Ridwan told Abd al-Muni'm, “Don't be angry. Religion has a Lord to protect it. As for you, in nine months at the most, you'll be a father.”
“Is that so?”
Trying to appease his brother, Ahmad joked, “It's easier for me to confront God's wrath than yours.”
Ahmad told himself, “Whether he's angry or not, when he returns to Sugar Street he'll find a sympathetic breast waiting for him. Is it ridiculous to think I'll return one day to find Alawiya Sabri waiting for me on the first floor of our house?”
He laughed, but no one suspected the true reason for his mirth.
136
THERE APPEARED tobean unusual flurry of activity at the home of Abd al-Rahim Pasha Isa. Many people were standing in the garden or sitting on the veranda, and there was a constant flow of men amving or departing. Hilmi Izzat nudged Ridwan Yasin's arm as they neared the house and observed with relief, “Contrary to the claims of their newspapers, we are not without our supporters.”
As the two made their way inside, some of the young men shouted, “Long live solidarity!” Ridwan's face became flushed from excitement. He was as zealous a rebel as the others but wondered anxiously whether anyone suspected the nonpolitical side to his visits. Once when he had confided his fears to Hilmi Izzat, the latter had said, “Only cowards get suspected. Proceed with head held high and resolute steps. People preparing for public life shouldn't pay too much attention to what others think of them.”
Sitting in the reception room was a crowd of students, workers, and members of the Wafd organization. Abd al-Rahim Pasha Isa, looking uncustomarily grim, serious, and stern, sat at the front of the room with the aura of an important statesman. When the two young men approached, he rose to greet them gravely. After shaking hands, he gestured for them to be seated.
One of the men sitting there resumed a discussion he had interrupted when the two arrived: “Public opinion was shocked to learn the names of the members of the new cabinet, for they did not find al-Nuqrashi's among them.”
Abd al-Rahim Pasha Isa replied, “We suspected something as soon as the cabinet resigned, especially since the dispute had become so well known that it was even the talk of the coffeehouses. But al-Nuqrashi is not like other members of the Wafd. The party has sacked many, but no one with so much support. Al-Nuqrashi is entirely different. Don't forget that al-Nuqrashi implies Ahmad Mahir too. They are the Wafd - the Wafd Party that has struggled, disputed, and fought. Ask the gallows, prisons,and bombs. This time the disagreement is not one that will dishonor those who leave the Wafd, for the regime's integrity and the bombing case are both in question. If the worst happens and the party is split, those who remain will be the deserters, not al-Nuqrashi and Mahir.”
“Makram Ubayd has finally shown his true colors.”
This statement sounded odd to Ridwan. It was hard for him to believe that such a prominent leader would be attacked this way by stalwart Wafdists.
Someone else remarked, “Makram Ubayd is the source of all this trouble, Your Excellency.”
Abd al-Rahim Pasha replied, “The others are just as guilty.”
“But he's the one who can't abide his rivals. He wants to control al-Nahhas all by himself Once Mahir and al-Nuqrashi are out of the way, there will be no one to oppose him.”
“If he could get rid of al-Nahhas, he would.”
An elderly man sitting there said, “Please, don't exaggerate. The streams may return to their banks.”
“After a cabinet has been formed without al-Nuqrashi?”
“Everything is possible.”
“That would have been possible in Sa'd Zaghlul's era, but al-Nahhas is an obstinate man. When he's made up his mind….”
At this point a man rushed in. The pasha greeted him at the center of the room. As they embraced each other warmly, the pasha asked, “When did you return? How's Alexandria?”
“Great… great! Al-Nuqrashi was welcomed at the Sidi Gabir station by unprecedented popular acclaim. Swarms of educated people shouted their heartfelt greetings. In their fury, they called rebelliously for integrity in government. They cried out, ‘Long live al-Nuqrashi, the honest leader. Long live al-Nuqrashi, Sa'd's true successor.’ Many shouted, 'Long live al-Nuqrashi, leader of the nation.'”
The man was speaking in a loud voice, and several of those listening repeated his slogans until Abd al-Rahim Pasha had to gesture for them to be calm. Then the man continued: “Public opinion is angry about the cabinet, outraged that al-Nuqrashi has been ousted from it. Al-Nahhas has done himself irreparable harm by consenting to support the devil against this pure angel.”
Abd al-Rahim Pasha observed, “We're in August now. The University reopens in October. The showdown should come then. We must start preparing for the demonstrations. If al-Nahhas doesn't return to his senses, he can go to hell.”
Hilmi Izzat said, “Rest assured that a great number of student demonstrations will converge on al-Nuqrashi's home.”
Abd al-Rahim Pasha commented, “Everything needs to be organized. Meet with your student supporters and make your preparations. Moreover, according to my information, an incredible number of deputies and senators will side with us.”
“Al-Nuqrashi was the founder of the Wafdist committees. Don't forget that. Telegrams of support pile up in his office from dawn to dusk.”
Ridwan wondered what was happening to the world. Would the Wcifd Party be divided again? Was Makram Ubayd truly responsible for this? Were the best interests of the nation really compatible with a split in the party that had represented it for eigb teen years?
The exchange of views lasted a long time as the men assembled there di scussed how to make their views known and how to run the demonstrations. Then they started to leave. At last only the pasha, Ridwan, and Hilmi Izzat remained. Invited by their host to move to the veranda, they followed him outside. The three sat around a table and were immediately served lemonade. Shortly thereafter a man in his forties appeared at the door. From previous visits Ridwan recognized him as Ali Mihran, an aide to the pasha. The man's appearance showed a natural inclination toward frivolity and mirth. He was accompanied by a young fellow in his twenties with a handsome countenance. Unruly hair, long side curls, and a broad necktie suggested that this stranger was an artist by profession. With a smile on his lips, Ali Mihran advanced, kissed the pasha's hand, and shook hands with the two visitors. Then he introduced the newcomer: “Mr. Atiya Jawdat, a young but gifted singer. Your Excellency, I've mentioned him to you before.”
Putting on his glasses, which he had laid on the table, the pasha examined the young man carefully. Smiling, he said, “Welcome, Mr. Atiya. I've heard a lot about you. Perhaps we'll hear you yourself this time.”
The singer invoked God's blessings on the pasha and sat down, while /di Mihran leaned over the pasha to ask, “How are you, Uncle?” That was what he called the pasha when formalities could be ignored.
Grinning, the man replied, “A thousand times better than you are.”
With uncustomary earnestness, Ali Mihran said, “At the Anglo Bar people are whispering about a possible nationalist cabinet headed by al-Nuqrashi….”
The pasha smiled diplomatically and murmured, “We're not in line for the cabinet.”
With anxious interest Ridwan inquired, “What grounds are there for these rumors? I naturally can't imagine that al-Nuqrashi would plot like Muhammad Mahmud or Isma'il Sidqy to bring down the government.”
Ali Mihran said, “A plot? No. At present it's merely a question of convincing a majority of the senators and deputies to join us. Don't forget that the king is on our side. Ali Mahir goes about his work deliberately and wisely.”
Ridwan asked dejectedly, “Will we end up being the king's men?”
Abd al-Rahim Pasha observed, “That sounds bad, but the expression means something different now. Faruq is quite unlike his father, King Fuad. Circumstances have changed. The present king is an enthusiastic young nationalist. He's the one wronged by al-Nahhas's unfair
attacks.”
Ali Mihran rubbed his hands together gleefully as he said, “When do you suppose we'll be congratulating the pasha on his cabinet post? Will you choose me to assist you in the ministry just as you've had me help you with your other affairs?”
Laughing, the pasha said, “No, I'll appoint you director general of prisons, for that's your natural milieu.”
“Prison? But they say it's for brutes.”
“It takes in other types too. Don't worry about it”. Suddenly overcome by annoyance, he cried out, “That's enough politics! Change the mood, please”. Turning toward Mr. Atiya, he asked, “What are you going to sing for us?”
Ali Mihran interjected, “The pasha is a connoisseur who delights in music and good times. If your singing appeals to him, you'll find the way open for you to have your songs broadcast.”
Atiya Jawdat said gently, “I've recently set to music some lyrics entitled ‘They bound me to him,’ composed by Mr. Mihran.”
Staring at his aide, the pasha asked, “How long have you been writing songs?”
“Didn't I spend seven years at the seminary of al-Azhar, immersed in the study of Arabic and its meters?”
“What's the relationship between al-Azhar and your naughty songs? 'They bound me to him'! Who ishe, my dear seminarian?”
“The answer's hiding behind your beard, Your Excellency.”
“You son of an old hag!”
Ali Mihran summoned the butler, and the pasha asked, “Why are you calling him?”
“To set up for the music.”
Rising, the politician said, “Wait till I perform the evening prayers.”
Mihran smiled wickedly and asked, “When we touched in greeting, didn't that end your state of ritual cleanliness?”
137
LEANING ON his stick, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad left his house with slow steps. Things had changed. Since the liquidation of his store, he left home but once a day, for he tried to spare himself the stress that climbing the stairs put on hisheart. Although it was only September, he had chosen wool garments. His thin frame could no longer bear the brisk weather his plump and powerful body had once enjoyed. The stick, which had been his companion since he was a young man, when it had been a symbol of virility and of elegance, now helped support him as he plodded along slowly. Even this level of exertion was a trial for hisheart. All the same he had not lost his dapper good looks. He still dressed quite splendidly, used a fragrant cologne, and took full advantage of the charm and dignity of old age.
When he drew near the store, his eyes glanced toward it involuntarily. The sign that had borne his name and his father's for years and years had been removed, and the appearance and use of the establishment had changed. It had become a fez shop, where new ones were sold and old ones blocked. The copper forms and the heating apparatus were up in front. He imagined he saw a placard, invisible to everyone else, informing him that his time had passed… his time for serious endeavors, hard work, and pleasure. Retreating into retirement, he had turned his back on hope, finding himself face to face with old age, ill health, and the need to idle his time away. He had always been full of love for the world and its pleasures. Often he still was, but now his spirits sank. He had considered faith itself one of the joys of life and a reason for embracing the world. He had never not even now pursued the kind of ascetic piety that turns its back on the world and concerns itself solely with the afterlife. The store was no longer his, but how could he erase its memory from his mind, when it had been the hub of his activities, the focus of his attention, the meeting place for his friends and lovers, and the source of his renown and prestige?
“You may console yourself by saying, ‘We've found husbands for the girls and reared the boys. We've lived to see our grandchildren. We have enough money to keep us till we die. We've experienced life's delights for years.’ Has it really been years? ‘Now the time has come for us to show our gratitude, and it is our obligation to thank God always and forever.’ But oh how nostalgic I feel…. May God forgive time - time, which by the mere fact of its uninterrupted existence betrays man in the worst possible way. If stones could speak, I would ask this site to inform me about the past, to tell me if this body could really crush mountains once. Did this sick heart beat regularly then? Did this mouth do anything but laugh? Was pain an unknown emotion? Was this the image of me treasured by every heart? … Again, I ask God to forgive time.”
When his deliberate pace finally brought him to the mosque of al-Husayn, he removed his shoes and entered, reciting the opening prayer of the Qur'an. He made his way to the pulpit area, where he found Muhammad Iffat and Ibrahim al-Far waiting for him. They all performed the sunset prayer together and then left the mosque, heading for al-Tambakshiya to visit Ali Abd al-Rahim. Each of them had retired due to ill health, but they were in better shape than Ali Abd al-Rahim, who was bedridden.
Sighing, al-Sayyid Ahmad said, “I imagine that soon the sole way I'll be able to get to the mosque is by riding.”
“You're not the only one!”
Then al-Sayyid Ahmad added anxiously, “I'm dreadfully afraid I'll be confined to bed like Mr. Ali. I pray that God will favor me with death before my strength gives out.”
“May our Lord spare you and the rest of us every misfortune.”
As if frightened by the thought, he commented, “Ghunaym Hamidu lay paralyzed in bed for about a year. Sadiq al-Mawardi suffered the same kind of torment for months. May God grant us a speedy end when the time comes.”
Muhammad Iffat laughed and said, “If you let gloomy thoughts get the better of you, you'll be nothing but a woman. Declare that there is only one God, brother.”
When they reached the home of Ali Abd al-Rahim, they went to his room. Before they could say anything, he blurted out unhappily, “You're late, may God forgive you.”
The vexation of the bedridden man was visible in his eyes. The only time he ever smiled was when they were with him. He complained, “All day long my only occupation is listening to the radio. What would I do if it had not yet been introduced to Egypt? I enjoy everything that's broadcast, even lectures I can barely understand. All the same we're not so old that we should be suffering like this. Our grandfathers married new wives at this age.”
Ahmad Abd al-Jawad's sense of humor got the better of him, and he observed, “That's an idea! What do you think about us taking another wife? Perhaps that would bring back our youth and cure what ails us.”
Ali Abd al-Rahim smiled but refrained from laughing for fear he would break into a fit of coughing that would strain hisheart. “I'm with you!” he said. “Select a bride for me. But tell her frankly that the bridegroom can't move and that it's all up to her.”
As though suddenly remembering something, al-Far told him, “Ahmad Abd al-Jawad will see a great-grandchild before you do. May our Lord prolong his life.”
“Congratulations in advance, son of Abd al-Jawad.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad frowned as he replied, “Na'ima is pregnant, but I have some misgivings. I still remember what was said about her heart when she was born. I've tried without success to forget that for a long time.”
“What an ungrateful soul you are! Since when do you put your faith in the prophecies of physicians?”
Laughing, al-Sayyid Ahmad answered, “Since I'm kept awake till dawn whenever I eat anything they've forbidden me.”
Ali Abd al-Rahim asked, “What about our Lord's compassion?”
“Praise to God, Lord of the universe”. Then he added, “I'm not oblivious to God's mercy, but fear spawns fear. Ali, the fact is that I'm more worried about Aisha than Na'ima. All my anxieties in life converge on Aisha, that miserable darling. When I leave her, she'll be alone in the world.”
Ibrahim al-Far commented, “Our Lord is always present. He is the ultimate guardian for everyone.”
They were silent for a time. Finally Ali Abd al-Rahim's voice curtailed the silence: “It will be my turn after yours to see a greatgrandchild.”
Al-Sayyi
d Ahmad laughed and said, “May God forgive girls for making parents and grandparents old before their time.”
Muhammad Iffat cried out, 'Old man, admit you're old and stop being so obstinate.”
“You mustn't raise your voice for fear my heart will hear you and act up. It's like a spoiled child.”
Shaking hishead sorrowfully, Ibrahim al-Far said, “What a year we've had…. It's been rough. It hasn't left any of us in good shape - as if ill health had booked an appointment with us.”
“In the words of Abd al-Wahhab's song, 'Let's live together and die together.'”
The} all laughed. Ali Abd al-Rahim changed his tone and asked seriously, “Is it right? I mean what al-Nuqrashi did?”
Ahmad Abd al-Jawad frowned as he answered, “I hoped so much that things would return to normal…. I ask the forgiveness of God Almighty.”
“A fraternal bond developed through a lifetime of shared struggle went up in smoke.”
“Nowadays all good deeds go up in smoke.”
Ahmad Abd al-Jawad continued: “Nothing has made me so sad as al-Nuqrashi's departure from the Wafd. He should not have carried the dispute that far.”
“What fate do you suppose awaits him?”
“The inevitable one, for where are rebels like al-Basil and al-Shamsi today? This valiant leader has sealed his own fate and taken Ahmad Mahir down with him.”
Then Muhammad Iffat said nervously, “Spare us this story. I'm about ready to renounce politics.”
Al-Far had an idea and asked with a smile, “If we were forced -God forbid it to take to our beds, like Mr. Ali, how would we meet and converse with each other?”
Muhammad Iffat murmured, “God's will be done - not yours!”
Ahmad Abd al-Jawad laughed and replied, “If the worst happens, then we'll talk to each other by radio, the way Papa Soot talks to the children when he does his show.”
The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street Page 128