The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street by Naguib Mahfouz
If his visit coincided with teatime, he went with his friends to the field kitchen set up at the entrance to Qirmiz Alley and took his place at the end of the “tea queue,” as they called it. Then he would return behind them with a cup of tea and milk and a piece of chocolate. They would sit on the wall of the fountain to drink their tea. The soldiers all sang while he listened with interest, waiting for his turn to perform.
The life of the camp made a deep impression on him, giving an all-encompassing vividness to his flights of imagination and dreams that were engraved in hisheart alongside Amina's legends and accounts of the world of mysteries and Yasin's stories and their magical universe, to which Kamal added the phantoms and visions of his daydreams about the lives of ants, sparrows, and chickens, which occupied his mind when he was on the roof surrounded by sprigs of jasmine, hyacinth beans, and pots of flowers. From this inspiration, he created a military encampment, completely equipped and staffed, next to the wall separating their roof from MaryamY He erected tents of handkerchiefs and pencils. The weapons were twigs, the vehicles wooden clogs, and the soldiers date pits. Near the army camp he had demonstrators, represented by pebbles. He usually began the performance by distributing the pits in groups, some in the tents or by the entrances, others around the rifles. To one side there were four pits surrounding a pebble that stood for himself.
First he imitated the English style of singing. Then it was time for the pebble to sing “Visit me once each year” or “O Darling”. He wou'd move over to the pebbles and arrange them in rows as he shouted, “Long live the Nation…. Down with the Protectorate. … Long live Sa'd”. Returning to the camp and giving a warning whistle, he organized the pits in columns, putting a date at the head of each one. He moved a clog as he huffed to imitate the truck's drone. After putting pits on the clog he shoved it toward the pebbles. The battle would break out, and many victims would fall on both sides. He did not allow his personal feelings to influence the course of the battle, at least not at the beginning or even midway through it. His single dominant desire was to make the battle authentic and thrilling. Both sides would struggle, pushing and pulling to try to maintain an equal number of casualties. The outcome would remain in doubt as the advantage passed back and forth, but eventually the battle would have to end. Then Karnal would find himself in an awkward position. Which side should win? His four friends, headed by Julian, were on one side, but on the other side were the Egyptian demonstrators with v/hom Fahmy was deeply involved emotionally. In the final moment the victory would be accorded to the demonstrators. The truck would withdraw with the few remaining soldiers, including his four friends. One time the battle ended with an honorable armistice, which warriors from both sides celebrated in song at a table set with teacups and different types of sweets.
Julian was his favorite, distinguished from the others by his good looks, gentle temperament, and greater skill in speaking Arabic. Fie was the one who had issued Kamal a standing invitation to tea. Fie was also the soldier most touched by Kamal's singing. Almost every day he would ask to hear “O Darling”. He would follow the words with interest. Then he would murmur with heartfelt homesickness, “I'm going home to my country…. I'm going home.”
Kamal appreciated the man's sensitivity and it made him like the soldier all the more. He felt comfortable enough to tell him once quite seriously that the way to escape from his distress was to “return Sa'd Pasha and go back to your country.”
Julian did not receive this suggestion with the good humor Kamal had anticipated. To the contrary, he asked the boy, as he had before in comparable circumstances, not to mention Sa'd Pasha. In English he said, “Sa'd Pasha… no!” Thus failed the “first Egyptian negotiator,” as Yasin dubbed Kamal.
The boy was surprised one day to have one of his friends present him with a caricature he had drawn of him. Kamal looked at it in astonishment and alarm, observing to himself, “My picture? … This isn't my picture”. Deep inside, he felt it did look like him and no one else. He looked up at the men standing around him and found they were laughing. He realized it was a joke and that he should accept it with pleasure. He laughed along with them to hide his embarrassment.
When Fahmy looked at it, he studied the portrait of Kamal with amazement. Then he said, “O Lord, this picture omits none of your defects and exaggerates them… the small, skinny body, the long, scrawny neck, the large nose, the huge head, and the tiny eyes”. Laughing, he continued: “The only thing your ‘friend’ seems to admire is your neat, elegant suit, and that's no fault of yours. All the credit belongs to Mother, who takes such superb care of everything in the house.”
With a gloating look, Fahmy told his little brother, “It's clear what the secret of their fondness for you is…. They like to laugh at your appearance and foppishness. To put it plainly, you're nothing but a comic puppet to them. What have you gained from your treachery?”
Fahmy's rebuke had no impact on the boy, because he understood how hostile Fahmy was to the English. He thought his brother was plotting to separate him from them.
One day he arrived at the encampment as usual and saw Julian at the far wall of the cistern building looking with interest at the alley where the residence of the late Mr. Muhammad Ridwan was situated. Kamal went toward him and noticed that Julian was waving iiis hand with a gesture the boy did not understand. Kamal stopped., obeying an instinctive feeling he could not explain. His curiosity tempted him to detour around the tents erected in front of the cistern. He crept up behind Julian and looked in the same direction. There he saw a small window in a wing of the Ridwan family residence which blocked off the short alley. Maryam's smiling and responsive face could be plainly seen there. Stunned, Karnal s:ood looking back and forth between the soldier and the girl., almost refusing to believe his eyes.
How could Maryam have dared to appear at the window? How could she show herself to Julian in this shameless way? He was waving and she was smiling…. Yes, the smile was still evident on her lips…. Her eyes were so busy looking at the soldier that she was not aware of Kamal's presence. He accidentally moved and attracted Julian's attention. The soldier burst into laughter when he saw the boy standing behind him and made some remarks that sounded like gibberish to Kamal. Maryam, clearly terrified, retreated at breakneck speed. Kamal stared in a daze at the soldier. The way Maryam had fled only increased his suspicions, although the whole affair seemed extremely mysterious to him.
Julian asked him affectionately, “Do you know her?”
Kamal nodded hishead in the affirmative and said nothing. Julian went off for a few minutes, returning with a large parcel, which be presented to Kamal, telling him as he pointed toward Maryam's house, “Take it to her.”
Kamal jumped back with alarm. He shook hishead from side to side stubbornly. That incident lingered in his mind, and although he sensed from the beginning that it was serious, he did not realize just how serious it was until he told the story at the evening coffee hour. Amina sat up straight, drawing away from him, with the coffee cup still in her hand, not bringing it to her lips or putting it back on the tray. Fahmy and Yasin raced over from their sofa to the one shared by the mother and Kamal and began to stare at him with unexpected interest, astonishment, and alarm.
Swallowing, Amina said, “Did you really see that? … Didn't your eyes deceive you?”
Fahmy grumbled, “Maryam?… Maryam!… Do you know for certain who it was?”
Yasin asked, “Washe gesturing to her and was she smiling back at him? … Did you really see her smile?”
Replacing her cup on the tray and leaning her head on her hand, Amina said in a threatening voice, “Kamal! Lying about a matter like this is a crime God will not forgive. Think carefully, son…. Didn't you exaggerate something?”
Kamal swore his weightiest oaths. Fahmy commented with bitter despair, “He's not lying. No sensible person would accuse him of lying about this. Don't you see that a person his age wouldn't be able to invent such a story?”
T
As though to himself, Fahmy observed, “Yes, how is it possible to believe him?…” Then in a serious voice he added, “But it happened… happened… happened.”
The word sank into him like a dagger. When he repeated it, he seemed to be deliberately stabbing himself. It was true that events had distracted him from Maryam and that her memory appeared only at the edges of his daydreams, but this blow to her reputation struck deep into hisheart. He was dazed, dazed, dazed, not knowing whether he had forgotten her or not, whether he loved or hated her, was angry out of a sense of honor or jealousy. … He was a dry leaf caught up in a howling storm.
“How can I believe him? … My trust in Maryam has been like mine for Khadija or Aisha for such a long time. Her mother is a virtuous woman. Her father, may God let him rest in peace, was a fine man… neighbors for a lifetime, excellent neighbors….”
Yasin, who had seemed lost in thought all the while, replied in a tone not innocent of sarcasm, “Why are you surprised? … Since ancient times, God has created evil people from the loins of pious ones.”
Amina, as though refusing to believe that she had been taken in for such a long time, protested, “With God as my witness, I've never observed anything discreditable about her.”
Yasin agreed cautiously: “Nor has any of us, not even Khadija, the supreme faultfinder. People far more clever than either of us have been deceived about her.”
Fahmy cried out in anguish, “How can I penetrate the world of mysteries? It's a matter that defies the imagination”. He was boiling with anger at Yasin. Then it seemed to him that everyone was hateful: the English and the Egyptians in equal measure… men and women, but especially women. He was choking. He longed to disappear and be alone to inhale a breath of relief, but he stayed where he was, as though tied down with heavy ropes.
Yasin directed a question to Kamal: “When did she see you?”
“When Julian turned toward me.”
“And then she fled from the window?”
“Yes.”
“Did she notice that you saw her?”
“Our eyes met for a moment.”
Yasin said sarcastically, “The poor dear!… No doubt she's imagining our gathering now and our distressing conversation.”
“An Englishman!” Pounding his hands together, Fahmy shouted, “The daughter of al-Sayyid Muhammad Ridwan….”
Shaking her head in amazement and sighing, Amina mumbled something to herself.
Yasin observed thoughtfully, “For a girl to flirt with an Englishman is no easy matter. This degree of corruption could not have appeared in a single leap.”
“What do you mean?” asked Fahmy.
“I mean that her corruption must have proceeded a step at a time.”
Arnim implored them, “I ask you to swear by God to give up this conversation.”
As though he had not heard her entreaty, Yasin kept on with his observations: “Maryam's the daughter of a lady whose art in adorning herself has been witnessed by the women of our family….”
Amina cried out in a voice filled with censure and rebuke, “Yasin!”
Backing down, Yasin said, “I want to say that we as a family live according to such strict standards that we know little of what goes on around us. No matter how hard we try to guess, we imagine that other people live the way we do. We've associated with Maryam for years without knowing what she's really like, until the truth about her was discovered by the last person one would have expected to uncover the facts”. He laughed and patted Kamal on the head.
Amina once again implored them fervently, “I beg you to change the topic of this conversation.”
Yasin smiled and said nothing. Silence reigned. Fahmy could not bear to stay with them any longer. He responded to the inner voice that was anxiously calling for help and encouraging him to flee far from other eyes and ears, so that he could be all alone and repeat the conversation to himself from start to finish, word by word, phrase by phrase, sentence by sentence, in order to understand and fathom it. Then he could see where he stood.
65
IT WAS after midnight when al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad left the home of Maryam's mother, Umm Mary am, concealing himself in trie darkness of the cul-de-sac. The whole district appeared to be sound asleep, enveloped in the gloom. It had been that way every night since the English had set up camp there. No one chatted in a coffeehouse, no vendor roamed about, no shop stayed open late, and no passerby stole along. The only traces of life or light were those coming from the camp. None of the soldiers had ever interfered with him as he came and went, but he felt anxious and apprehensive whenever he approached the camp, especially when returning home late at night exhausted but relaxed and in a daze that made it difficult for him even to attempt to walk safely and steadily.
He went down to al-Nahhasin Street before turning to head back toward his house, glancing stealthily at the sentry until he reached the most dangerous section of the street, where it was illuminated by light from the camp. There he was always seized by the feeling that he was an easy mark for any predator. He quickened his steps to reach the dark area near the entrance to his house but had hardly advanced a step when his ears rang as a rude, gruff voice yelled after him in gibberish. He realized from the violent tone and concision of the words, even though he could not understand them, that an order not subject to debate was being tossed at him. He stopped walking and turned, terrified, toward the voice.
He saw another soldier, not the sentry, heading toward him, armed to the teeth. What new development had brought on this treatment? Was the man intoxicated? Perhapshe had been overcome by a sudden urge to attack someone? Or washe out to plunder and loot? With a pounding heart and a dry throat, al-Sayyid Ahmad watched the soldier approach. The lingering effects of his intoxication fled.
This soldier stopped a few feet away from him and in a commanding voice addressed a few brisk words to him. Al-Sayyid Ahmad naturally did not understand a single one. The soldier pointed toward Palace Walk with his free hand. Al-Sayyid Ahmad looked desperately and ingratiatingly at him, suffering bitterly from his inability to communicate or to convince the man that he was innocent of his accusations. He wished he could at least discover what the man wanted. It occurred to him that the soldier had gestured down Palace Walk to tell him to move away, thinking he did not live in this neighborhood. He pointed in turn to his house, so the man would understand that he was a resident returning home. The soldier ignored his gesture and snarled at him, pointing persistently in the other direction. He motioned with hishead, as though urging al-Sayyid Ahmad to go in that direction. Apparently growing impatient, he seized him by the shoulder, forcibly turned him around, and shoved him in the back. Al-Sayyid Ahmad found himself moving toward Palace Walk with the other man behind him. He surrendered to his fate, but his joints felt like rubber. On his way to an unknown destination, he passed the military camp and the cistern building. After that, the last trace of light from the camp vanished.
He waded into the waves of gloomy darkness and profound silence, seeing nothing but phantom houses and hearing only the heavy footsteps that followed him with mechanical precision, as though counting out the minutes or perhaps seconds left for him to live. Yes, he expected at each moment to be dealt a blow that would finish him off. He walked along, waiting for it, his eyes staring into the darkness, his mouth pursed from worry, his Adam's apple jerking up and down as he tried to swallow to relieve his dry, burning throat. He was startled by a gleam of light that made him look down. He almost screamed from dismay, like a child, as hisheart plummeted. He saw a circle of light going back and forth and realized that it was caused by rays of light from a battery-powered lantern that his warder had turned on to see where he was going. He got his breath back after his sudden alarm subsided, but this relief was short-lived. He was once more seized by fear, fear of the death to which he was being led. Once more he expected to die from moment to mom
Where was the man leading him? If he could only talk that gibberish, he would ask. It seemed he would be forced to go all the way to the cemetery at Bab al-Nasr. There was no trace of any man or beast. Where was the night watchman? He was alone at the mercy of a merciless person. When had he ever suffered like this? Could he remember? In a nightmare … yes, it was a nightmare he had had several times when he was sick. Even in a nightmare the gloom is occasionally brightened by a flash of hope, considerately letting the sleeper feel that his dream is not real and he will be saved from it sooner or later. It was farfetched to assume that destiny would grant him any comparable hope. He was awake, not asleep. This soldier, armed to the teeth, was a reality, not a phantom. The street witnessing his humiliation and captivity was frighteningly tangible, not imaginary. His suffering was real, there was no doubt about that. The least sign of resistance from him would probably result in the loss of hishead. There was no doubt ofthat.
Umm Maryam had told him when she said goodbye to him, “Until tomorrow”. Tomorrow? Would that day ever come?
“Ask the heavy feet rocking the earth behind your back___Ask the rifle with its sharp-pointed bayonet.”
She had also teased him: “The fragrance of wine coming from your lips is about to intoxicate me”. Now both the wine and his mind had flown off. The time for passion was gone, although only a few minutes before it had been all that mattered in life. Now suffering was his whole life___Only a few short minutes separated the two conditions. A few minutes?