Hurrying through the door, she replied, “The bathroom.”
He stood up too and took a seat next to hers. Picking up the lute, he began to strum on it while he wondered whether there was a third cabin.
“Your heart shouldn't pound that way, as though the English soldier were herding you ahead of him in the dark like that night after you'd been with Maryam's mother. Do you remember? Don't dwell on that, for it's a painful memory. She's returning from the bathroom. How fresh she looks!”
“Do you play the lute?”
“Teach me,” he answered with a smile.
“You should stick with the tambourine, for you're expert at that.”
He sighed and said, “Those days have vanished. How delightful they were. You were just a child! Why don't you sit down.”
“She's almost touching you,” he noticed. “How sweet the beginning of the chase is.”
“Take the lute and play something for me.”
“We've had enough singing, performing, and laughing. Tonighl: I've understood more than ever before why they missed you so much.”
He smiled in a pleased way and asked craftily, “But you haven't had enough to drink?”
She agreed and laughed. He sprang like a charger to the table to fetch a half-filled bottle and two glasses. As He sat down he said, “Let's drink together.”
“The delightful glutton - her eyes shine with deviltry and magic. &sk her about the third room…. Ask yourself whether it's to be just for one night or an affair. Don't wonder about the consequences. Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, no matter how exalted his stature, opens his arms to the lute player Zanuba. She used to serve you platters of fruit…. But you have a right to be happy as a reward for your fresh beauty. Conceit has never been one of my failings.”
He saw that her palm grasping the glass was near his knee. He reached his hand out to caress it. She silently drew it back to her lap without looking at him. He asked himself whether flirting was in order at this late hour, especially when the host was a man like himself and the guest a girl like her. But he did not abandon his amiable tenderness.
He asked her suggestively, “Is there a third bedroom on the houseboat?”
She gestured toward the vestibule. Ignoring his suggestion, she merely answered, “On the other side.”
Smiling and twisting his mustache, he asked, “Wouldn't it be big enough for both of us?”
Politely but without flirtatiousness, she answered, “If you feel sleepy, you'll find it quite large enough for you.”
As though astonished, he asked her, “What about you?”
In the same tone she said, “I'm comfortable just the way I am.”
He inched closer to her, but she got up and placed her glass on the table. Then she went to the sofa opposite him. She sat there with a serious look of silent protest sketched on her face. The man was amazed at her attitude. His enthusiasm waned, and he felt that his prids was under attack. He looked at her with a forced smile and then asked, “Why are you angry?”
She kept silent for a long time, her only response being to fold her arms across her chest.
“I'm asking why you're angry.”
She answered tersely, “Don't ask questions to which you already know the answer.”
He guffawed abruptly to proclaim his disdain and disbelief Then he rose, filled both glasses, and handed one to her, telling her, “Lighten your spirits.”
She took the glass courteously but set it on the table. “Thank you,” she murmured.
After retreating to his place he sat back down, raised his glass to his lips, and drained it in one gulp. Then he laughed uproariously.
“Could you have anticipated this surprise? If it were possible to backtrack a quarter of an hour… Zanuba, Zanuba, just plain Zanuba… can you believe it? Don't let yourself be flustered by the blow. Who knows? Perhaps this is the fashion in coquetry now in 1924, you provincial has-been. How have I changed? … Not in any way. It's Zanuba. Isn't that her name? Clearly every man meets at least one woman who resists his advances. Since Zubayda, Jalila, and Maryam's mother are all wild about you, who is there but Zanuba, this dung beetle, to resist you? Endure it to overcome it. In any case the matter's not a catastrophe. Oh, look. See how pretty and firm her leg is. What a solid base she has. You don't think she's really rejected you, do you?”
“Have a drink, sweetheart.”
In a voice both polite and determined she replied, “I will when I feel like it.”
He fixed his eyes on her. Then he asked suggestively, “When do you think you'll feel like it?”
She frowned in a way that showed she understood his allusion but did not respond.
With a sinking feeling al-Sayyid Ahmad asked, “Doesn't my affection meet with any acceptance?”
Bowing her head to hide her face from his eyes, she begged him, “Won't you stop that?”
He was overcome by a surge of anger, which came in reaction to his sense of being rejected. In astonishment he asked her, “Why did you come here?”
Pointing to the lute lying on the sofa not far from him, she protested, “Because of this.”
“Only? … There's no conflict between that and what I'm proposing.”
Vexed, she asked him, “Against my will?”
Prey to the disquieting feelings of disappointment and annoyance, he said, “Of course not, but I don't see any reason for you to refuse.”
She said coldly, “Perhaps I have some reasons.”
He laughed loudly and dryly. Then, exasperated, he said sarcastically, “Maybe you're afraid of losing your virginity.”
She glared at him for a long time and then said furiously and vengefully, “I only accept a man I love.”
He would have laughed again but restrained himself. He was tired of these sad, mechanical laughs. He stretched his hand out to the bottle and impulsively poured himself half a glass. But he left it on the table. He began to look anxiously at the woman, not knowing how to extricate himself from the fix he had created himself
“That viper and daughter of a viper only accepts a man she loves,” be reflected. “Does that mean anything more than that she falls in love with a different man every night? It will be hard for you to save face after this disaster tonight. The gentlemen are inside, and you're at the mercy of this pampered musician…. Flay her with your tongue…. Kick her…. Shove her into the cabin against her will…. The best thing would be to turn your back on her and leave this place immediately. Our eyes have looks fierce enough to humble proud necks…. How charming hers is. Don't try to dispute her beauty. When a person loses hishead, he will surely suffer.”
“I didn't expect such harshness,” he said.
He frowned and came to a decision. His face was scowling as he rose. Shrugging his shoulders disdainfully, he said, “I thought you would be gracious and charming like your aunt, but I was wrong. I have only myself to blame.”
He heard the gentle smack of her lips as she cleared her throat in protest, but he went to get his cloak, which he put on rapidly. He was fully dressed in less than half the time he usually required to satisfy his taste for elegance. He had made his decision and was angry, but his despair was not yet total. Part of him still rebelliously refused to believe what had happened or at least found it easy to doubt. He picked up his walking stick but watched from one moment to the next for something to occur that would prove him wrong and satisfy the hopes of his wounded pride. She might suddenly laugh and thus slip back the veil of her bogus objection. She would rush to him, deploring his anger. She could leap in front of him to prevent him from leaving. When a woman cleared her throat in protest like that it was frequently a maneuver to be followed by her surrender. But none of these possibilities came to pass.
She remained sitting there, staring off into space, ignoring him as though she did not see him. So he quit the room for the vestibule and went from there to the entrance and on to the road, sighing with regret, sorrow, and rage. The fresh autumn air gently flowing through his garments,
he walked along the dark road until he reached the Zamalek Bridge. There he got in a taxi and sped away. His intoxication and brooding thoughts made him oblivious to the world around him. When he began to pay attention he was already in Opera Square. As the vehicle circled around it on the way to al-Ataba al-Khadra Square, by the light of the lampshe chanced to see the wall of the Ezbekiya Garden. He fixed his eyes on it until a turn hid it from view. Then he closed his eyes, for he felt a stinging pain deep within his breast. He was conscious of a voice like a moan inside him, crying out in his silent world. It was praying God's mercy for his darling lost son. He did not dare express the prayer with his tongue, lest God's name be mentioned by one soaked in wine.
When he opened his eyes again, two large tears flowed down.
79
HE DID not know if what had gotten hold of him was a devil to be pelted with stones or a noxious disease. He had gone to sleep hoping the evening's foolishness, which he attributed to his inebriadon, was finished. There was no question that drinking caused foolish behavior capable of spoiling pleasures and upsetting delights. When the morning light found him, he was tossing about restlessly in bed. The spray of the shower on his naked body dispelled thought from his mind and made hisheart pound. He could see her face before his eyes. The whisper of her lips resounded in his ears, and the vibration of pain returned to hisheart.
“You dwell on your romantic fantasies like an adolescent. People around you on the street greet you respectfully, saluting your dignity, piety, and neighborliness. If they only knew that you return their greetings mechanically while you dream of a girl who is an entertainer, a lute player, a woman who offers her body's favors for sale every night… if they only realized this, they would surely treat you to a scornful and pitying smile instead of a greeting. Once the viper says yes, I'll drop her with disdain and relief. What's come over me? What do I want? Are you getting senile? Do you remember the ravages time has visited on Jalila and Zubayda? That foul havoc was discovered by your heart, not discerned by your senses. But not so fast. Beware of being taken in by your imagination, for it will feed you like a tasty morsel to destruction…. It's all a question of that one white hair. What other reason could a lowly lute player have had for scorning you? Spit her out like a fly that slips into your mouth when you're yawning. Alas, you know you won't spit her out, if only because of a desire for revenge. I need to regain my respect, that's all. The girl must say yes. Then you can abandon her with no regrets. She hasn't e nough attractions to merit the struggle. Do you remember her legs, her neck, and the carnal look in her eyes? If you had treated your pride with a spoonful of patience, you would have won enjoyment and delight that very evening. What cause is there for all this anguish? I'm in pain. Yes, I'm suffering. I'm oppressed by the humiliation I've encountered. I threaten to scorn her, but when I think of her, my body blazes with desire. Have some shame. Don't make yourself a laughingstock. I ask you to swear by your children, those who remain and the one departed. Your first wife, Haniya, was the only woman to leave you. You chased after her, and what did you gain from that? Don't you remember?
“The brawlers in the wedding procession dance, get drunk, assault people, and rove around. Then they apply their sticks liberally to the lamps, bouquets of roses, oboes, and guests, till shrieks drown out the trills of joy. That's the kind of man you should be. Be the brawler of the houseboat, and slay your enemies with indifference and neglect. How weak your enemies are, yet how powerful…. A yielding leg scarcely able to walk can crush immovable mountains. How atrocious September is, if it's hot, because of the humidity. How charming the evenings are, especially on a houseboat. Comfort foliows distress.
“Think about your position and consider which way to go. What's fated to happen will become manifest. To advance is bitter and to withdraw terrifying. You used to see her all the time when she was a fresh young thing. She awakened nothing in you then. You passed by her as though she did not exist. What new development has there been to cause you to shun the ones you loved and love the one you shunned? She's no more beautiful than Zubayda or Jalila. If her looks provided her aunt with any competition, she would not let the girl accompany her. Yet you desire her with all your might. Oh! What's the use of being haughty? only accept a man I love.' May you have a lizard for a lover, you bitch.
“Your pain's so great it's almost stifling. No one demeans a man as successfully as he does himself…. Will you go to the houseboat? That's not the most scandalous thing you could do. What about her house? Zubayda will be there: 'Welcome, do come in. Have you finally returned to your lair?'
“How should I answer her? haven't returned to you. I want your niece.' What nonsense! Enough of this prattle…. Have you lost your mind? Enlist the support of al-Far or Muhammad Iffat. Al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad seeks a go-between for… Zanuba! Wouldn't it be better for you to leech this contaminated blood that's drawing you down to disgrace?”
Night had fallen on al-Ghuriya and the doors of its shops were locked when Ahmad Abd al-Jawad walked back toward his store, which was already closed. His steps were slow and his eyes searchec the street and the windows. Two windows at Zubayda's house were lit up, but he could not know what was going on behind them. He walked some distance before retracing his steps. Then he continued on to Muhammad Iffat's residence in al-Gamaliya, where the four friends met each evening before heading off to their party together.
Addressing Muhammad Iffat, al-Sayyid Ahmad remarked, “How delightful nights are on the houseboat. My heart is yearning for it.”
Muhammad Iffat laughed triumphantly and said, “It's yours for the asking anytime you want.”
Ali Abd al-Rahim added, “You're really longing for Zubayda, you pimp.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad shot back earnestly, “Certainly not.”
“Jalila?”
“The houseboat. Nothing else.”
Muhammad Iffat asked him craftily, “Would you like it to be an evening limited to us men or should we invite our girlfriends from the old days?”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad laughed to admit his rout. Then he said, “Invite the ladies, you crafty son of a bitch. Let it be tomorrow, for it's getting late now. But I won't do anything more than enjoy the company and the fellowship.”
“Ahem,” said Ibrahim al-Far.
Quoting the words of a favorite song, Ali Abd al-Rahim recited, “I'm an accomplice against myself.”
Muhammad Iffat said sarcastically, “Call it whatever you like. There are many names for it, but they all refer to the same act.”
The next day he seemed to be discovering the coffeehouse of al-Sayyid Mi for the first time. He felt drawn there late in the afternoon and took a seat on the bench under the little window. When the owner came over to welcome al-Sayyid Ahmad, as though to justify this first visit to the establishment he told the man, “I was returning from some errands and experienced an urge for some of your refreshing tea.”
“It appears that it will be anything but easy to repeat this visit…. Slowly, not so fast! Do you want to disgrace yourself in front of everyone? What's the use of this anyway? Would you truly like her to see you through the shutters so she can make fun of your downfall? You don't realize what you're doing to yourself. No matter how much you exhaust your eyes and dizzy your brain, she'll never show herself to you. What's even more upsetting is that she's watching you with amusement from the window. Why did you come? You want to feast your eyes on her. Confess. You wish to survey her supple body, see her smile and wink, and watch her hennaed fingers. What's the point of all this? Nothing comparable has ever happened to you before, not even with women superior to her in beauty, splendor, and renown. Have you been condemned to suffering and humiliation for the sake of such a worthless item? She'll never reveal herself, no matter how much you stare. You've attracted attention to yourself… al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad at the coffeehouse of al-Sayyid Ali, peeping out through a little window. How you have fallen! Do you think she hasn't divulged your secret? Perhaps all the members of the troupe
have heard it. Possibly Zubayda herself is aware of it. Maybe everyone knows.
”He held out his hand adorned with its diamond ring, but I brushed him aside. When he pleaded with me, I resolutely rejected this Mr. Ahmad Abd al-Jawad whom you praise so highly.'
“How you have fallen. The most appalling ignominy into which you can slip no, which you insist on sliding into, since you realize better than anyone else the humiliation and disgrace your shameful act will bring will be for your friends as well as Zubayda and Jalila to learn your secret. So what are you doing? It's a fact that you're skillful at masking your distress behind a joke, but once the waves of boisterous laughter roll away, the bitter reality will be revealed. This is painful, but what's most troubling is that you want her. Don't try to deceive yourself. You want her so badly you could die.
“What do I see?” he asked himself, looking at a wagon that stopped in front of the performer's home. The door opened without delay, and Ayusha the tambourine player came out, dragging behind her Abduh, who played the zitherlike qanun in their ensemble. The others followed. He realized they were going to a wedding. While he watched the door with an eagerness both mournful and passionate, he was painfully aware of the pounding of hisheart. He recklessly stretched hishead up, ignoring the people around him. Laughter rang out from the house. Then the]ute in its rose-colored case appeared moments before its owner burst from the house in a gale of laughter. She placed the lute at the front of the wagon and climbed up with the help of Ayusha. She sat in the middle, so that all he could see of her was a shoulder visible in a gap between Ayusha and blind Abduh.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad clenched his teeth from both longing and annoyance. He followed the wagon with his eyes as, swaying back and forth, it set off down the street. The sight left a profound feeling of despair and humiliation in his breast. He asked himself whether he should get up and pursue them but did not move a muscle. He did nothing more than tell himself, “Coming here was crazy and stupid.”
The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street Page 73