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

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Ibrahim said gently, “Think of God.”

  She shouted at him, “I'm acting more devoutly than you, you mule. If you were a real man, there would have been no reason for me to call in this fine gentleman. Why are you here? Shouldn't you be sound asleep as usual?”

  Khadija was relieved at this opening. She hoped the quarrel would grow so intense that it would eclipse her case. But al-Sayyid Ahmad blocked the road for the anticipated battle between the old lady and her sons by saying in a loud voice, “What's this I've heard about you, Khadija? Is it true that you haven't been a polite and obedient daughter to your new mother? Asking God's forgiveness - she's a mother for all of us.”

  Khadija's hopes were disappointed, and she lowered her eyes. Her lips moved, but their whisper was indiscernible. She shook her head no.

  The old lady waved her hand to get everyone's attention and began to speak: “This has been going on for a long time. I won't be able to recount all of it in one session. From her first day in this house she has opposed me for no reason whatsoever. She speaks to me with the sauciest tongue I've ever encountered in my whole life. I wouldn't like to repeat what I've heard over these five years or more. There have been many, many ugly remarks. She found fault with my management of the house and criticized my cooking. Can you imagine that, al-Sayyid, sir? She kept it up until she separated her living quarters from mine and thus split one home into two apartments. Even the maid Suwaydan was forbidden to enter Khadija's apartment, because Suwaydan is in my employ. Khadija hired a servant of her own. The roof! The roof terrace, al-Sayyid, sir, is very large, but she didn't think it big enough for both of us. I was forced to transfer my chickens to the courtyard. What else should I say, my son? This is a small sample, but we're not to blame. L told myself, ‘What's done is done.’ I bore it all and was patient, thinking that once she was independent of me the reasons for discord would be removed. But was my assumption correct? By your life, no!” She stopped talking, for she was overcome by a fit of coughing. She coughed so hard her veins swelled. Khadija prayed to God as she watched that He would carry off her mother-in-law before the indictment was finished. But the coughing died away. The old lady swallowed and recited the Muslim credo. Then, raising tearful eyes to al-Sayyid Ahmad, she asked in a voice not without a trace of huskiness, “Al-Sayyid Ahmad, do you have any aversion to calling me 'Mother'?”

  Although Ibrahim and Khalil were smiling, their father-in-law put on a grave face as he answered, “God protect us, Mother.”

  ”May God guard you, al-Sayyid Ahmad. Yet your daughter is averse to it. She calls me Auntie, although I've asked her repeatedly to say Mother. She retorts, ‘Then what will I call the one at Palace Walk?’ I tell her that I'm Mother and that her mother is also Mother Then she tells me, have only one mother, may our Lord preserve her for me.' Do you see, al-Sayyid, sir me, the woman who rec eived her with my own hands the moment she emerged from the unseen world.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad leveled an angry look at Khadija and asked her indignantly, “Is this true, Khadija? You must reply.”

  Khadija had virtually lost her ability to speak, for both her rage and her fear were extreme. In addition, she was anything but optimistic about the outcome of this discussion. Her instinct for self-defe nse prompted her to resort to humble entreaty. In a faint voice she said, “I'm unjustly accused. Everyone here knows I'm unjustly accused. By God, Papa, unjustly accused.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad was amazed by what he washearing. Although from the beginning he had been aware of the influence of senility on Widow Shawkat and although the humorous atmosphere had not escaped his attention, since it was visible in the smiling faces of Ibrahim and Khalil, he was still determined to project a stern gravity in order to humor the grande dame and to intimidate Khadija. He was astonished by the disclosure of his daughter's obstinacy and irritability. He had never imagined that she was Jike this. Had her temper been so fierce when she lived in his home? Did Amina know more about this than he did? Would he eventually unmask a new image of his daughter, running counter to the one he had had of her, just as he had already found it necessary to revise his picture of Yasin?

  “I want to know the truth. I want to know the truth about you. The person our mother has described is not the girl I know. Which of them is really you?”

  The old lady joined the tips of her fingers together and then shook her hand up and down in a gesture asking him to be patient until she could finish what she was saying. Then she started off again: “I told her, received you with my own hands when you were born.' She replied in a vicious tone I'd never heard before, 'In that case, it's a miracle I survived.'”

  Ibrahim and Khalil laughed, and Aisha bowed her head to hide her smile. The matriarch told her sons, “Laugh, laugh! Laugh at your mother.”

  But al-Sayyid Ahmad was grim-faced, even though he too was secretly amused. Was it possible that his daughters were fashioned after his pattern? Was this not worth relating to Ibrahim al-Far, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Muhammad Iffat? He told Khadija roughly, “No, no…. I'll certainly find ways to hold you strictly accountable for all this.”

  Relieved, the old lady carried on: “What caused the row yesterday was that Ibrahim invited some of his friends to a luncheon. Among the dishes served was Circassian chicken. Afterwards Ibrahim, Khalil, Aisha, and Khadija passed the evening with me. There was reference to the luncheon and Ibrahim mentioned his guests' praise for the Circassian chicken. Mrs. Khadija was delighted. But she wasn't satisfied. She went so far as to assert that Circassian chicken was the favorite dish in her childhood home. I remarked with the best of intentions that it was Zaynab, Yasin's first wife, who had introduced Circassian chicken to your family and that Khadija must have learned to make it from her. I swear I meant no harm when I said that. I did not mean to injure anyone, may God watch over you, my dear sir. But she jumped up angrily and shouted in my face, ‘Do you know more about our house than I do?’ I replied, knew your house years before you did.' She screamed, 'You don't really love us. You can't stand for anything praiseworthy to be attributed to us, even if it's only cooking Circassian chicken the Circassian chicken that was eaten in our house before Zaynab was born. It's disgraceful for a woman your age to lie.' Yes, by God, this is what she hurled at me, al-Sayyid, sir, in front of everyone. So which of us is the liar -before your Lord at prayers?”

  Al-Sciyyid Ahmad said with furious indignation, “She accused you of lying to your face! O Lord of heavens and earth, this is not my daughter.”

  Khalil asked his mother disapprovingly, “Is that why you've summoned our father? Is it proper to disturb him and waste his time because of a childish quarrel over Circassian chicken? This is too much, Mother.”

  The old lady stared him in the eye. She scowled and shouted at him, “Hush! Get out of my sight! I'm not a liar. It's not right for anyone to accuse me of lying. I know what I'm saying. The truth, which no one needs to be ashamed of, is that Circassian chicken was not a dish known in the home of al-Sayyid Ahmad before Zaynab introduced it. There is nothing in that fact to demean or belittle anyone. But it's the truth. Here is al-Sayyid Ahmad. Let hirn say if I'm lying. The excellence of the casseroles in his home is proverbial and the dishes stuffed with rice are as good, but Circassian chicken was not served at his table before Zaynab arrived. Speak, al-Sayyid, sir. You alone are the judge.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad had been fighting back the temptation to]augh all the time the woman was speaking. But he said in a ferocious tone, “If only her offense were limited to lying and to making a false claim without her having added to it a breach of manners …. Were you tempted to act so badly by the thought that you were beyond the reach of my hand? Without any hesitation my hand will stretch as far as necessary. It's really sad when a father finds his daughter needs to be reprimanded and disciplined after she's fully grown and has taken her place among women as a wife and a mother”. Waving his hand, he continued: “I'm angry at you. By God, it hurts me to see your face before me.”

  Influenced
by her emotions and by a realistic assessment of her situation, Khadija suddenly burst into tears, for crying was the only means she had available for her defense. In a choked and quavering voice she sobbed, “I'm unjustly accused. By God, I'm innocent. The moment she sees my face, she flings harsh words at me. She never stops telling me, ‘If it weren't for me, you would have remained a spinster your whole life.’ I've never done her any harm. Tliey can all testify to that.”

  Her melodramatic performance, half sincere and half counterfeit, was not without its effect. Khalil Shawkat frowned angrily. Ibrahim Shawkat bowed hishead. Although al-Sayyid Ahmad's appearance underwent no change, hisheart was moved by this reference to spinsterhood, just as it had been in the old days. The lady shot piercing glances at Khadija from beneath her white eyebrows, as if to tell her, “Play your part, crafty girl, but it won't work with me.”

  When Widow Shawkat sensed that the atmosphere was becoming sympathetic to the actress, she said defiantly, “Here's Aisha, your sister. I adjure you, Aisha, by your eyes and the holy Qur'an: Did you not witness what I heard and saw? Didn't your sister call me a liar to my face? Didn't I give a fair account of the Circassian chicken dispute, without any exaggeration or hyperbole? Speak, daughter, speak. Your sister now accuses me of injustice, after calling me a liar yesterday. Speak, so al-Sayyid Ahmad will learn who the unjust aggressor is.”

  Aisha was terrified at being suddenly dragged into the tumult of this case, which she had thought she could observe safely from the sidelines until the end. She felt danger encompassing her from every direction. She looked back and forth from her husband to his brother, as though begging for help. Ibrahim started to intervene, but al-Sayyid Ahmad spoke first. Addressing Aisha, he said, “Your mother is requesting your testimony, Aisha. You must speak.”

  Aisha was so upset that she turned quite pale. But the only movement of her lips came when she swallowed. She lowered her eyes to escape from her father's stare and kept silent.

  Then Khalil protested, “I've never heard of a woman being called on to testify against her sister.”

  His mother shouted at him, “I've never heard before of sons ganging up against their mother the way you are”. Then she turned to al-Sayyid Ahmad and said, “But her silence is enough to prove my point. Aisha's silence bears witness on my behalf, al-Sayyid, sir.”

  Aisha thought her torment was over at this point, but before she knew what was happening, Khadija, who was drying her tears, entreated Aisha, “Speak, Aisha: Did you hear me insult her?”

  Aisha cursed her sister privately from the depths of her heart. Her golden head of hair began to twitch nervously.

  Then the old lady cried out, “Now we're getting somewhere. She's the one asking you to testify. You no longer have an excuse, Shushu darling. My Lord, if I really were as unjust as Khadija claims, why haven't I been unjust to Aisha? Why do I get along so well with her? Why, my Lord, why?”

  Ibrahim Shawkat rose and went to take a seat next to al-Sayyid Ahmad, telling him, “Father, I'm sorry we've troubled you in this mannei and wasted your precious time. Let's set aside complaint and testimony and put the past behind us, so we can see what's truly important and beneficial. Your presence can only be a positive' influence and a blessing. Let's impose a truce between my mother and my wife and have them promise to abide by it always. '

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad was pleased by this suggestion, but, shaking hishead, he objected deftly, “No, I won't agree to oversee a truce, for it would have to be concluded between equals. Here one of the sides is our mother and the other our daughter, and a daughter does not have the status of a mother. First Khadija must apologize to her mother for all past incidents. Then her mother, if she is willing, can forgive Khadija. After that we'll talk about making peace.”

  The old lady beamed so wide that her wrinkles were pressed to gether, but she glanced cautiously toward Khadija. Then she looked back at al-Sayyid Ahmad without saying anything. He remarked, “It seems my proposal does not meet with your approval.”

  The old lady answered gratefully, “You always say the right thing. Blessings on your lips and life.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad motioned to Khadija, who stood up without any hesitation and approached him, feeling more forlorn than ever before. When she was directly in front of him, he told her resolutely, “Kiss your mother's hand and ask her, 'Forgive me, Mother.'”

  “Oh!” She had never imagined, not even in a nightmare, that she might be put in this position, but her father, her adored father, was the one imposing it on her. Yes, the verdict had been handed down by a person whose verdicts she could never oppose. So this must be God's will. Khadija turned to the old lady and leaned over her. Then she took the hand that was raised to her yes, by God, raised without any sign of protest - and kissed it, painfully conscious of her disgust and defeat. Then she mumbled, “Forgive me, Mother.”

  The old lady looked at her for a time, her face flushed with delight. Then she replied, “I forgive you, Khadija. I forgive you for your father's sake and in recognition of your repentance”. A childish laugh escaped her. Then she said in an admonitory fashion, “There'll be no quarrel after today about Circassian chicken. Isn't it enough for your family that your casseroles and your dishes stuffed with rice are superior to any others in the world?”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad said joyfully, “Praise to God for this peace accord”. Then, looking up at Khadija, he reminded her, “Mother always. She isn't Auntie. This is Mother exactly like the other one.”

  Then he continued in a low, sorrowful voice: “Where did you get this disposition, Khadija? No one who grew up in my house should be like this. Have you forgotten your mother and her mild, courteous character? Have you forgotten that any evil you cause tarnishes my honor? By God, I was astonished to hear what your mother had to say. It will continue to amaze me for a long time to come.”

  93

  FOLLOWING THE departure of al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, the group went back upstairs. Khadija led the procession, her face sullen and pale with angry resentment. The others knew that harmony was still nothing more than a remote possibility for their household. They were apprehensive about what was building up behind Khadija's silence. For this reason, Khalil and Aisha accompanied Khadija and Ibrahim to their apartment, although the racket from Na'ima, Uthman, and Muhammad clearly suggested that their parents would soon need to return home. After they had resumed their seats in the living room, Khalil took the pulse of the situation by saying to his brother, “Your final remarks were decisive and brought good results.”

  For the first time since the tribunal, Khadija spoke out, passionately: “It brought a truce isn't that so? A truce that humiliated me more than ever before….”

  Ibrahim said somewhat critically, “It's not humiliating to kiss my mother's hand or to ask her forgiveness.”

  His wife answered cavalierly, “She's your mother but my enemy. If Papa hadn't ordered me, I would never have called her Mother. Yes, she's only Mother on Papa's orders. Papa's orders alone!”

  Ibrahim leaned against the back of the sofa and sighed dejectedly. Aisha was anxious, for she did not know what impression her failure to testify had made on her sister. Her anxiety was increased by Khadija's refusal to look at her. She decided to speak to prompt Khadija :o reveal her true feelings. So she remarked gently, “There is no humiliation in the affair, since you parted friends. You mustn't remember anything but the happy ending.”

  Her torso rigid, Khadija glared angrily at Aisha. Then she said sharply, “Don't speak to me. You're the last person in the world who deserves to talk to me.”

  Aisha pretended to be astonished and, looking back and forth between Ibrahim and Khalil, asked, “Me? Why, God forbid?”

  In a voice as cold and penetrating as a bullet, Khadija replied, “Because you betrayed me. Your silence testified against me. You chose to placate the other woman instead of helping your sister. This is treachery pure and simple.”

  “I don't understand you, Khadija. Everyone knows my
silence worked to your advantage.”

  In as vicious a tone of voice or worse, Khadija retorted, “If you had truly had my best interests at heart, you would have testified for me, even if what you said wasn't exactly true. But you preferred the woman who cooks for you over your own sister. Don't speak! Not a word! We have a mother who will have something to say about this.”

  Shortly before noon the next day Khadija went to visit her mother, even though the roads were muddy, with pools of stagnant water in low-lying areas. She went to the oven room, and her mother rose to greet her warmly and happily. Umm Hanafi approached, jubilantly welcoming her. But Khadija returned their greetings with a only few terse words. Her mother gave her a searching, inquisitive look.

  Without any preliminaries Khadija announced, “I've come to see what you think of Aisha, for I don't have the strength to put up with any more.”

  Amina's expression revealed her interest and her distress. Motioning with her head for Khadija to precede her out of the room, she said, “What's happened, may God requite us? Your father told me about the events at Sugar Street, but what role did Aisha play in them?”

  Then, as they climbed the stairs, she continued: “Lord, Khadija, how many times have I asked you to be more understanding? Your mother-in-law is an old lady. You need to respect her age. The very fact that she went to the store alone in the weather we had yesterday is clear proof of her senility. But what can be done about it? How angry your father was! He couldn't believe you would ever say a spiteful word. But what did Aisha do to make you angry? She kept silent, didn't she? It wasn't possible for her to say anything.”

  They settled down side by side on a sofa in the sitting room where the coffee hour washeld. Khadija admonished her, “Mother, please don't join forces with them. My Lord, why is it that I can't find anyone in this world to help me?”

  The mother smiled reprovingly and remarked, “Don't say that. Don't even imagine that, my little daughter. Just tell me what you think Aisha did wrong.”