How I Want Her!

This is a lively journalistic tour undertaken by the representative of "The Woman's Voice," Miss Nur Salman, a student at the American University who is about to take her master's degree in Arabic literature... So let the reader accompany Miss Nur Salman on this journalistic tour of hers, and listen to whatever the candidates for marriage may have to say about the girls of their dreams!... And in the coming issue we shall bring our readers the opinions of a company holding the opposing points of view....

*

Much has been said about man and woman, and among the things said: "Men are locked boxes that even the keys of Peter may fail to open," and "Woman is a bewildering riddle understood by none but God." All of which, of course, is proof of the misleading obscurity and vexing secretiveness in their character, making each one of them a world unto himself, or a book crammed with symbols, riddles, question marks, and exclamation points...

In the name of The Woman's Voice I tried to challenge these sayings, which have become traditional social rules... So I set out among the young men and young women, gathering from some of them whatever had ripened of the fruit of their opinions on a fundamental and entertaining subject. Some of them — not to say most of them — tried to escape this embarrassing "experiment," for no other reason than that it would lead them to express their private dreams and cast a glimmer of light upon the recesses of their thoughts and the secret of their trade...

The doors of the American University opened wide before me, and I entered in good cheer and set out roaming its spacious grounds. From afar a white coat caught my eye, and I imagined its wearer an angel of mercy descended upon me from heaven to rescue me from the depths of my perplexity — but this was nothing but a deceptive dream... Can the likes of Dr. Fouad Ashkar really be counted among the angels of mercy?!...

I asked him about the ideal woman in his eyes — the one he dreams of, or will dream of in the future. He smiled and said: she is the woman mature in mind, not in years; cultivated; balanced — that is, one who keeps her own personality; free of every hateful ugliness; light of blood, not of weight; and possessed of the spirit of wit, so that she can understand his jokes and his drolleries — naturally, for he is one of the most brilliant actors of the American University. Does not the proverb say: like is drawn unto like?!...

As for Raja Abou el-Jebine, one of the prominent students of the American University, he received The Woman's Voice's question with his familiar Everest-like coolness. He raised his eyes from his book with the utmost deliberation and slowness, and began to lecture with great animation on the beauty of soul and spirit in woman — apparently he had been reading some of Plato's immortal works. Mr. Raja carried me around the world of his ideals for a few minutes, so that I fancied myself in Dante's paradise... And there appeared his "Beatrice": pure of spirit, beautiful of soul, of refined sensibility, intelligent, of striking femininity, and possessed of an elevated artistic taste...

Bodily beauty, in his eyes, is a secondary quality in a woman... so his words came — whether he knew it or not — as a consolation to great numbers of the fair sex. May God multiply his like...

*

On one of the university's green benches sat Mr. George Homsi with some men of the police, chatting, all of them awaiting the arrival of His Excellency the President for the opening ceremony of the medical congress at the American University. Mr. Homsi is preparing his thesis for a master's degree in political science; he is one of those whom time has ripened early, and so some of his comrades have nicknamed him "the venerable judge."

The Woman's Voice's question pleased him; he settled his spectacles firmly on his nose and began to pour forth speech, as though he and The Woman's Voice had had an appointment.

She is, in his eyes, mature and understanding; she loves beauty, whether embodied in the fine arts or in nature; and above all this she relishes a joke and takes her share in making one. Then, as though he feared being misunderstood, he said emphatically: "I do not like the playful, giddy woman whose heart — and sometimes whose feet — dance at every ring of joy or delight. There is nothing more attractive in a woman than that touch of sadness which shows at times through her speaking eyes, born of a spiritual contemplation that refines her soul, so that she stands ready to wed her thoughts and opinions to those of the man of her future, and to make his personality a part completing her own, however intelligent and superior she may be."

Nor did Mr. Homsi forget beauty — the oasis of every soul and the promenade of every eye — making it, to a certain degree, one of the qualities of the ideal woman. Then he closed his remarks by saying: "I want the girl of my dreams to be to me a mother, a friend, and a wife ablaze with love for me..."

*

From the atmosphere of learning, culture, and knowledge I moved on to canvass the men of the street, in the hope of finding in the recesses of their souls seeds of genius that might grow, or some virgin gleam of mind — and in the street there are lessons and eloquent pictures...

I stopped before a shabby native eating-house at one of the corners of Zuqaq al-Blat street, and the exemplary stance of its proprietor reminded me of his colleague the zalabia-seller whom Ibn al-Rumi described several centuries ago: he was dropping pieces of the silvery batter into the great pan of oil, to be transformed into appetizing golden discs of "Umm al-Falafel." Our friend smiled at the question — he was not accustomed to hearing its like in his daily life, for he lives only to feed bellies...

And he said suddenly, without the least pause: "My lady... what, is a wife something made to my order? God curse this age, whose wheel spins backwards... Your question, my lady, is a bit Frankish!"

*

From the falafel-seller the question of "The Woman's Voice" passed to a colleague of his in poverty, ignorance, and "hard luck" — the newspaper-seller, who crouched at the street corner grinding between his molars pieces of rock candy to tune up his voice with, for he is the loudspeaker of the day's most important news, the true and the forged and fabricated alike... He did not pause before answering, but stood at Hitlerish military attention and began delivering his verdict in a loud, rough voice: "I want her according to my specifications... that is, with the beauty of Zouzou Madi and her lightness of spirit... something like the heroine of the film Women Are Devils, or like Samia Gamal in her 'immortal' film Afrita Hanem... Yes, I want her a she-devil, to help me against fate... cruel, treacherous fate... the twisting, turning, plundering, bestowing... I want her a she-devil, because these times are times of devils and demons... As for decent folk — alas for them, and no slight meant to those listening — they've all been under the ground since my grandfather's year!!..."

I thanked him for his fine confidence in the fair sex, and pointed out to him that this kind of woman would not help him against fate, but would help fate against him... He laughed with scorn and mockery and said: "What do you know about it? Ask a man of experience, not a wise man...!"

Words that put modesty to shame...

And in the Raml quarter this magazine's question fell upon Mustafa al-Hanuti — chief of the district, its protector, and its representative in public gatherings and in interviews official and unofficial — like a thunderbolt, for he counted it a challenge to his person, his dignity, and his self-esteem, which he would ransom with his blood and his soul (by his own claim, of course)... He answered with a fury and agitation not free of affectation: "What?... What?... That's a question not to be asked!... What business have you with all these ups and downs and philosophizings? What for? I am Mustafa... I need no brokering and no go-betweens... I say to the good man's daughter: Come! — and she comes at once, quick as lightning... Understood, you wretches?"

This Hanuti reminded me of the story of creation as some tell it: they say God said to the earth, Be! — and it was... and upon it were Mustafa and his like, who says to the partner of his life, without any magic wand or Seal of Solomon, Come! — and she comes... At your service — your slave stands before your hands!...

And he who has eyes sees much — very much!