God Dies by the Nile and Other Novels by Nawal El Saadawi Read Free Book Online Page B

reward you generously, because you will have done a service to the man who preserves the holy mosque and defends the teachings of God in this village.’
    Haj Ismail burst into hilarious laughter. ‘Both I and my children would have died of hunger long ago if we had waited until Allah rewards us.’
    â€˜Of course I will pay you, and handsomely. You know me well,’ Sheikh Hamzawi said quickly.
    â€˜I know you are a generous man, and that you are the descendant of a generous family. But most important of all, you are the man who preserves the faith in this village and watches over our morals. Therefore you must leave the matter in the hands of Allah, and not worry about it any further. I willsee to it. You can depend on that. Just follow what I told you to do before. Make constant use of warm water, and salt, and lemon. Burn your incense every night leaving none of it to the following morning, then take the rosary between your fingers and recite a thanksgiving to Allah ninety-nine times. After that, curse your first wife thirty-three times, for were you not fully potent when you married her, Sheikh Hamzawi?’
    Sheikh Hamzawi answered in a voice that rang with despair, ‘I was as strong as a horse.’
    â€˜She managed to cast a spell on you, and I know who prepared the amulet for her. He is not from Kafr El Teen, but I know the secret of his spell, and how to destroy it. The most important thing for you now is to follow my advice, and Allah will bestow his blessings upon you.’
    Sheikh Hamzawi lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper and asked, ‘When will I spend the betrothal night with Fatheya?’
    â€˜Soon, very soon, if Allah wills.’
    â€˜What about my having a son, Haj Ismail? I suppose it is impossible?’
    â€˜Nothing is impossible if Allah wills that it should not be so. You are a man of God and should know that well. How can you forget that Allah is all powerful?’
    The rosary beads ran quickly between the fingers of Sheikh Hamzawi and he gasped, ‘May His name be praised. May His name be praised.’
    Sheikh Hamzawi rested his hand on the wall and slowly got to his feet. The rosary swayed from side to side in his hand as he repeated ‘May His name be praised.’ He put on his caftan and his jiba , * and adjusted the turban on his head, all the time whispering under his breath. His thin body seemed to bow under a heavy weight as he shuffled towards the door of the house. He heard Fatheya moan in a low voice. He could not understand what was wrong with her these days. She was not the same. She did not even get angry with him as she used to do at one time, and spent most of her day in the house lying down. She no longer insisted on visiting her aunt, perhaps because each time he got into a temper and tried to stop her from going out. The wife of Sheikh Hamzawi, as he had explained to her father, was not like the wives of other men. Her husband was responsible for upholding the teachings of Allah, and keeping the morals and piety of the village intact. The wife of a man like that was not supposed to be seen by just anyone. Her body had to be concealed even from her closest relatives, except for her face and the palms of her hands. She was expected to live in his house surrounded by all due care and respect, never to be seen elsewhere except twice in her life. The first time when she moved from her father’s to her husband’s house. And the second when she left her husband’s house for the grave allotted to her in the burial grounds. Apart from that …
    The father shook his head in pious agreement and said, ‘Sheikh Hamzawi, you are indeed the most respected and esteemed of all men,’ then he gave his consent.
    But Fatheya hid herself above the oven and refused to answer anyone, despite all the efforts expended to make her more reasonable.
    â€˜God is going to save you from the withering sun in the fields, from the dirt