Short Summer Fiction: Ibrahim Al-Mazni’s ‘Eve and the Viper’

This short story is taken from Ibrahim Al-Mazni’s short-story collection Fi Al-Tareeq (On the Road), published in 1937. Most of the 20-odd stories in the collection are humorous or satirical.

Eve and the Viper

Ibrahim Al-Mazni

Translated by Amr El-Zawawy

Jalila snapped her head up off the sand, inspecting her heaving breast and bronzed skin. She also checked her feet, glancing down to where she had painted her toenails. Her face relaxed into a satisfied smile as she lowered her head to resume her bath beneath the sun, which had transformed her body to a coppery shade, from her breast and posterior all the way down to her toes. Such was her habit when in Alexandria: clad in a swimsuit, she would leave the hotel in the morning and head to the beach, where she would swim near the shore. After, she would stretch out on the sand to enjoy the sun and its salubrious benefits. No one would espy her there, since the place was surrounded by rocks with cracks so narrow that no one could peep.

She glimpsed a sail approaching, rose, and leaned on one elbow. She glanced between the sail and her bright red nails, then tried to cock an ear. She thought she’d heard the sound of a stick breaking beneath someone’s tread. She ignored her nails and sat up. Now, she heard footfalls nearby. She scrambled up onto her knees and covered her breast with her clothes. No sooner had she started buttoning up her clothes than a fine figure of man clad in a well-tailored suit loomed above her, bareheaded. She gazed up at him, and he stood agape, clearly infatuated by her beauty. “Apologies,” he said.

She remained silent, and he stood stock still. Then he laughed and said, “You look like Eve praying in Eden!”

“What do you mean, Eve and Eden?” she asked in a tone that was both angry and shot through with an undercurrent of delight.

“It’s such a coincidence. My name is Adam and, as I walked around, I was afraid I might come across a viper! I’d never thought I might encounter an Eve.”

“My name is not Eve,’’ she answered pointedly, while he laughed.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“I won’t tell you,” she retorted.

“And so, I’ll call you Eve. It suits you. But did Eve enjoy such a sea in Eden?” he asked, looking out at the sea.

“Call me whatever you like—I’m going back to the hotel,” she said, rising to leave.

“If it’s that one,” he said, pointing at a hotel, “then I’ll keep your company.”

Out of stubbornness, she refused to move, standing stock still. “I’ll stay here,” she shot back.

“Me, too. I’ll stay here and pass the time with you.”

She shrugged and stretched back out on the sand. In his fine suit, he sat near her, gazing down at her beauty. She too looked at his broad shoulders, handsome features, muscular legs. She seemed not unhappy with his presence and curiosity.

“What have you been doing here?” he asked.

“Walking around.”

Seeing her bright smile, he asked, “Is this some new form of walking around that involves stretching out on the sand?”

“I was swimming.”

“Swimming when the sea is about a hundred meters away?” he asked.

“Am I not allowed to sunbathe, if I so choose?” she asked.

“Sure, sure.”

He inclined his head, then looked up at the sky. “Eve was sunbathing when Adam interrupted her, in search of a viper . . .” He broke off. “Sorry again.”

“Do you think there are vipers around here? And are they sunbathing, too?” Her tone turned sardonic. “Have you ever taken a sun bath?”

He thought of blabbering at her, but stopped short. Searching for the right expression, he laughed and said, “Never. I’ve tried all baths except that one. That’s the idea!”

“I didn’t mean to interrogate you.” She forced a smile. “I was just curious.”

“You can get back to your tan,” he said.

“No, I can’t. We’re not in Eden, and while it might have been possible in other ages, it’s not now. Today, we no longer have Edens.”

“Why deny yourself such a pleasure?” he asked.

“Because anybody can see me,” she retorted.

“Untrue.”

“But you did.”

He failed to find a response and stopped short. He then tugged at his hair and called out, “Eureka! You go on bathing, and I’ll stay behind that rock to guard you or let you know if someone’s coming.”

Not waiting for her approval, he leapt to his feet and disappeared behind the rock. “Here I am. What do you think?”

“All right. If you see someone getting close, just let me know. But beware of peeping,” she said, her tone wary.

“Don’t worry about it in the least,” he assured her. “I’ve seen enough of you.”

Relieved, she lay back. Her thoughts moved between the ancient Adam and the contemporary one, and she wondered if he was looking at her from behind the rock. She shrugged and eyed her breast. To her, he seemed nice enough, and he really had already seen enough of her.

The man had taken off his jacket, and he was using it as a pillow. He kept thinking about her beauty, and he wondered whether she wanted him to stay put, or whether she’d like him to make a courageous move, like his ancestors. What would his ancestor Adam do, if he was in this situation? Would he obey the woman—or his instincts?

Suddenly, a shriek rang out. He leapt to his feet and vaulted over to Jalila. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Her horrified look was enough of an explanation. Moving his gaze all around to discover the source of her dismay, he spotted a viper two meters off. He lunged at the creature and seized it by the tail, flinging it away. He then took the half-nude woman by the hand to help her rise.

“Don’t touch me with that hand!” she cried.

She snatched back her hand, as if he’d contaminated her.

“What’s that?” he asked, his blood freezing and his heart missing a beat. His mouth fell open in shock.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouted. “I hate vipers!”

He got the point and felt a wave of relief. He smiled at her and nodded. “All right. I’ll go put on my jacket and come back.’’

“Don’t leave me alone.”

“Then let’s put on our clothes together,” he suggested.

He offered to take her hand to help her climb the rock, but she shrank away from him.

“I see I’ve become an outcast,” he grieved.

She softened and stepped toward him. “I think you placed that viper near me on purpose.”

“How’s that?” he exclaimed “I was lying on the other side!”

“And you were dozing, is that it?”

“Yes, I was about to,” he retorted.

“Even worse,” she said.

“But you told me to stay there.”

“So, you would have left me alone with the viper?”

“Don’t be silly,” he said.

“I’m never coming back here again.”

“The sunbathing season is over,” he said lightly.

“No,” she corrected. “The honeymoon is over.”

“What? The honey—” he started, but she interrupted him.

“Yes. My husband and I are here at the hotel on our honeymoon. We’re going back to Cairo soon, and my husband is very jealous. He always thinks the worst. So . . . keep the story of the viper just between us.”

“You mean between me and myself,” he corrected.

“Oh,” she said with a smile. “One day, we’ll meet again.”

“When? Please say when.”

“When your hands are free from all traces of that viper.”

Ibrahim Abdelkader Al-Mazni (1889–1949) was born in Cairo into a relatively affluent family, but experienced financial hardship after his father’s early death. In 1906, he enrolled in Cairo’s Teacher’s College. It attracted many future literary figures, including Abd Al-Rahman Shukri, who became a close associate and major influence on al-Mazini. During this period, al-Mazni also formed connections with Abbas al-Aqqad and Muhammad al-Sibai. Together, they formed Al-Diwan School of Literature.

Al-Mazini began writing prose in the mid-1920s and completed his first novel, Ibrahim al-Katib (Ibrahim the Writer), in 1943. That same year, he released a sequel titled Ibrahim al-Thani (Ibrahim the Second), followed shortly by three more novels in rapid succession.

Amr El-Zawawy is Professor of Linguistics and Translation, Faculty of Education, Alexandria University, Alexandria, Egypt. He has also practiced written and simultaneous translation for more than 20 years now. He contributed important articles to different international scholarly journals, including but not limited to Babel (John Benjamins), Journal of Psycholinguistics, California Linguistic Notes and Advances in Language and Literary Studies. He published a number of books and translations, including Studies in Contrastive Linguistics and Stylistics (Novika, USA), Exploring the Cognitive Processes of Simultaneous Interpreting (Lexington Books, USA), Seminal Studies in Linguistics and Translation (Cambridge Scholars, UK), and Selections from Arabic Poetry (Kindle, Amazon).

Other stories in the Classic Short Fiction series, curated by Amr El-Zawawy:

Muhammed Taymour’s ‘The Eid Whistle’

Muhammad Taymour’s ‘A Boy Who Became a Man’

Marouan Abboud’s ‘Among the Problems of the Village’

Mahmud Taymour’s ‘The Grand Funeral’