my way.. rather she rises, her breath still broken, her body still glowing and hot.. and walks to the mirror and draws near to it.. and draws near until her lips cling to it and press against it, while her body contracts and twists, and she feigns refusal, pretends to slip away — from whom? from what?.. I never knew.. So I thrust my hand into my pocket and take out a piece of candy, nibbling it and gnawing it, breathing my gloom into it.. She must have gone mad.. that sister of mine..

And the day there descended upon us.. thus suddenly.. an aunt of ours named "Nabawiyya," from Zagazig.. that too was a day of wonders..

It was after luncheon, always a quiet spell in our house, because my mother likes to sleep then, and my sister and I must take ourselves off and refrain from clamor and din. We were sitting in God's peace.. in our room.. I sprawled on the floor, absorbed in mending a tin automobile.. a toy.. whose "brakes" had broken, and my sister, rosy-cheeked, reclining on a sofa after one of her famous dances, dressed in a white frock, her hair adorned with a drowsy flower, and in her hands her ancient book.. devouring what it confided to her.. then lifting her face to the ceiling for moments.. digesting what she had read — I have seen the chickens do that when they eat and the morsels crowd in their throats.. Is my sister choking on her thoughts?..

Umm Wahiba burst in upon us in our room.. at that noonday hour, and fell to stammering and faltering.. all aflutter, announcing the arrival of guests: our aunt Nabawiyya and.. and Salah.. her son. What was to be done, with the great lady asleep?..

And I love people by nature.. I rejoice in their visits, and in their bright faces new to us, and in the news and tales they bring that breathe life into the air..

as though we had opened the window to a free breeze renewing the stagnant air of our house. So I cried out joyfully, leaping:

— Welcome!.. Hello.. a thou-sand welcomes..

And I turned to run and greet the guests, when Umm Wahiba threw herself upon me, clutching my shoulder:

— Come here, girl.. Where to, looking like that? Your face all spots of grease and oil.. and trousers.. boys' trousers, and a shirt open upon a bare chest all muscles, like a street tough..

And she struck palm against palm in despair, looking up to our Lord:

— Thy wisdom, O Wise One..

And she dragged me by the arm to the bathroom, where she thrust my head with its short hair into the basin and turned the water on it, and went scrubbing, and rubbing, and muttering:

— Was our Lord going to create you a boy, and then changed His mind at the last minute?..

And she cleaned me, and put me into a silk frock, and imprisoned my feet in stockings and shining shoes. And she worked the stiff brush through my hair until it clung to my skull, and slipped into my hand a clean handkerchief with a dog embroidered in red thread in one corner, and then let me loose.

And I rushed at the guests, hang-ing upon their necks and lavishing kisses on them as if I had known them all my life, though it was the first time we had ever seen this aunt of ours..

As for my sister.. the delicate white rose.. she came swaying in and stood smiling gently before my aunt and her son.. and the two of them stared at her, dazzled, while my aunt cried out, shoving me to one side and opening her arms to fold them about Samia:

— The Prophet's blessing.. the

Prophet's blessing.. welcome to my son's bride!..

And Salah's face reddened with sheer delight and he cast down his eyes.. stealing joyful glances at his bride, who threw him a look from the corner of her two sweet eyes.. a brief look with coquetry in it, but with cunning in it too.. I caught it, watching her, not a flicker of her eye escaping me.. a look that took him all in.. measuring him from his golden hair to his shoes..

Now this aunt of ours had been angered by the marriages of my elder sisters, because she had sons with a better right to their uncle's daughters than strangers; so when none remained but Samia and me.. she hastened to reserve Samia for her youngest son before sending him to Europe to complete his studies..

And in vain did my mother try to free herself from that pledge.. that bond.. Neither her tact nor her courtesy availed her.. The girl is still young.. a child, in truth.. No.. no.. by God.. a child? Who says so? God's name upon her — a bride.. a moon at the full.. And my son will be away five years, in which she will grow up, my lady.. we shall be patient.. Never — impossible.. Why? The girl is my girl.. and the boy is my son. And in any case the two of them are your children, Hanim.. Then our aunt cleared her throat and shifted in her chair: That is, if you have any inclination.. of course.. since the death of my brother, God rest his soul, there is no longer any regard.. we are not equal to the station..

And my mother hastened to cut her short:

— Do not say that. The blood is one

and the stock is one.. And our aunt smiled..

And the betrothal of Samia and Salah was