Wednesday was a mythical day for her, for it was on this day that the Lord created her. Her life would have taken quite a different course, one that neither a writer like me nor a reader like you would have noticed, had not the Lord taken pity on her when He saw her swollen face that looked like a red birthmark, with its bulging eyes and snub nose. By breathing His Spirit in, admonishing the Angel who had sculpted her, the Lord touched her with His blessed Hand and gave her a pair of statuesque legs and a posterior as white and smooth as marble, leaving her torso and belly as the Angel had fashioned them.
When her bosom grew, the girl did thirty ball presses against the wall and twenty push-ups every morning. These exercises were her regular prayers to express her profound gratitude for the moment of godly intervention that was to protect her from other people’s frivolity. Every time she felt depressed, she’d remember this decisive moment, and her soul would overflow with love which then enveloped others with a thin layer of affection that took away the edge of their cruelty towards her. Even her brother’s wife, who used to count the days, kept reminding her every evening that another day had gone by and no suitor had come for her, that in the end she would be the loser; and that she should stop doing those exercises, and save the money she spent on tight short skirts and nylon stockings – which laddered after wearing them once – and on the tight blouses that only emphasized her curves.
The girl, who covered her curly hair with a chiffon scarf, tying the ends behind her head, did not pay much attention to what her brother’s wife had said. With her intuition, which supplied her with few words, but filled her with strong feelings of absolute confidence that despite His multitudinous tasks, the scope of which she was unable to fully grasp, the good Lord had given her eyes to see His miracle with, and to examine her ugly face and full body with.
The girl was not to wait more than eight years after getting her BA degree in literature from the sociology department when, one of those blessed Wednesdays, she found herself offering soft drinks to her neighbour Um Yahya and an old woman who six months later was to become her mother-in-law.
The future mother-in-law looked her over with a critical eye, and the first furrow of displeasure began to vie with the intertwined lines on the old woman’s face; but our bride-to-be was not in the least annoyed by the scrutiny as she was hoping for a miracle. And sure enough, the neighbour pressed the hand of the future mother-in-law, and whispered to her: “Beautiful legs and a great body!”
Fully awake now, the old woman resumed her scrutiny. The miracle was confirmed: the girl’s eyes grew bright, their bulging nature lessened, and her face became less swollen. And God’s work was clearly visible beneath the beige stockings and the olive-coloured skirt.
Her engagement days were the happiest. The Wednesday on which she and her fiancé went out, saw her self-esteem burst into bloom, she became radiant and exuded her special perfume which combined fresh dew with the innocence of talcum powder. The only thing that disturbed her peace of mind was her fiancé’s playing more than footsie under the table – his fingers reaching the band of her stockings and feeling her flesh – and, as well, her constant need to buy new stockings every time they went out. When she spoke frankly with him about it, he hastened to bring the date of their marriage forward. On their last outing, he warned her that that was the last time she would wear tight clothes. Before she was married, she was free to dress as she pleased; but once married, he would be responsible for her actions. She tried to tell him about her miracle, but when he flourished the wedding ring in front of her, she yielded to him. Her brother’s wife helped her to choose baggy dresses and all the scarves that go with them, which she would be wrapping around her face and neck.
In the evenings, she would be crushed under his huge belly, and flattened like a lump of dough being squeezed and rolled by a baker who did not excel in his trade. She finally understood that there was no use competing with her friends who tried to draw the correct shape of an amoeba, for as the teacher said: “An amoeba has no particular shape or form.”
In the mornings, six black diamonds would roll from under her pillow; she’d be looking hard for the seventh one, but in vain.
She needed six years and one child to realize that there was still one black diamond missing; but the Lord, Who knows exactly what our needs are, gave her a new Wednesday. While her husband was at work and her son at school, and when she had just finished hanging the laundry up to dry, she caught sight of herself in the wall mirror in the living room; she noticed her gown was all wet and stuck to her body, emphasizing its curves. In spite of her strained and worn-out face, she looked at her reflection with admiration, so much so that she put aside the laundry basin and made a few turns in front of the mirror, enjoying the shape of her body, and was about to accuse herself of insanity had she not remembered God’s gifts and Love.
During the following week, while everybody believed the Wednesday sun was rising in the East, one woman was filled with an assured intuition that the sun was rising from her heart, and that what had risen to the zenith was nothing other than the glow of her soul. Because Wednesday was laundry day, her husband was not at all surprised by his wife’s agility and liveliness when she collected up the pillowcases and bedspread. He got ready to go to work, offering to take their son to school after breakfast.
On this morning, she did not do anything, except watch what was happening around her. She put on her blue laundry gown and put the first pile – her husband’s underwear – in the washing machine; before she pressed the start button, she dried her hands on her gown, allowing water to drench her garment freely. This displayed the contours of her body and those parts Don Juan knew he should touch most deftly in order to so skilfully sculpt his latest piece of art. As she started to wring out the heavy bedspread, lifting one end out from water, the water began to paint the lines of her body. She wrung it out, slowly taking each part and wrapping them round her arm until she reached the part still in the water. She wrung the part hanging over her right shoulder again until the last drops fell on her blue gown. Then she put it back in the sink and spread it out in the water. She wrung it once more to get rid of the last drops of detergent, and then wrung it out again for the last time. The water had already delineated the main outline of her body. From her breasts to below her belly button was all wet. With every wringing, the water painted more details of her body and made the gown adhere more closely to her skin. At times she even colluded with the water in highlighting its work of art. Then she sat on her backside as she rinsed the laundry; she wiped her wet hand on her gown before pressing the start button of the washing machine once more.
With the intuition that had never failed her, she glanced in the mirror at the right moment: her breasts were bulging; their nipples jutting out, unaffected by the two years of breastfeeding; her stomach was like an oyster shell studded with diamonds; her legs and her backside were sculpted by the Hand of the Lord. She shivered. She thanked the Lord for all the gifts He had bestowed on her; and ignoring the admonishing glances of her neighbours and their spying eyes, she went outside with her wet gown emphasizing the curves and contours of her body, to hang up the laundry. When she had finished and come back in, she closed the window, and put out the lights. She took off her gown and, alone with her body, glanced down at her image. She engaged in a secret, warm conversation with it, which gave her the courage to live through the rest of the days of the week until the next Wednesday.
