The Open Door Read online

  The sand dunes rolled far under Husayn’s gaze. It was an arid, withered wasteland without vegetation or trees. From behind the dunes stared Layla’s eyes, the pools of tears stagnant within.

  Lying full length on a beach recliner, shaded by an umbrella, reading a book, Layla felt a hand on her shoulder. “Layla—Husayn’s arrived.” It was Mahmud.

  Layla’s face broke into a smile, but it froze as she became suddenly aware that her body lay extended, in full view of Husayn. She scrambled to her feet, greeting him embarrassedly. “Hello—welcome.”

  Mahmud pulled the towel from his shoulder and put it on the back of an empty chair. “Husayn leaves for Germany in two weeks.”

  Layla’s pupils darted around but she said nothing. She took the towel that was in Husayn’s hand, put it on the seat back and began to tug it straight.

  “Aren’t you going to congratulate Layla, Husayn?”

  Husayn’s face fell. Mahmud went on. “She got her secondary diploma and she’ll be starting at the university.” Now Husayn beamed and he embraced Layla with his gaze. “Congratulations!” Mahmud headed toward the water. With a quick, quizzical glance at Layla, Husayn followed him. She sat down again, but not on the recliner. This time she sat stiffly upright on a bamboo chair and tried to engross herself in her reading, but she could not. The voices of the vendors seemed to spoil her concentration, and the waves, pushing forward to lap over her feet, interrupted her.

  “The sea’s nothing today,” said Mahmud as the two of them turned their back to a high crest.

  “Nothing?—it’s atrocious.”

  “Probably better out further.”

  “Further?—further where? I don’t even know how to swim.”

  Mahmud burst out laughing. It delighted him to discover an area in which he bested Husayn. “So tall and husky, and you don’t know how to swim?”

  A high wave nearly sent Husayn into a somersault. He righted himself, laughing. “Hey, that’s enough. Come on, let’s get out.” But Mahmud plunged further in, plowing a path through the waves, gesturing to Husayn to follow. Husayn shook his head and turned toward the beach.

  He approached Layla, drops of water flying from his hair and face. She handed him the towel without a word. He dropped to the sand beside her chair. “Are you still quarreling with me?” he asked, smiling at her as he dried his hair. Layla shut her eyes and smiled.

  “Well, it’s one of two things,” he said, his voice teasing, “either you’re angry at me or you’re afraid of me.”

  “Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?”

  “That’s a respectable question,” he said lightly. “Why does someone feel afraid of someone else? I suppose, either the other person must be harmful, or—“

  Layla looked at him uneasily. Husayn looked right at her and said in a deep voice, “—or else that someone is afraid of loving the other person.”

  Layla whipped her head away to gaze distractedly at the ocean. Crowned with white, the waves towered, crashed, and—now subdued—slunk back from the shore, humbled, into the sea. “I’m never in my life going to love anyone,” she whispered.

  Husayn flung himself onto a vacant chair, stretched out his legs, and leaned back into the shape of the chair. “Are you so sure?” he asked, a strain of disbelief lacing his voice.

  “Of course I am.”

  “Well, if you ask me, I’m not so sure of it.”

  “What are you getting at?” Layla’s voice was edgy with irritation

  Husayn shifted, smiling and jabbing his finger at his chest. “What I’m getting at is that you will love me. You will. One day you’ll wake up and discover that you love me.”

  Layla gazed at him, bewildered, then burst out laughing.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  Layla shook her head in wonder, still laughing hard. “I wish I had the kind of confidence in myself that you have, Husayn.”

  Husayn’s face was that of a petulant child. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  Layla smiled. “What makes you so sure, as if I personally had told you . . . had told you that I . . . I . . . loved you.”

  Husayn spoke as if he was simply repeating an established fact. “You did tell me, you really did.”

  Layla opened her mouth dumbly, as Husayn smiled. “You did, really, you told me, more than once.”

  She smiled and waved her hand in despair. “No—you’re insane. You’re completely insane.”

  Husayn crept toward her. “Do you think these are things one says only with one’s voice? No, on the contrary, such things are said more fully with the eyes.”

  “So what did my eyes say, sir?”

  “Your eyes, they may have lost their shine, but they still shine for me, and only for me. And your face, its glow may be gone, but it lights up just for me.”

  “You’re imagining things—that never happened at all.”

  Husayn moved even nearer, until his head was almost touching her thigh. His voice was as soft and gentle as it could possibly be. “Layla, take me seriously, okay?”

  Tears shone in Layla’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Husayn.”

  “No—please, please, today I want to see you looking bright and happy, like the first time I saw you.” As he raised his face, his features seemed to melt in that bewitching smile of his. “Do you want to make me happy, so that I leave happy?” Layla nodded. “Good. Then let’s imagine, let’s imagine together.” Layla wiped her eyes and smiled. “Okay, just supposing that you were to wake up tomorrow morning and discover that you love me.”

  “And then?” Layla caught the spirit of the game.

  “And then you’ll go to the telegraph office, and write out a telegraph, and you’ll send it to my address in Germany.”

  “What will I say in it?”

  Husayn picked a stone and began to write letters in the sand, pronouncing the words slowly as if dictating. His eyes wandered and his voice grew faint. “Start making arrangements to get a marriage contract, and I will tell you in the next telegram the date I’m to arrive, and I’ll send details by post.” He lifted his head to her, his hand still tightly around the little rock, and he gazed steadily at her as if to test her strength. Would she accept this role that he wanted her to perform? Under his searching gaze Layla fidgeted. The conversation had shifted so rapidly out of the joking spirit in which it had seemed to begin; she could see that it was about to take a very serious turn indeed. But she held fast to the game, though her voice, still light, held a note of uneasiness. “And then?”

  “And then you’ll take passage on the ship and you’ll come.”

  Husayn’s voice suggested that it was no longer the words that interested him but rather his attempt to reach this young woman. To what extent could he count on her, when his future was so dependent on hers? She spoke in a low voice, beckoning toward an imagined distance. “All that way by myself?” Husayn straightened in his seat and spoke slowly. “That’s the road you have to travel by yourself, Layla.”

  Once again she felt his searching gaze close in on her; she felt she had revealed how weak and unable she was. She shifted to stare at the sea. Her lips trembled. “Well, suppose the sea is stormy, the waves terribly high.”

  “To reach shore,” Husayn said with deliberation, “we have to face the waves and the open ocean.”

  Layla gave him a long look, and then narrowed her eyes and laughed, though it came out more like a wail. “And then on shore what would I find? Husayn, what would I find? Spilt coffee?”

  Husayn stared at her, bewildered. It took him a moment to realize that she must be alluding to a detail from the story of her relationship with Isam. His face tightened and he said nothing. Layla covered her face in her hands and shook her head despairingly as she spoke. “I can’t, Husayn, I just can’t.” She took her hands from her face and stood up. So did he, facing her.

  “Don’t waste your time, Husayn.” Her voice was calm. “There’s no point, the way I’m feeling.” She walked slowly tow
ard the cabin. Husayn caught up. She heard him behind her, calling, “Layla.” There was no anger in his voice; nor was there despair or even pleading. But his voice, commanding her with masculine duty and compassion to stop, was compelling.

  “Layla, do you know what you’ll find on shore?” Layla just looked at him mutely. “You’ll find something more important than me, more important than anyone else, too. Do you know what that is, Layla?”

  She raised questioning eyes to him. He spoke slowly. “You’ll find what it is that you’ve lost, you’ll find yourself, you’ll find the true Layla.”

  She did not understand at first what he was getting at. Then she blushed as she realized for the first time how much she had changed, and how deeply Husayn understood it. She fled to the cabin.

  At lunch, Layla sat across from Husayn, her mother to her right, Mahmud to her left. Her father was in Cairo. She bent her head low over the plate to avoid Husayn’s eyes. She feared his searching gaze, for it seemed to pierce her, to reveal everything that was there. She did not want to see the despair in his eyes, knowing that he was in despair of her.

  But when her eyes did meet his by chance, her fear vanished, for she found neither despair nor fear. He was not searching her, testing her, but merely offering her the affectionate touch of his eyes; he was summoning her gently in desire and regard, and she brightened up.

  Husayn, for his part, was taking in the smallest details of Layla’s face as if to sculpt it whole in his memory. It was a delightful pursuit; he loved this slope of Layla’s face, from one fine ear to her cheek. He loved her upper lip, its deepening redness at the center revealing a tiny triangle, pulling her whole mouth upward as if she were smiling even when she was not. He loved those light, honey-hued eyes, so intelligent, so expressive, just like a sensitive camera lens; and the wide forehead that hinted a lofty pride; the soft, short, very black hair; her ivory skin with its pinkish tint at the cheeks—soft skin, like a child’s; and . . . . He loved all of her features, each in itself. But he truly loved the manner in which they came together, for in her face’s composition he found a startling beauty. It did not simply flow from the features, nor just from the harmony they formed, but from . . . well, from what? Perhaps it was the contradiction between a soft, child-like innocence and that broad, adult forehead over eyes that sparkled with the intelligence of a mature and highly aware woman. Or perhaps it was the inconsistency between that childlike face and a mature woman’s body. Or was it simply the result of his feelings, his love for her? Never had he caught sight of her face without feeling a lovely peacefulness cradling his whole being, submerging him in a lovely sense of reassurance and well-being, pushing him gently and affectionately forward. These were moments in which he felt that suddenly he could comprehend the most elusive secrets, find solutions to all of his problems, accept that his dreams might take the concrete form of events. He had only to extend a hand and these chimeras would be in his grasp. After all, what could possibly remain beyond him if he were to wake up every morning to that face?

  But he would not be waking up every morning to that face. Tomorrow he would depart without having accomplished anything, unable to change anything. All he had in his grasp was her image, to be saved in his mind and preserved in his psyche; and then he must live on the memory throughout the years of exile. If that were to happen, her face must be the last thing he would see when the ship put distance between him and the homeland, the last thing he would see of the homeland—a symbol for all he loved in his nation. An idea flashed into his mind. Tomorrow, as he left, he must bid Layla farewell as he crossed the Nile on his way to Damietta. He would stand in the boat and she would stand before him on shore, filling his mind and his eyes with her face. He could imagine . . . could imagine that he was actually leaving the homeland, and would return—to step onto that beloved land again. But how would he convince her that she must be there to say goodbye? And when? And would she be able to go by herself? Would she be able to overcome her fear of herself, of him, of others? The idea took possession of Husayn; its importance grew to enormous proportions with every minute that passed. If she did go to the riverbank to say goodbye to him, the import of it all was that she was taking the first step toward him—and that he would not have taken leave of her before she took that first step. All that Husayn could think about was how to draw Layla aside so that he could tell her of his plan. The sun was setting before he found his chance.

  He was strolling along the beach with Mahmud when they caught sight of Layla and Sanaa watching the sunset. Layla appeared melancholy, as if she were thinking that the sun would not come up tomorrow. Sanaa’s face, to the contrary, sparkled with life, as if she had taken into herself all the rays of the sun that she could catch as it lay on the horizon, about to sink.

  Mahmud and Husayn joined them. The four walked slowly, a purplish tinge enveloping them, a moist breeze invigorating their skin. Layla’s feet almost touched the water; Sanaa was to her left, then Mahmud, and then Husayn. Mahmud and Sanaa fell into conversation; Layla and Husayn were silent. Layla’s eyes were fixed straight ahead, and Husayn was dawdling. He turned suddenly and switched his place; now he was walking practically in the water to Layla’s right. She blushed, but her pace did not change. Husayn’s arm bumped her shoulder now and then, sending an electric quiver through her body. Hardly would she recover before she would find herself anticipating—her throat dry, her heart jumpy—the next one. From the corner of her eye she saw Husayn’s face, tense, tight, as if something pressed down on it.

  Husayn noticed her glancing sidelong at him, and he pressed his arm to her shoulder, deliberately this time. His eyes seemed to melt, they were so tender; he stuck his lower lip out slightly as if he were kissing her. Her ears reddened and she stared straight ahead. Husayn smiled to himself, and his tense features relaxed. The buzz of conversation between Mahmud and Sanaa dropped to a whisper, and their pace quickened as if, without being aware of it, they were trying to be by themselves. Husayn noticed and slowed down. Here was his chance, and he was not about to let it escape. Layla, though, was determinedly lengthening her stride to catch up with Sanaa and Mahmud. Husayn put out his arm and drew her back, his face laughing as he whispered, “Come here. Where are you going?”

  Layla stopped cold, so surprised was she by his unrestrained boldness. She tried to disengage her hand, but when Husayn raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, with Mahmud and Sanaa just a few steps away, she was too appalled to even pull away.

  Husayn let go of her hand when he could be sure that Sanaa and Mahmud had increased the distance between the two couples. Layla’s lips were trembling. “You’re mad. Suppose Mahmud—” She could not even find the words to finish her sentence. Husayn laughed. “Yes, suppose. I love you, and I am proud of it, and I want Mahmud to see. I’d like the whole world to notice that I love you.” Then his face clouded, and he practically pressed against her as he spoke in a shaky, deep whisper. “I’m just waiting for you, waiting for you, darling.” He ran his finger along her arm lightly, and his voice grew softer, almost like a child’s. “And I know that you will love me. I know your future is me, just like my future is you.”

  Layla felt a lump in her throat, and her eyes swam under a cloud of tears. Husayn told her what he had in mind. He tried very hard to dispel her fears. They could meet somewhere away from the family’s cabin—for instance, at the government building that overlooked the Nile. She could go on ahead of him, and he would join her there after he had given Mahmud the slip. But her eyes were still wide and fearful as she stared at him—more as if he were asking her to murder someone!

  “You aren’t going to come.” A note of despair had crept into Husayn’s voice. She did not answer. Husayn plunged forward, staring straight ahead. Layla’s stride lengthened to keep up with him, and she put out a hand blindly, knocking against Husayn’s hand. “What time?” Her voice was shaking. Husayn seized her hand, his face brightening immediately, his eyes embracing her. Layla pulled her hand away
as she saw Sanaa and Mahmud, still at a distance, turning back to walk toward where they stood.

  Layla stretched out in bed. A young man like him, who was excellent no matter what perspective you examined him from, wanted to marry her—and despite his knowing the details of her relationship with Isam. A wave of relief and serenity ran through her body; it was exactly the way she felt when the dentist had finished removing a bad tooth, or when she covered an infected sore with a layer of soothing balm. She felt as if he had returned her self-regard to her by asking her to marry him.

  She turned restlessly in bed. No. It wasn’t marriage for which he was asking. He wanted her love first, as a fundamental condition for a marriage that would depend on that love. He could have proposed marriage right away, but he had not done so. He did not want a cold corpse, and that is what she was. He wanted her love. But she was incapable of love. She was afraid of it; and there was only loathing in her heart, loathing for the world, and for Isam, who had deceived her, who had broken her. Isam, who had . . . Layla tried to launch her usual train of thought. Normally she could summon it without much effort. It would come to her compliantly, one image after the next, bringing tears to her eyes and a hot lament to her heart as she lost herself in pity. But at the moment the way seemed blocked. Normally, the merest echo of the name “Isam” made her boil and long to break something. But now, he seemed far away—so far away that she wondered for a moment if he really existed. Had she really known him? Had there really been a relationship between them? Layla discovered suddenly that her anger had vanished, that she no longer hated Isam. Her body was not aching, either, as it usually did; her muscles were relaxed, as if she had just emerged from a steam bath that had sucked out a poison running through her body. She fell into a deep sleep uninterrupted by dreary thoughts or bad dreams. But she was careful to wake up early so that she could say goodbye to Husayn.