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

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Smiling apologetically, Hasan Salim said, “Husayn himself knew nothing of the matter until only a few days ago.”

  Isma'il asked, “Was this a unilateral engagement, like Great Britain's unilateral declaration of Egyptian independence on February 28, 1922?”

  The conquered Egyptian nation as a whole had proudly rejected that declaration, but nominal sovereignty had been thrust upon it, with the inevitable consequences. Kamal laughed out loud.

  Winking at Hasan Salim, Isma'il carelessly mangled and mis-attributed a quotation from the prophet Muhammad: “To accomplish' I don't remember what ‘rely on secrecy.’ The caliph Umar ibn al-Khattab said that… or the poet Umar ibn Abi Rabi'a, or Omar Effendi down at the department store. God only knows.”

  Kamal said suddenly, “It's customary for matters like these to come to fruition silently, although I must acknowledge that Mr. Hasan once referred to something of this kind in a conversation with me.”

  Isma'il gazed at him skeptically. Looking at Kamal with wide eyes, Hasan corrected him: “It was more like subtle hints.”

  Kamal asked himself in amazement how this statement had escaped from his mouth. It was a lie or at best a half-truth. How could he have wished to convince Hasan in this devious manner that he, Kamal, knew about the young man's intentions and had not been surprised or troubled by them? “What stupidity!”

  Staring critically at Hasan, Isma'il told him, “But I didn't garner a single one of these subtle hints.”

  Hasan replied earnestly, “I assure you that if Kamal found any-thiug in my remarkshe considered a reference to a forthcoming engagement, he must have relied on his imagination, not my words.”

  Husayn Shaddad laughed loudly. He said to Hasan Salim, “Isma'il's your lifelong friend. He wants you to realize that even if you have gotten your degree three years ahead of him, that doesn't mean you should begrudge him your secrets or favor others with them instead.”

  Smiling as though to conceal his discomfort, Isma'il observed, “I don't question his friendship, but I'll keep after him so I'm not forgotten in a similar manner on his wedding day.”

  Smiling, Kamal said, “We're friends of both parties. If the bridegroom forgets us, surely the bride won't.”

  He spoke to prove to himself that he was still alive. But he was alive with pain, intense pain. Had he ever imagined his love would end in any other way? Certainly not…yet belief in the inevitability of death does not diminish our anguish when it arrives. This was a ferocious, irrational, and merciless pain. He wished he could see it, so he might know where it was concealed or the microbe from which it had emerged. Between seizures of pain he was a victim of lethargy and listlessness.

  “When will the ceremony take place?” Isma'il asked the question thai: was running through Kamal's mind, as though he had been delegated to represent Kamal's thoughts.

  But Kamal would have to speak too. He commented, “Yes, it's very important for us to know, so we won't be taken by surprise again. When's the wedding?”

  Husayn laughingly asked, “Why are you two in such a hurry? Let's give the bridegroom a chance to enjoy what's left of his bacheloi days.”

  With his customary composure Hasan said, “First of all, I need to learn whether I'm to stay in Egypt or not.”

  Husayn Shaddad explained, “He's going to be appointed either to the attorney general's staff or to the diplomatic corps.”

  “Husayn seems delighted with this engagement,” Kamal reflected. “I can assert that I hated him, if only momentarily, for having betrayed me. Has anyone double-crossed me?

  Everything seems such a confusion. But this evening I'll be alone….”

  “Which would you prefer, Mr. Hasan?”

  “Let him choose whatever he wants…judicial service, diplomatic corps, the Sudan… Syria if possible.”

  “Working as a prosecutor somewhere would be an insult. I'd prefer to be a diplomat.”

  “It would be good if your father understood that clearly, so he can concentrate on getting you into it”. This sentence too jumped out of Kamal's mouth. No doubt it was on target. He would have to get control of his nerves. Otherwise he would find himself embroiled in a public dispute with Hasan. He would also have to keep Husayn Shaddad's feelings in mind, for these two now formed a single family. How cruel this stabbing pain was!

  Isma'il shook hishead sorrowfully and said, “These are your last days with us, Hasan. After a lifelong relationship, this comes as a sad end.”

  How stupid it was of Isma'il to think that sorrow could influence a heart grazing in the beloved's oasis.

  “It really is a sad ending, Isma'il.”

  “Lie upon lie …” Kamal thought, “like your congratulations to him. In this respect the merchant's son and the son of the superior court judge are equal.”

  He asked, “Does this mean you'll spend your whole life outside the country?”

  “That's what I expect. We'll only see Egypt on rare occasions.”

  Isma'il marveled: “What a strange life! Have you thought about the difficulties it will pose for your children?”

  “Alas, my heart! Is it right to toss around ideas like that? Does this wretch imagine that the beloved will get pregnant and endure cravings, that her belly will become distended and round, that she'll suffer through labor and give birth? Remember Aisha and Khadija in the final months of their pregnancies? This is blasphemy. Why don't you join an underground assassination society like the Black Hand? Murder's better than blasphemy and more beneficial. Then you'd find yourself in the defendant's dock one day. Presiding over the court would be Salim Bey Sabry, father of your friend the diplomat and father-in-law of your beloved, just as he presided this week over the trial of those accused of killing the supreme commander, Sir Lee Stack. The traitor!”

  Husayn Shaddad laughingly asked, “Should nations cut off diplomatic relations so the children of diplomats may be raised in their own countries?”

  “No, cut off their heads! Abd al-Hamid Inayat, al-Kharrat, Mahmud Rashid, Ali Ibrahim, Raghib Hasan, Shafiq Mansur, and Mahmud Isma'il sentenced to die on the gallows along with Kamal Ahmad Abd al-Jawad… by the Egyptian judge Salim Bey Sabry and the English judge Mr. Kershaw. Assassination is the answer. Do you want to kill or be killed?”

  [sma'il cautioned Husayn, “Your sister's departure will reinforce your father's determination to refuse your request to travel abroad.”

  Husayn Shaddad replied confidently, “My case is making steady progress toward a satisfactory solution.”

  Ai'da and Husayn in Europe at the same time … he was going to lose his true love and his best friend. “Your spirit will search for your beloved and not find her. Your intellect will search for your companion without finding him either. You'll live alone, exiled to the ancient district, like the echo of a yearning on the loose for generations. Ponder the pains lying in wait for you. It's time for you to harvest the fruit of the dreams planted in your gullible heart. Beseech God to make tears a cure for sorrows. If you can, string your body up with a hangman's ropes or put it at the front of a destructive force unleashed on the enemy. Tomorrow you'll find your spirit's empty - as empty as you once discovered al-Husayn's tomb to be. What a disappointment! Sincere patriots are hanged, while sons of traitors are made ambassadors.”

  As though to himself, Isma'il Latif remarked, “There'll be no one in Egypt except me and Kamal, and Kamal's not reliable, because his best friend before, after, or besides Husayn is the book.”

  Husayn said with confident conviction, “Travel won't end our friendship.”

  Despite his lethargy, Kamal'sheart pounded. He commented, “My heart tells me that you won't be able to endure a permanent separation from your homeland.”

  “That's most likely. But you'll profit from my trip by the books] send you. We'll continue our conversations with letters and books.”

  Husayn was talking as though his voyage had become an established fact. Visits with this friend had been a captivating happiness for Kamal. Whe
n he was with Husayn, even silence was enjoyable. But there was some consolation. The departure of his beloved would teach him to minimize other calamities, no matter how great. Thus the death of his adored grandmother had seemed insignificant to his soul when it was scorched by the fire of his grief for Fahmy. But he had to keep in mind at all times that this was the farewell session. He had to fill his eyes with the roses and the other flowers that were tipsy with blooms and heedless of sorrow. There was a problem he had to solve: How could a mortal ascend high enough to live with the beloved or the beloved fall so far that she could coexist with a human being? If he could not find an answer, he would struggle ahead with shackled feet and a lump in his throat. Love was a load with two widely separated handles. It was designed to be carried by two people. How could he bear it alone?

  The conversation raced along and branched off in different directions while Kamal followed it with his eyes, nods of hishead, and words designed to demonstrate that the calamity had not polished him off yet. He had his hopes pinned on the fact that life's train keeps moving down the tracks, even though death's station certainly lies ahead somewhere.

  “It's dusk. A time of dark stillness. You love it as you love the dawn. ‘A'ida,’ and ‘pain’ are two words with a single meaning. So you must love pain, even if from now on your rapture comes from defeat. The conversation keeps moving forward, and the friends laugh together and argue with each other as though none of them had ever experienced love. Husayn's laughter is full of healthy good spirits, Isma'il's of mischief and contention, and Hasan's of reserve and superiority. Husayn refuses to talk about anything but Ra's al-Barr. I promise to make a pilgrimage there one day. I'll ask what sand was trod by the beloved's feet, so I can prostrate myself to kiss it. The other two are singing the praises of San Stefano beach in Alexandria and talking about waves like mountains. Really? Imagine a body the waves cast onto the shore after the dreadful sea has sucked out its beauty and nobility. After all this, let us admit that weary vexation encompasses all living creatures. Possibly happiness lies beyond the gates of death.”

  The talk continued until it was time for them to go home. They shook hands with each other warmly. Kamal squeezed Husayn's hand, and Husayn squeezed his in return. Then, saying, “See you … in October,” Kamal set off.

  At a time like that any previous year he would have begun asking h imself fretfully when his friends would return. Now his desires were not tied to anyone's return. They would still be aflame whether or not October arrived and whether his friends returned or not. He would no longer be blaming the summer months for separating him from A'ida; an abyss much more profound than time had come between them. When time was the problem, he had been able to combat it with doses of patience and hope. Today he was fighting an unknown foe and a mysterious, supernatural force. He did not know a single word of the spells or charms used for it. He could only fall back on a wretched silence until God concluded what He had begun. Love seemed to be suspended over hishead like destiny, and he was fastened to it with bonds of excruciating pain. It resembled a force of nature more than anything else in its inevitability and strength. He studied it sadly and respectfully.

  The three friends said goodbye in front of the Shaddad family mausion. Hasan Salim went on down Palaces Street, while Kamal and Isma'il as usual headed for al-Husayniya together. There they would part, with Isma'il going to Ghamra and Kamal to the ancient district. As soon as the two of them were alone, Isma'il laughed hard and long.

  When Kamal asked him what was so funny, he replied mischievously, “Haven't you figured out yet that you're one of the main reasons speeding up the announcement of this engagement?”

  “Me?” This slipped out from Kamal, whose eyes were wide with astonishment.

  Isma'il said scornfully, “Yes, you. Hasan wasn't comfortable about your friendship with her. I feel certain of this, even though he never breathed a word of it. As you know, he's really stuck-up. But I find out what I want to. I assure you he was unhappy about your friendship. Do you remember that flare-up between you two? It's obvious that he asked her to stop visiting Husayn's friends, it's equally apparent that she reminded him that he had no right to request that. So he took this major step to get the right.”

  The pounding of hisheart almost drowned out his voice when Kamal said, “But I wasn't the only friend. A'ida was friends with all of us.”

  Isma'il replied sarcastically, “But she chose you to arouse his anxiety, perhaps because she sensed in your friendship a warmth she did not find with the others. In any case, she was not just reacting randomly to the situation. She decided long ago to win Hasan. Finally she's harvesting the fruit of her patience.”

  “ 'Win Hasan'!” Kamal exclaimed to himself. “ 'The fruit of her patience'! These phrases are like a fool's statement that the sun rises in the west.”

  With a sad heart, Kamal said, “How little you think of people! She's not at all the way you portray her.”

  Without grasping what his friend felt, Isma'il answered, “Perhaps it happened by chance. Hasan may have been imagining things. In any case, it all worked out to her benefit.”

  Kamal shouted angrily, “Her benefit'! What do you think? Glory to God, you speak as though her engagement to Hasan is a triumph for her, not for him.”

  Isma'il looked at him strangely and then said, “You don't seem to be convinced that men like Hasan are few and far between. He offers family, status, and a future. There are plenty of girls like A'ida … more of them than you think. I wonder if you don't have a higher opinion of her than she deserves. In my opinion, Hasan's family agreed to let him marry her because of her father's immense fortune. She's a girl” he hesitated before continuing “whose beauty is not extraordinary at any rate.”

  “Either he's crazy or you are,” Kamal thought. He was transfixed by a pain comparable to that he had felt on reading an offensive attack against the Islamic system of marriage. “God's curse on all unbelievers!”

  With a calmness that masked his anguish, he asked, “Then why does she have so many admirers?”

  Isma'il disdainfully stuck out his lower jaw while tilting up his chin. “Perhaps you count me among them,” he said. “I don't deny that she's amusing and elegant. And her Western upbringing has provided her social graces that make her seem particularly charming and attractive. All the same, she's dark and thin. There's nothing especially seductive about her. Come with me to Ghamra and you'll see all types of beauty. They leave hers in the shade, whether taken as a whole or singly. There you'll see true loveliness … fair complexions, swelling breasts, and plump hips. If you want beauty, this is it. There's nothing really desirable about A'ida.”

  “As if she were a female to be craved like Qamar or Maryam!” ECamal told himself. “Swelling breasts and plump hips? How can you describe a spirit using corporeal expressions? What stabbing pain!” It had been decreed that he should swallow the cup of anguish down to its dregs. Since lethal blows were falling in swift succession, death would be a mercy.

  At al- Husayniya they parted, and each went his separate way.

  96

  OVER THE years his love for this street had never waned. Looking sadly at his surroundings, he mused, “If only my love for a woman were as constant as mine for this street, I'd escape many problems. What an excellent street… like a labyrinth!”

  Every few meters it turned to the right or left. No matter where a person stood, he was always confronted by a curve, behind which an unknown world lay concealed. Narrowness gave the road an unassuming, familiar character, like that of a pet animal. A man sitting in a shop on the right could reach over and shake hands with his neighbor on the other side. Stretched between the tops of the stores, canvas awnings protected the street from the burning rays of the sun. Beneath them the humidity and diffused light created a dreamy atmosphere. Bunched together on shelves and benches were sacks of green henna, red cayenne, and black pepper along with flasks of rose water and perfume, colored wrapping paper, and diminutive scales. Hang
ing from the rafters was a decorative fringe of candles of diverse sizes and colors. The fragrance of different perfumes and colognes filled the air like the aroma of a distant dream.

  “The black wraps and veils, the go]d nosepieces, the kohl-enhanced eyes, the heavy rumps - may He who bestows all blessings save me from them. To walk dreamily through these beautiful visions is one of my favorite sports, but I must acknowledge that it exhausts my heart and eye. If you start counting the women here, you'll never finish. What a blessed place it is that brings all of them together. The only way to protect yourself is to cry out from the depths of your heart, ‘Yasin, you house wrecker!’ A voice tells me that I should open a shop in al-Tarbi'a Alley and settle down. Your father's a merchant. He's his own boss. He spends much more on his amusements than you get from your salary. Open a store and put your trust in God, even if you have to sell the apartment in al-Ghuriya and the shop in al-Hamzawi. You arrive in the morning like a sultan. You're not bound to any schedule. There's no supervisor to terrify you. You sit behind the scales, and women come to you from every direction. ‘Good morning, Mr. Yasin.’ ‘Stay healthy, Mr. Yasin.’ I would have only myself to blame if I let a chaste woman pass without a greeting and a shameless one without a date. What a sweet idea this is, but what a cruel one for someone who will remain an officer of al-Nahhasin School to the end of his days. Love's a disease. Among its symptoms are constant hunger and a fie kle heart. Have mercy, God, on one You created with the appetite of a caliph or sultan but gave the job of a school disciplinarian. My hopes have been destroyed. It's pointless to lie to myself. The day you brought her to Palace of Desire Alley you anticipated a happy, contented life. May God destroy boredom. It pervades the soul as totally as the bad taste sickness brings to the mouth.] pursued herpassionately for a year but tired of her in a few weeks. What is misery if not this? Your home must have been the first one that ever overflowed with complaints during the honeymoon. Ask your heart what place Maryam has in it now and where the beauty is that drove you crazy. Let it reply with a laugh like a moan, ‘We ate till we were full. Then we couldn't even stand the smell of food.’ She's clever. It's hard to put something over on her. Nothing, escapesher. She's a bitch and the daughter of one. Remember the virtues of your deceased family members. Was your mother any better than hers? The important thing is that, unlike Zaynab, Maryam's not easy to deceive. How hard her anger is to bear when she gets annoyed…. She's not willing to close her eyes, and you're not easily satisfied. It's absurd to think that your fiery craAdngs can ever be met by one woman or that your heart will settle down. Even so, you hoped to achieve a happy married life. How magnificent your father is and how vile you are. … You haven't been able to follow his example, even though that would have saved you. O Lord, what's this I see? Is it really a woman? How many hundred pounds do you suppose she weighs? My God, I've never seen a woman so tall and wide. How can you take possession of this fiefdom? I swear if a woman her size fell into my hands, I'd stretch her out naked in the center of the room and circle her ritually seven times, as if she were a shrine, before putting it in her.”