Umm Sahloul

Does man surrender to his helplessness? He tries to wrest strength from weakness, and loftiness from lowliness — even if that strength and loftiness lie in another life not his own... nay, after his life!

Are you perhaps one of those who frequent the mosques on Friday, going there to perform the congregational prayer?

There you are, having finished the prayer; you tuck your shoes under your arm, ready to leave, and stand at the door struggling to put them on, while the surging throng around you urges you to hurry.

Have you never, in that situation, felt something take hold of your foot, trying to help you at your task, bent with the hem of its tattered garment over your shoe, wiping away the dust, its tongue murmuring a prayer full of supplication, entreaty, and pleas for mercy?

You need not trouble yourself to examine this thing crouching at your feet; it is familiar to you, no stranger, and there is nothing to be done about it but to toss it a coin, muttering:

— Umm Sahloul... you, always?

The woman accepts your gift cheerfully, and soon lifts her hands to heaven, calling down its bounty upon you and its blessing over you; then she turns from you to someone else, head bowed, bent of stature, taking the hem of her tattered garment to her face to wipe it, then applying it to her nose to blow it.

"Umm Sahloul"... is there anyone among the mosque-goers who does not know her?

For twenty-five years she has been there, shuffling along with an abject gait, wasted of frame, in blue rags!

You never see her but with her head lowered, as though she were tracing the prints of feet, or as though her eyes suffered some disease that kept her from facing the light, so that she shuns it by looking down.

You never hear from her anything but that feeble, humble tone as she stoops over the worshippers' shoes, appealing to their hearts when she says:

— Have mercy on a mother supporting her orphan child... have mercy on her, and God will have mercy on you!

People came to know Umm Sahloul by these peculiar marks, and those who most resented her were the beggars, who found in her a dangerous rival crowding them out of easy earnings; so they harried her with every color of harrying, dealt her painful beatings on purpose, seized from her whatever alms and gifts she had gathered, and blocked her way whenever she came along it.

Yet the woman endured and held her ground, bore whatever hardship and persecution came her way, and kept moving from mosque door to mosque door, catching the worshippers as they came out, helping them into their shoes and wiping the dust from them, as though she were about to kiss them in humility and abasement.

Umm Sahloul was not beloved among her fellows of the begging and mendicant trade, nor, in the quarters she frequented, was she beloved among the common run of people; they shrank from her, were weary of her, and she scarcely found acceptance or favor with them.

And Umm Sahloul marveled at those who opened their hearts to beggars other than herself; for it escaped her that beggary must be dressed in a striking show if it is to move souls to pity. The voice of supplication, however weak, must be loud enough to shake the ears; and the beggar must have such bandages and burns and crutches as catch the eye...

This poor woman possessed none of all those effects: no bleeding wounds, no swollen foot, no green turban towering up to butt the stars, nor that hoarse, flayed voice raised from its owner's throat like a slaughtered bull giving up the ghost.

Umm Sahloul was incapable of joining the guild of hardened beggars; she was no mendicant furnished with the tools of that time-honored art... She was a human creature for whom the fates had chosen that portion of vagrancy, and she fought and strove to support her only child...

The woman did not lie in her claim that she had an orphan child in her care. But for this child, her fate would have been a different fate; and in all likelihood, had it not been for this child of hers, she would have taken leave of life long ago. But the day she clasped him to her, a newborn, she felt the flame of motherhood kindle within her — and how it blazed! — and she set her resolve on turning that trivial living scrap into a being of standing and consequence.

Twenty-five years passed, during which the woman took refuge at the doors of mosques and shrines, begging, her tongue never ceasing to implore the charitable with that immortal sentence which suffers neither change nor alteration:

— Have mercy on a mother supporting her orphan child... have mercy on her, and God will have mercy on you!

Can her orphan son, do you think, remain a child, the attributes of childhood and orphanhood clinging to him down the years, even past twenty-five?!

Did Umm Sahloul not grasp that her child had grown up and matured, until he had become a young man in the splendor of youth, making his way in life as working men do?!

She would insist on counting him still a child, though he had reached the measure of men and had gone off from her to toil and venture; despite everything he was that weak, broken-winged child who could not do without his mother's care, watching over him and doting on him!

Umm Sahloul grew up in the keeping of a butcher who worked at the slaughterhouse, as though nature had fashioned him to represent the butchers' guild to perfection: a towering figure, broad slabs of shoulders, and a thick, pointed mustache on which a falcon might perch, as the proverbs say.

This woman grew up in his keeping, a girl who knew nothing at all of her past; he had come upon her on some road, an infant who could barely make herself understood, and picked her up out of pity and compassion. To him, then, was owed all the credit — every bit of it — for her remaining alive like other living things.

That is what the man repeated in her hearing morning and evening, twirling his mustache in his pride; so it is no wonder she believed in the debt she owed him, and repaid his goodness to her with unbroken loyalty and blind obedience, serving him faithfully though he spoke roughly to her, and shouldering his burdens though he used her cruelly.

And how much she suffered from his drunken carousing when he came back to her in the dead of night, reeling drunk... pouring out on her head all the wine-bred whims in his own!

This lord and master of hers never tired of reminding her of her smallness and insignificance; it was he who named her "Umm Sahloul" before she had even come of age, in disdain and mockery. So she bore this mother's name before she knew what motherhood was, accepted it without pride or complaint, and it settled in the depths of her soul that she was — as her master called her and as all the people around her called her — the most contemptible of all God's creatures and the ugliest of them in form...

The years swept that girl along until she had passed sixteen, still as she was: a creature on whom nature bestowed nothing of a woman's charm, with no share of life but that unending round of indignity, loathing, and humiliation.

And one day she found herself a waif of the road, with no provider and no shelter.

Where was her lord and master? She knew nothing of his affair but the policeman's words to her:

— He will not be coming back!

Rumors about her master brushed her ears; people passed around the tale of the murderer awaiting his inevitable fate: the hangman's noose!

She was terrified at what she heard, but she never got to the bottom of the matter... and, as was her settled habit, she submitted to whatever events the days set before her.

Umm Sahloul had no choice but to bid farewell to the quarter where she had lived a stretch of her days, and she abandoned herself as prey to life's floods — drained of strength, dazed and bewildered, not knowing where to set her steps — and the floods came near to dragging her down to the bottom. But soon she felt something stirring in her womb, as if to tell her of its presence; the matter became plain to her, and she seemed to hear a soft voice calling:

— I have come to you out of the unknown world of darkness; what will you do with me?

And suddenly the woman felt an awakening creep through her limbs; she burst into tears, then turned to laughing, and was seized by an agitation in which laughter and weeping mingled.

From that moment Umm Sahloul knew that her life had a purpose — and what a purpose...

From that moment the woman with child was certain she was no longer insignificant, as she had been before...

Like all other beings, she must live, and she must toil...

She had become a "mother," and that was motive and spur enough — and what glory has motherhood left, beyond itself, for a woman to boast of?

That was Umm Sahloul in truth...

A "mother" in the world of dignity, esteem, and regard — not in the world of illusion, mockery, and contempt!

The woman found her way to the mosques and shrines, guided there by simple instinct, and in that field a measure of good fortune was granted her; so she thanked God for the kindly blessing He had bestowed on her, and persevered in her course with energy and zeal, until she was able to establish a shelter for herself in one of the alleys of "al-Tarbi'a": a narrow, crumbling room that no ray of sun ever found, winter or summer.

And what need had the woman of light when she came back to her chosen refuge? She spent the whole of her day pacing the streets, going round the doors of mosques and shrines, turning over in her mouth the familiar morsel for everyone she met:

— Have mercy on a mother supporting her orphan child...
Have mercy on her, and God will have mercy on you!

By the time the day drew to a close, weariness had worn the woman down and her rounds had exhausted her; so in her narrow room she took comfort in that darkness which brought rest and ease to her body

and shed calm and quiet upon her soul.

In this refuge Umm Sahloul gave birth to her awaited child; between its walls he was born and reared, and out of it that scion of darkness went forth to greet the light of life in the world of hope, work, and struggle.

And that hunted outcast, foster-child of indignity and misery, took care to surround the growing infant with tending, to shield him from the forces of wretchedness and vagrancy, and to turn him into a being with standing and consequence in the world — just such as she wished him to be!

How often Umm Sahloul took her child in her hands and dandled him in that dark room, by the glimmer of the dusty lamp's wick, whispering to him:

— You shall grow greater than your father... and you shall amount to something!

Then she would press him to her breast with passion, her mouth joined to his in kisses over which her tender tears flowed.

Whenever her eye fell on a man of dignified bearing and distinguished dress, she would commune with herself, saying:

— Why should my son not be like this man?... May God protect him!

If she passed a house of elegant appearance and lofty stories, she would gaze up at it, saying:

— Why should my son not live in a house like that?... May God protect him!

And if a car of splendid look and gleaming paint went past her, she would follow it with her eyes, saying:

— May my son have a car like that car... may God protect him!

And the woman went on working, bustling in her efforts, clinging ever more tightly to life, shouldering whatever burdens of livelihood confronted her, for the sake of her cherished child... She denied herself food to feed him delicacies; she contented herself with patched rags for clothing so as to dress him in the finest garments; and she never tired of keeping him clean and minding his appearance, while she herself went about in filth and grime.

No sooner could the boy understand her than most of her talk with him was counsel: to be refined of soul, abounding in dignity, high of station... She repeated it in his ears before she left him each morning, and after she returned to him each evening; and in between she was sunk in humiliation and degradation, spilling the water of her face all day long in beggary, and growing her fortune, day upon day, from the alms of the generous which she laid by.

The boy grew and came of age; the institutes of learning took him in, and there he received the various branches

of knowledge. He applied himself to his studies with driving determination and keen intelligence, his mother firing his resolve and showing him that life is hardness and toil, and that the road to success is a fight to the death in the struggle.

When the youth outgrew boyhood, Umm Sahloul set him apart in a room befitting him, choosing this room for him in a newly built house standing on the corner of "the Great Street," as she used to call it... As for herself, she kept that dark room, living her routine life in it.

She would go to her son's room and do the work there: washing clothes, cleaning the furniture, cooking the food... If she was obliged to speak with some of the neighbors, she gave them to believe that she had once been connected with the young man's family, that she had grown attached to him and devoted to him, and would keep the old faith by serving him.

Sometimes the youth would ask her:

— Why do you not live with me, Mother?

Umm Sahloul would lower her eyes, take the hem of her garment, folding and unfolding it, then answer:

— Leave me to my lot, my son, for your station is not my station... I am "Umm Sahloul"... I have known my life and grown used to it... and I shall not change it so long as I exist... But you have your world and your future, to live in and enjoy, savoring all the happiness and honor and advancement it holds... May God protect you!

Then she would raise her head to him, searching his face for the effect of her words, her soul quivering with tenderness, her eyes moist with tears.

Year followed year, the woman spending on her boy with open hands, watching over his upbringing and his schooling by the inspiration of a doting mother's insight.

The young man plunged into the field of work, and a post was given him in one of the companies, yielding him a livelihood that assured him a contented life. He moved to a luxurious flat, acquired an elegant car, and took on servants to attend to his affairs — while his mother remained as she was in her ancient burrow, glorying in her successful labors and her ripened fruit, wishing her dear one growth and increase.

She cut down her visits to him, so as not to stir suspicions around him; she denied herself the sight of him, to spare him whatever might trouble his serenity and mar his contentment...

How hard her son labored to draw her to his dwelling and settle her there! But she refused him, and insisted on leaving him alone as he was, and on keeping herself apart from him, wanting no substitute for her own life.

And the woman set about amassing money harder than ever she had done, laboring strenuously at her begging, until she should have gathered a great sum of money, earmarked for a known purpose.

It was her son's due to marry...

That was her one absorbing concern, that her cherished wish: let her spend every effort she possessed until she had money enough to serve as a bride's dowry, together with what follows it — the costs of the wedding festivities.

Her mind would not rest until her son enjoyed the blessing of marriage, and had a companionable wife who would grant him good offspring...

Life would not be sweet to her until her son was happy in the shelter of a family wrapped in serenity and harmony...

It was decreed that her son should be blessed with everything the fates had denied her...

Her son was in truth nothing but her own true image — nay, her pure essence — nay, he was her very self, beyond doubt or dispute... Every comfort and luxury he felt, she felt whole and undiminished.

She ate his food and relished it, though its taste never touched her lips.

She lived his life, tossing on his soft bed colored with the hues of flowers and sweet basil, riding in his car with its ringing horn — even while she stayed on in her ruined burrow, never setting foot in the luxurious flat except by stealth, fearing that eyes might fall on her, and catching only a flashing glimpse of the car as it devoured the ground at the bends of the road.

She felt all the pride and dignity her son felt, though she remained at the doors of mosques and shrines, her palm outstretched to beg, stooping over the treading-places of feet to wipe the shoes.

No pleasure was left her in life to yearn for, save to feel the greatest joy of all: "the joy of the wedding."

Let her son marry before long, and let his wedding be a splendid celebration, its tables gathering the great men, the notables, and the rulers; let the music ring out from mighty instruments in sweet melodies; and let the policemen stand ranged at the doors, raising their hands in salute to the arriving guests and keeping order!

The celebration would surely be a magnificent one, of which the city would talk as it talks of the most splendid weddings and the fairest of nights!

And Umm Sahloul got what she wanted. Her son became engaged to a "good family's daughter," a girl of noble stock, and soon a near date was fixed for the wedding celebration.

The great day arrived — the day Umm Sahloul had been awaiting for so long. God had honored her, granting her what she had yearned

for; what ambition in life could she have after that?

On this day the stage of misery, toil, and hardship would close, and a new stage would begin, of tranquility, calm, and settled peace.

On this day her mission in this existence was complete, and the duty the fates had laid upon her was accomplished.

And there blazed up in the woman's soul a vitality she had never known before; she felt a strength and a power unknown to her in all her bygone past — a total revolution overtaking that submissive, cowering soul that had taken refuge in silence and darkness.

She was a new creature, tied to her old self by no kinship, near or far.

Today she had chosen for herself a newly minted name to be known by: "Umm al-Bey" — the Bey's mother.

And she sent someone to spread word in her son's house that "Umm al-Bey" had come from the village in upper Sa'id to witness her dear only son at his happy wedding celebration.

Umm al-Bey spent her longest day passing between the bath attendant and the tirewoman at the bathhouse, and between the hands of women who oversaw her adornment and dress at the house of a seamstress renowned for skill and fine workmanship.

And when the day's sun withdrew to let the suns of the celebration — the electric lamps — blaze up in their many colors, Umm Sahloul appeared, sauntering in the midst of them all: now greeting the guests with gravity and loftiness, now exchanging talk with them in a friendliness tinged with hauteur; and suddenly she would turn to issue orders with authority and pride, loud of voice, head held high, like the commander of a legion in a decisive battle.

Umm Sahloul appeared in a fresh, resplendent new robe. Her figure was made taller by the elegant high-heeled shoes she wore; her body was filled out by the assortment of garments she had padded herself with; and her bosom rose with the two swelling pads fitted into it, so that the woman looked like a budding young maiden.

And the tirewoman did her work superbly indeed, bringing forth out of the woman a beauty: eyelids lined with kohl, brows penciled, hair coated in glossy black, face painted with blends of perfume and powders, lips dyed a deep crimson — until she came to look like a gaily colored ornamental doll.

Umm Sahloul was seen letting gifts and largesse slip from her fingertips, snatched up by the troupe of singers and dancers and gathered by the servants and retinue; and cheers for "Umm al-Bey" went up, tossed from mouth to mouth in welcome, honor, and admiration; and the eyes of the assembly turned to circle around "Umm al-Bey" as she walked in strutting vainglory, while they made way for her and bowed their heads in reverence and esteem.

Umm Sahloul presided over the celebration's buffet, and set about distributing with her own hands the choicest of food and the finest of drink, lavish in her giving and pressing in it, until she left no one to whom she had not handed something from the overflow of her abundant bounty.

Then she turned from the buffet toward the street, servants behind her carrying bowls of tharid and platters of sweets, and behold — she was feeding the needy crowding at the door of the house; and their voices rose, praising "Umm al-Bey" and offering the most heartfelt prayers for her.

The hours of the night ran on, the celebration wakeful in merriment and revelry whose luster never dimmed, and Umm Sahloul seemed as though she herself were the bride, and her son's wife but one of the handmaidens at the wedding feast.

Just before dawn the lamps' lights faded away, the voices of the night-revelers sank low, and in no time deep stillness had settled over every corner of the house.

Umm Sahloul climbed up to a room made ready for her on the roof; her limbs gave way upon a soft bed, and dreams bore her off through skies of every kind.

At the noon hour, when the luncheon table was laid, a messenger went to the room to wake the woman from her sleep, that she might join the family at the meal — and the messenger found her a corpse, without motion.

And the most striking thing about her was the serenity, the rest, and the peace that shone upon her radiant face...

She had savored the cream of life in one night — and what a night! — and after it she was fit for life no longer.

There was no longer a place for Umm Sahloul in the former life she had lived before, for she had performed her duty in it to the very full, and her soul was at rest with what she had reached and finished.

Nor was there a place for Umm Sahloul in that new life which her dear son was entering in the shelter of his happy marriage.

Now she soars aloft, swimming through the celestial horizons, well pleased and well pleasing, freed at last of fetters and burdens!