(A Short Story)

... And the child asked his father, as the car continued on its way: Father! Are we going home? Yes, Samir, answered the father, yes, my son, we are going home... Then, Father, the child added, I shall see Mother there?

Bewilderment showed on the father's face, the world darkened in his eyes, and his hands trembled and could not turn the steering wheel of the car with ease, so that the car swerved in its course; and the child, in his innocence, sensed that there was some secret in the matter — so he fell silent and surrendered to a troubled, uneasy sleep.

After a spell of silence, Nadim said, continuing his conversation with the nurse, his cousin: ... And so, Salwa, I spent these five years of my life, a prey to agitations and a companion of vexations and sorrow...

But, said the nurse, but you loved her. Yes, said Nadim, yes, I loved her, and my love for her was the root of our affliction. I saw her for the first time and imagined the sun had taken bodily form in her radiant face and her flashing, captivating glances. I asked her family for her hand, and imagined I had won the whole world when I obtained from them the word of blessing. For her sake I made my house a paradise, and to that end I spent everything, costly and cheap alike. I made enemies of my own family for her sake; I sacrificed my work so that she might enjoy the life she craved, the life of sleepless nights and parties carried to the furthest extremes of luxury and extravagance. And all that was like a beautiful dream in whose bliss I lived for a time; then I woke from it to find my very existence threatened, my profession about to dwindle and vanish from the face of existence, and the money I had

put by in the bank on the point of running out. And then — and then, Salwa, I tried to make my wife understand what ruin was about to befall me if each of us went on pursuing this life that was never made for people like us. But she wept over her ill luck, and wept and wept again; and her weeping moved me, so I left her free and unfettered to do as she pleased, on the understanding that I would return to my daily newspaper, tending it with care and keeping watch over it as it befits a journalist to keep watch.

And my wife chose for herself what she wanted of life. Not long after the birth of this son of ours, she went back to the life of parties and soirées — went back to squandering what I toiled to win by the sweat of my brow, and to showering smiles upon those whom in former days I had loathed the sight of and counted among the degenerate.

Here, Salwa, I could have borne down upon my wife's feelings, and, if she persisted in this life of hers, given her a choice: a choice between returning to her family or living in my house as I wished. But I loved her, Salwa, and I could not bear to force her, against her will, to what she did not want.

One of my friends volunteered to take my wife home on an ill-omened night, having seen her standing bewildered at the door of one of the pleasure halls as the guests began to depart with their families. Yes, one of my friends volunteered to take her home, and the hour was two past midnight. A desolate night, empty roads; and my friend knew what love I bore for this willful wife — a love that drove me to work until the last hours of the night to provide the money she needed to spend on her pleasures. And the friend's car drove on, carrying its precious