The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street

by Naguib Mahfouz

  He sought guidance from this same intuitive inspiration even when he was clowning around, socializing, and enjoying music. On those occasions, no matter what effect drinking had on his mind, he never lost his skill and adroitness. If he had wanted to, he could easily have overwhelmed his companions with his quick wit, ability to improvise, excellent sense of humor, and scathing sarcasm, but he conducted parties in an expert and generous way, giving everyone present a chance to participate. When someone told a joke, even if it fell flat, he would favor him with his resounding laughter. He had an intense desire to prevent his own jokes from wounding anyone. If a jest required him to attack a companion, he would make up for his attack by encouraging the other man and flattering him, even if he had to make fun of himself. The party would not end until everyone present had stored up delightful and captivating memories.

  The benefits of his natural delicacy, or delicate nature, were not limited to the comic side of his life. They also extended to important aspects of his social life and made themselves felt in the most magnificent way in his well-known generosity, whether manifested in the banquetshe hosted in the big house from time to time or in the donationshe made to needy people linked to hirn by some business or personal relationship. He was generous and gallant in his assistance to friends and acquaintances, acting as a guardian for them, but in a way imbued with love and trust. They relied on him when they needed advice, mediation, or a service, whether their problems related to work, money, or personal and domestic questions like an engagement, marriage, or divorce. He was happy to undertake these duties for no wage other than love, serving as an agent, marriage official, and referee. No matter how hard these tasks were, he always found that carrying them out filled his life with delight and joy.

  A man like this, excelling in so many social graces and then concealing it, as though fearful of substantial harm if people knew, may allow his modesty to dissolve when alone with his thoughts. Such a man is then apt to savor his fine qualities for a long time and succumb to pride and vanity. Thus al-Sayyid Ahmad began to recall both the censure of his devoted friends and the offer of Umm Ali the matchmaker with pleasure, delight, and glee, which m ixed together in hisheart in an intoxicating but harmless fashion. Yet the sting of sorrow intruded on his reverie, and he started to tell himself, “Madam Nafusa is a lady with many estimable qualities. Many have desired her, but she wants me. All the same, I won't take another wife. That matter is settled. And she's not the kind of woman who would agree to live with a man without getting married. This is the way I am and that's the way she is. So how can we get together? … If she had come my way at any time but now when the Australians have us blocked in, it would have been easy. What a pity the roads are barricaded when we need to use them.”

  A carriage stopped at the entrance to the store then and interrupted his thoughts. He looked out to see what was happening. He saw the vehicle tip toward the store under the weight of a prodigious woman who began to alight from it very slowly, hampered by her folds of flesh and fat. A black maid had gotten down first and held a hand out for her to lean on while she descended. The woman paused for a moment, sighing as though seeking some relief from the arduous descent. Then, like the c eremor ial camel litter that each year was a traditional highlight of the piocession of pilgrims setting off for Mecca, she made her way into the store, swaying and trembling.

  Meanwhile the maid's voice rang out almost oratorically to announce her mistress: “Make way, fellows, you and the other one, for Madam Zubayda, queen of the singers.”

  A muffled laugh escaped from Madam Zubayda. Addressing the maid in a counterfeit tone of reprimand, she said, “May God forgive you, Jaljal… Queen of the singers! That's enough. Haven't you learned the virtue of humility?”

  Jamil al-Hamzawi rushed toward her, his mouth hanging open in a wide smile. He said, “Welcome! We should have spread the earth with sand for you.”

  Al-Savyid Ahmad rose. He was examining her with a look both astonished and thoughtful. Then, to complete his employee's greeting, he said, “No, with henna and roses, but what can we do when good fortune arrives unannounced?”

  The proprietor saw his assistant going to get a chair. He beat him to it with a broad step almost like a jump. The other man moved aside, concealing his smile. The proprietor presented the chair to the visitor himself. He gestured with his hand to invite her to have a seat, but as he did so his hand stretched out to its full extent, perhaps without his being conscious of it. The openings between his fingers spread apart till the hand resembled a fan. This manual expansion was influenced possibly by the effect on his imagination of her prodigious bottom, which would shortly fill the seat of the chair and certainly spill over the sides.

  The woman thanked him with a smile. The beauty of her face shone, with no veil to conceal it. She sat down, gleaming in her finery and jewels. Then she turned toward her maid and addressed her, although what she said was not intended solely for her: “Didn't I tell you, Jaljal, there's no reason for us to wander hither and yon to do our shopping when we have this fine store?”

  The maid agreed: “You were right as usual, Sultana. Why should we go far away when here we have the noble Mr. Ahmad Abd al-Jawad?”

  The lady drew back her head as though shocked by what Jaljal had said. She cast her a disapproving look and then glanced back and forth between the proprietor and the maid so he could see her disapproval. Concealing a smile, she said, “How embarrassing! I was talking to you about the shop, Jaljal, not about al-Sayyid Ahmad.”

  The proprietor's experienced heart felt the affectionate atmosphere created by the woman's remarks. Guided by his quick instincts, he got into the spirit and murmured with a smile, “The shop and al-Sayyid Ahmad are one and the same, Sultana.”

  She raised her eyebrows coquettishly and replied with gentle obstinacy, “But we are interested in the store, not al-Sayyid Ahmad.”

  It seemed that al-Sayyid Ahmad was not the only person to feel the fine atmosphere created by the sultana, for here was Jamil al-Hamzawi, who alternated between haggling with the customers and stealing looks at any part of the singer's body he could get his eyes on, and there were the customers letting their eyes wander from the merchandise to pass over the lady. Indeed it seemed that this propitious visit had even caught the attention of passersby in the street. The proprietor decided to move closer to the sultana and turn his broad back on the door and the people to protect her from the disturbance of intruders. All the same, this did not make him forget where he was in the conversation. He continued with his little joke: “God, may His wisdom be exalted, decreed that inanimate things have better luck at times than man.”

  She answered suggestively, “I think you re exaggerating. Inanimate goods are no luckier than a man, but frequently they are more useful.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad gave her a piercing look with his blue eyes. Pretending to be astonished, he exclaimed, “More useful!” and then, pointing at the floor, “This store!”

  She granted him a short, sweet laugh but said in a tone not without a deliberate harshness, “I want sugar, coffee, rice; the man needs his store for these things”. Then she continued with an inflection free of any flirtatiousness: “Moreover, men are much harder oti the heart.”

  The doors of desire had opened for the proprietor. He sensed he was faced with something far more significant than a simple purchase. He objected, “Not all men are the same, Sultana. Who told you that a man's no substitute for rice, sugar, and coffee? It's with a man that you truly find nourishment, sweetness, and satisfaction.”

  She laughed and asked him, “Are you talking about a man or a kitchen?”

  He answered victoriously, “If you look closely, you'll discover an amazing similarity between a man and a kitchen. Each of them fills the belly with life.”

  The woman lowered her eyes for a time. The proprietor expected her to look up at him with a bright smile, but the glance she directed at him was serious. He sensed at once that she had changed strategy or perh
aps was not really comfortable about slipping into a relationship so quickly. She turned away and then he heard her say quietly, “May God help you … but all we need today are rice, coffee, and sugar.”

  The proprietor stepped away from her and tried to look serious. He summoned his assistant and in a loud voice entrusted the lady's orders to him. He gave the impression that he too had decided to refrain from being too affectionate and to get back to business, but it was just a maneuver. Immediately afterward he went on the attack again with his smile and murmured to the sultana, “The store and its proprietor are yours to commar.d.”

  The maneuver had its effect, for the woman said jokingly, “I want the store, and you insist on giving yourself.”

  “I'm no doubt better than my store, or the best thing in it.”

  She beamed with a mischievous smile and said, “This contradicts what we've heard about the excellence of your merchandise.”

  The proprietor laughed boisterously and said, “Why do you need sugar when there's all this sweetness on your tongue?”

  This verbal battle was followed by a period of silence during which each of them appeared content with himself Then the performer opened her purse and took out a small mirror with a silver handle. She began to look at herself. The proprietor went back to his desk. He stood, leaning on the edge of it, while he studied her face with interest.

  The truth was that when his eyes had first noticed her, hisheart had told him that she had not made her visit merely to buy something. Then her warm and responsive conversation had confirmed his suspicions. Now all that remained was for him to decide whether to respond or to bid her a final adieu. It was not the first time he had seen her, for he had frequently run into her at weddings hosted by his friends. He knew from secondhand reports that al-Sayyid Khalil al-Banan had been her lover for a long time but that they had recently separated. Perhaps it was for this reason that she was looking for goods at a new store. She was very beautiful, even though her status as a singer was only second-rate. All the same, he was more interested in her as a woman than as a singer. She certainly was desirable. Her folds of flesh and fat would warm a chilly man during the bitter cold of winter, which was at hand.

  His reflections were cut short by al-Hamzawi, who brought the three parcels. The maid took them, and the lady thrust her hand into her purse, apparently to take out some money. Al-Sayyid Ahmad gestured to her not to try to pay: “That would be quite wrong.”

  The woman pretended to be astonished. “Wrong, Mr. al-Sayyid? How can doing what's right be wrong?”

  “This is an auspicious visit. It's our duty to greet it with the honor it deserves. It would be impossible for me to do justice to it.”

  While he was talking, she stood up. She did not offer any serious resistance to his generosity but warned, “Your generosity will make me hesitate more than once before I come back to you again.”

  The proprietor laughed boisterously and replied, “Have no fear! I'm generous to a customer the first time, but I make up for my loss later, even if I have to cheat. This is the way merchants operate.”

  The lady smiled and held out her hand to him. She commented, “When i generous man like you cheats, it isn't really cheating. Thank you, Sayyid Ahmad.”

  He responded from the depths of hisheart, “Don't mention it, Sultana.”

  He stood watching her strut toward the door and then climb into the carriage. She took her place, and Jaljal sat on the small seat opposite her. The carriage rolled off with its precious cargo and disappeared from sight.

  Then here was al-Hamzawi, asking as he turned a page of the ledger, “How can this sum be accounted for?”

  The proprietor looked at his assistant with a smile and replied, “Write beside it: 'Goods destroyed by an act of God.'” He murmured to himself as he returned to his desk, “God is beautiful and loves beauty.”

  15

  THAT EVENING al-Sayyid Ahmad closed his store and set off surrounded by respectful glances and diffusing a pleasant fragrance. He proceeded to the Goldsmiths Bazaar and from there to al-Ghuriya till he reached al-Sayyid Ali's coffee shop. As He passed it, he looked at the singer's house and the adjoining buildings. He observed that the string of shops on both sides of it were still open and that the flow of pedestrian traffic was at itsheight. He continued on to a friend's house, where he passed an hour. Then he excused himself and returned to al-Ghuriya, which was engulfed in darkness and almost deserted.

  Confident and relaxed, he approached the house. He knocked on the door and waited, looking carefully at everything around him. The only light came from the window of al-Sayyid Ali's coffee shop and from a kerosene lamp on a handcart at the corner of New Street. The door opened and the form of a young servant girl could be seen. Without any hesitation, in order to inspire in the girl trust and confidence, he asked her in a forceful voice, “Is Madam Zubayda at home?”

  The girl looked up at him and asked with the reserve her job required, “Who are you, sir?”

  He responded determinedly, “A person who wishes to reach an agreement with her for an evening's entertainment.”

  The girl was gone for some minutes before returning to invite him in. She stepped aside to allow him to enter. He followed her up the narrow steps of the staircase to a hallway. She opened the door facing him, and he passed through it into a darkened room. He stood there near the entrance, listening to her footsteps as she ran to fetch a lamp. He watched her place it on a table. She moved a chair to the center of the room to stand on while she lit the large lamp hanging from the ceiling. Then she put the chair back where it belonged. She took the small lamp and left the room, saying politely, “Please have a seat, sir.”

  He went over to a sofa at the front of the room and sat there confidendy and calmly, demonstrating that he was accustomed to situations, like this and certain the results would be to his liking. He removed his fez and placed it on a cushion at the center of the sofa. He stretched his legs out and made himself comfortable. He saw a room of medium size with sofas and chairs arranged around the sides. The floor was covered with a Persian carpet. In front of each of the three large sofas stood a serving table inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The windows and door were hung with curtains that prevented the aroma of incense he enjoyed from escaping. He amused himself by watching a moth flutter nervously and eagerly around the lamp. While he waited, the servant brought him coffee. It was some time before he heard the rhythmic thump of slippers striking the floor.

  He became fully alert and stared at the opening of the door, which was immediately filled by the prodigious body, its pronounced curves sensuously draped in a blue dress. The moment the woman's eyes fell on him she stopped in astonishment and shouted, “In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful!… You!”

  His eyes ran over her body as quickly and greedily as a mouse on a sack of rice looking for a place to get in. He said admiringly, “In the name of God. God's will be done.”

  After her pause, she continued to advance, smiling. She said with pretended fear, “Your eye! God protect me from it.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad rose to take her outstretched hand. Sniffing the fragrant incense with his enormous nose, he asked, “ Are you afraid of an envious eye even when protected by this incense?”

  She fre ed her hand from his and stepped back to sit on one of the side couches. She replied, “My incense is a boon and a blessing. It's a mixture of various kinds, some Arab and some Indian that I blend myself. It's capable of ridding the body of a thousand and one jinn.”

  He sat down again and said, waving his hands in despair, “But not my body. My body has a jinni of a different sort. Incense doesn't do any good with him. The matter is more severe and dangerous.”

  The woman struck her chest like a heaving water skin and shouted, “But I perform at weddings, not exorcisms.”

  He said hopefully, “We'll see if you have a remedy for what ails me.”

  They were silent for a time. The sultana started to look at him somewhat refle
ctively, as though trying to discern the secret of his visit and whether he really had come to ask her to perform at a party, as he had told the servant. Her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, “A wedding or a circumcision?”

  Smiling he replied, “Whichever you wish.”

  “Do you have an uncircumcised boy or a bridegroom?”

  “I've got everything.”

  She gave him a warning look as if to say, “How tiresome you are!” Then she muttered sarcastically, “We'll be happy to serve you, whatever it happens to be.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad raised his hands to the top of hishead in a gesture of thanks. He said with a gravity that belied his intentions, “God bless you! All the same, I'm still determined to leave the choice to you.”

  She sighed with a rage that was half humorous and replied, “I prefer weddings, of course.”

  “But I'm a married man. I don't need any more wedding processions.”

  She yelled at him, “What a joker you are … Then let it be a circumcision.”

  “So be it.”

  She asked cautiously, “Your son?”

  Twisting his mustache, he answered simply, “Me.”

  The sultana let out a flowing laugh. She decided to stop thinking about the question of an evening performance. She guessed what kind of performance it would be. She shouted at him, “What a crafty man you are. If my arm were long enough I'd break your back.”