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

by Naguib Mahfouz

  A despondent, oppressive silence reigned while each of the men wrestled with his own thoughts and images. Then Jamil al-Hamzawi moaned, “Our Lord exists.”

  “Yes!” shouted al-Sayyid Ahmad, applauding his statement. Gesturing in all four directions, he said, “Everywhere!”

  Shaykh Mutawalli advised the proprietor, “Tell Fahmy that Shaykh Mutawalli counsels him to stay away from danger. Tell him, 'Surrender to God your Lord. He alone is capable of devastating the English as he has devastated those who disobeyed Him in the past”

  The shaykh leaned over to grasp his stick. Al-Sayyid Ahmad gestured to Jamil al-Hamzawi, who brought the present. He put it in the shaykh's hand and helped him rise. The shaykh shook hands with both men and recited as he left, “ ‘The [God-fearing] Byzantines have been defeated in a nearby land, but after their defeat, they will be victorious’ [Qur'an, 30:23], and not the friends of the pagans. The words of God Almighty are true.”

  68

  AT DAWN, when darkness was slowly giving birth to light, a servant from Sugar Street knocked on the door of al-Sayyid Ahmad's house and informed Amina that Aisha's labor had begun. Amina, who had been in the oven room, turned her work over to Umm Hanafi and rushed to the stairway.

  For perhaps the first time in the long history of her employment in the house, Umm Hanafi appeared to be indignant. Was it not obligatory for her to be present when Aisha gave birth? She had every right to be there, just the same as Amina. Aisha had first opened her eyes in Umm Hanafi's lap. Every child in the family had two mothers: Amina and Umm Hanafi. How could she be separated from her daughter at such a terrifying time?

  “Do you remember what it was like when you had your child?” she asked herself “The apartment in al-Tambakshiya…”. The master had been out as usual. She had been alone, although it was after midnight. Umm Hasaniya had been both a friend and a midwife. “Where is Umm Hasaniya now? Is she alive today?” Then heir son Hanafi had arrived amid moans of pain. He had departed amid moans of pain too, when he was still in the cradle. If he had rived, he would be twenty. “My little mistress will be suffering, while I'm stuck here preparing food.”

  Amina'sheart was filled with the same apprehensive joy she had felt when she first prepared to give birth. Here was Aisha getting ready to deliver her first child and commence life as a mother, as she herself had begun with Khadija. Thus the life that had sprung from her would continue on endlessly. She went to her husband to announce the good news to him in a quiet, courteous way. She tried her best to appear shy and polite, so her ardent desire to rush off to her daughter would not show. Al-Sayyid Ahmad received the news calmly and then ordered her to go without delay. She got dressed quickly, appreciative of the wonders motherhood could work at rimes for a weak woman like herself.

  The brothers learned the news when they woke up, shortly after the mother's departure. They smiled and exchanged questioning glances.

  “Aisha's a mother!”

  “Isn't that strange?”

  “What's strange about it? Mother was younger than Aisha when Khadija was born.”

  “Has Mother gone to deliver the baby with her own hands?” Kamal's question was answered by two smiles.

  “This is a warning for me,” Yasin observed. “The bitch will have her baby soon….”

  “Who do you mean?”

  “Zaynab.”

  “Oh, if Papa ever heard you …”

  “Aisha's a mother and I'm a father.”

  “And I'm an uncle twice over,” Fahmy remarked. “You will be too, Mr. Kamal.”

  “I'm going to have to stay out of school today to go to Aisha's.”

  “That's great. Just ask Papa's permission at breakfast, if you're able.”

  “Oh! We need more births to keep up with the dent the English are making in our population.”

  “If I stay home from school, that won't be a problem. Three-fourths of the students have been on strike for more than a month.”

  “Tell Papa that. He'll surely be convinced by your argument. Then he'll hit you in the face with a plate of beans.”

  “Oh! A new baby…. In an hour or two Papa will become a grandfather and Mama a grandmother. We'll all be uncles. This is a significant event. How many children are being born at this moment, do you suppose? And how many people are dying right now? We need to let Grandmother know.”

  “I can go to al-Khurunfush and tell her, if I stay home from school….”

  “We've explained that your school is none of our business. Tell Papa. He'll welcome your idea.”

  “Oh! Perhaps Aisha's suffering now. The poor darling.

  Golden hair and blue eyes won't make the labor pains any lighter.”

  “May our Lord bring her through it safely. Then we'll drink the traditional broth and light some candles.”

  “A bey or a girl?”

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “A bey, of course.”

  “Perhaps she'll begin with a girl, like her mother.”

  “Why not start with a boy, like her father?”

  “Ah… by the time school lets out, the baby will already have arrived. Then I won't get a chance to watch him come out.”

  “You want to see him being born?”

  'Of course.”

  “You'd better postpone this desire until it's your own child.”

  Kama! was the most deeply affected by the news. It preoccupied his mind, heart, and imagination. Had he not felt that the school disciplinarian was keeping track of him and watching his every move to report in detail to his father, he would have been unable to resist the temptation to go to Sugar Street. He remained in school, but only in body. His spirit was hovering over Sugar Street, inquiring about the new arrival he had been awaiting for months, in hopes of learning its secret.

  He had once seen a cat give birth when he was not quite six. She had attracted his attention with her piercing meows. He had rushed to her, finding her on the roof under the arbor of hyacinth beans, writhing in pain with her eyes bulging out. When he saw her body part with an inflamed bit of meat, he had backed away in disgust, screaming as loudly as he could. This memory haunted his mind, arid he felt the same old disgust. It was a pesky, distressing memory., encompassing him like a fog, but he refused to let himself be frightened. He could not imagine any connection between the cat and A isha, except the slight relationship between an animal and a human being, whom he believed to be as far apart as earth from heaven. But what was going on in Sugar Street, then? What strange things were happening to Aisha? These were vexing question: D that appeared to have no easy answers. The moment he got out of school that afternoon he dashed off at full speed to Sugar Street.

  He was panting when he entered the courtyard of the Shawkat residence. He went to the door of the women's quarters but chanced to peer into the reception room. To his chagrin, he found himself looking straight into his father's eyes. The man was sitting down, grasping with both hands the top of the walking stick held between his legs. Kamal froze, staring as though hypnotized, not blinking or moving. He felt he must have unwittingly done something wrong. He waited for the punishment to fall on him, as the chill of fear spread through his limbs. Then al-Sayyid Ahmad started talking to the person sitting beside him and turned in that direction. Kamal averted his eyes and swallowed. He caught a glimpse of Ibrahim Shawkat, Yasin, and Fahmy in the pavilion before he fled. He leapt up the stairs till he reached Aisha's floor. The door was partway open and he went in. There he found Khalil Shawkat, Aisha's husband, standing in the sitting room. He noticed that the bedroom door was closed. He could hear voices conversing inside. He recognized those of his mother and Widow Shawkat, but there was a third he did not know. He said hello to Khalil and, looking up at him with smiling eyes, asked, “Has Aisha had her baby yet?”

  The man put a finger to his lips to caution him and said, “Hush.”

  Kamal realized that he and his question were not welcome, although Khalil usually greeted him warmly. Kamal was embarrassed and f
elt uneasy for no particular reason. He wanted to go over to the closed door but was stopped by Khalil's voice yelling at him peremptorily, “No.”

  Kamal turned toward him questioningly. The man told him quickly and urgently, “Be a good boy and go downstairs and play.”

  The boy was crushed. Disheartened, he retreated with heavy feet. It hurt him to be rewarded so shabbily for the torment of waiting he had endured all day. Just as he was about to leave, a strange sound coming from the closed room made his ears ring. It began high, shrill, and piercing and then became husky and disjointed, even raucous, before ending as a long, harsh rattle. It died away just long enough for the person to breathe. Afterward there was a deep moan of complaint. At first Kamal did not recognize the voice, but despite its shrillness, huskiness, and rattling, there was something distinctive about its tortured sound that revealed the person's identity. It was the voice of his sister Aisha, without any doubt, or of Aisha exhausted and fading away. When the deep, complaining moan was repeated, he knew he was right. He trembled all over. He imagined her writhing in pain. That reminded him of the cat. He glanced toward Khalil and found him contracting and relaxing his fists as he murmured, “O Gracious Lord.”

  Kamal imagined that Aisha's body was contracting and relaxing like her h usband's hands. He lost control of himself and raced off, unable to say anything because of his sobs. When he reached the door of the women's quartershe heard footsteps behind him. He looked up and saw the servant Suwaydan hurrying down. She passed without paying any attention to him. Stopping at the door, she called her master Ibrahim. When the man hastened to her, she told him, “Praise to God, master”. She added nothing further and did not wait to hear his reply. She turned on her heels and rushed back up the steps without any delay.

  Ibrahim went to the reception chamber with a beaming face. Kamal stayed where he was, alone, not knowing what to do. In less than a minute Ibrahim returned, followed by al-Sayyid Ahmad, Yasin, and Fahmy in that order. The boy stepped aside to let them pass and then trailed after them with a pounding heart.

  Khalil received them at the door of the apartment. Kamal heard his father say, “Praise to God for good health.”

  Khalil muttered despondently, “Praise to God in any case.”

  With concern, al-Sayyid Ahmad asked him, “What's the matter?”

  In. a low voice Khalil said, “I'm going to call the doctor.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad asked anxiously, “For the baby?”

  He replied as he shook hishead no, “Aisha!… She's not in good shape. I'll get the doctor at once.”

  He departed, leaving behind him undisguised dejection and anxiety. Ibrahim Shawkat invited them into the parlor. They went there silently. Widow Shawkat arrived soon and greeted them. Sh e smiled to reassure them. When she sat down she said, “The poor dear suffered so long that her strength gave out. It's just a temporary condition and will soon pass. I'm sure of what I say, but my son seems to be unusually fearful today. In any case, there's no harm in having the doctor come”. Then she commented in a low voice to herself, “The real doctor is our Lord. He's the true physician.”

  Though surrounded by his sons, al-Sayyid Ahmad was unable to maintain his customary composure. With evident anxiety he asked, “What's the matter with her? … Can't I see her?”

  The woman smiled and said, “You'll see her shortly, when she's feeling better. It's my crazy son's fault that he alarmed you unnecessarily.”

  Within his broad, powerful chest that seemed so resolute, dignified, and awe-inspiring was a grievously tormented heart. Inside those grave, despondent eyes was a frozen tear. “What's happened to my little girl? The doctor! Why is the old lady keeping me from seeing her? A tender smile or an affectionate word from me, from me in particular, would certainly lessen her pains. Marriage, husband, pain…. She never tasted the bitterness of pain in my house. The beautiful, darling little girl…mercy, God. Life's lost its flavor. The taste is destroyed by the least harm threatening them. Fahmy… I see he's dejected and in pain___

  Hashe understood the meaning of pain? How could he know what a mother'sheart feels? The old lady's calm and confident of what she says. Her son upset us for no reason at all. O God, hear our prayer. You know the state I'm in. You'll save her the way You saved me from the English. My heart can't take this torment. God is merciful. He's capable of saving my children from every evil. Otherwise, life would have no taste. What enjoyment would I get from gaiety, music, and entertainment if there was a sharp thorn planted in my side? My heart prays for their deliverance, because it's a father'sheart. It can't enjoy amusements unless it's free from worry. Will I go to the party tonight with a heart at ease? When I laugh, I like it to resound from the depths of my sincere heart. An anxiousheart is like a string that's out of tune. Fahmy's enough for me to worry about. He pesters me like a toothache. How hateful pain is! A world without pain… nothing is too much for God. A world without pain, even if only for a brief time … a world in which my eye's delighted by my children. Then I would laugh, sing, and play. Most Merciful of the merciful…. Have mercy on Aisha, O God.”

  Khalil returned with the doctor after an absence of three-quarters of an hour. They entered the door at once, closing it behind them. When al-Sayyid Ahmad learned they had arrived, he rose and went to the door of the parlor. He stood at the threshold for a little while, looking at the closed door. Then he went back to his place and sat down.

  Widow Shawkat said, “We'll see how right I am once the doctor speaks to us.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad raised hishead heavenward and murmured, “Pardon comes from Him.”

  He would soon know the truth and escape from the fog of doubt, regardless of the outcome. Hisheart pounded rapidly. Let him be patient. It would not be long. His faith in God was deep, profound, and not easily shaken. He should surrender the affair to Him. No matter how long the doctor stayed inside, he would eventually come out. Then he would ask what it was all about. A doctor?… He had not thought about that before…. A doctor at a delivery, face to face with her womb. Was not that so? But he was a doctor…. What could be done? “The important thing is for our Lord to take her by the hand. We ask him for deliverance.”

  In addition to being worried, al-Sayyid Ahmad felt embarrassed and anroyed. The examination lasted about twenty minutes. Then the door opened. He rose and went at once to the sitting room, followed by the boys. They gathered around the doctor, who knew al-Sayyid Ahmad. Shaking his hand, he said with a smile, “She's in good health”. He continued more seriously: “They brought me for the mother, but I found the one really in need of my care was the baby girl.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad sighed with relief, feeling better for the first time in about an hour. With a gracious smile brightening his face, he asked, “Can I be sure of what you say, then?”

  Pretending to be astonished, the doctor said, “Yes, but aren't you concerned about your granddaughter?”

  Smiling, he replied, “I'm not familiar yet with the duties of a grandfather.”

  Khali I asked, “Isn't there any hope she'll live?”

  Knitting his brows, the doctor answered, “Lives are in God's hands. I found that her heart's weak. It's likely she'll die before morning. If she makes it safely through the night, she'll be out of immediate danger, but I think she won't live long. In my judgment, she won't live past her twenties. But who knows? Only God controls our lives.”

  When the doctor had gone off about his business, Khalil turned toward lis mother with a sad smile. He told her, “I was intending to name her Na'ima, after you.”

  The woman gestured with her hand to scold him and observed, “The doctor himself said, ‘Lives are in God's hands.’ Are you going to have less faith than the doctor? Name her Na'ima. You must name her Na'ima in my honor. God willing, her life will be as long as her grandmother's.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad was thinking to himself, “The fool called a doctor to look at his wife for no reason, no reason at all. What an idiot he is!” Unable to contain his fury, al
though he disguised it in a gentle tone, he said, “It's true that fear makes men do foolish things, but shouldn't you have thought a little before rushing off to bring an outsider to take such a searching look at your wife?”

  Khalil did not respond. He glanced at the people around him and remarked earnestly, “Aisha must not know what the doctor said.”

  69

  “WHAT'S HAPPENING in the street?” al-Sayyid Ahmad wondered as he rose hastily from his desk. He went to the door, followed by Jamil al-Hamzawi and some of their customers. Al-Nahhasin was not a quiet street, quite the contrary. Its strident noise did not abate from one dawn until shortly before the next. There were the loud cries of vendors, haggling of shoppers, pleas of crazed beggars, and wisecracks of passersby. People conversed as though delivering a public oration. Even the most personal discussions ricocheted everywhere, flying up to the minarets. To this general commotion the Snares omnibus added its clanking and the donkey carts their clatter. In no sense was it a quiet street, but a sudden clamor had arisen, at first heard in the distance like the roar of waves, then growing stronger and more raucous until it sounded like a howling wind. It enveloped the whole district, near and far. Even on this noisy street it was out of the ordinary and exceptional.

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad thought a demonstration had broken out, as anyone who had experienced those days would have, but cries of joy were audible in the uproar. Wondering what it was, he went to the door where he bumped into the shaykh, or supervisor, of the district, who had rushed up. He was crying out with a jubilant face, “Have you heard the news?”

  Even before he heard any more, the proprietor's eyes began to glow oprimistically. “No,” he said. “What's it all about?”

  The man replied enthusiastically, “Sa'd Pasha has been freed.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad could not restrain himself from yelling, “Reallyr”