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Fountain of the Drowning

E-BookEPUBePub WasserzeichenE-Book
416 Seiten
Englisch
Diwanerschienen am01.01.2024
Fountain of the Drowning is a multi-layered narrative set in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a period when Egypt witnessed dramatic events, from the constructionof the Suez Canal to the British occuation, which brought about rapid modernaization and the Europeanization of social norms.

Reem Bassiouney is an Egyptian author, professor of sociolinguistics and Chair Department of Applied linguistics at The American University in Cairo. She won numerous awards including the National Prize for Excellence in Literature from the Egyptian Ministry of Culture in 2022.mehr

Produkt

KlappentextFountain of the Drowning is a multi-layered narrative set in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, a period when Egypt witnessed dramatic events, from the constructionof the Suez Canal to the British occuation, which brought about rapid modernaization and the Europeanization of social norms.

Reem Bassiouney is an Egyptian author, professor of sociolinguistics and Chair Department of Applied linguistics at The American University in Cairo. She won numerous awards including the National Prize for Excellence in Literature from the Egyptian Ministry of Culture in 2022.
Details
Weitere ISBN/GTIN9789778559941
ProduktartE-Book
EinbandartE-Book
FormatEPUB
Format HinweisePub Wasserzeichen
FormatE101
Verlag
Erscheinungsjahr2024
Erscheinungsdatum01.01.2024
Seiten416 Seiten
SpracheEnglisch
Dateigrösse905 Kbytes
Artikel-Nr.14346379
Rubriken
Genre9201

Inhalt/Kritik

Leseprobe


BOOK ONE
Humanity is revealed by the stories of wayfarers.
1.
Today Galila was hit by a stone.

For some time, the children had been aggravating, and that did not bother her. They were heedless and destitute, with no kind of guidance in an era in which deviation was the suffocating norm, like Circassian and British officers combined. But the small stone that had hit her forehead was something different, entirely unexpected, like a betrayal. A little boy had thrown it from the side of the road; loud and clear, he had accused her of immorality. She adjusted her veil. She heard her servant´s voice as he yelled at the boy, shouting, cursing, and making threats. He extended his hand with the blue parasol as he usually did, making sure to stay a few steps behind his mistress even in the midst of all those perils.

I´m terribly sorry, Ma´am, he said quietly. I didn´t notice the boy. He came from a different direction, totally unexpected. Are you all right, Ma´am?

She was walking slowly and did not reply at first.

Miss Galila, he asked again after a pause, his eyes glued to the ground, are you all right?

Hasan, she finally replied in a commanding tone, no one´s to know what´s happened today.

No one´s to know? he repeated, not understanding.

I mean, my father´s not to know anything about it, she said forcefully. Children have been annoying me for a while, and what´s happened today is trivial. I don´t want to worry my father. I want you to forget what´s happened.

Do you hear me? she asked tensely, as she felt some drops of blood dripping on her veil.

Yes, Ma´am, he replied slowly, I hear you.

Sometimes she doubted whether he could in fact hear, and, at others, she was convinced that he could not understand. He had little to say, and most of the time she was not even aware of his presence. Even so, for seven years now he had stuck by her like fate. At the time, she was fourteen years old, and the servant was not that much older-a few years, no more. That said, he existed as a kind of punishment for what she had not done or maybe for those worldly matters that had been revealed to her.

She would ignore his existence, something that felt constricting at times and reassuring at others. Their conversation came to an end. The only talk between them consisted of orders that she would give at times and demands at others. The only thing she was always aware of was the blue parasol that offered protection against the sun´s heat, but not its light. He would always be walking behind her with steady steps; the same distance and the same steps.

The servant wore a white gallabiyya that he washed diligently every day, something that showed up his brown complexion, and an embroidered skullcap that he had kept ever since his mother had given it to him as a present when she had accompanied him as a boy to a mawlid celebration. His body was tall and lean, and his features were symmetrical and powerful, suggesting a stern attitude toward the self and its desires. His eyes were wide. They never strayed from the horse or turned to look at different places; they both knew their limits, even though his spirit could be a little defiant. He had not inherited his thick, black eyebrows from his mother, but rather from his father whom nobody had known. From his mother he only inherited his deep dark complexion, his wide eyes, and his curly hair.

She got into the carriage and only spoke when they reached the house.

Hasan, she told him without even looking at him, it´s as though what happened today never actually happened. My father´s not to know anything about it. Do you understand?

He lowered his head, and said nothing.

Do you hear what I´m saying? she asked, somewhat annoyed.

Yes, Ma´am, he replied softly. I hear what you´re saying. I always do.

And yet, he did tell her father, and the world was turned upside down. Galila´s tragedy was both long and epic, just like Egypt´s debts and the opening of the Suez Canal. It was as complicated as the love-hate relationship between Britain and France. Galila´s tragedy started in 1874, a genuine tragedy by any yardstick, one that would put an end to any girl´s life and made her future as dark as rural roads at night, with a scandal inconceivable in Egypt and its neighboring countries. What befell Galila was neither her choice nor her desire. Like all girls of her age, she was waiting till she was thirteen or fourteen years old to get married and live a life, no matter short or long. But fate refused to let her life proceed smoothly and clearly. The ways before her narrowed, and, in order to achieve anything, her only recourse was to plunge into the depths of the sea.

Her mother came to regret the crime she had committed against Galila, and her father felt an unspeakable shame. He fled his family´s scornful looks and was compelled to sever ties with most of his family in Munufiyya and seek refuge in Cairo´s buildings so he would not have to go back to his own town and pay the price of his own disgrace. Such paths are different and desolate. There is no going back; they breathe like morning and cannot be throttled. If only he could go back in time and stand in front of his wife and her brother. But it was too late, and now Galila was embarked on the path of the unknown. She deviated from the path of her sisters, female cousins, neighbors, and all Egyptian women. Who would marry her now? No one. After such a scandal, who would have any respect for her parents? No one. Where was the Khedive now? And where was that virtuous wife of his? Oh, if only the vicissitudes of time could be rolled back and the course of destiny changed! But that was not going to happen.

As far as the father was concerned, what had happened today was the end. This time, there would be no going back in his decision.

What had happened seven years ago and led to this tragedy was a visit from Halima, the wife of the brother of Buthaina Hanem, Galila´s mother. Halima was from a Circassian Turkish family with some influence in Egypt. She was lady-in-waiting for Princess Jeshm-Afet Hanem, the third wife of Khedive Ismail. According to Jeshm´s court ladies, she was the most slender and beautiful of Ismail´s wives, and was also the kindest and most knowledgeable.

So the brother´s wife, Halima Hanem, paid Buthaina, Galila´s mother, a visit. At the time, the brother of Buthaina held the rank of Yuzbashi in the Egyptian army and was much loved by Egyptian and Circassian officers alike. That in itself was some kind of miracle; it had only happened before to Galila´s uncle, Mahmoud al-Isawi, because he had always supported his sister and her daughters. Now Halima had arrived with sweetmeats and gifts, getting Galila´s mother to promise that she would listen to her and respond to her request.

Buthaina, Galila´s mother, had five daughters, but no sons. Galila herself was the third daughter. From childhood she had been strange, thinking a lot and talking even more, even in the presence of the men of the family. Neither her mother´s slaps nor her father´s temper had managed to keep her quiet. Her beauty was something quite different. Even though her body was delicate and her features were more refined than normal, she was attractive in a way that made a number of mothers want her for their sons. Buthaina hoped that Halima´s visit was about the same thing. She would agree immediately. The two elder daughters were married, and Galila was fourteen. She had to have a husband before it was too late.

But some hope! Halima had actually come to put an end to Galila, not to rescue her.

What I´m going to ask you, Halima said, will seem like a shock and even a risk. But I promise you, it will help your brother get a promotion. It might also open up opportunities for your husband that are currently closed.

What exactly do you want, my dear? Buthaina asked anxiously, as Halima Hanem kept circling around her request like hornets before they sting.

Her Highness the Princess, the Khedive´s wife.

Does she want my daughter to be one of her court ladies?

She´s been searching for months.

For a court lady?

As you know, her court ladies aren´t Egyptian. If not for my own Turkish origins, I wouldn´t be staying in her palace.

So what is it she wants from me and my daughters? Does she have a groom in mind for Galila? If that´s the case, then I agree immediately. Everyone should obey the Princess´s commands.

Buthaina, Her Highness has opened an Egyptian school for Egyptian girls, on the Khedive´s orders. It won´t be like the foreign missionary schools. It´s a school for Egypt, established on orders from the Khedive of Egypt for Egypt´s girls.

Buthaina looked at her as though she did not understand.

Egypt´s girls don´t need schools from the Khedive. They get the best education possible in their family homes.

Buthaina did not understand what Halima wanted nor the significance of this ill-omened school and the strange order from the Khedive.

Halima paused for a while. Schools for boys were opened forty years ago, she said. Now schools need to be opened for girls as well.

They´re for palace maids to attend, Buthaina scoffed, not the daughters of Egyptian families! Which father is going to allow his daughter to leave the house every day to go to school and mingle with strangers? Who´s going to marry a girl who leaves the...

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