26. No Difference Between the Two

She was Badr Mashriq’s fifth wife. He married her at the age of forty. He had divorced his first four wives one by one, and the affair ended in his marriage to the fifth, whom he chose for himself. She was an American of his own age, a widow with a daughter by her first husband.

Two months into his fifth marriage, Badr Mashriq declared before his acquaintances that an American wife was better than a Syrian. He swore a decisive oath that he would never again marry a Syrian woman, because Americans were better for domestic life, more refined, and more orderly.

When he swore this decisive oath, his face showed no sign that he intended a joke. He pronounced it as one certain of the matter’s truth who meant what he said. He had resolved not to marry a Syrian woman after this American, in whose taste and refinement he had found what he had never seen in the four Syrian women formerly married to his honor.

This time Badr had no concern with the ordering of the household. At the end of the week he merely paid the fixed sum required for necessities: the grocer’s account, rent, the installment on the furniture, and the like. When he had been married to a Syrian woman, by contrast, he had carried the groceries home from Syrian shops. He never arrived before his patience had crossed every limit, with abuse, curses, and blasphemies flying from his mouth like artillery shells in the thick of battle.

In the age of the American wife, he no longer carried a sack of bulgur, mutton, a can of tomatoes, or a basket of grapes. The American ordered everything by telephone, and the delivery boy brought her requests like the jinn of Solomon the Wise.[92]

The difference between a Syrian wife and an American one was enormous, especially in the first period of his fifth marriage. If the Syrian wife wished to thread a needle, she asked her husband to thread it. She grew bewildered over what to cook for supper. Yesterday it was kibbeh; the day before, stuffed squash; before that, mujaddara. What about today? Before he left for work she asked his opinion: “What would you like me to cook for you?”

What did he answer?

“The poison of death.”

Then he left the house scowling.

The American did not ask him, consult him, or request anything except that he pay the bill. She sent him to work with a kiss and met him at the door when he returned with another. She sat beside him and read the newspapers with him, conversing on many affairs whose depths she entered by putting her mind to work and holding an opinion on every event and subject. When she spoke to him, she ended her sentences with “my dear,” “my darling,” or “my honey.”

With perfect calm and order, supper appeared on the table at six every evening, together with everything required for eating. The Syrian wife, meanwhile, put off her husband by saying the meat was not yet cooked. The clock struck seven-thirty while, after laboring all day, the husband tossed upon the frying pans of waiting with an empty stomach. When the food was finally cooked and he sat with his wife to eat, she immediately rose to fetch the bread, cursing Satan for making her forget it. Scarcely had she settled into her chair when she rose a second time for the salt and pepper, and a third for the napkin. Once more she poured curses upon Satan, for haste came from him. Supper did not end without much labor and confusion.

Badr observed all these differences and thanked God for delivering him from the dullness of Syrian women and directing an American woman toward him to ease his mind of every such matter. His duty was only to strive and provide the money for living; his wife had everything else, provided the money was there.

Badr had a Syrian friend with an intelligent heart, fermented by lessons, the turns of time, and the revolutions of days. Once they met, and Badr told him all about his feelings and peace of mind. His friend listened to the entire discourse on the enormous difference between the Syrian wife and her American sister. At last, however, he said—and this was in 1902:

“Your subject is of sublime benefit and contains many truths. I cannot debate it with you when you have tested the matter yourself and learned the difference between the Syrian and the American. But how long have you been with your American wife?”

Badr answered that it had been about a year.

His friend shook his head, took hold of the edge of his coat collar, thrust out his lips a little, and murmured, “But, my friend, you are still in the honeymoon.”

In 1910 people picked up the newspapers to read what had happened at the trial in the suit Mrs. Badr Mashriq had brought against her husband. For nearly two years it moved from court to court; the lawyers for both sides negotiated one day and made court submissions the next. A final judgment was issued divorcing Mrs. Mashriq from Mr. Badr Mashriq, establishing a monthly allowance that the mister would pay the missus at the beginning of each month for her support, and awarding her the house with all its furniture.

The suit was based on allegations that Mr. Mashriq neglected his wife and directed more of his attention toward her daughter, sitting with her and treating her tenderly while his wife remained absorbed in household affairs. He rebuked his wife and spoke harshly to her. His love had cooled from the day her daughter became a young woman. During the previous year, he had never kissed his wife of his own accord, but only after shouting and quarrels. He spent one or two nights at a time outside the house while she passed the nights awake, waiting for him to return.

Late in 1910, Badr Mashriq was relieved of the monthly allowance to his divorced wife, which had exhausted him and weighed down his back. Mrs. Mashriq changed her name, shedding “Mashriq” as a tree sheds its leaves in autumn and replacing it with “Sylvan,” the family name of a new husband of her own flesh and blood. When Badr learned that the appointed allowance had reached its end, he breathed a sigh of relief.

In 1913 Badr had become a middle-aged man approaching old age. The days had bent his back and deprived him of his energy, making him inclined toward idleness. But for necessity, he would not have given his business even the slightest attention. That year a middle-aged woman entered his establishment. After speaking with him briefly about business, she said, “Mr. Badr, you need a companion in life, one who will look after your household while you manage your affairs in this establishment.”

“I felt that need years ago,” he answered. “The house went with the woman. Now I have only a few years left in this life, and I suppose this establishment will protect me from want and begging if I preserve it.”

She replied that if he wished to preserve his business, his mind must be at ease about his daily life, and it would find no rest until he arranged a decent girl for himself, as her nephew had done. He had been a mighty young man who made the ground shake with his steps. Once he married, he became a gentle young man watched over by the eye of God.

“I was like him and more,” said Badr, “and he will become like me—and even more miserable.”

As he spoke, the friend who had told him he was still in the honeymoon entered the establishment. Badr greeted him after the long absence. When his friend asked about the madam in whom he had found what he had not found in his Syrian wives, Badr told him what had happened. He now believed there was no difference between the Syrian and the American woman, and in his life he would never again think of either one.

His friend answered, “If marriage for you means divorcing one woman and marrying another, then whether there is a difference between them or not makes no difference to you.”

NOTES

[92] In Islamic and Arabic literary tradition, Solomon commanded the jinn, who accomplished extraordinary tasks at his order. The delivery boy summoned by telephone is compared to such a servant.
