The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street by Naguib Mahfouz
Ahmad responded, “To wake up from its long torpor, our country needs a strong dose of disrespect for kings.”
Kamal remarked, “But these dogs are returning us to a form of absolute rule hidden behind a counterfeit parliament. At the end of this experiment, we'll find that Faruq's as powerful and tyrannical as Fuad, or worse. And all this is the fault of some of our compatriots.”
Yasiri laughed. As if to clarify and explain the point, he said, “Although when Kamal was a boy he loved the English as dearly as Shahin, Adli, Tharwat, and Haydar did, afterward he turned into a Wafdist.”
Looking at Ahmad most of all, Kamal said earnestly, “The elections were rigged. Everyone in the country knows that. All the same they have been recognized officially, and the country will be governed according to their results. What this means is that people will become convinced that their representatives are thieves who stole their seats in parliament, that the cabinet ministers also stole their posts, that the whole government is bogus and fraudulent, and that theft, fraud, and deception are legitimate and officially sanctioned. So isn't an ordinary man to be excused if he renounces lofty principles and morality and believes in deceit and opportunism?”
Ahmad replied enthusiastically, “Let them rule. There's a positive side to every wrong. It's better for the people to be humiliated than fo r them to be intoxicated by a government they love and trust, if it does not fulfill their true wishes. I've often thought about this, and as a result I have more appreciation for the reign of despots like Muhammad Mahmud and Isma'il Sidqy.”
Kamal noticed that Abd al-Muni'm was not taking his usual part in the conversation. Wishing to draw him out, Kamal said, “Why don't you tell us your opinion?”
Smiling vacuously, Abd al-Muni'm answered, “Let me listen today.”
Yasin laughed and said, “Pull yourself together. If the baby finds you looking so glum, it will think twice about staying”. He shifted restlessly, and Kamal interpreted this as a prelude to an excuse for leaving. Yes, it was time for Yasin to take up his post at the coffeehouse. His evening adventures followed a schedule that nothing could alter.
Kamal thought he would depart with his brother, since there was no reason for him to stay either. Ready to make his move,Kamal watched Yasin carefully. Then a harsh and violent scream burst forth from Na'ima's room, conveying the deepest form of human emotion. One fierce shriek followed another in rapid succession. All eyes were fixed on the door, and the men fell silent. Finally Ibrahim whispered hopefully, “Perhaps it's the end of the labor, God willing.”
Was that it? But the screaming continued, and the men felt disheartened. Abd al-Muni'm looked quite pale. Na'ima's room was silent once more, although only for a time. When the screams resumed they sounded hollow, as though expelled by a hoarse throat and an exhausted chest in the throes of death.
Since Abd al-Muni'm clearly needed encouragement, Yasin told him, “You're not hearing anything you wouldn't at any other difficult delivery.”
“Difficult! Difficult! But why should it be difficult?”
The door was opened by Zanuba, who came out, closing it behind her. They stared at her. Walking over to Yasin, she stopped in front of him and said, “Everything's fine, but as a precaution the midwife wants you to ask Dr. Sayyid Muhammad to come.”
Jumping to his feet, Abd al-Muni'm said, “Then no doubt her condition requires it. Tell me what's wrong.”
In a calm, confident voice, Zanuba replied, “Everything's fine. If you want to reassure us, hurry to get the doctor.”
Wasting no time, Abd al-Muni'm went immediately to his room to finish dressing. Ahmad followed him, and they went off together to fetch the doctor. Then Yasin asked his wife, “What's going on in there?”
Her face betraying her anxiety for the first time, Zanuba said, “The poor dear's very tired, God help her.”
“Hasn't the midwife said anything?”
In a resigned tone, Zanuba answered, “She says she wants the doctor.”
Leaving a heavy cloud of anxiety behind her, Zanuba returned to the bedroom. Yasin wondered aloud, “How far is this doctor?”
Ibrahim Shawkat replied, “In the building over your coffeehouse in al-Ataba.”
A scream rang out and struck them dumb. Had the labor pains resumed? When would the doctor arrive? There was another resounding scream. The tension increased. And then Yasin cried out in alarm, “That's Aisha's voice!”
Listening intently, they recognized Aisha's shriek. Ibrahim went to the door and knocked. When Zanuba opened it, her face exceedingly pale, he asked apprehensively, “What's the matter? What's the matter with Mrs. Aisha? Wouldn't it be best for her to leave the room?”
Swallowing, Zanuba replied, “Absolutely not. The situation is extremely serious, Mr. Ibrahim.”
“What's happened?”
“All of a sudden… she … look…”
[n less than a second the three men were at the door of the room, looking in. Na'ima was covered to her chest. Her aunt, her grandmother, and the midwife were around the bed. Na'ima's mother stood in the center of the room, staring at her daughter from afar with eyes that did not seem to focus on anything, as if she was in a daze. Na'ima's eyes were closed, and her breast washeaving up and down as though it had slipped free of ins ties to her still body. Her face was white, with a deathly pallor.
The midwife shouted, “The doctor!”
Amina began to exclaim, “Lord!…”
In a terrified voice, Khadija called out, “Na'ima… answer me.”
Aisha said nothing, as if the matter had no relationship to her whatsoever.
“What's happening?” Kamal wondered. Stunned, he asked his brother. But Yasin did not reply.
“What a difficult delivery!” Kamal thought. He glanced around at Aisha, Ibrahim, and Yasin, and hisheart sank. Their expressions could mean only one thing.
They all went into the room. It was no longer a delivery room, or they would not have entered. Aisha was in an extreme state, but no one said anything to her. Na'ima opened her eyes, which seemed glazed. When she moved as if wanting to rise, her grandmother helped her sit up and embraced her. The girl gasped and moaned. Suddenly, she cried out as if appealing for help, “Mama… I'm going… I'm going”. Then her head fell on her grandmother's breast.
The room came alive with a noisy commotion. Khadija slapped her cheeks. Directing her words to the girl's face, Amina recited the Muslim credo: “There is no god but God, and Muhammad is the Messenger of God.”
Aisha gazed out the window overlooking Sugar Street, focusing her eyes on some unknown spot. Then her voice rang out like a death rattle: “What is this, my Lord? What are You doing? Why? Why? I want to understand.”
Ibrahim Shawkat went to her and stretched out his hand, but she pushed it away with a nervous gesture and said, “Don't any of you touch me. Leave me alone. Leave me…”. Glancing around at them, she said, “Please leave. Don't say a word. Is there anything you could say? Words won't help me. Na'ima's dead, as you can see. She was all I had left. There's nothing for me in the world now. Please go away.”
It was pitch-black when Yasin and Kamal returned to Palace Walk. Yasin said, “It will be very hard for me to break the news to your father.”
Drying his eyes, Kamal replied, “Yes.”
“Don't cry. My nerves can't take any more….”
Sighing, Kamal said, “She was very dear to me. Brother, I'm sad. And poor Aisha!”
“That's the ultimate calamity. Aisha! We'll all forget in time, but not Aisha.”
“ 'We'll all forget'?” Kamal asked himself. “I think her face will stay with me to the end of my days, although I've already had one extraordinary experience with forgetting…. It can be a great blessing, but when will its balm arrive?”
Yasin continued: “I had my reservations when she got married. Don't you know? When she was born, the doctor predicted that her heart was not strong enough for her to live past twenty. Your father almost certainly remembers.”<
“I don't know anything about this. Did Aisha know?”
“Certainly not. It's ancient history. There's no escaping God's decree.”
“How unfortunate you are, Aisha!”
“Yes. The poor dear is really unlucky.”
140
AHMAD IBRAHIM shawkat sat in the reading room of the University library concentrating on the book in front of him. Only a week was left before the examination, and he had exhausted himself studying for it. He heard someone enter and sit down behind him. Turning around curiously, he saw Alawiya Sabri. Yes, it was the girl herself. Perhaps she was sitting there to wait for the book he had. At that moment his eyes met two black ones. He turned hishead back to its original position, with heart and senses in a state of intoxication. There could be no doubt that she had begun to recognize him. And she must have realized he was in love with her. Things like that could not be hidden. Besides, wherever she turned, in a class or in al-Urman Gardens, she would often find him glancing at her stealthily.
Her presence distracted him from his reading, but his delight was too great to be measured. Ever since he had learned that, like him, she would be majoring in sociology, he had hoped they would get acquainted the next year. There were too many students in the first university year for him to meet her then. Whenever he had been this close to her before there had been many people watching. He would go to the reference shelves, pretend to look at a book there, and greet her on the way. He cast a glance around tiim and found some students scattered around the room, but not more than he could count on the fingers of one hand. He rose without any hesitation and walked down the aisle between the seats. As He passed her, their eyes met, and he bowed hishead in a polite greeting. The impact of the surprise was apparent in her expression, but she nodded to acknowledge his greeting and looked back at her work.
He wondered whether he had made a mistake, but concluded he had not, since she had been his classmate all year long. It was his duty to greet her when they met face to face like this in a place that was almost deserted. He proceeded on to the bookcase containing the encyclopedia. Choosing a volume, he turned the pages without reading a word. His joy at her having returned his greeting was enormous. The fatigue left him, and he felt full of energy. How beautiful she was! He felt such admiration for her and was so attracted to her that she was all he could think of. Everything about her indicated that she came from a “family,” as people said. What he was most afraid of was that her gracious manners might conceal some snobbish pride. He could truthfully claim that he too came from a “family,” if he had to. Weren't the Shawkats a “family”? Of course… and they had properties. One day he would have both a salary and a private income. His mouth parted in a sarcastic smile. A private income, a salary, and a family! What had become of his principles? He felt rather embarrassed. In its passions the heart is oblivious to precepts. People fall in love and get married in ways that are incompatible with their principles, without stopping to wonder about it. They are forced to reshape their ideals, just as a foreigner is forced to speak a country's language to achieve his ends. Besides, class and property were two existing realities that he had not created himself, no more than his father or grandfather had. He bore no responsibility for them. A combination of struggle and science could wipe out these absurdities that separated people from each other. It might be possible to change the class system, but how could he change the past that had decreed he would come from a family with a comfortable private income? It was absurd to think that socialist principles should interfere with love for an aristocrat when Karl Marx himself had married Jenny von Westphalen, whose grandfather, a chief aide to the Duke of Brunswick, had married into a family of Scottish barons. They had called her the “Enchanted Princess” and “Queen of the Ball”. Here was another enchanting princess, who if she danced would be queen of the ball.
After returning the volume to the shelf, he walked back toward his place, filling his eyes with her figure, upper back, delicate neck, and the braided hair that adorned the rear of her head. What a beautiful sight! He passed by her quietly and regained his seat. In only a few minuteshe heard her light footsteps. Assuming that she was leaving, he looked back regretfully but saw her approaching. When parallel with him, she stopped somewhat nervously. He could not believe his eyes.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Could I get the history lectures from you?”
He rose and stood at attention like a soldier, blurting out, “Certainly.”
She said apologetically, “I couldn't follow what the British professor was saying as well as I should have. I'm unclear about many of the most important points. I don't look up the sources for the subjects I'm not going to major in. I don't have time….”
“I understand. I understand.”
“I was told that you have a complete set of notes and have lent them to students, who get what they missed from them.”
“Yes. I'll bring them for you tomorrow.”
“Thsnk you very much”. Then, smiling, she added, “Don't thmk I'm lazy, but my English is mediocre.”
“Never mind. I'm mediocre in French. Maybe we'll have some opportunities to cooperate. But forgive me. Please sit down. You might want to see this book: Introduction to the Study of Society by Hankins.”
She replied, “Thanks, but I've gone over it several times. You say your French is mediocre. Perhaps you need my psychology notes?”
Without any hesitation he responded, “I'd be grateful, if you don't mind.”
“So tomorrow we'll exchange notes?”
“With pleasure. But forgive me … won't you find that most of the instruction in sociology is in English?”
“You know I've chosen sociology?”
He smiled as if to hide his embarrassment, although he felt none, and answered simply, “Yes.”
“How did you happen to find that out?”
He said boldly, “I asked someone.”
She pressed her crimson lips together. Then she continued as if she had not heard his reply: “Tomorrow we'll exchange notes.”
“In the morning.”
“See you then, and thanks.”
Before she could depart he said, “I'm happy to have met you. See you tomorrow.”
He remained on his feet until she had disappeared out the door. When lie sat back down, he noticed that some of the young men were looking at him curiously. But he was tipsy with happiness. Had the conversation been a response to his obvious admiration for her or had it been occasioned by a pressing need for his notes?He had never had a chance to get acquainted with her before. Whenever he had seen her, she had been with a group of friends. This was his first opportunity, and almost miraculously he had obtained what he had wanted for so long. A word from the lips of a person we love is apt to make everything else seem insignificant.
141
NO MATTER how hard he tried to stay calm, Yasin seemed anxious. To both his colleagues and himself he had pretended for a long time that he did not care about anything not his rank, his salary, or even which party was in power. If promoted to the sixth level, he would only get two pounds more a month, and he spent so much…. They said that an increase in his rank would mean a promotion for him from review clerk to head of section. But when had Yasin ever shown any interest in administration? All the same, he felt worried, especially after Muhammad Effendi Hasan, head of the bureau and husband of Ridwan's mother, Zaynab, was summoned to a meeting with the deputy minister to give his opinion of his employees one final time before the list of promotions was signed. Muhammad Hasan? The man was vengeful by nature and would have treated Yasin badly from the beginning had it not been for Mr. Muhammad Iffat. Could such a man give Yasin a good report? Taking advantage of his supervisor's absence to hurry to the telephone, Yasin called the Law School for the third time that day and asked for Ridwan Yasin.
“Hello, Ridwan? It's your father.”
“Hello. Everything's great”. The boy's voice was confident. He had been working on his fathe
“All that remains is for the promotions to be signed?”
“Have no fear. The minister himself recommended you. Some deputies and senators spoke to him, and he promised that everything would be fine.”
“Doesn't the affair require one last recommendation?”
“Not at all. As I told you, the pasha already congratulated me on your promotion this morning. You have every reason to be confident.”
“Thanks, son. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Papa. Congratulations in advance.”
He put down the receiver, left the room, and ran into his colleague and competitor for this promotion, Ibrahim Effendi Fath Allah, who approached carrying some files. They greeted each other circumspectly. Then Yasin said, “Let's be good sports about this, Ibrahim Effendi. Whatever the result is, let's receive it with good grace.”
The man said angrily, “On condition that you play fair.”
“What do you mean?”
“The selection should be based on merit, not influence.”
“What strange ideas you have! Isn't influence necessary to obtain any kind of position in this world? You do your best, and I'll do mine. Whoever is destined to receive the promotion will get it.”
“I have more seniority than you do.”
“We've both been in the civil service for a long time. One year more or less won't make any difference.”
“In one year many people are born and many others die.”
“Whether a person is born or dies is all a question of his destiny.”
“What about qualifications?”
“Qualifications? Are we constructing bridges or building power plants? What qualifications are required for our clerical work? We both have the elementary certificate. In addition to that, I'm a man of culture.”
Ibrahim Effendi laughed sarcastically and replied, “Culture? Greetings to the cultured gentleman! Do you think the poems you've memorized make you cultured? Or is it the style you use in drafting letters for the bureau … the kind a person would employ when retaking the elementary certificate examination. I'll leave my fate to God.”