The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street by Naguib Mahfouz
Khadija cast him a threatening glance and remarked, “You insist on provoking me to say something vicious about you before I leave the house.”
Fie backed down, saying, “I'd better ask for an armistice. I'm no mightier than Kaiser Wilhelm or Hindenburg”. Yasin looked at Fahmy, who seemed more pensive than was appropriate for such a happy occasion. Yasin advised him, “Put politics behind you and prepare for music, delicious food, and drinks
Although many thoughts were running through Khadija's mind and dream upon dream filled her heart, an insistent memory from just that morning almost obliterated all her other concerns because of its intense impact on her. Her father had invited her to a private meeting in honor of the day that was the beginning of a new life for her. He had received her with a graciousness and compassion that were a healing balm for the shame and terror that afflicted her, making it difficult for her to walk without stumbling. He had told her, with a tenderness that made a strange, unprecedented impression on her, “May our Lord guide your steps and grant you success and peace of mind. I cannot give you any better advice than to imitate your mother in every respect, both great and small.”
He had given her his hand, which she kissed. Then she had left the room, so moved and touched she could scarcely see what was in front of her. She kept repeating to herself, “How gracious, tender, and compassionate he is….”
With a heart filled with happiness she remembered his words: “Imitate your mother in every respect, both great and small.”
Her mother had listened to her with a blushing face and flickering eyelids when Khadija asked, “Doesn't this mean he thinks you're the best model for the best kind of wife?” She had laughed and continued: “What a lucky woman you are! Who could have believed all this? It's like a happy dream. Where was all this beautiful affection stored away?” She had invoked God's blessing for him until her eyes flowed with tears.
Then Umm Hanafi came to inform them that the automobiles had arrived.
48
THE COFFEE hour lost Khadijajust as it had previously lost Aisha, but Khadija left a void that remained unfilled. She seemed to have taken with her the session's spirit, plundered its vitality, and deprived it of the qualities of fun, mirth, and squabbling that were so important to it. As Yasin observed to himself, “In our conversations she was like the salt in food. Salt by itself doesn't taste good, but what taste is there to food without it?” Out of consideration for his wife, he did not make his opinion public. Although his hopes for marriage were so disappointed that he no longer sought a remedy at home, he at least worried about hurting her feelings, if only to keep her from growing suspicious of his spending night after night “at the coffee shop,” as he claimed.
Yasin preferred mirth to seriousness so much that there was little of the serious about his character. Now he had lost the companion who inspired his jokes and taunted him in return. Thus all he could do was content himself with the few remnants of his traditional observance of the coffee hour. He sat on the sofa with his legs folded under him, sipped some coffee, and looked at the sofa opposite, where the mother, his wife, and Kamal were absorbed in meaningless chatter. For perhaps the hundredth time he was amazed at Zaynab's earnestness. He remembered that Khadija had accused her of being dull and was inclined to accept that opinion. He would open al-Hamasa, Abu Tammam's collection of ancient poems, or The Maiden of Karbala, a novel by Jurji Zaydan, and read to himself or relate to Kamal some of what he had read.
When he looked to his right, he found that Fahmy wanted desperately to talk. What would it be about? The nationalist leaders Muhammad Farid and Mustafa Kamil? Yasin had no idea, but it was clear that Fahmy was going to speak. Indeed, today, ever since returning from the Law School, he had looked like a sky threatening to rain. Should he stir him up? No, there was no need for that Fahmy was acknowledging his glance with intense interest and staring at Yasin as though he was about to address him. He asked, “Don't you have any news?”
Fahmy asked him what newshe had! “I've got too much news to count,” he thought. “Marriage is just a big deception. After a few months as tasty as olive oil, your bride turns into a dose of castor oil. Don't feel sad that you didn't get to marry Maryam, you callow politician. Do you want some other news? I've got a lot, but it definitely wouldn't interest you. Even if I wanted to, I'm not courageous enough to reveal it in my wife's presence.”
To his surprise, Yasin found he was reciting to himself a verse from the medieval poet al-Sharif al-Radi:
I have passionate messages I won't mention,
But if we weren't being watched,
I would have shared them with your mouth.
Yasin asked Fahmy in turn, “What news do you mean?”
Fahmy replied excitedly, “Amazing news is spreading among the students. Today it was all we talked about. A delegation or ‘wafd’ composed of the nationalist leaders Sa'd Zaghlul Pasha, Abd al-Aziz Fahmy Bey, and Ali Sha'rawi Pasha went to the British Residency in Cairo yesterday and met with the High Commissioner, requesting that the British protectorate over Egypt be lifted and independence declared.”
Yasin raised his eyebrows to show his interest. A look of astonished doubt appeared in his eyes. The name of Sa'd Zaghlul was not new to him, but there was little he could attach to it except some obscure memories connected with incidentshe had forgotten long ago. They had made no appreciable impact on him emotionally, for he paid slight attention to public affairs. He washearing about the other men for the first time. But the strangeness of their names was nothing compared with their strange action, if what Fahmy had said was true. How could anyone think of requesting independence for Egypt from the English immediately after their victory over the Germans and the Ottoman Empire? He asked his brother, “What do you know about them?”
With the resentment of a person who wished these men were members of the National Party, Fahmy replied, “Sa'd Zaghlul is Vice President of the Legislative Assembly and Abd al-Aziz Fahmy and Ali Sha'rawi are members of it. The truth is, I don't know anything else about the last two. As for Sa'd, I don't see anything wrong with him, based on what many of my fellow students who are nationalists tell me. They disagree about him a lot. Some of them think he has sold out totally to the English. Others acknowledge his outstanding qualities that make him worthy of being ranked with the men of the National Party. In any case, the step he took with his two colleagues was a magnificent act, and he's said to have been the instigator. He may be the only one left who could have done something like that, since the prominent members of ehe National Party have been banished, including their leader, Muhammad Farid.”
Yasin tried to appear serious so his brother would not think he was making fun of his enthusiasm. As though wondering aloud, he repeated the words: “Requesting that the British protectorate over Egypt be lifted and independence declared
“We also heard that they requested permission to travel to London to lobby for Egyptian independence. For that reason they met with Sir Reginald Wingate, the British High Commissioner for Egypt.”
Yasin could no longer conceal his anxiety. His features revealed it, and he asked in a slightly louder voice, “Independence!… Do you really mean it? … What do you mean?”
Fahmy replied nervously, “I mean the expulsion of the English from Egypt: what Mustafa Kamil called an ‘evacuation’ when he advocated it.”
What a hope! Yasin was not naturally inclined to seek out conversations about politics, but he would accept Fahmy's invitation in order to avoid upsetting his brother and to amuse himself with this novel form of entertainment. His interest in politics was aroused occasionally, but never to the point of enthusiasm. He may have shared his brother's hopes in a calm, passive way, but he had never demonstrated much interest in public affairs at any time in his life. His only goal was enjoyment of the good things in life and its pleasures. For this reason, he found it difficult to take Fahmy's statements seriously. He questioned his brother again: “Does this fall within the realm of possibility
Fahmy replied with a combination of enthusiasm and censure: “So long as there's life there's hope, brother.”
This sentence, like the others before it, prompted Yasin's sarcasm, but pretending to be in earnest, he asked his brother, “How can we expel them?”
Fahmy thought for a moment and then said with a frown, “That's why Sa'd and his colleagues asked permission to journey to London.”
The mother had been following their conversation with interest. She was concentrating her full attention on it to try to understand as much as she possibly could. She always did whenever the conversation turned to public affairs remote from domestic chatter. These matters intrigued her, and she claimed to be able to understand them. She did not hesitate to participate in such a discussion, if the opportunity arose, and was oblivious to the scorn mixed with affection that her opinions often provoked. Nothing could daunt her or prevent her from taking an interest in these significant matters, which she appeared to follow for the same reasons she felt compelled to comment on Kamal's lessons in religious studies or to debate what he related to her about geography and history in the light of her religious and folkloric information. Because of her serious attention, she had acquired some knowledge of Mustafa Kamil, Muhammad Farid, and “Our Exiled Effendi,” the Khedive Abbas II. Her love for those men was doubled by their devotion to the cause of the Muslim caliphate, making them seem in her eyes, which were those of a person who judged men by their religious stature, almost like the saints of whom she was so fond. Thus when Fahmy mentioned that Sa'd and his colleagues were asking permission to travel to London, she suddenly asked, “Where in God's world is this London?”
Kamal answered her immediately in the singsong voice pupils use to recite their lessons: “London is the capital of Great Britain. Paris is the capital of France. The Cape's capital is the Cape Then he leaned over to whisper in her ear, “London is in the land of the English.”
His mother was overcome by astonishment and asked Fahmy, “They're going to the land of the English to ask them to get out of Egypt? This is in very bad taste. How could you visit me in my house if you're wanting to throw me out of yours?”
Her interruption annoyed the young man. He gave her a look that was smiling and critical at the same time, but she thought she would be able to convince him. So she added, “How can they ask them to leave our lands after they have been here all this long period. When we were born and you as well, they were already in our country. Is it humane for us to oppose them after this time we've spent living together as neighbors and to tell them bluntly, and in their country at that, to get out?”
Fahmy smiled in despair. Yasin guffawed, but Zaynab said seriously, “Where do they get the nerve to tell them that in their own country? Suppose the English kill them there. Who would know what happened to them? Haven't their soldiers made walking in the streets of Cairo far from home hazardous and uncertain? So what will happen to someone who storms into their country?”
Yasin wished he could encourage the two women to keep saying these naive things in order to satisfy his thirst for fun, but he noticed Fahmy's annoyance and was apprehensive about making him angry. He turned toward his brother to continue their interrupted conversation: “They both have a point, although they might have expressed it more clearly. Tell me, brother, what can Sa'd do against a nation that now considers itself the unrivaled mistress of the world?”
The ruother nodded her head in agreement, as though he had been addressing her. She stated: “The revolutionary leader Urabi Pasha was one of the greatest men and one of the most courageous. Sa'd and the others are nothing compared with him. He was in the cavalry, a fighting man. What did he get from the English, boys? They imprisoned him and then exiled him to a land on the other side of the world.”
Fahmy could not keep himself from entreating her crossly, “Mother!… Won't you let us talk?”
She smiled in embarrassment, for she was anxious not to anger him. She changed her zealous tone, as though announcing by this change of tone a total shift of her opinion, and said gently and apologetically, “Sir, everyone who tries hard deserves some reward. So let them go there in God's safekeeping. Perhaps they'll win the sympathy of the great queen
Without thinking about what he was doing, the young man asked her, “Which queen do you mean?”
“Queen Victoria, my son. Isn't that her name? … I often heard my father talk about her. She's the one who ordered Urabi banished, although according to what was said she admired his courage.”
Yasin commented sarcastically, “If she banished the cavalry knight Urabi, she's even more liable to banish that old man Sa'd.”
The mother said, “All the same, she's a woman and no doubt still bears in her chest a sensitive heart. If they speak to her the right way and know how to win her affection, she'll be sympathetic to their views.”
Yasin was delighted by their mother's logic and the way she spoke about the historic queen as though she were talking about Maryam's mother or some other neighbor. He no longer felt like conversing with Fahmy. To encourage her to say more he asked, “Tell us what they should say to her?”
The woman, who was delighted by this request recognizing her political acumen, sat up straight. As was appropriate for a “conference,” she began to think with an intensity apparent in the way her eyebrows were bunched together, but Fahmy did not give her time to think through the subject to the end. Tersely and indignantly he told her, “Queen Victoria died a long time ago. Don't wear yourself out pointlessly.”
Yasin noticed then from the cracks between the shutters that it was starting to get dark outside. He realized it was time to excuse himself from the coffee hour to go off in search of entertainment. Since he was certain that Fahmy's thirst for conversation had not yet been quenched, he sought to apologize for his departure by putting his weight behind the news that had captured Fahmy's interest. Rising, he said, “They are men who doubtless know the danger of their undertaking. Perhaps they've worked out a winning strategy. Let's pray they succeed”. He left the group after gesturing to Zaynab to follow and get his clothes ready.
Fahmy watched him depart with a look that was slightly hostile. He was angry that he had not found a partner to share the excitement of his ardent soul. Talk of national liberation excited great dreams in him. In that magical universe he could visualize a new world, a new nation, a new home, a new people. Everyone would be astir with vitality and enthusiasm. The moment his mind returned to this stifling atmosphere of lassitude, ignorance, and indifference, he felt a blazing fire of distress and pain that desired release from its confinement in order to shoot up to the sky. At that moment he wished with all hisheart that the night would pass in the twinkling of an eye so he could be surrounded once more by a group of his fellow students. Then he would be able to quench his thirst for enthusiasm and freedom and ascend with their blazing zeal to that great world of dreams and glory.
Yasin had asked what Sa'd could do face to face with a country that now was justly considered the mistress of the world. Fahmy did not know exactly what Sa'd would do or what he could do himself, but he felt with all the power of his being that there was work to be done. Possibly there was no example in the real world, but he sensed it existed in hisheart and blood. It had to manifest itself in the light of life and reality. Otherwise, life and reality would be in vain. Life would be a meaningless game and a bad joke.
49
THE STREET in front of al-Sayyid Ahmad's store did not look any different, for it was crowded with pedestrians, vehicles, and customers of the shops crammed along either side. Overhead there was a decorative, misty quality to the light. It was a pleasant November day and the sun was obscured by thin clouds. There were pure white billows resembling pools of light over the Qala'un and Barquq minarets. Nothing in the sky or on the ground seemed to differ from what al-Sayyid Ahmad saw every day, but the man's soul, those of the people connected to him, and perhaps those of everyone else too, had been exposed to a po
Fahmy, usually silent in his father's presence, had initiated a conversation to tell him in great detail what he had learned about Sa'd's meeting with the High Commissioner. That same evening at al-Sayyid Ahmad's musical soiree, some of his friends had confirmed the truth of the information.
In his shop, customers who did not know each other had, on more than one occasion, plunged into a discussion of this meeting. That very morning, to his surprise, Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad had burst into the store after a long absence. He had not been satisfied to recite some verses from the Qur'an and receive the customary gift of sugar and soap but had insisted on recounting news of the visit as though making the first announcement.
When al-Sayyid Ahmad had asked him playfully what he thought the outcome of the visit would be, the shaykh had replied, “It's impossible!… It's impossible that the English will leave Egypt. Do you think they're crazy enough to leave the country without a fight?… There certainly would be fighting, and we would lose. So there's no way to expel them. Perhaps our men could succeed in getting the Australians sent away. Then order could be restored. Things would revert to the way they used to be. There'd be peace.”
In these days of news and overflowing feelings al-Sayyid Ahmad was intensely receptive to infectious nationalist political aspirations, tie was in such an expectant and attentive mood that he read with passionate enthusiasm the newspapers, which for the most part seemed as if they had been published in some other country where there was no passion or awakening. He greeted his friends with an inquisitive look that yearned to discover anything new they had learned.