The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street by Naguib Mahfouz
The surroundings spoke to Kamal'sheart and shook it deeply. He had been smitten by love in this gazebo. Only this garden shared his secret with him. He was fond of these friends both out of friendship and because they were part of the saga of his love. All these things talked to hisheart of love. He wondered when she would appear. Could the gathering conclude without his ardent eyes catching a glimpse of her? To compensate himself, he cast long looks at Husayn Shaddad whenever he could, regarding him with more than a friend's eye. The young man's relationship to Kamal's beloved lent him a mysterious enchantment. In addition to love, Kamal came to harbor admiration, veneration, and wonder for his friend. There was a marked resemblance between Husayn and his sister. It was visible in his black eyes, tall slender build, and thick, straight black hair as well as in his gestures and postures, which were distinguished by gracious refinement. The only major differences were his large hooked nose and his fair complexion, tanned by the summer sun.
Since Kamal, Husayn, and Isma'il had been successful in the baccalaureate examination that year - although admittedly the first two were seventeen and the third twenty-one they discussed the examination and related issues pertaining to their futures. Isma'il Latif raised the topic. When he spoke, he craned hishead up as though to conceal his short stature and light build compared with those of his three companions. All the same, he was muscular and sturdy. The caustic, ironic look of his narrow eyes, his sharply pointed nose, his thick eyebrows, and his strong wide mouth were sufficient warning to anyone tempted to attack him.
Isma'il said, “We were one hundred percent successful this year. Nothing like this has ever happened before, at least not where I'm concerned. I ought to be in my final year at the University like Hasan, who began Fuad I School with me the same day. When my father saw my number listed in the newspaper among the students who passed, he said sarcastically, wonder whether God will let me live long enough to see you graduate from the University.'”
Husayn Shaddad commented, “You're not far enough behind to justify your father's despair.”
Isma'il said ironically, “You're right. Two years in each grade is hardly remarkable”. Then, addressing Hasan Salim, he continued: “And probably you're already planning what you'll do when you finish University.”
Hasan Salim was in the final year of Law School. He realized that Isma'il Latif was inviting him to announce his goals for the future. But Husayn Shaddad answered Isma'il first: “There's no reason for him to worry about that. He'll surely land a position in the judiciary or the diplomatic corps.”
Hasan Salim emerged from his haughty silence. His handsome face with its fine features had an argumentative look. He asked defiantly, “Why should I believe you?”
He prided himself on his industry and intelligence and he wanted everyone to acknowledge them. No one disputed that, but likewise no one was forgetting he was the son of Salim Bey Sabry, superior court judge. To have a father like that was a distinction far more significant than intelligence and industry.
Husayn Shaddad avoided any reference that would rile his friend aud said, “Your superior success is the guarantee you're seeking.”
Isma'il Latif would not let him enjoy this praise. He said, “And there's your father. I reckon he's far more important than good grades.”
Hasan met the attack with unexpected nonchalance. Either he had grown tired of Isma'il's teasing, since they had been together almost every day all summer long, or he had started to think his friend a chronic complainer whose comments should not be taken seriously. The friendship linking the young men did not rule out bickering and wrangles, which occasionally became intense but did not weaken their relationship.
Glaring at Isma'il mockingly, Hasan Salim asked, “What about you? What have your agents been able to come up with for you?”
Isma'il laughed out loud, revealing his sharp teeth, yellow from smoking, which he had been one of the first to embrace in secondary school. He answered, “An unsatisfactory result. Medicine and Engineering didn't accept me, because my overall average was too low. That left only Commerce and Agriculture. So I chose the former.”
Kamal was upset that his friend had ignored the Teachers College, as though it was not worth considering. All the same, since he could have attended Law School and there was no dispute about its high status, his choice of the other instead seemed so noble that it helped console him for his lonely sorrow.
Husayn Shaddad laughed in a charming way that showed off his attractive mouth and eyes. He said, “Oh, if only you had chosen Agriculture! Imagine Isma'il out in the fields spending his life with farm laborers….”
Isma'il answered with conviction, “That's not for me, not even if the fields were in downtown Cairo, on Imad al-Din Street.”
Then Kamal looked at Husayn Shaddad and asked, “And you?”
Husayn looked off into the distance thoughtfully before he replied, granting Kamal an opportunity to scrutinize him. How fascinated he was by the idea that Husayn was her brother that his friend kept her company in their home the way he had once lived together with Khadija and Aisha. It was hard for him to picture that. Husayn sat with her, conversed with her, spent time alone with her, and touched her.
“Touchesher? He has meals with her! I wonder how she eats? Does she make little noises with her lips? Does she eat regional specialties like mallow greens or beans in oil? That's difficult to imagine too. What's important is that he's her brother.”
Kamal could touch the hand that touched hers. If only he might inhale the fragrant perfume of her breath at one remove from her brother….
Husayn Shaddad replied, “Law School on a provisional basis.”
Was it not conceivable that Husayn would become friends with Fuad Jamil al-Hamzawi? Why not? Law School was no doubt a truly admirable institution, since Husayn was enrolling in it. Attempting to convince people of the value of his own idealism would be foolhardy now.
Isma'il Latif commented sarcastically, “I didn't know some students enroll in school ‘on a provisional basis.’ Please explain this to us.”
Husayn Shaddad answered seriously, “All the schools are the same to me. None has anything that I find especially attractive. Of course I want to learn, but I don't want to work. Nowhere at the University will I get the knowledge I want free from professional ties. Since I haven't succeeded in discovering anyone in our house who agrees with me, I find myself obliged to meet them halfway. [asked them which school they would choose. My father commented. ‘Is there anything besides Law?’ So I said, 'Let it be Law.'”
Imitating his tone and gestures, Isma'il Latif exclaimed, “On a provisional basis!”
They all laughed. Then Husayn Shaddad continued: “Yes, on a provisional basis, you quarrelsome fellow. For it's possible, if things turn out the way I want, that I may cut short my studies in Egypt and go to France, even if I have to study law there. Then I could sip freely from the springs of culture. There I could think, see, and listen….”
Still imitating his friend's tone and gestures, as though to complete what had been left unsaid, Isma'il Latif added, “And taste, touch, and smell.”
After they had laughed, Husayn Shaddad went on: “Rest assured that my intentions aren't what you suspect.”
Kamal believed him wholeheartedly and felt no need for any substant ation, not only because he thought too highly of his friend to doubt him but also because he believed that the life Husayn was bent on enjoying in France would by its very nature transport the soul. Obvious as this point was, Isma'il and others like him, who believed only in things countable and visible, could hardly be expected to grasp it. Husayn had long excited Kamal's dreams. Here was another of those dreams, remarkable for its expansive beauty. This was a dream rife with food for the spirit and for the mind, for hearing and seeing.
“How often I've had this dream,” Kamal thought, “both waking and sleeping. After all my aspirations and efforts, the dreaming process has led me to the Teachers College”. Then he asked Husayn, “Do
With a dreamy look in his handsome black eyes, Husayn Shaddad answered, “I'm not going to be a speculator on the stock market like my father. I couldn't stand a life that consisted of uninterrupted work for the sake of making money. I will never be a civil servant. A career as a bureaucrat is slavery disguised as earning a living. I have more than enough to live on. I want to live as a tourist in the world. I'll read, see, hear, and think, moving from the mountains to the plains and back again.”
After watching him throughout the discussion with a scornful look softened by his aristocratic reserve, Hasan Salim objected, “A civil service career need not be simply a way of earning a living. I, for example, won't need to work to earn a living, but it's important for me to work in a noble profession. A man must have a career. A dignified occupation is a goal worth achieving for its own sake.”
Isma'il endorsed Hasan's statement: “This is true. Even the very richest people aspire to careers in the judiciary, the diplomatic corps, and the civil service”. Then, turning toward Husayn Shad-dad, he added, “Why don't you select one of these careers for yourself, since they're within your grasp?”
Kamal also addressed Husayn: “The foreign service would provide you with a distinguished profession and opportunities for travel.”
Hasan Salim said importantly, “It's hard to get into.”
Husayn Shaddad replied, “The foreign service no doubt has extraordinary advantages. For the most part it's a ceremonial career. It would accommodate my desire to avoid the servitude of work. It's a form of tourism and provides free time. It would allow me to have my desired spiritual life dedicated to the pursuit of beauty. But I think I won't attempt it, not because it's so selective, as Hasan points out, but because I doubt I'll continue my formal studies through to the end.”
Laughing wickedly, Isma'il Latif said, “I can't help thinking that you want to go to France for reasons that have nothing to do with culture. And you're right.”
Husayn Shaddad laughed and shook hishead to deny the allegation. “Certainly not!” he said. “You're thinking of your own passions. My distaste for schooling has other reasons. The first is that I'm not interested in studying law. The second is that no one branch of the University can provide me with the variety of disciplines and arts I wish to learn - like theater, painting, music, and philosophy. And if you enroll in some branch, you'll have to cram your head with dust in order to come across a few specks of gold, if you find any at all. In Paris you're allowed to attend lectures in all the different areas of learning without being tied down to a schedule or an examination. That way you can have a beautiful, spiritual life.”
Then, as though to himself, he added in a low voice, “Perhaps I'll many there, so I can spend my life as a tourist both in reality and in ruy imagination.”
Hasan Salim's face gave no indication that he was following this discussion with any serious interest. Isma'il Latif raised his bushy eyebrows, leaving it up to his eyes to disclose the sly irony surging within his breast. Only Kamal seemed enthusiastic and touched. He had nourished these same hopes. His differed only in non-essential details. He was not interested in tourism or getting married in France, but how he longed for learning not confined to a schedule or an examination…. That would obviously be far superior to the dirt he would cram into hishead at the Teachers College in hopes of coming away with a few atoms of gold. Paris? It had been a beautiful dream for him ever since he learned that his beloved had spent part of her childhood there. It still beckoned Husayn with its magic and fascinated Kamal with its diverse promises. But what cure was there for his passionate hopes?
After some hesitation he said apprehensively, “It seems to me that the school coming closest to offering what you want, if only to a limited degree, is the Teachers College.”
Isma'il Latif turned toward him somewhat anxiously and asked, “What have you selected? Don't say the Teachers College! My Lord, I'd forgotten that you're almost as foolish as Husayn.”
Kamal smiled so broadly that his large nostrils were flexed. He answered, “I've enrolled in the Teachers College for the reasons mentioned.”
Husayn Shaddad looked at him with interest. Then, smiling, he said, “N o doubt your cultural passions got the better of you while you were wrestling with this choice.”
[sma'il Latif told Husayn accusingly, “You bear a great deal of responsibility for encouraging these passions of his. The truth is that you talk a lot and read little, while this poor boy takes the matter seriously and reads himself blind. Look at your evil influence on him. In the end it's driven him to the Teachers College.”
Ignoring Isma'il's interruption, Husayn continued: “Are you sure that the Teachers College has what you want?”
Delighted by this first inquiry about his school free of scorn or derision, Kamal said enthusiastically, “It's enough for me to be allowed to study English. Then I can use it as a way of learning a limitless number of things. Besides that, I think it will provide an excellent opportunity for studying history, education, and psychology.”
Husayn Shaddad thought a little. Then he said, “I've met many teachers and observed them at close range in my tutorial sessions. They were not good models for the cultured man; but the antiquated instructional program's responsible for that.”
With undiminished enthusiasm Kamal said, “All I need are the tools. True cultural development depends on the man, not the school.”
Hasan Salim asked, “Do you plan to become a teacher?”
Although Hasan phrased this question politely, it made Kamal uncomfortable. Hasan's politeness was deeply ingrained, and he only abandoned it as a last resort or when an adversary attacked. His courtesy was a natural result of his composure and aristocratic upbringing. So it was difficult for Kamal to determine whether his friend's question was really free of scorn and derision.
Kamal shrugged his shoulders as he said, “That's inevitable, since I'm determined to study what I want.”
Isma'il Latif was covertly scrutinizing Kamal, looking at hishead, nose, long neck, and skinny body. He must have been trying to judge the impact this sight would have on schoolchildren, particularly the naughtiest ones. He could not keep himself from muttering, “By my life, it'll be a catastrophe.”
Revealing his affection for Kamal, Husayn Shaddad continued: “The job's a secondary consideration for people with ambitious goals. And we mustn't forget the elite group of prominent figures who graduated from this school.”
The University discussion ended there, and the young men were silent. Kamal attempted to fuse his spirit with the encompassing garden, but the discussion had made such a lively impression on him that he had to wait for its effect to wear off. He happened to notice the jug of ice water on the table. An old fantasy came to mind, one that had made him joyous on occasions like this. It consisted of filling a glass and drinking from it while he imagined that his lips were touching a place on the rim brushed by hers. He went to the table, filled a glass from the jug, and drank. As He sat down again, he concentrated on himself, anticipating some change i n his state of consciousness, if he were lucky enough to achieve his goal. A magical force he had never experienced would radiate from his spirit. He would succumb to a divine intoxication transporting him to the heavens of bliss. But, alas, he finally had to satisfy himself with the pleasure he received from the adventure and his delicious hope.
Kamal began to wonder anxiously, “When will she come?” Was it possible for this promising moment to be added to the three months of their separation? His eyes returned to the jug. He recalled a conversation he had once had with Isma'il Latif about it, or rather about its ice water, which was the only refreshment they were served at the Shaddad mansion.
During their talk, Isma'il had mentioned the strict economies observed in the mansion from roof to basement and had asked if that was not a form of stinginess. Kamal had refused to allow the reputation of his beloved's family to be questioned or tarnished
Never at a loss for an impudent remark, Isma'il had distinguished between different types of stinginess. He thought that since Shaddad Bey was a millionaire in every sense of the word, he had a duty to surround himself with all the trappings of prosperity. Yet Shaddad Bey limited his family to what, in his circle, constituted the bare necessities. The principle observed without deviation by every member of the family was not to tolerate the expenditure of one millieme except when it was appropriate and necessary. The servants received low wages and ate cheap food. If one broke a dish, the price was deducted from his pay. Husayn Shaddad came from the only family that did not provide an allowance for its sons. They did not want him to get used to squandering money. His father might buy some stocks and bonds for him in honor of a holiday but would not give him spending money. And the dear son's visitors were served nothing but ice water. Was this not stinginess, no matter how aristocratic?
Kamal remembered that conversation while looking at the jug. He wondered with alarm, as he had before, whether it was possible for any defect to attach itself to his beloved's family. Hisheart refused to believe that. It rejected the possibility that perfection could be flawed in any respect, no matter how slight. All the same, he imagined that a feeling close to relief was mischievously whispering to him, “Don't be frightened. Isn't this shortcoming, if it exists, a factor bringing her closer to your level, if only by a little?”