“What are we doing?”
“Something so exalted that it defies description.”
“It doesn't seem that way to me. Perhaps you're doing it alone.”
“Perhaps. Then it's thoroughly heartrending. It's devastating when a heart speaks out and finds no one who will respond. I remember the days when you used to visit our house, those days when we were all like a single family, and I sigh with regret.”
Shaking her head, she muttered, “Those days!” “Return to the past?” he asked himself. “I've made a grave mistake. Don't let painful memories spoil your whole effort. Concentrate on setting aside everything but the present.”
He said, “When I finally saw you, I beheld a young woman as beautiful as a flower that blooms by night and illuminates the darkness. I seemed to be seeing you for the first time. I asked myself, ‘Could this be our neighbor Mary am who used to play with Khadija and Aisha?’ Certainly not! This girl has matured into a perfect beauty. I felt that the world around me had been transformed.”
Her tone mischievous once more, she replied, “In the old days your eyes did not take such liberties. You were a neighbor in every sense of the word. But what's left of those days? Everything's changed. We've become like strangers, as though we had never spoken to each other and had not grown up as a single family. This is the way your family wants it.”
“Let's not think about that. Don't add to my distress.”
“Now you allow your eyes to look anywhere… through the window, from the street, and here you are accosting me on the roof.”
“What's keeping you from leaving if you really want to?” he wondered. “O light of my darkness, your lies are sweeter than honey.”
“This is only a small part of it,” he told her. “I'm looking at you even when you don't suspect it. I see you in my imagination more often than you could guess. I tell myself, knowing full well what I say, 'Give me life with her or death.'”
The whisper of a suppressed laugh made hisheart tremble. “Where do you find such phrases?” she asked.
Gesturing toward his breast, he replied, “In my heart!”
She moved her foot and caused her slipper to scuff the roof as though she were about to depart. Without quitting her post she said, “Since the discussion has reached the heart, I must leave.”
In his ardor, his voice grew louder until he caught himself and lowered it: “No! You must come. Come to me. Now and forever”. Then he added sneakily, “To my heart. It and all it possesses are yours.”
In a tone of mocking admonishment she advised him, “Don't abuse yourself this way. God forbid that I should deprive you of your heart and its possessions.”
“How well do you understand what I'm saying?” he wondered. “When I speak to you, I'm addressing the bitch I love. You're no fool. The memory of Julian makes that clear. Come here, girl. You take after your old lady. I'm afraid I'll light up the darkness with the intense fire flaming inside my body.”
“I'll gladly give you my heart and all its possessions,” he proclaimed. “Its only happiness is for you to accept it and possess it, if you will belong to it alone.”
She answered laughingly, “You crafty fellow, don't you see you want to take rather than give?”
“Where did you learn to talk like that?” he puzzled. “Not even Zanuba, when I was seeing her, could compare. What a cursed place the world would be without you.”
“I want you to be mine,” he said. “And for me to be yours. What's unfair about that?”
Silence reigned as a look was exchanged by two shadows. Then she said, “Perhaps they're asking now what's keeping you.
Artfully attempting to win her sympathy, he replied, “There's no one in the world who cares about me.”
At that, her tone changed and she asked seriously, “How's your son?… Ishe still with his grandfather?”
“What's behind this question?” he wondered.
“Yes,' he answered.
“How old ishe now?”
“Five….”
“What's become of his mother?”
“I think she's either married or about to be.”
“What a pity! Why didn't you take her back, if only for Ridwan's sake?”
“Bitch!” he thought. “Explain what you're getting at.”
“Would you really have wanted that?” he asked.
She laughed gently and replied, “How lucky the man is who brings two people together in a moral way.”
“Or immoral?” he wondered.
“I don't look back,” he stated.
There ensued a strange silence that seemed thoughtful. Then in a voice that was both tender and admonitory she said, “You better not try to catch me on the roof again.”
He answered daringly, “Whatever you command. The roof isn't a safe place. Did you know I have a house in Palace of Desire Alley?”
She called out incredulously, “Your own house! Welcome to the man of property.”
He was silent for a time, as though wishing to be cautious. Then he said, “Guess what's on my mind.”
“That's no concern of mine.”
“Silence, darkness, seclusion…” he thought, “what a dreadful effect the gloom has on my nerves….”
“I was thinking,” he declared, “of the two adjoining walls of our roofs. What does their image make you think of?”
“Nothing.”
“The sight of two lovers clinging together.”
“I don't like to hear talk like that.”
“The fact that they're next to each other also reminds me that nothing separates them.”
“Ha!” This exclamation escaped like an enticing threat.
Laughingly he continued: “It's as though they were telling me, 'Cross over.'”
She retreated two steps until her back touched a sheet hung out to dry. Then she whispered with genuine reproach, “I won't allow this!”
“This!… What's 'this'?”
“This kind of talk.”
“What of the deed itself?”
“I'm going to leave angry.”
“Don't do that. I swear by your precious life …”
“Do you mean what you're saying?” he asked himself. “Am I a greater fool than I suspect or are you more clever than I imagine? Why did you mention Ridwan and his mother? … Should you allude to marriage? How intensely do you want her? Madly….”
Maryam said suddenly, “Oh… what's keeping me here?” She turned around and bent her head down to duck under the wash.
He called after her anxiously, “Are you leaving without saying goodbye?”
She lifted her head high to look back over the laundry and remarked, “Enter ‘houses by their doors.’ That's my farewell message for you”. (Qur'an, 2:189.) She quickly made her way to the stairway door and disappeared through it.
Yasin returned to the sitting room. He excused his long absence to Amina by referring to the heat indoors and then went to his room to don his suit. Kamal watched his older brother with thoughtful amazement, but when he looked back at his mother he found her calm and reassured. She had finished drinking her coffee and was reading the grounds. Kamal wondered how she would react if she knew what had taken place on the roof.
Kamal himself was still perturbed by the scene of the couple conversing privately, which he had accidentally witnessed on following his brother to see what was delaying him. Yasin had done tha t. Did the memory of Fahmy mean so little to him? He could net imagine that. Yasin had loved Fahmy sincerely and had grieved for him deeply. It was impossible to doubt his sincerity. Moreover, incidents like this were commonplace. Kamal did not know why people always linked Fahmy and Maryam. His late brother had learned of the girl's affair with Julian before it was finished. A long time had passed after that. Fahmy had apparently forgotten her and gone on to loftier and more significant matters. That was all she deserved, for she had never been good enough for him. What Kamal really needed to think about was whether love could be forgotten. He believed it could n
ot, but how did he know Fahmy had loved Maryam in the way Kamal understood and felt the term. Perhaps it had merely been a powerful desire like that currently overwhelming Yasin or even like that outgrown desire Kamal had once felt for Maryam. It had toyed with him when he reached puberty, playing havoc with his dreams. Yes, that had happened. It had afflicted him in two ways: through the equally powerful torments of desire and remorse. Only Maryam's marriage and subsequent disappearance from their lives had rescued hira.
Kamal was concerned to know if Yasin was suffering and to what dejaree remorse was pricking his conscience. No matter what he thought of Yasin's animal spirits and indifference to higher ideals, Kamal could not imagine it had been easy for him. Despite his tolerant view of the whole matter, Kamal felt the annoyance and anxiety of a young man who would not have compromised his ideals for anything in the world.
After putting on his street clothes and grooming himself, Yasin returned from the bedroom. He said goodbye and departed. Before long they heard someone knocking on the door of the sitting room. Certain of the newcomer's identity, Kamal invited him to enter. A young man of his own age appeared. Short and good-looking, he was dressed in a jacket and a floor-length shirt. He went over to Amina and kissed her hand. Then he shook hands with Kamal and sat down beside him. Although he made a point of being polite, his familiar behavior indicated that he was virtually a member of the household. Amina began speaking to him, addressing him quite simply as Fuad and asking about the health of his mother and of his father, Jamil al-Hamzawi. He answered with delighted gratitude for her gracious welcome. Kamal left his friend with Amina to go put on his jacket in his room. When he returned, the two set off together.
77
77
THEY WALKED along, side by side, toward Qirmiz Alley, avoiding al-Nahhasin Street to keep from passing the store and their fathers. There was enough contrast between tall, skinny Kamal and short Fuad to attract attention.
Fuad asked in a calm voice, “Where are you going tonight?”
Kamal answered excitedly, “Ahmad Abduh's coffee shop.”
It was customary for Kamal to pick their destination and for Fuad to acquiesce, even though Fuad was known for his clear, steady mind and Kamal for caprices that seemed ludicrous to his companion. For example, he had repeatedly asked Fuad to accompany him to the Muqattam Hills overlooking the city, to the Cairo Citadel, or to the Tentmakers Bazaar so that they might as he put it feast their eyes on the treasures of the past and wonders of the present. The relationship between the two friends was influenced by the difference in class between their families and by the fact that Kamal's father owned the shop where Fuad's father worked. This distinction was accentuated as Fuad grew accustomed to running errands for Kamal's family. In return, he benefited from Amina's generosity, for she did not begrudge him the finest food she had -he often showed up at mealtimes - and the most serviceable clothes Kamal no longer needed. From the beginning, their friendship had been marked by Kamal's dominance and Fuad's subservience. Although amity had supplanted these other feelings, their psychological impact had never been totally extirpated.
Circumstances decreed that Kamal found virtually no other companion but Fuad al-Hamzawi during the whole summer vacation. His former classmates in the area had not continued their studies. Some had begun careers once they finished their elementary or competency certificates. Others had been forced to take menial jobs, as a waiter in the coffeehouse on Palace Walk or as an apprentice at an ironing shop in Khan Ja'far, for example. Those two boys had been his classmates in religious primary school. The three of them still greeted each other as old friends whenever they chanced to meet. The words of the two apprentices would be filled with respect because of the distinction the pursuit of knowledge gave Kamal. His greeting would be full of the affection of a modest and unpretentious soul. Kamal's new friends who lived in al-Abbasiya, like Hasan Salim, Isma'il Latif, and Husayn Shaddad, spent their holidays in Alexandria or Ra's al-Barr. Thus Fuad was the only comrade he had left.
They reached the entry of Ahmad Abduh's coffeehouse after walking for a few minutes. They descended to its strange space in the belly of the earth beneath Khan al-Khalili bazaar and sought out an empty alcove. As they sat facing each other at the table Fuad muttered with some embarrassment, “I thought you would be going to the cinema tonight.”
His words betrayed his own desire. Although he had almost certainly felt this way even before he stopped by Kamal's house, he had said nothing about his wishes then. He had known he would be unable to change Kamal's mind. Since it was Kamal who paid for their tickets when they saw a film, Fuad's courage was not up to mentioning what he would like until they were ensconced in the coffeehouse, where his words could be understood as an innocent and casual comment.
“Next Thursday we'll go to the Egyptian Club to see Charlie Chaplin. Now we'll play a game of dominoes.”
They removed their fezzes and placed them on the third chair. Then Kamal summoned the waiter to order green tea and the dominoes. The subterranean coffeehouse could well have been the belly of an extinct beast buried by an ancient accumulation of rubble except for its huge head, which came up to the level of the earth. Its mouth, gaping wide open, had protruding fangs shaped like an entry with a long staircase. The interior consisted of a spacious square courtyard with large, cream-colored tiles from the village of al-Ma'asara. There was a fountain in the center surrounded by carnations in pots. On all four sides stood benches covered with cushions and decorative mats. The walls were interrupted at regular intervals by cell-like alcoves, without doors or windows. They resembled caves carved into the walls and were furnished with nothing more than a wooden table, four chairs, and a small lamp, which burned night and day and hung in a niche on the back wall. The bizarre setting of the coffeehouse contributed to its character, for there was a sleepy calm about it unusual among coffeehouses. The light was dim and the atmosphere damp. Each group of patrons was isolated in an alcove or on a bench. The men smoked water pipes, drank tea, and chatted idly and interminably. Their conversations had a pervasive, continuous, and languid melody of desire, broken at lengthy intervals by a cough, a laugh, or the gurgling sound of a water pipe.
In Kamal's opinion, Ahmad Abduh's coffeehouse was a treasure for the dreamer and provided much food for thought. Although initially Fuad had been intrigued by its curious attractions, now all he saw in it was a depressing place to sit and be enveloped by damp, putrid air. Yet he was forced to agree whenever Kamal invited him to go there.
“Do you remember the day we saw your brother, Mr. Yasin, when we were sitting here?”
Kamal smiled and replied, “Yes. Mr. Yasin is gracious and easy to get along with. He never makes me feel he's my older brother. [begged him not to tell anyone at home that we meet here, not from fes.r of my father, for none of us would dare disclose a matter like this to him, but from concern that it might upset my mother. Imagine how alarmed she would be if she learned we frequent this coffeehouse, or any other. She thinks most patrons of coffeehouses are drug addicts and people of ill repute.”
“What about Mr. Yasin? Doesn't she know he's a regular?”
“If I told her, she'd say Yasin's an adult and not at risk, whereas I'm still young. It's clear that I'll be thought a child at home until my hair turns gray.”
The waiter brought their dominoes and two glasses of tea on a bright yellow tray, which he placed on the table. Then he departed. Kamal took his glass at once and began to drink before the tea had cooled off. He blew on the liquid, took a sip, and then blew again. He sucked on his lip when he burned it, but that did not prevent him from stubbornly and impatiently resuming his attempt to drink, as though condemned to finish in a minute or two.
Fuad observed him silently or gazed at nothing in particular while leaning back in the chair with a dignity that far outstripped his years. His large handsome eyes had a calm and profound look. He did not reach for his glass until Kamal had finished struggling with his. Then Fuad began to sip t
he tea slowly as he savored its taste and enjoyed its fragrance. After each swallow he murmured, “My God… how good it is!”
Chafing at the bit, Kamal pressed him to finish so they could start playing. He warned his friend, “I'll beat you today. Luck won't always be on your side.”
With a smile Fuad muttered, “We'll see,” and began playing.
Kamal brought to the match a nervous intensity that suggested he was embarking on a contest in defense of his life or honor. Fuad calmly and skillfully placed his pieces. His smile never left his lips, whether he was lucky or not and whether Kamal was cheerful or glowering.
As usual Kamal became agitated and shouted, “A stupid move, but a lucky one”. Fuad's only response was a polite laugh, calculated not to anger or challenge his friend.
Kamal frequently told himself when enraged, “He's always luckier than I am”. Kamal did not display the kind of forbearance appropriate for games and recreation. In fact he manifested the same intensity and zeal in both his serious pursuits and his amusements.
Fuad's superiority over Kamal in dominoes was equaled by his success in school, where he was first in his class and Kamal merely in the top five. Did luck have a hand in that too? How could he explain the success of that young man to whom he felt superior, deep inside? He thought his superiority over Fuad should be evident in their respective intellectual gifts. His way of accounting for his friend's achievements was to observe that Fuad studied all the time. If he had really been as bright as they claimed, he would not have needed to study so much. Kamal also told himself that Fuad avoided sports, whereashe was excellent in more than one. He remarked finally that Fuad limited his reading to schoolbooks. If he thought of reading something other than a school text during the vacation, he chose one that would be helpful for his subsequent studies. Kamal did not limit his reading in any way and did not choose books for their utility. Thus there was nothing strange about the other boy being ranked ahead of him in school. All the same, his grudge against Fuad did not weaken their friendship. He loved him and found such delight and enjoyment in his company that he willingly admitted Fuad's strengths and virtues, at least to himself.
The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street Page 70