“Perhaps you need some fun. That’s what I keep telling myself…” So spoke Sa‘fan, looking in his direction, his face partly lit by the wedding lights, partly hidden in shadow. “Your days are slipping by in work and study, but life demands much more of us than that,” he added.

He pretended to listen attentively but inside he felt contempt. He despised homilies which encouraged indolence and considered them a blasphemy against God. At the same time his thoughts returned to Sayyida in her long agony, to the duties he must fulfill and the facts he must bear in mind and reconsider. He felt a meaningless smile on his face. Sa‘fan started talking again. “You are a man of high ambition, but peace of mind is a precious possession too…”

“You are very wise, Mr. Basyuni…” he said, his contempt rising.

At the doorway of the balcony a shadow appeared. It was a girl carrying a tray from which rose the aroma of mint tea. Lights from the wedding below were reflected on her face, revealing some of her features in spite of the darkness of the room behind her. She had a pale round face, evidently attractive but its charms were veiled in mystery. He felt apprehensive. As he bent slightly forward to pick up his cup, he saw from close up the smooth tender skin of her arm and felt as if the scent of mint emanated from it. She was hardly there for a minute before disappearing into the darkness, the smile that had nearly escaped her timorously concealed. Silence reigned like a feeling of guilt, the atmosphere charged with a sense of conspiracy. His apprehension heightened.

“My daughter…” said Sa‘fan. Othman nodded respectfully.

“She’d completed her primary education before she stopped going to school.” He nodded again, this time in admiration. The voices of the group accompanying the singer were wafted up to them. Sa‘fan went on: “Home is the real school for a girl.” He did not comment. He did not know what to say. At the same time he was annoyed at his own silence.

“What’s your view on the subject?”

“I agree with you completely.”

Yet he recollected his mother’s life of bitter struggle. He felt he was being pushed into a trap. The soloist began to sing in a soft, gentle voice. Sa‘fan murmured, “How beautiful!”

“Indeed.”

“Life is beautiful too.”

“Absolutely.”

“But it demands wisdom from us if we’re to enjoy its sweetness.”

“Isn’t wisdom difficult to attain?”

“No. It’s a gift from God.”