionary ideas, and a little more than ideas.

He is affiliated with a group that opposes the rule of the military and their policies. Gamal Abdel Nasser used it to mobilize the street behind the coup against King Farouk, and then betrayed it, the Muslim Brotherhood, the most capable group in mobilizing the street in Egypt.  Many of its members have become inmates in the most brutal prisons in Egypt, in inhumane conditions. His uncle Mahmoud is one of these inmates, and many of Prince Ismail’s grandchildren, as it seems that manhood is something that is inherited from generation to another, and is not just an acquired character.

-Come on Serdar, let’s go to the mosque to pray.

-Now, Fouad?! I’ll pray here, at home, I just came.

Alara’s face flushed with shyness, for there was no one in the house but them.

Fouad, with a sense of humor and a sly look: Come on, my friend, to the mosque.

After they left, Alara sat in her room, a shadow advancing behind her, which she did not even notice, thinking about the man of her dreams, and her soon-to-be wedding.

The shadow got closer to her, became right behind her back.

A woman’s voice: He wanted to stay with you, so he might steal some kisses until your brother returns.

-I know that, even Fouad realized this. We will get married soon. It is better to wait.

-He doesn’t seem to be impatient.

-He has to be patient; he won’t touch me before marriage.

-But he is your fiancé, he has the right to be alone with you, he loves you madly.

Alara’s was fed up with what she was hearing. She said angrily: “If he loves me, he should wait then, this matter is over.”

Angrily, the woman’s voice behind her said: Wait? Why? He’s your fiancé!!

After an angry sigh, she added: Two days ago, he pleaded his desire to go with him to see how the furniture is arranged in your new apartment, but you have no taste, you refused, any child knows that it was just an excuse, he would like to be alone with you, but you preferred to watch a movie in the cinema over this! What’s wrong with you, Alara, he’s gone to so much trouble for you, he’s moved his business here, his whole life, he deserves to be a little happy, he’s a young man who’s longing for his charming fiancée.

Alara: I know, that’s why I refused, he won’t touch me until after marriage.

In a defiant tone, the voice: Rather, before, tomorrow you will not go to the market, but to the apartment, you will make him wander in an endless world of pleasure and longing.

Alara, in an angry, indignant tone: Shut up, I do not want to argue about this matter at all, the decision is mine, I am not like my mother, I will not submit to you as she was.

She added: You must be aware of this well, Alara is not Zeinab Hatshepsut, stay away from me and Sardar, I will not allow you to destroy our lives, as you destroyed the lives of my mother and father.

Hatshepsut is upset, her anxiety is increasing every day, Alara is very stubborn, she does not obey her, she wants to control her and restrain her, there is no room for bargaining with her, Alara looks at her as if she is her maid, a servant, she has no opinion or decision, except for what she sees and decides only. Where did you get that stubbornness from, it wasn’t supposed to be the same between them.

Since she was embodied to her as a reality before her eyes, during the months of her isolation, mourning the death of her mother, she did not stop fighting her, disobeying her orders, defying her, rebellious by nature, even against Hatshepsut.

Her and Zainab’s efforts were wasted, years of training and preparation evaporated, from the moment she received her first message from him. Love makes miracles, it makes us perfect people, reconciled with ourselves, with our surroundings, and with the world around us.

We change as a consequence of it changing us.