whatever the sheikh was saying. Imam and several others who knew Bulbul well held their breath that the brief contractual ceremony would go off without incident. There was the question about the dowry – in Egypt the bridegroom must pay a dowry and not the bride. The sum paid must be mentioned publicly and the bride must be satisfied. There was the question of divorce, how much money would be paid to the bride in case the husband wanted to leave the marriage. It is quite important to decide upon the sum ahead of time because it is meant to act as a deterrent to rash action. It is the bride’s right to mention in the contract that the husband would not object to his wife’s wishing to work, as long as the children were well cared for. Today, most of the marriages in Egypt put this condition in the contract.
After the ceremony, the great house rang with music and the sounds of jubilation, though several of the guests were not entirely joyful and were relieved when the ceremony was over and they could depart; those were some of Imam’s friends, including George Wissa.
Achille Groppi, the owner of the pre-eminent restaurant in Cairo, catered the dinner for the 120 guests. During the feast, an orchestra entertained the guests with a repertoire that included The Nile, by one of Egypt’s prominent composers. And then the real celebrations began, with lyre, flute, clarinet, tambourine and drum players parading into the courtyard, followed by belly dancers moving among the tables to loud singing and clapping. The reluctantly decorous bride wanted to join in, but she could only sit in the place of honor beside Imam and watch. She was proud of her restraint.
Hours later it was time for el Zaffa, when the principal belly dancer, accompanied by tambourines and drums, balanced a chandelier with seven candles atop her head and led the couple to the foot of the staircase leading to the nuptial bedroom. Because of the delay in Bulbul’s arrival in Egypt, the family had had time to decorate the room in the latest Parisian style, according to Imam’s mother’s exquisite specifications. They had kept it a secret, even from Imam. The new couple was overwhelmed. “I had never dreamed of such a beautiful bedroom,” Omm Sety told me.
After Bulbul and Imam retired, the party continued into the morning hours, and all of the people who lived in the area were invited to join the guests in an immense open banquet. The feast at the house of Haj Abdel Maguid was remembered for a very long time.
This was not the homecoming that Dorothy Eady had imagined for herself when she was a child in England dreaming of an ancient time, but Bulbul Adbel Meguid couldn’t have been happier.
SIX
Bulbul
“When she opened her eyes she saw a shimmering,amorphous something next to the bed.”
The senior Abdel Meguids expected the bride and bridegroom to live with them for at least a year before setting up housekeeping on their own. They also expected that by the end of that year there would be a new baby in the family. Only their second expectation came to pass.
When I knew Omm Sety well I asked her about when she became pregnant. “After the third month of marriage I was sure I was pregnant. So you see, Imam did not waste any time.” I said, “Well, you didn’t lose any time either.” We laughed.
I asked her how she behaved herself in the house of her in-laws. “Oh, for the first ten days after the wedding it was the usual procedure, and then after that, Imam was supposed to go and resume his work. For entire days I was practically alone because his father went to his work in the government office, his mother didn’t speak a word of English, and there was no other family living with us in the big house. So one day I gave myself the liberty to go out. I was really quite clumsy about it because as a matter of courtesy to the old lady, my mother-in-law, I should have asked her permission first.”
Gypsies again
That was the day Bulbul set out on a sort of scouting tour of the quarter, walking along el Muezz Street and stopping to admire the arabesque architecture, the street vendors, the people and their interesting attire. A boy of about 12, seeing a foreigner rambling aimlessly in the district, approached, saying, “Have you lost your way, Madame? May I help?” His English was excellent. “No, my dear boy,” she answered, “I am discovering the area where I shall be living.” That was a great surprise to the boy. “But,” he said, “foreigners do not choose our quarter to live in. This is Old Cairo, Madame.”
“This I know, young man, but I would like to live here, even if most foreigners don’t. It looks good enough to me.” She regarded the boy for a moment. “What are the most interesting things that I can see today? I mean anything nice and exciting…”
“There are lots of buildings in the old style; there are mosques, schools, and there is the Beit el Sehemy – it is very famous.” Then he smacked his forehead as if remembering something quite exceptional. “There is a feast near Bab el Futooh, the Northern Gate. It is a long walk from here. Today is the feast of the Gypsies. They come from every part of the country and have a big festival with Gypsy dances and fire-eating and a lot of other strange things. If you wish, I can go with you to protect you. One should keep his eyes wide open because they are very sharp thieves.”
At the word “Gypsy” Bulbul snapped to attention. She accepted the boy’s invitation on the spot. His name was Tarek. And so began a strange adventure that would get the new Mrs. Abdel Meguid into trouble.
She and the boy walked the length of the famous road, starting from Bab Zwele, the Southern Gate of Old Fatimid Cairo, up to Bab el Futooh (also known as the Gate of Conquests), through which victorious armies had marched after campaigns in Syria and Mesopotamia – and beyond the gate into the largest and oldest Muslim cemetery in Cairo, where a large crowd of people was gathering. The cemetery had been in use since the Arab conquest of Egypt in AD 640, and the tombs were in every style imaginable, from step pyramids and pharaonic designs to domed buildings, in endless variations.
The sanctity of this atmospheric place was disturbed by the shouts of children, mostly foreign, running about. European sight-seers waited expectantly. The Gypsy festival was of no particular interest to the native Egyptians, although it was known that this pagan extravaganza always took place on a full moon in autumn. Perhaps the biggest reason Cairenes avoided it was that this was a gathering occasion for opium smokers and hashish addicts; the air was filled with the smooth, tingling smell of both drugs. Gypsies were extremely resourceful in running drugs past the watchful eyes of the coastal police, the young guide said, and punishments for smuggling were severe and swift. That was the story that Tarek related to her as they entered the cemetery grounds. He looked so absolutely innocent and well bred that she wondered if she should be protecting him, and not the other way around. “Last year,” Tarek said, “there was a man who swallowed an entire sword right into his stomach. A German surgeon was able to feel. And there was a Gypsy girl who could roll herself into a perfect ball while her partner pushed her around in circles.”
The hubbub of the growing crowd was punctuated by the loud voices of a group of Italians, while the Britishers, some in knickerbockers, talked among themselves in reserved tones as they waited for something to happen. And then a distant wailing sound became audible – sad, sad tones of painful tragedy, as if from some remote past. The Gypsies had arrived. An elderly woman wearing a head cap embroidered with seashells and swathed in bead necklaces and bangles began to call out to her troupe in short, croaking phrases, to which they replied with a rising hum of encouragement. Bulbul asked Tarek what the words meant, but he shrugged his shoulders. “Nobody but a Gypsy can tell you the meaning of the words, and even then you can’t believe anything they say.”
Bulbul and her guide wandered among the crowd. The real fair wouldn’t
