“I’d like to encourage you, at least for your mother’s sake.”

As the weeks roll by, it becomes apparent how successful the play is. Never has there been such a sellout at the theater. And the weeks turn into months. When will the playwright appear? He can think what he likes and let me suffer—but where is he? “I should think the people at the theater might have heard by this time from our absent one,” I remark, loudly enough so that he has to hear.

“The last time I went there was ten days ago.”

Tired of defending myself against his tongue, I make no demands of him. He has trotted off to the theater from time to time, whereas I haven’t ventured to go since the opening night. On the next morning he goes again. A warm day, with the sun shining, and my heart flutters with consuming hope.

I could imagine miracles and strange happenings, but never that Abbas would marry Tahiya. Now Abbas was going to leave and Tariq Ramadan would be staying. Where was heavenly justice?

“Abbas, she’s at least ten years older than you! She has a certain reputation and a history. Don’t you understand what that means?”

He smiled. “Unfortunately you don’t understand what love is,” he said smugly. Bitterness welled in my soul, bringing back my buried sadness. “We’re going to start a new life,” he added.

“No one can escape his past.”

“In spite of everything Tahiya is virtuous.”

I wasn’t being fair, I had forgotten about myself, but I wanted him to have a better lot in life. That’s all there was to it.

Tahiya visited me, looking subdued, but determined. “Don’t stand in the way of my happiness,” she entreated me.

“You are stealing innocence.”

“I’ll be a devoted wife to him.”

“You!”

The sharpness of my voice made her turn pale with anger. “Every woman in the theater began with Sirhan al-Hilaly!” she retorted.

My heart shrank. So they all knew or inferred what they didn’t know. It was as if she were threatening me! I detested her. But he would remain my son, in spite of everything.

—