The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street by Naguib Mahfouz
Play continued and the game ended, contrary to initial projections, with a victory by Kamal. He beamed and laughed out loud before asking his opponent, “Another game?”
But Fuad replied with a smile, “That's enough for today”. Either he was tired of playing or apprehensive that the proposed match would end in disappointment for Kamal, whose happiness would turn to sorrow.
Kamal shook hishead in amazement and commented, “You're a cold fish!” Rubbing the tip of his nose with his thumb and index finger, he added critically, “I'm amazed at you. When you're beaten, you're not interested in avenging your defeat. You love Sa'd Zaglilul but shunned the demonstration to salute him when he becam e Prime Minister. You seek the blessings of our master al-Husayn but are unruffled by the revelation that his remains may not repose in the nearby sepulcher. You astound me!”
Kamal was intensely annoyed by his friend's icy composure. He could not stand what they termed “being reasonable”. He would prefer by far to be “crazy”. He remembered the day they were told at school, “The tomb of al-Husayn is a symbol and nothing more.”
They had walked home together afterwards. Fuad had repeated the words of the Islamic history teacher. Kamal had asked himself in alarm how his friend was able to deal with this news as though it did not concern him. Kamal did not brood about it, for he was totally un able to think. How did someone in total revolt against an idea think? He was staggered by the frightful blow, which he felt even in ttie innermost reaches of hisheart. He was weeping for a vision that had faded away and a dream that had evaporated. Al-Husayn was no longer their neighbor. He had never been their neighbor. What had become of all those kisseshe had pressed against the door of the sepulcher so sincerely and warmly? What had happened to his exultation and pride in being a close neighbor of the Prophet's grandson? Nothing remained but a symbol in the mosque and desolate disappointment in hisheart. He had wept that night until his pillow was soaked, but the revelation had stirred nothing in his reasonable friend save his tongue, which had reacted to the event by repeating their teacher's words. How dreadful it was to be reasonable!
“Does your father know you want to go to the Teachers College?”
When Kamal replied, the sharpness of his tone expressed displeasure with his friend's coldness as well as the pain left over from his interview with his father. “Yes!”
“What did he say?”
Kamal found some relief for his emotions by indirectly attacking his companion. “Alas, my father, like most other people, is crazy about sham forms of success like the civil service, the prosecutor's office, being a judge… that's all he cares about. I didn't know how to convince him of the grandeur of thought and the lofty values that truly deserve to be pursued in this life. But he left the decision up to me.”
Fuad's fingers were toying with a domino when he asked compassionately, “No doubt these are lofty values, but where are they respected as they should be?”
“It's not possible for me to reject a heavenly creed simply because no one around me believes in it.”
Fuad replied with a calmness intended to appease his friend: “You show admirable spirit, but wouldn't it be better to plan your future by the light of reality?”
“If our leader Sa'd Zaghlul had taken your advice,” Kamal suggested scornfully, “do you suppose he would have thought seriously about going to the British Residency to demand independence for Egypt?”
Fuad smiled as though to say, “Although your argument's sound, it's not fit to serve as a general principle for life”. He remarked aloud, “Study law so you'll be sure to have a respectable job. Afterwards you can pursue your cultural interests to your heart's content.”
Defiantly Kamal retorted, “God didn't place ‘two hearts in a man's breast’ [Qur'an, 33:4]. And I must object to your association between legal studies and a respectable job. Isn't teaching a respectable profession?”
Fuad was quick to defend himself resolutely against this suspicion: “I didn't mean that at all. Who would ever say that gathering and distributing knowledge isn't respectable work? Perhaps I was unwittingly repeating what people say… people, as you suggested, who are dazzled by power and influence.”
Kamal shrugged his shoulders in disgust and said with conviction, “A life dedicated to thought is certainly the most exalted type oflife.”
Fuad nodded hishead in agreement but said nothing. He took refuge in silence until Kamal asked him, “What was your reason for choosing Law School?”
He thought a little and then replied, “Unlike you, I'm not in love witli thought. I was able to select a branch of the University solely in terms of what it meant for my future. So I chose law.”
Was this not the voice of reason? Of course it was, and that infuriated and revolted him. Was it not unfair for him to have to pass the entire summer vacation as a prisoner of this district with no companion besides this reasonable youth? There was another life totally unlike that of this ancient quarter. There were other companions who differed completely from Fuad. His soul yearned for that ether life and those other friends… for al-Abbasiya and its elegant young people. More than anything else he craved the refined elegance, Parisian accent, and exquisite dream of his beloved. Oh … he wanted to go home to be alone and bring out his diary. He would relive a moment, recall a memory, or record a flight of fancy. Was it not time for him to disband this party and leave?
“I mei: some people who asked about you.”
Tearing himself away from the stream of his reflections, Kamal asked, “Who?”
Fuad replied with a laugh, “Qamar and Narjis!”
Qamar and Narjis were the daughters of Abu Sari', who roasted seeds and other snacks. Kamal remembered the vaulted section of Qirmiz jylley after sunset when the alleys were quite dark. They had fondled each other in a way that combined innocence with sexuality, as they feverishly approached puberty. He could remember all that, but why did his lips pucker up in disgust? That was all relatively ancient history, before the holy spirit had descended on him. He could not recall that flirtation without having hisheart boil with anger, pain, and shame, since now it was filled with the wine of pure love.
“How did you come across them?”
“In the crowds at the commemoration of the birth of al-Husayn. I walked along beside them without any hesitation or embarrassment, as though we were all one family touring the sights of the festival.”
“You have some nerve!”
“Occasionally___I greeted them and they replied. We talked for a long time. Then Qamar inquired about you.”
Kamal blushed a little as he asked, “And then?”
“We agreed I'd tell you and that later we'd all get together.”
Kamal shook hishead to show his distaste for the idea and said tersely, “Certainly not.”
Fuad was astonished. “Certainly not”? I thought you'd be happy to meet them in the vaulted alley or the courtyard of a deserted house. Their bodies have filled out. They'll soon be women in every sense of the word. By the way, Qamar was wearing a wrap but no veil. I laughingly told her that if she had been veiled I wouldn't have dared speak to her.”
Kamal said emphatically, 'Of course not!”
“Why not?”
“I can no longer bear depravity”. With a sharpness that betrayed his hidden pain: “I can't meet God in my prayers when my underclothes are soiled.”
Fuad suggested innocently, “Then wash and cleanse yourself before you pray.”
Shaking hishead in exasperation at being taken so literally, Kamal replied, “Water can't wash away sin.”
He had wrestled with this issue for a long time. Whenever he had gone to meet Qamar he had been agitated by lust and anxiety, only to return home with a tormented conscience and a grieving heart. At the end of his prayershe would spend a long time fervently requesting forgiveness. Yet he would set off again in spite of himself, to return in torment and beg for forgiveness once more. Those days had been filled with lust, bitterness, and torment, but then
Fuad said somewhat plaintively, “My encounters with Narjis ended once she was forbidden to play outside.”
Kamal asked him with interest, “Didn't that relationship trouble you, since you're a Believer?”
Lowering his eyes in embarrassment, Fuad answered, “Some things can't be helped”. Then, as though to conceal his discomfort, he asked, “Will you really refuse to take advantage of this opportunity?”
“Absolutely!”
“Merely on religious grounds?”
“Isn't that enough?”
Fuad smiled broadly and commented, “You always try to bear intolerable burdens.”
Kama] replied emphatically, “That's the way I am. There's no need for me to be any different.”
They exchanged a long look, which expressed Kamal's determination and defiance and reflected both Fuad's desire not to quarrel and his smile, which was like the sun's fiery rays sparkling merrily on the water. Then Kamal continued: “In my opinion, lust is a base instinct. I hate the thought of surrendering to it. Perhaps it was implanted in us merely to inspire us to struggle against it and to seek to rise above it, so we'll be fit to ascend to the truly human rank. If I'm not a man, I'm a beast.”
Fuad hesitated a little. Then he observed calmly, “I think it's not all bad, for it motivates us to get married and have children.”
Kamal'sheart pounded violently without Fuad being aware of it. Was this what marriage was all about? He knew it was a fact but felt perplexed that people could reconcile love and marriage. It was a problem he did not confront with his love, because marriage had always seemed, for more than one reason, beyond his highest hopes. /Jl the same, it was a problem requiring a solution. He could not imagine any felicitous link between himself and his beloved not based on her spiritual affection and on his ardent aspirations. It would resemble worship more than anything else. Indeed it would be worship on his part. What connection did marriage have to this?
“People who are really in love don't get married.”
Fuad asked with astonishment, “What did you say?”
Even before Fuad's question, Kamal realized he had said something he did not intend to. For an awkward moment his confusion was apparent. He tried to remember Fuad's last words before this strange assertion had popped out. Although he had just heard them, it was with some effort that he recalled what Fuad had said about marriage and children. He decided to cover up his slip by adapting the meaning as best he could. So he said, “People who are really in love with ideals superior to life itself don't get married. That's what I meant to say.”
Fuad smiled faintly - or perhapshe was trying not to laugh - but his eyes, like deep pools, betrayed none of his sentiments. He simply remarked, “These are serious matters. Talk about them now is premature. Everything in its own time.”
Kamal shrugged his shoulders scornfully but confidently and said, “So let's postpone it and wait.”
There was a mountain separating him from Fuad, but nonetheless they were friends. It was impossible to deny that the difference between them attracted him to Fuad, although it had repeatedly caused him anguish. Was it not time for him to go home? Solitude and communion with his soul called him. Thought of the diary slumbering in the drawer of his desk stirred the passions of his breast. A person exhausted from putting up with reality seeks relaxation deep inside himself.
“It's time to go home,” he said.
78
THE CARRIAGE made its way along the banks of the Nile until it stopped in front of a houseboat at the end of the first triangle of streets on the road to Imbaba. Al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad descended at once, followed immediately by Mr. Ali Abd al-Rahim. Night had fallen, and darkness blanketed everything. The only exceptions were the widely spaced lights shining from the windows of the houseboats and other vessels lined up along either shore of the river channel downstream from the Zamalek Bridge, and the faint glow of the village at the end of the road, like a cloud reflecting the brilliance of the sun in a sky otherwise dark and heavily overcast.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad was visiting the houseboat for the first time, although Muhammad Iffat had leased it for the last four years, dedicating it to the romantic escapades and parties al-Sayyid Ahmad had denied himself since Fahmy was slain. Ali Abd al-Rahim went ahead to show him the gangplank. When he reached the stairshe warned his friend, “The stairway is narrow and the steps are steep with no railing. Put your paw on my shoulder and come down slowly.”
They descended cautiously as the sound of water lapping against the riverbank and the prow of the boat caressed their ears. At the same time their noses were stung by the rank odors of nearby vegetation mixed with the scent of the silt that the floods at the beginning of September were lavishly depositing.
As Ali Abd al-Rahim felt for the doorbell by the entrance, he remarked, “This is a historic evening in your life and ours: the night the old master returns. Don't you think so?”
Tightening his grip on his friend's shoulder, al-Sayyid Ahmad replied, “But I'm no old master. The oldest master was your father.”
Ali Abd al-Rahim laughed and said, “Now you'll see faces you haven't glimpsed for five years.”
As though wavering, al-Sayyid Ahmad remarked, “This doesn't mean that I'm going to alter my conduct or deviate from my principles”. Then after a moment of silence he continued: “Perhaps … maybe …”
“If you leave a dog in the kitchen with a piece of meat, can you imagine him promising not to touch it?”
“The real dog was your father, you son of a bitch.”
Mr. Ali rang the doorbell. The door was opened almost immediately by an aged Nubian servant who stepped aside to allow them to enter and raised his hands to hishead in welcome. Once inside they made for the door on the left, which opened on a small vestibule lit by an electric lamp hanging from the ceiling. The walls on either side were decorated with a mirror beneath which a large leather armchair and a small table were placed. At the far end of the room there was another door, which was ajar. Through it could be heard the voices of the guests, and al-Sayyid Ahmad was deeply moved. Ali Abd al-Rahim shoved the door wide open and entered. Al-Sayyid Ahmad followed and had scarcely crossed the threshold when he found himself confronted by his friends, who rose and came forward to greet him joyfully. Their delight was so great it virtually leapt from their faces.
The first to reach him was Muhammad Iffat, who embraced him as he quoted from a popular song: “The beauty of the full moon is shining upon us.”
Ibrahim al-Far cited another song title when he hugged him: “Destiny has brought me what I've longed for.”
The men then stepped back to let him see Jalila, Zubayda, and a third woman, who stood two steps behind the others. He soon remembered that she was Zanuba, the lute player. Oh… his whole past had been assembled in a single setting. He beamed, although he appeared slightly embarrassed. Jalila gave a long laugh and opened her arms to embrace him as she chanted, “Where have you been hiding, my pretty one?”
When she released him, he saw that Zubayda washesitating an arm's length away, although a happy light of welcome illuminated her face. He stretched his arm out to her and she squeezed it. At that same moment she arched her painted eyebrows reproachfully and, referring to yet another song, said in a tone not free of sarcasm, “After thirteen years…”
He could not help but laugh wholeheartedly. Finally he noticed that Zanuba had not budged. She was smiling shyly, as though she thought their past acquaintance too slight for her to be forward. He held his hand out and shook hers. To encourage and flatter her he said, “Greetings to the princess of lute players.”
As they returned to their seats, Muhammad Iffat put his arm around Ahmad's and made his friend sit beside him. He laughingly asked, “Did you just happen to drop by or has passion caught hold ofyou?”
“Passion caught hol
At first he had been blinded by the warmth of the reunion and the jests of his friends when they welcomed him. Now his eyes could take in his surroundings. He found himself in a room of medium size with walls and ceilings painted emerald green. There were two windows facing the Nile and two on the street side of the boat. Although the windows were open, the shutters were closed. Hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room was an electric lamp with a conical crystal shade, which focused the light on the surface of a low table holding the glasses and the whiskey bottles. The floor was covered with a carpet the same color as the walls. On each side of the room there was a large sofa divided in half by a cushion and covered with an embroidered cloth. The corners of the room were filled with pallets and pillows. Jalila, Zubayda, and Zanuba sat on the sofa farthest from the street, and three of the men on the one facing them. The pallets were strewn with musical instruments: lute, tambourine, drum, and finger cymbals. He took his time looking around. Then after sighing with satisfaction he said delightedly, “My God, my God, everything's so beautiful. But why don't you open the windows on the Nile?”
Muhammad Iffat replied, “They're opened once the sailboats stop passing. As the Prophet said, 'If you are tempted, conceal yourselves.'”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad quickly retorted with a smile, “And if you conceal yourselves, be tempted.”
“Show us you're still as quick as you used to be,” Jalila shouted as if challenging him.
He had intended his words to be nothing more than a joke. The truth was that he was anxious and hesitant about taking this revolutionary step and coming to the houseboat after the long period of self-denial he had observed. There was something more too. A change had taken place that he would have to unravel for himself. He would need to look closely and attentively. What did he see? There were Jalila and Zubayda, each of them as massively beautiful as the ceremonial camel when it set off for Mecca with the pilgrims. He had used that image to describe them in the old days. They had perhaps even added to their mass of fleshly charms, but something had come over them that was almost more easily perceived by his emotions than his senses. No doubt it was associated with the process of aging. Perhaps his friends had not noticed it since they had not been separated from the women as he had. Had he not been affected by age in much the same way? He felt sad, and his spirits flagged. A man's most telling mirror is a friend who returns after a long absence. But how could he pinpoint this change? Neither of the women had a single white hair, for no entertainer would ever allow her hair to turn white. And they had no wrinkles.