The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street by Naguib Mahfouz
When he made these last remarks, his tone was encouraging and even promising. Ridwan'sheart pulsed with lofty and fervent aspirations as he responded, “We've never failed an exam during our academic careers.”
“Braao! That's the foundation. Then comes a position as a government attorney, to be folio wed by a judgeship. There will always be someone to open closed doors for industrious young men. A judge's life is an excellent one. Its mainstays are a lively intelligence and a wakeful conscience. By the grace of God I was an honest judge. I left the bench to enter politics. Patriotism occasionally forces us to give up work we love. Yet even today you will find people who swear by my fairness and integrity. Set your sights on being industrious and fair. Then you'll be free to do what you want in your private life. Do your duty and act as you please. If you fail to do your duty, people will see only your faults. Haven't you observed the pleasure some busybodies take in saying that such and such a minister has this defect and that the poet so-and-so has the following disease? Fine … but not all the victims of these slanders are cabinet ministers or poets. So be a minister or a poet first, and then do what you want. Don't overlook this lesson, Professor Ridwan.”
Quoting the medieval poet al-Mutanabbi, Hilmi said mischievously, “The noble man is the one whose faults can be counted.' Isn't that so, Your Excellency?”
Leaning hishead toward his right shoulder, the man said, “Of course. Glory to the One who alone is perfect. Man is very weak, Ridwan. But he must be strong in the other parts of his life. Do you understand? If you want, I'll tell you about the great men of our nation. You won't find any without some failing. We'll discuss this at length and study the lessons we can derive from it, in order to have a life amply endowed with achievement and happiness.”
Hilmi looked at Ridwan, saying, “Didn't I tell you that the pasha's friendship is a limitless treasure?”
Abd al-Rahim Isa told Ridwan, who could hardly keep his eyes off the man, “I love learning. I love life. I love people. My practice is to offer a young man a hand until he grows up. What is there in the world that's better than love? If we run into a legal problem, we must solve it together. When we think about the future, we shall do that together. If we feel like resting, we should rest together. I've never known a man as wise as Hasan Bey Imad. Today he's one of a select group of prominent diplomats. Never mind that he's one of my political enemies. When he concentrates on a subject, he masters it. Yet when music makes him ecstatic, he dances nude. The world can be a delightful place, if you're wise and broad-minded. Aren't you broad-minded, Ridwan?”
Hilmi Izzat immediately answered for him, “If he's not, we're prepared to broaden it for him.”
The pasha's face beamed with a childlike smile that revealed his insatiable appetite for pleasure. He said, “This boy's a rapscallion, Ridwan! But what can I do? He's your childhood friend, the lucky fellow. I'm not the one who invented the saying ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’ You must be a rapscallion too. Tell me about yourself, Ridwan. Oh! You've let me say more than I intended while remaining silent like an astute politician. Yes? Tell me, Ridwan. What do you love and what do you hate?”
Then the servant entered, carrying a tray. He was a cleanshaven youth like the doorman and the chauffeur. As they drank the water flavored with orange blossoms, the pasha asked, “Water like this is what the people of al-Husayn district drink, isn't it?”
Ridwan smilingly murmured. “Yes, sir.”
Nodding hishead ecstatically, the pasha said, “People of al-Husayri, help us!”
They all laughed. Even the servant smiled as he left the chamber. Then the pasha resumed his questioning: “What do you love? What do you hate? Speak frankly, Ridwan. Let me make it easier for you to answer. Are you interested in politics?”
Hilmi Izzat said, “We're both members of the student committee'
“This is the first reason for us to be close. Do you like literature?”
Hilmi Izzat replied, “He's fond of Shawqi, Hafiz, and al-Manfaluti.”
The pasha chided him, “You be still. Brother, I want to hear his voice.”
They laughed. Smiling, Ridwan said, “I could die for Shawqi, Hafiz, and al-Manfaluti.”
“ could die for'… What an expression! You only hear it in al-Gamaliya. Is the name of your district derived from gamal, or beauty, Ridwan? You must be a fan of verses like ‘Silver gold,’ ‘In the still of the night,’ ‘Who is it?’ and ‘Removing one branch, he lays down another….’ My God, my God! This is another reason for us to be close friends, beautiful Gamaliya. Do you like singinga”
“He adores…”
“You be still.”
They all laughed once more. Ridwan said, “Umm Kalthoum.”
“Excellent. I may prefer the older style of singing, but all singing's beautiful. I love both ‘the profound and the witty’ as that medieval skeptic al-Ma'arri put it. Or, I could die for it, as you would say, sir. Very fine. What a delightful evening!”
The telephone rang, and the pasha went to answer it. Putting the receiver to his ear, he said, “Hello…. Greetings, Your Excellency the pasha…. What's so amazing about that? Didn't Isma'il Sidqy himself sit on a negotiating team once as one of the nation's leaders? … I told the leader my candid opinion. It's also that of other Wafdists like Mahir and al-Nuqrashi…. I'm sorry, Pasha. I can't. I haven't forgotten that King Fuad once opposed my promotion. He's the last person to talk about ethics. In any case I'll see you at the club tomorrow. Goodbye, Pasha.”
The man returned with a frown but on seeing Ridwan's face almost immediately cheered up and continued their conversation: “Yes, Mr. Ridwan. We've gotten acquainted, and it's been beautiful. I advise you to be industrious. I advise you not to lose sight of your duty or your ideals. Now let's talk about music and having a good time.”
Ridwan looked at his watch. The pasha appeared alarmed and said, “Anything but that! The clock is an enemy of friendly reunions.”
Ridwan stammered rather uneasily, “But we're late, Your Honor the pasha.”
“Late! Do you mean late for me, at my age? You're mistaken, son. I still love to enjoy talk, beauty, and singing until one in the morning. We haven't begun the soiree yet. We've only recited the preliminary blessing: In the name of God the compassionate, the merciful. Don't object. The automobile is at your command until morning. I've heard that you stay out all night when you're studying for an examination. So let's study together. Why not? I'd find it delightful to review an introduction to general law or some Islamic law. By the way, who teaches you Islamic Shari'a law? Shaykh Ibrahim Nadim may God grant him a good evening was a very sporting fellow. Don't be astonished! One day we'll write the history of all the important men of the age. You must understand everything. Our night will be a loving, friendly one. Tell me, Hilmi, what's the most appropriate drink for a night like this?”
Hilmi replied confidently, “Whiskey and soda with grilled meat.”
The pasha laughed and asked, “Scoundrel, how can you drink grilled meat?”
125
EVERYTHURSDAY AFTER lunch Khadij a's entire family gathered in a fashion that scarcely ever changed. Assembled in the sitting room were the father, Ibrahim Shawkat, and the two sons, Abd al-Muni'ra and Ahmad. It was rare for Khadij a to be without some project, and she embroidered on a tablecloth while she sat with them. After a prolonged and heroic struggle against time, Ibrahim Shawkat had finally begun to show his age. His hair was turning white, and he looked a little bloated. Except for this, hishealth was still enviably good.
Smoking a cigarette, he took his place between his sons with calm assurance. His protruding eyes had their customary look of languid indifference. The two boys kept up a stream of conversation with each other, their father, or their mother, who participated without looking up from her work. She seemed a massive chunk of flesh. There was nothing in the domestic atmosphere to ruffle Khadij a's peace of mind. Since the death of her mother-in-law, there had been no one to challenge her control over
Ibrahim Shawkat loved and admired his sons greatly. He seized every opportunity to praise the string of successes that had brought Abd al- Muni'm to Law School and Ahmad to the final stage of his secondary education. Khadija also boasted about these achievements, saying, “This is all the fruit of my concern. If I had left the matter up to you, neither of them would have amounted to anything.”
It had recently been established that, from want of practice, Khadija had forgotten how to read and write, and this discovery had made her the target of Ibrahim's jests. Finally her sons had suggested that they should teach her what she had forgotten in order to repay her for the helping hand she boasted of giving their education. Their proposal had made her a little angry but had also made her laugh a lot. She summed up her feelings about the situation in one sentence: “A woman does not need to read or write unless she's exchanging letters with a lover.”
She appeared to be happy and content with her family, although she did not think that Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad ate enough. Their thinness enraged her, and she said disapprovingly, “I've told you a thousand times to use chamomile to improve your appetites. You must eat properly. Don't you see how well your father eats?”
Looking at their father, the two young men smiled. Ibrahim said, “Why don't you use yourself as the example? You eat like a food grinder.”
Smiling, she replied, “I'll let them decide which of us to imitate.”
Ibrahim protested, “Lady, your envious eye has injured me. That's why the dentist suggested I have my teeth extracted.”
With a tender look in her eyes, she said, “Don't be upset. Once they're out, you won't have any more problems or pain, God willing.”
Ahmad told her, “Our neighbor in the second-floor apartment would like to postpone payment of his rent until next month. He met me on the stairs and made that request.”
Frowning at him, she asked, “What did you tell him?”
“I promised I'd speak to my father.”
“And did you speak to your father?”
“I'm speaking to you now.”
“We don't share the apartment with him. Why should he share our money? If we give him a break, the tenant in the first-floor apartment will follow his lead. You don't know what people are like. Don't get involved in things that don't concern you.”
Glancing at his father, Ahmad asked, “What do you think, Papa?”
Ibrahim Shawkat smiled and said, “Spare me the headache. Talk to your mother___”
Ahmad addressed his mother again: “If we're lenient with a man in difficult circumstances, we won't go hungry.”
Khadija said resentfully, “His wife has already spoken to me, and I agreed to let them pay later. So don't trouble your mind about it. But I explained to her that paying the rent is as obligatory as paying for food and drink. Is there anything wrong in that? I'm occasionally criticized for not making friends with women in the neighborhood, but when you know people the way I do, you praise God for solitude.”
With a wink of his eye Ahmad asked, “Are we better than other people?”
Scowling, Khadija replied, “Yes … unless you know something about yourself that would make me think otherwise.”
Abd al-Muni'm commented, “In his opinion, he's the best possible man, and his opinion is the only one that counts. All wisdom has been granted to him.”
Khadija said sarcastically, “It's also his opinion that tenants should be able to lease apartments without paying the rent.”
Laughing, Abd al-Muni'm said, “He's not convinced that some people should have absolute ownership rights to houses.”
Shaking her head, Khadija remarked, “I pity such worthless ideas.”
Ahmad glared at his brother, but Abd al-Muni'm shrugged his shoulders scornfully and said, “Straighten your mind out before you get angry.”
Ahmad protested, “It would be better if we didn't try to debate each other.”
“Right. Wait till you grow up.”
“You're only a year older than me. No more than that….”
“A person a day older than you is a year wiser.”
“I don't believe in that saying.”
“Listen, there's only one thing that concerns me. It's for you to start praying with me again.”
Khadija nodded her head sadly as she said, “Your brother's right. Usually when people grow up they grow wiser, but you … I seek refuge with God from you. Even your father prays and fasts. How could you have done this to yourself? I worry about it night and day.”
In a powerful and profusely self-confident voice Abd al-Muni'm said, “To be blunt, his mind needs a thorough cleansing.”
“It'sjust that…”
“Listen, Mother. This young man has no religion. This is what I've begun to believe.”
Ahmad waved his hand as if angered and asked loudly, “Where do you get the right to judge a man'sheart?”
“Your acts betray your secret thoughts”. Then, hiding a smile, he added, “Enemy of God!”
Without abandoning his assured composure, Ibrahim Shawkat said, “Don't make false accusations against your brother.”
Looking at Ahmad but addressing Abd al-Muni'm, Khadija said, “Don't deprive your brother of the dearest thing a person can have. How could he be anything but a Believer? If only his mother's relatives wore turbans, they would be recognized as religious scholars. His maternal great-grandfather had a career in religion. When I was growing up everyone around me prayed devoutly and served God, as if we were living in a mosque.”
Ahmad said sarcastically, “Like Uncle Yasin!”
A laugh escaped from Ibrahim Shawkat. Pretending to be annoyed, Khadija retorted, “Speak respectfully about your uncle. What's wrong with him? Hisheart is filled with belief, and our Lord guides him. Look at your grandfather and grandmother.”
“And Uncle Kamal?”
“Your uncle Kamal is watched over by al-Husayn. You don't know anything.”
“Some people don't know anything….”
Abd al-Muni'm asked defiantly, “Even if everyone else neglected their religion, would that be any excuse for you?”
Ahmad replied calmly, “In any case, you shouldn't worry about it. You won't ever be held responsible for my sins.”
Then Ibrahim Shawkat said, “Stop your quarreling. I wish you could be like your cousin Ridwan.”
Khadija stared at him disapprovingly. It was more than she could bear that anyone would prefer Ridwan to her sons. To explain himself, Ibrahim said, “That young man has contacts with top politicians. He's bright and seems guaranteed a glorious future.”
Khadija said furiously, “I don't agree with you. Ridwan's an unlucky boy, like anyone else who has been deprived of his mother's care. The fact is that ‘Mrs.’ Zanuba thinks nothing of him. I'm not deceived by her good treatment of him. It's simply a political stratagem like those of the English. For this reason the poor boy has no real home. He spends most of his time away from the apartment. And his contacts with important men are meaningless. He's a student in the same year as Abd al-Muni'm. What's the point of this weighty remark? You don't know how to pick your examples.”
Ibrahim gave her a look, as if to say, “It's impossible for you ever to agree with me”. Then he continued with his explanation: “Things aren't the same for y
Khadija said haughtily, “My father is sought out by people eager to get to know him. He doesn't curry favor with people. As for politics, it doesn't concern my boys. If they had known their uncle who sacrificed his life for the nation, they would learn for themselves what I mean. It's ‘Long live so-and-so’ or ‘Down with someone else,’ while people's sons are perishing. If Fahmy had lived, he would be one of the greatest judges today.”
Abd al-Muni'm said, “Everyone has to find his own way. We won't imitate anyone. If we wanted to be like Ridwan, we could be.”
Khadija said, “That's right!”
Ibrahim told Abd al-Muni'm, “You're just like your mother … no difference at all between you.”
There was a knock on the door and the servant came to announce the tenant from the first floor. As she started to rise, Khadija said, “I wonder what she wants…. If she wishes to put off paying her rent, it will take all the policemen from the Gamaliya station to separate us.”
126
THEMUSKI WAS very congested. Already teeming with more than its normal pedestrian traffic, it was being flooded by currents of human beings from al-Ataba. The April sun cast fiery rays from a cloudless sky, and Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad were sweating profusely as they made their way through the throngs with more than a little effort.
Taking his brother's arm, Ahmad said, “Tell me what you feel.”
Abd al-Muni'm thought a little and then replied, “I don't know. Death is always terrifying, especially a king's death. The funeral procession was more crowded than any I'd seen before. Since I didn't witness Sa'd Zaghlul's funeral, I can't compare the two. But it seems to me that most of the onlookers were mourning. Some of the women were weeping. We Egyptians are an emotional people.”