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

by Naguib Mahfouz

  His thoughts churned away mercilessly during his waking hours that whole week he was separated from the Shaddad mansion. He kept brooding about his failure, which he agonized over repeatedly - in the morning at home having breakfast with his father, walking along the street with senses that only appeared to be function] ng, at the Teachers College listening absentmindedly to a lecture, reading in the evening with scant attention, or humbly begging entry to sleep's ideal realm. Early in the morning when he opened his eyes, these thoughts were ready to fight for control of him, as tliough they had been lying in ambush at the threshold of consciousness or had awakened him out of an insatiable urge to devour him. Yes, how hideous the soul is when it turns on its master.

  On Friday he went to the palace of love and torment, arriving slightly ahead of the appointed hour. Why had he been looking forward so impatiently to this day? What did he hope to gain from it? Did he wish to find some indication, even if only a feeble pulse, that would let him think life had not yet departed from hope's body? Did he dream of a miracle that would unexpectedly cause his beloved to be friendly again for no conceivable reason, exactly as she had grown angry? Or washe trying to stoke the fires of hell so that he might taste cold as hes all the sooner?

  He proceeded to the garden along the path strewn with memories. Then he saw Aida seated on a chair, holding Budur on the edge of the table in front of her. There was no one else in the gazebo. He stopped walking and thought of going back outside before she noticed him. But he rejected this idea defiantly and scornfully. He advanced on the gazebo, driven by a strong desire to face his punishment and to strip the veil from the puzzle that had slain his security and peace of mind. This lovely, gracious creature, this ethereal spirit disguised as a woman did she realize what her harshness had done to him? Would her conscience rest comfortably once he complained about his suffering? Her tyrannical hold over him resembled the sun's over the earth, which was destined to orbit in a prescribed path. If it drew too close to the sun they would fuse together, but if the earth retreated too far, it would be annihilated once and for all.

  She could bestow one smile on him, and he would salve all his pains with it. He approached her, deliberately treading heavily so she would hear. She turned her head around inquisitively, but then her face seemed to go blank. He stopped a little more than a meter from where she was sitting, bowed hishead humbly, and with a smile said, “Good morning.”

  She nodded her head slightly but did not speak. Then she looked straight in front of her.

  There was no longer any doubt that hope was a rigid corpse. He imagined she would shout, “Take your head and nose away so they don't obscure the light of the sun”. Budur waved to him. He glanced down at her beautiful and radiant face and went toward her to mask his defeat with her innocent affection. She grabbed hold of his arms, and he learned over to kiss her cheek warmly and gratefully.

  Then the voice that in the past had opened the portals of celestial music for him said roughly, “Please don't kissher. A kiss is not a hygienic greeting.”

  A disconcerted laugh escaped from him, he knew not how or why. He became quite pale. At first dumbfounded and in a stupor, he finally responded incredulously, “It's not the first kiss, so far as I remember.”

  She shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “That changes nothing.”

  “Oh!” Washe to begin a new week of torture without getting to utter a word in self-defense?

  “Allow me to ask what secret is behind this bizarre change? I've been wondering all week long and have been unable to find an answer.”

  She did not seem to have heard him and consequently did not bother to reply.

  With his voice betraying his anxiety and pain, he continued: “What really makes me sad is that I'm innocent. I've done nothing to deserve this punishment.”

  She still seemed determined to remain silent, but he was afraid Husayn would arrive before she was coaxed into speaking. In a voice combining complaint with entreaty he quickly said, 'Doesn t an old friend like me deserve at least to be informed of his offense?”

  She raised her head, cast him a sideways look as gloomy as storm clouds, and said angrily, “Don't pretend you're innocent!”

  “O Lord of the heavens, can sins be committed unconsciously?” he asked himself as he mechanically patted Budur's hands, with which she was attempting to draw him close to her, for she understood nothing of what was going on.

  “Alas., my suspicions are correct,” he said jerkily. “This is what my heart told me, but I couldn't believe it. You think I've done something wrong. Isn't that so? But of what offense are you accusing, me? By your life, tell me. Don't wait for me to confess, for the simple reason that I've committed no crime against you. No matter how much I search the recesses of my soul, life, and past] can find no intention, word, or deed meant to harm you. I'm amazed chat you don't realize how self-evident this is.”

  She replied scornfully, “I'm not the kind of girl who's taken in by theatrics. Ask yourself what you said about me.”

  With alarm he asked, “What have I said about you? To whom did I say it? I swear to you …”

  She cut him off in exasperation: “I'm not the least bit interested in your oaths. Save them for yourself. The oaths of slanderers are not to be trusted. The important thing is for you to remember what you said about me.”

  He tossed his overcoat on a chair as though preparing to throw himself i nto the debate and stepped away from Budur to free himself from her innocent attempts to monopolize his attention. Then he said so heatedly that his words had the ring of truth, “I've never said anything about you I would be embarrassed to repeat now in your hearing. I have never said anything bad about you in my whole life. I wouldn't be able to, if you only realized…. If one of our friends has told you something about me that's angered you, then he's a despicable liar who doesn't deserve your trust. I'm ready to confront him in your presence so that you can see for yourself whether he's telling the truth or, more precisely, lying. You have no defects, so how couJd I mention any? You've really been unfair to me.”

  She commented sarcastically, “Thanks for this praise, which I don't deserve. I don't think I'm that flawless… if for no other reason than that I haven't received a totally Egyptian upbringing.”

  This last phrase skewered his mind, for he remembered saying it in his conversation with Hasan Salim when defending his beloved from the doubts Hasan had raised. Had Hasan repeated it in a manner that had stirred her doubts about Kamal's good intentions? The noble Hasan Salim… would he do such a thing? How Kamal'shead was spinning….

  His eyes eloquently expressing his shock and sorrow, he said, “What do you mean? I admit I said that, but ask Hasan Salim to tell you he's got to tell you that I said those words when I was praising your virtues.”

  She glared at him coldly and asked, “My virtues? And is my wish to be everyone's ‘dream girl’ a virtue?”

  Kamal cried out with panic and rage, “He said that about you, not I. Won't you stay and let me challenge him in front of you?”

  She bitterly and ironically pursued her interrogation: “And is my flirting with you another of my virtues?”

  Feeling desperately unable to defend himself from this flood of accusations, he said, “You flirt with me? Where? When?”

  “In this gazebo! Have you forgotten? Do you deny you left him with that impression?”

  He was hurt by the sarcasm with which she asked, “Have you forgotten?” He perceived at once that Hasan Salim how stupid it all was had nourished suspicions about their tete-a-tete and had shared his doubts with his sweetheart or had ascribed them to Kamal in order to investigate them by this dirty trick of which he was the victim.

  He said sadly and indignantly, “I deny it. I deny it with all my force and sincerity. I only regret trusting Hasan.”

  She said haughtily, as though she considered this last sentence a dig at her, “He always deserves that.”

  Kamal was beside himself. He imagined the Sphinx had r
aised its awesome stone paw, unmoved for thousands of years, to bring it down on him, crushing him and burying him beneath it forever.

  In a trembling voice he said, “If it's Hasan who told you these lies, then he's a common liar. He's the one slandering me. It's not me slandering you.”

  A stern expression was visible in her eyes. She asked sharply, “Do you deny that in his presence you criticized my association with Husayn's friends?”

  Was this the way an aristocratic patrician distorted a person's words? Deeply moved, he said, “Absolutely! That never happened. God knows I didn't. But he claimed something quite stupendous. He said… he said you love him. He said that if he wanted to, he could prevent you from associating with us. I never meant…”

  She interrupted him scornfully and rose, proudly holding herself erect as the halo of her black hair fluttered around her uplifted face. “You're raving! It doesn't matter to me what people say. I'm above a]l this. In my opinion my only error is in bestowing my friendship indiscriminately.”

  As she spoke she put Budur down on the ground and took her hand. Then, turning her back on Kamal, Ai'da left the gazebo.

  He called after her entreatingly, “Wait a moment please, so …”

  But she was already far away, and his voice was louder than it should have been. He imagined that the whole garden had heard him. The trees, the gazebo, and the chairs all seemed to be staring at him scornfully. He closed his mouth and rested his hand on the edge of the table. He leaned over as though his tall torso was bowed by the force of defeat.

  He was not alone long. Husayn Shaddad soon appeared with his usual cheerful expression and greeted Kamal in his normal, sweet, innocent fashion. They sat down on neighboring chairs. Isma'il Latif came a little later. Finally Hasan Salim arrived. He made his way to diem with unhurried steps and an arrogant bearing.

  Kamal wondered anxiously whether Hasan had observed them from a distance as he had that previous time. When and how would Hasan learn what had been said in their stormy final conversation? Kamal's rage and jealousy swelled within him like a ruptured appendix. He promised not to allow any adversary to gloat over him. He would not expose himself to anyone's mockery or fei gned affection. He would not let them see any evidence of the turmoil within him. He threw himself into the current of the conversation, laughing at Isma'il Latif's observations,commenting at length on the formation of the new Ittihad or Union Party, on the deserters who had left Sa'd Zaghlul and the Wafd Party, and on the role of Nashat Pasha in all ofthat. In brief, he played his part to perfection until the meeting concluded peacefully.

  When Kamal, Isma'il, and Hasan left the Shaddad mansion at noon, it seemed that Kamal could not restrain himself any longer. He told Hasan, “I'd like to speak to you.”

  Hasan replied calmly, “Go ahead.”

  Kamal looked apologetically at Isma'il and said, “Alone.”

  Isma'il was ready to leave them, but Hasan gestured for him to stay, saying, “I keep nothing from Isma'il.”

  This tactic infuriated Kamal, for he glimpsed behind it a dubious ploy, which was cause for concern. All the same he said nonchalantly, “So let him hear us. I don't have anything to hide from him either.”

  He waited until their steps had carried them some distance from the Shaddad mansion. Then he said, “Before you came today, I happened to meet with A'ida in the gazebo alone. We had a bizarre conversation from which I gathered that you had communicated to her part of the conversation you'll recall we had on Palaces Street. But my comments had been so distorted and mutilated that she assumed I had attacked her unfairly and unjustly.”

  Hasan repeated the words “distorted and mutilated,” his lips deformed by anger. Then, casting Kamal a glance to remind him that he was addressing Hasan Salim, not just anyone, Hasan said coldly, “It would be good for you to choose your words carefully.”

  Kamal replied passionately, “That's just what I did. The truth is that her comments left no room for doubt that you wished to cause trouble between us.”

  Hasan became pale with anger but did not yield to it. In a voice he made as cold as possible he observed, “I'm sad I had a good opinion of your understanding and comprehension of things”. Then he continued sarcastically: “Won't you tell me what I might gain from this alleged trouble? The fact is you're jumping to conclusions without any deliberation or thought.”

  Kamal's anger intensified, and he shouted, “You have allowed yourself to be tempted into disgraceful behavior.”

  At this point Isma'il intervened to say, “My suggestion is that you postpone this conversation to another time when you'll both be in better control of your nerves.”

  Kamal said determinedly, “The matter's too clear for there to be any need for debate. He knows it and so do I.”

  Isma'il interjected once more, “Tell us what you said to each other in the gazebo. Perhaps we …”

  Hasan interrupted haughtily: “I refuse to be put on trial.”

  Even though he knew full well that Hasan would lie, Kamal gave vent to his anger: “Anyway, I told her what happened, so she could see who was telling the truth.”

  His face pale, Hasan shouted, “We'll let her compare the words of a merchant's son to those of the son of a superior court judge.”

  Kamal darted toward him with a clenched fist, but they were separated by Isma'il, who was the strongest of the three despite his diminutive build.

  Isma'il said resolutely, “I won't allow this. Each of you is a friend and the respectable son of an honored father. Let's renounce foolish conduct like this, which is better suited to children.”

  Kamal returned home feeling rebellious, agitated, and hurt. He stamped his feet angrily on the pavement. Inside him there was a wild conflagration. He had received potentially lethal blows to hisheart and honor with regard to his beloved and his father. What else was there for him in the world? What of Hasan, whom he had respected more than any other comrade, admiring his rectitude? … In a single hour Hasan had been transformed into a vituperative slanderer. The fact was that, angry as Kamal was, he could not believe his own accusation wholeheartedly and unequivocally. He still kept reflecting about it, asking himself whether it was not possible that there was some secret explanation for that painful scene? Had Hasan distorted Kamal's words or could Aida have misconstrued them and read more into them than she should have? Had she surrendered to wrath too quickly? But the comparison bef veen the son of a merchant and the son of a superior court judge cast Kamal into an inferno of anger and pain, which conspired to make his attempt to be fair to Hasan an exercise in futility.

  The next time Kamal went to the Shaddad mansion at the customary hour for their weekly reunion, Hasan was absent, having excused himself because something had come up. After the session disbanded, Isma'il Latif informed Kamal that he -Hasan - was very sorry for what he had blurted out in a moment of pique about “the merchant's son and the son of the superior court judge” and that he believed Kamal had made serious accusations based on fanciful deductions. Hasan hoped that this untoward incident would not end their friendship and had asked Isma'il to convey this message to Kamal orally.

  Later Kamal received a letter from Hasan to the same effect, emphasizing the request that they should put the past behind them when they met and forget about it. The letter concluded with the statement: “Remember everything you did to offend me and what I did to offend you. Perhaps you will be as convinced as I am that each of us was in the wrong and that therefore it would not be right for either of us to reject his friend's apology”. This letter made Kamal feel better for a while. Yet he noticed the contrast between Hasan's customary arrogance and this delicate and unexpected apology. Yes, it was unexpected, since he had never imagined that Hasan would apologize for any reason. What had made him change? Their friendship would not have had this huge an impact on his comrade's pride. Perhapshe, Hasan, wished to restore his own reputation for civility more than he wished to reclaim their friendship. Perhapshe also wanted to keep the quarrel fr
om growing any more virulent lest news of it reach Husayn Shaddad, for that young man might be indignant at having his sister embroiled in the dispute or angry for his own sake if he heard what had been said about “the merchant's son and the son of the superior court judge,” since Husayn was also the son of a businessman. Any of these would have been plausible reasons and more logical, given Hasan's character, than an apology influenced by nothing but their friendship.

  Whether he made peace with Hasan or continued to be his enemy seemed insignificant to Kamal. The important thing was to know whether A'ida had decided to conceal herself. She no longer wandered by when they were sitting in the garden. She was not visible at the window. She did not appear on the balcony. Counting on her pride, Kamal had told her what Hasan had said about being able, if he chose, to prevent her from visiting them. Kamal had done that to shore up her determination to visit the gazebo, so he would not be deprived of seeing her. But in spite of that she disappeared as though she had quit the house altogether, indeed the whole district. Why not say the whole world, which had become insipid? Was it possible that this separation would last forever? He hoped it was her intention to punish him for a time and then pardon him. If only Husayn Shaddad would mention some reason for her absence and dispel his fears…. He wished with all hisheart for one of these eventualities and bided his time, but his wait was long and fruitless.

  Whenever he went to visit the mansion he approached it with anxious eyes, as he wavered between hope and despair. He would steal a glance at the front balcony and another at the window overlooking the side path. Then on his way to the gazebo or the men's parlor he would gaze at the rear balcony. As He sat with his friends, his long reveries featured the happy surprise that just did not take place. When they split up after their conversation, he would keep looking stealthily and sadly at the window and the balconies, especially at the window over the side path, for it frequently served as a frame for his beloved's image in his daydreams. Then he would depart, gulping down his despair and puffing out his distress. He became so despondent that he would have asked Husayn Shaddad the secret behind Aida's disappearance had it not been for the traditions of the ancient quarter, with which his mentality was saturated. Thushe said nothing but began to wonder anxiously about the extent of Husayn's knowledge of ttie circumstances leading to the disappearance of the beloved.