The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street by Naguib Mahfouz
Kamal arrived, not having the least idea of what was on his father's mind. Since he had been summoned a few days before so his father could congratulate him on his promotion to the third year of the Teachers College, he did not suspect that this new invitation implied anything unpleasant. He had grown pale and emaciated of late. His family attributed this to the exceptional effort he put out before an examination. The real secret was hidden from them. It was the pain and torment he had suffered for the last five months as a prisoner of hellishly tyrannical emotion, which had almost killed him.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad gestured for him to sit down. Kamal sat at the end of the sofa, facing his father politely. He noticed that his mother was seated near the wardrobe, busy folding and mending clothes. Then his father threw the copy of al-Balagh down in the space between them on the sofa and said with feigned composure, “You've got an article in this magazine. Isn't that so?”
The cover caught Kamal's eye. His look of astonishment made it clear that he had certainly not been expecting this surprise. Where had his father acquired this new familiarity with literary journals? In a magazine called al-Sabah, Kamal had previously published some “reflections,” or innocent philosophical speculations and emotional laments in both regular and rhymed prose. He was quite sure his father did not know about them. The only member of the family who did was Yasin. Kamal himself had read them to his brother. Yasin's comment had been: “This is the fruit of my early guidance. I'm the one who taught you about poetry and stories. It's beautiful, Professor. But this philosophy's really deep. Where'd you pick that up?” Yasin had teased him: “What pretty gin inspired this delicate complaint? Professor, one day you'll learn that nothing works with women except beating them with a shoe.”
But now his father had read the most dangerous thing he had written this essay that had stirred up the devil of a battle in his breast when he was thinking about it. His mind had almost been incinerated in that furnace. How had this happened? What explanation could there be unless some of his father's friends who were Wafd Party loyalists made a point of buying all the papers and journals affiliated with the party? Could he hope to escape safely from this predicament? He looked up from the magazine. In a tone that did not even begin to convey his inner turmoil, he answered, “Yes. I thought I'd write something to bolster what I was learning and to encourage myself to continue my studies….”
With spurious calm, al-Sayyid Ahmad commented, “There's nothing wrong with that. Writing for the papers has been and still is a wa) to gain prestige and recognition from the elite. What's important is the topic a person writes about. What did you intend by this article? Read it and explain it to me. It's not clear what you were getting at.”
What a disaster this was! The essay had not been intended for the general public and especially not for his father. “It's a long article, Papa. Didn't you read it, sir? I explain a scientific theory in it….”
His father stared at him with an impatient, glinting look. “Is this what they claim is science nowadays?” al-Sayyid Ahmad asked himself. “God's curse on science and scientists.”
“What do you say about this theory? I noticed some strange phrases that seem to imply that man is descended from animals, or something along those lines. Is this true?”
Kamal had recently struggled violently with his soul, his beliefs, and his Lord, exhausting his spirit and body. Today he had to contend with his father. In the first battle he had felt tortured and feverish, but this time he was even more frightened and alarmed. God might delay punishment, but his father's practice was to mete out retribution immediately.
“That's what the theory states.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad's voice rose as he asked in dismay, “And Adam, the father of mankind, whom God created from clay, blowing His spirit into him what does this scientific theory say about him?”
Kamal had repeatedly asked himself this same question, finding it just as dismaying as his father did. The night he had worried about it, he had not been able to get any sleep. He had thrashed about in bed wondering about Adam, the Creator, and the Qur'an. If he had said it once he had said ten times: “Either the Qur'an is totally true, or it's not the Qur'an”. Now he thought, “You're attacking me because you don't know how I've suffered. If I hadn't already grown accustomed to torture, I would have died that night.”
In a faint voice he replied, “Darwin, the author of this theory, did not mention our master Adam….”
The man yelled angrily, “Then Darwin's certainly an atheist trapped by Satan's snares. If man's origin was an ape or any other animal, Adam was not the father of mankind. This is nothing but blatant atheism. It's an outrageous attack on the exalted status of God. I know Coptic Christians and Jews in the Goldsmiths Bazaar. They believe in Adam. All religions believe in Adam. What sect does this Darwin belong to? He's an atheist, his words are blasphemous, and reporting his theory's a reckless act. Tell me: Ishe one of your professors at the college?”
“How ridiculous this comment would seem if my heart were free to laugh,” Kamal mused. “But it's crammed with the pains of disappointed love, doubt, and dying belief. The dreadful encounter of religion and science has scorched you. But how can an intelligent person set his mind against science?”
In a humble voice, Kamal said, “Darwin was an English scientist who lived a long time ago.”
At this point, the mother's voice piped up shakily: “God's curse on all the English.”
They turned to look at her briefly and found that she had put down her needle and the clothes in order to follow their conversation. They soon forgot her, and the father said, “Tell me: Do you study this theory in school?”
Kaiml grabbed for this safety rope suddenly thrown to him. Hiding behind a lie, he said, “Yes.”
“That's strange! Will you eventually teach this theory to your pupils?”
“Certainly not! I'll teach literature, and there's no connection between that and scientific theories.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad struck his hands together. At that moment he wished he had as much control over science as he did over his family. He yelled furiously, “Then why do they teach it to you? Is the goal to turn you into atheists?”
Kamd protested, “God forbid that it should have any influence on our religious beliefs.”
His father studied him suspiciously and said, “But your essay spreads atheism.”
Kama! replied gingerly, “I ask God's forgiveness. I'm explaining the theory so the reader will be familiar with it, not so he'll believe it. It's out of the question that an atheistic notion should influence the heart of a Believer.”
“Couldn't you find some other subject besides this criminal theory to write about?”
Why had he written this article? He had hesitated a long time before sending it to the journal. He must have wanted to announce the demise of his religious beliefs. His faith had held firm over the past two years even when buffeted by gales coming from two of the great poets and skeptics of Islam: Abu al-Ala al-Ma'arri and Umar al-Khayyam. But then science's iron fist had destroyed it once and for all.
“At least I'm not an atheist,” Kamal told himself. “I still believe in God. But religion? … Where's religion? … It's gone! I lost it, just as I lost the head of the holy martyr al-Husayn when I was told it's not in his tomb in Cairo… and I've lost A'ida and my self-confidence too.”
Then in a sorrowful voice he said, “Maybe I made a mistake. My excuse is that I was studying the theory.”
“That's no excuse. You must correct your error.”
What a good man his father was wanting to get Kamal to attack science in order to defend a legend. He really had suffered a lot, but he would not open hisheart again to legends and superstitions now that he had cleansed it of them.
“I've experienced enough torment and deception,” Kamal reflected. “From now on I won't be taken in by fantasies. Light's light. Our father Adam! He wasn't my father. Let my father be an ape, if that's what truth wants. It's better than being one
“How can I correct my error?”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad said with equal measures of simplicity and sharpness, “You can rely on a fact that's beyond doubt: God created Adam from dust, and Adam's the father of mankind. This fact is mentioned in the Qur'an. Just explain the erroneous aspects of the theory. That'll be easy for you. If it isn't, what's the use of your education?”
Here the mother's voice said, “What could be easier than showing the error of someone who contradicts the word of God the Merciful? Tell this English atheist that Adam was the father of mankind. Your grandfather was blessed by knowing the Book of God by heart. It's up to you to follow his example. I'm delighted that you wish to be a scholar like him.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad's displeasure was apparent in his expression. He scolded her, “What do you understand about the Book of God or scholarship? Spare us his grandfather and pay attention to what you're doing.”
She said shyly, “Sir, I want him to be a scholar like his grandfather, illuminating the world with God's light.”
Her husband shouted angrily, “And here he's begun to spread darkness.”
The woman replied apprehensively, “God forbid, sir. Perhaps you didn't understand.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad glared at her harshly. He had relaxed his grip on them, and what had been the result? Here was Kamal disseminating the theory that man's origin was an ape. Amina was arguing with him and suggesting he did not understand. He yelled at his wife, “Let me speak! Don't interrupt me. Don't interfere in things you can't comprehend. Pay attention to your work. May God strike you down.”
Turning to Kamal with a frowning face, he said, “Tell me: Will you do what I said?”
“You're living with a censor who's more relentless than any afflicting free thought elsewhere in the world,” Kamal told himself “But you love him as much as you fear him. Your heart will never allow you to harm him. Swallow the pain, for you've chosen a life of disputation.”
“How can I answer this theory? If I limit my debate to citing Qur'an references, I won't be adding anything new. Everyone knows them as well as I do and believes them. To discuss it scientifically is a matter for specialists in that area.”
“So why did you write about something outside your area?”
Taken at face value, this objection was valid. Unfortunately Kamal lacked the courage to tell his father that he believed in the theory as scientific truth and for this reason had felt he could rely on it to create a general philosophy for existence reaching far beyond science. Al-Sayyid Ahmad considered his silence an admission of error and so felt even more resentful and sad. To be misled on a topic like this was an extremely grave matter with serious consequences, but it was a field where al-Sayyid Ahmad co aid exercise no authority. He felt that his hands were as tied with this young freethinker as they had been previously with Yasin when he had escaped from paternal custody. Washe to share the experience of other fathers in these strange times? He had heard incredible things about the younger generation. Some schoolboys were smoking. Others openly questioned their teachers' integrity. Still others had rebelled against their fathers. His own prestige had not been diminished, but what had his long history of resolute and stern guidance achieved? Yasin was stumbling and practically doomed. Here was Kamal arguing, debating, and attempting to slip from his grasp.
“Listen carefully to me. I don't want to be harsh with you, for you're polite and obedient. On this subject, I can only offer you my advice. You should remember that no one who has neglected my advice has prospered”. Then after a brief silence he continued: “Yasin's an example for you of what I'm saying, and I once advised your late brother not to throw himself to destruction. Had he lived, he would be a distinguished man today.”
At this point the mother said in a voice like a moan, “The English killed him. When they're not killing people, they're spreading atheism.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad went on with his remarks: “If you find things in your lessons that contradict religion and are forced to memorize them to succeed in the examination, don't believe them. And it's equally important not to publish them in the papers. Otherwise you'll bear the responsibility. Let your stance with regard to English science be the same as yours toward their occupation of Egypt. Do not admit the legality of either, even when imposed on us by force.”
The shy, gentle voice interposed once more: “From now on, dedicate your life to exposing the lies of this science and spreading the light of God.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad shouted at her, “I've said enough without any need for your views.”
She returned to her work, while her husband stared at her in a threatening way until sure she would be quiet. Then he looked at Kamal and asked, “Understand?”
“Most certainly,” Kamal answered in a voice that inspired confidence.
From that time on, if he wanted to write he would have to publish in al-Siyasa. Because of its political affiliation it would never fall into the hands of a Wafdist. And he secretly promised his mother he would consecrate his life to spreading God's light. Were not light and truth identical? Certainly! By freeing himself from religion he would be nearer to God than he was when he believed. For what was true religion except science? It was the key to the secrets of existence and to everything really exalted. If the prophets were sent back today, they would surely choose science as their divine message. Thus Kamal would awake from the dream of legends to confront the naked truth, leaving behind him this storm in which ignorance had fought to the death. It would be a dividing point between his past, dominated by legend, and his future, dedicated to light. In this manner the paths leading to God would open before him paths of learning, benevolence, and beauty. He would say goodbye to the past with its deceitful dreams, false hopes, and profound pains.
105
HE CAREFULLY considered everything his eyes could soak up as he approached the Shaddad mansion. Once inside its groundshe redoubled the attention with which he scrutinized his surroundings. He understood that this visit would be his last chance to enjoy the house, its inhabitants, and the memories it held for him. What else could he think, since Husayn had finally won his father's approval to travel to France? With keen eyes and emotionshe observed the side path leading to the garden and the window overlooking the path. He could almost see her elegant and graceful figure casting him a beautiful look, one as meaningless as the twinkling of a star. It was a tender greeting addressed to no one in particular like the song of a bulbul so enthralled by its own happiness that it is oblivious to its audience. Next came the magnificent view of the garden, which stretched from the back of the tiouse to the long wall bordering the desert. Scattered through it were trellises of jasmine, clumps of palms, and rosebushes. Finally there was the gazebo, where he had experienced the twin intoxications of love and friendship. He recalled the English proverb “Don't put all your eggs in one basket,” and smiled sadly. Although he had memorized it long before, he had found ii: unconvincing then. Whether through carelessness, stupidity, or predestined decree, he had invested his whole heart in this one house, partly in love and partly in friendship. He had lost his love, and now his friend was packing for a trip abroad. In the future be would find himself without a lover or a friend.
Whai: could console him for the loss of this view, which was imprinted in his breast and attached to hisheart? It had become familiar and sympathetic, as a whole and in its individual parts the mansion, the garden, and the desert. The names A'ida and Husayn Shaddad had been etched in his memory in similar fashion. How could he be deprived of this sight or content himself with glimpsing it from afar, like any other passerby? He was so infatuated with the house that once he had jokingly accused himself of idolatry.
Husayn Shaddad and Isma'il Latif were sitting opposite each other at the table, on which was placed the customary water pitcher with three glasses. As usual in summer, each wore a shirt with an o
Laughing naughtily, Isma'il immediately told Kamal, “It's up to us to find a new place to meet from now on.”
Kamal smiled wanly. How happy Isma'il was with his sarcasm, which had never been racked by pain. He and Fuad al-Hamzawi were all Kamal had left. They were friends who would keep hisheart company but never blend with it. He would rush to them to escape his loneliness. His only choice was to accept his destiny with good grace.
“We'll have to meet in the coffeehouses or streets, since Husayn's decided to leave us.”
Husayn shook hishead with the sorrow of a person who has won a coveted objective and is trying to humor friends by appearing sad about a separation that means little to him. He said, “I'll leave Egypt with regret in my heart over my separation from you. Friendship's a sacred emotion I cherish with all my heart. A friend's a partner who's a reflection of yourself. He echoes your sentiments and thoughts. It doesn't matter if we differ in many respects so long as our essential characteristics are the same. I'll never forget this friendship, and we'll keep writing each other until we meet again.”
A pretty speech was the only consolation offered a wounded heart that was being forsaken… as if Kamal had not suffered enough at the hands of Husayn's sister. “Is this how you abandon me, leaving me without any real friends?” Kamal wondered. “Tomorrow the forsaken friend will be slain by a mocking thirst for spiritual companionship.”