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

by Naguib Mahfouz

“May our Lord be gracious to us,” he said. “If you hear someone selling a special edition of al-Balagh or al-Muqattam newspapers, buy one.”

  “It's like the days of Kaiser Wilhelm and the zeppelin. Do you remember, master? Glory to God the everlasting.”

  143

  AS KHADIJA later observed, it was a “momentous” family reunion. When the door of her apartment opened, Yasin, wearing a white linen suit with a red rose in the lapel and brandishing an ivory handled fly whisk, filled the aperture. His huge body almost created a draft of air as he advanced, followed by his son, Ridwan, who had on a silk suit of exemplary elegance and beauty. Then came Zanuba in a gray dress, radiating the modest decorum that had become an inseparable part of her. Finally there was Karima in an exquisite short-sleeved blue dress that revealed the uppermost part of her chest. Although she was only thirteen, her virginal femininity had blossomed and she seemed outrageously attractive. In the parlor they were received by Khadija, Ibrahim, Abd al-Muni'm, and Ahmad.

  Yasin wasted no time in asking, “Have you ever heard anything like this? My son is secretary to the chief of the ministry where I'm employed as a section head in the records office. The very earth rises to greet him when he passes, while people are barely aware of my existence.”

  Although his words were couched in the language of protest, his proud satisfaction with his son was obvious to everyone. After receiving his degree in May, Ridwan had been appointed a secretary to the cabinet minister in June, starting out in the civil service at the sixth level, when most college graduates joined at the eighth as clerks. Abd al-Muni'm, who had received his degree at the same time, still did not know what the future held in store for him.

  Feeling a bit jealous, Khadija smiled and said, “Ridwan is a friend of the men in power, but children are only as good as their parents.”

  With a delight he did not succeed in concealing, Yasin asked, “Didn't you see the photograph of him and the minister in al-Ahram yesterday? It's gotten so we don't know how to address him.”

  Pointing to Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad, Ibrahim Shawkat said, “These boys are a disappointment. They waste their lives in bitter but meaningless debates, and their best contacts are Shaykh Ali al-Manufi, who runs the al-Husayn Primary School, and that scum of the earth Adli Karim, publis her of a journal called Light or Smut or who knows what.”

  Even though he tried to appear calm, Ahmad was infuriated. His uncle Yasin's conceit upset him as much as his father's sUghting remarks. Abd al-Muni'm's anger, which under different circumstances might easily have flared up, was dampened by the expectations this family visit had aroused. Glancing surreptitiously at Ridwan's face, he wondered what his cousin was thinking. Hisheart felt that this visit was an auspicious one, for his relatives would probably not have come unless they were bearing good news.

  Responding to Ibrahim's comments, Yasin remarked, “If you ask my opinion, I think you have fine sons. Isn't there a proverb that says, 'The sultan is the one person you don't find waiting by the sultan's door.'”

  Yasin's attempt to hide his delight was a complete failure, and he convinced no one that he actually believed what he was saying. All the same, pointing to Ridwan, Khadija remarked, “May our Lord grant hitn any good that comes to them and spare him whatever misfortunes they experience.”

  At last, Ridwan turned to Abd al-Muni'm and said, “I hope to be able to offer you my congratulations soon….”

  Blushing, Abd al-Muni'm looked inquisitively at his cousin. Ridwan added, “The minister promised to give you an appointment in the Bureau of Investigations.”

  The members of Khadija's family were impatient to hear all the details and fixed their eyes on Ridwan in hopes of discovering further substantiating signs. The young man continued: “Most probably at the beginning of next month.”

  Expanding on his son's words, Yasin said, “It's a judicial position. In our records office two young men with university degrees have been appointed to clerical jobs at the eighth level with salaries of only eight pounds a month.”

  It was Khadija who had asked Yasin to talk to his son about Abd al-Muni'm. So she said gratefully, “Our thanks to God and to you, brother”. Turning to Ridwan, she added, “And it goes without saying that we are very appreciative of the favor Ridwan has done us.”

  Ibrahim added his own thanks to hers, saying, “Absolutely! Ridwan is Abd al-Muni'm's brother and a fine one too.”

  To remind them of her presence, the smiling Zanuba remarked, “Ridwan and Abd al-Muni'm truly are brothers. There's no question about that.”

  Abd al-Muni'm, who for the first time felt bashful in Ridwan's presence, asked, “Washe serious about it?”

  Yasin answered importantly, “The minister's word! I'm following up on it.”

  Ridwan said, “I'll take care of any problems that might arise in the personnel office. I have many friends there, even though it's said that employees of the personnel office don't have a friend in the world.”

  Ibrahim Shawkat sighed and observed, “Praise God who spared us from embarking on a career and from dealing with personnel officers.”

  Yasin said, “You live like a king, as is only right for a person named after God's friend, the prophet Abraham.”

  But Khadija retorted scornfully, “May our Lord never decree that a man should stay home.”

  Zanuba, as usual, intervened with a pleasant word: “To be forced to stay home is a curse, but a man with a private income has a sultan's life.”

  A mischievous gleam in his eyes, Ahmad said, “Uncle Yasin has a private income and a civil service position too.”

  Yasin laughed out loud and replied, “I have a civil service post and that's all, if you please. My private income! That's over and done with. How can anyone with a family like mine hold on to his fortune?”

  Khadija cried out in dismay, “Your family!”

  To end this conversation, which was beginning to get on his nerves, Ridwan turned to Ahmad and said, “God willing, you'll find us ready to serve you next year when you get your degree.”

  Ahmad answered, “Thank you very much, but I'm not entering government service.”

  “How so?”

  “A civil service job would kill a person like me. My future lies outside the government.”

  Khadija wanted to remonstrate with her son but chose to postpone the argument to another time. Smiling, Ridwan said, “If you change your mind, you'll find me at your service.”

  To show his gratitude, Ahmad raised his hand to hishead. Then the maid brought in glasses of cold lemonade. During the moment of silence as they began to sip their drinks, Khadija happened to glance at Karima. She seemed to be noticing the girl for the first time since reassuring herself about Abd al-Muni'm. She asked her niece tenderly, “How are you, Karima?”

  In a melodious voice the girl replied, “Fine, thanks, Auntie.”

  Khadija was about to extol her niece's beauty, but caution restrained her. This was not the first time Zanuba had brought her daughter to visit them since the girl had been staying home after finishing her elementary certificate. Khadija told herself that there was something suspicious about it. Karima was Zanuba's daughter, but Yasin was her father. That fact made the matter a delicate one.

  Abd al-Muni'm was too engrossed with his future position to give Karima the attention she deserved, although he was well acquainted with her. Moreover, he had not yet recovered from the death of his wife. And there was no space left in Ahmad'sheart.

  Yasin said, “Karima's still sorry she didn't go to secondary school.”

  Frowning, Zanuba said, “I'm even sorrier than she is.”

  Ibrarrjm Shawkat commented, “The effect the exertion of studying has on girls concerns me. Besides, a girl is going to end up at home. It's only a year or two before Karima will be married off to some lucky fellow.”

  “You should have your tongue cut out,” Khadija observed silently. “He brings up dangerous topics without paying any attention to the consequences. What a situation!
Karima is Yasin's daughter and sister to Ridwan, who has done us this important favor. Perhaps there are no grounds for this anxiety, and I'm just imagining things. But why does Zanuba visit us so often, bringing Karima along with her? Yasin's too busy to think up plots, but that woman was raised in a troupe of performers….”

  Zanuba responded, “That's what people used to say. But now all girls go to school.”

  Khadija said, “In our district there are two girls who are studying for advanced degrees, but God knows they are no beauties.”

  Yasin asked Ahmad, “Aren't some of the girls in your department beautiful?”

  Ahmad'sheart pounded as the image nestling in hisheart appeared before his mind's eye. He answered, “The love of learning is not restricted to ugly girls.”

  Looking toward her father with a smile, Karima said, “It's all a question of who a girl's father is.”

  Yasin laughed and said, “Bravo, daughter! That's how a good girl talks about her father. That's how your aunt used to speak to your grandfather.”

  Khadija said sarcastically, “It really does make a difference who your father is.”

  Zanuba quickly replied, “Don't blame the girl. Oh, if you could hear the way he talks to his children….”

  Khadija said, “I know.”

  Yasin commented, “I'm a man with his own ideas about child rearing. I'm their father and their friend. I wouldn't want any of my children to tremble from fear when they're with me. Even now I'm ill at ease in my father's presence.”

  Ibrahim Shawkat said, “May God strengthen him and console him for having to stay home. Al-Sayyid Ahmad is a generation all by himself. There's not another man like him.”

  Khadija said critically, “Tell him!”

  As if to apologize for not being like his father, Yasin agreed, “My father is an entire generation all by himself. Alas, he and his friends are now confined to their homes men for whom the whole world wasn't big enough.”

  Ridwan said in an aside to Ahmad, “With the entry of Italy into the war, Egypt's situation has become extremely grave.”

  “Perhaps these mock air raids will turn into real ones.”

  “But are the English strong enough to turn back the expected Italian advance? No doubt Hitler will leave the task of taking the Suez Canal to Mussolini.”

  Abd al-Muni'm asked, “Will America just stand by and watch?”

  “Russia holds the true key to the situation.”

  “But she's allied with Hitler.”

  “Communism is the enemy of the Nazis, and the evil threatening the world from a German victory is greater than that from a victory by the democracies.”

  “They have darkened the world,” Khadija complained. “May God darken their lives. What are all these things we never knew before? Air-raid sirens! Anti-aircraft guns! Searchlights! These calamities could turn a man's hair white before his time.”

  With mild sarcasm, Ibrahim retorted, “At any rate, in our family nobody goes gray prematurely.”

  “That's only true of you.”

  Ibrahim was sixty-five now, but compared to al-Sayyid Ahmad, who was only three years his senior, he seemed decades younger.

  When the visit was ending, Ridwan instructed Abd al-Muni'm: “Come see me at the ministry.”

  Once the door was closed behind the departing guests, Ahmad told Abd al-Muni'm, “Be careful not to barge in on him unannounced. Find out how to behave when visiting a minister's secretary.”

  His brother did not reply or even look his way.

  144

  AHMAD HAD little trouble finding the villa of his sociology professor, Mr. Forster, in the Cairo suburb of al-Ma'adi. On entering, he realized that he was a bit late and that many of the other students had already arrived for this party, which the professor was giving before he returned to England. Ahmad was welcomed by the host and his wife, and the professor introduced Ahmad to her as one of the best students in the department. Then the young man joined the others, who were sitting on the veranda. All levels of the sociology program were represented. As one of the small group promoted to the final year, Ahmad shared with those peers a sense of excellence and of achievement. None of the women students had appeared yet, but he was confident that they would come or at least that his “friend” would, since she also lived in al-Ma'adi. Glancing at the garden, he saw a long table set on a grassy lawn, which was bordered on two sides by willow and palm trees. Lined up on the table were teapots, containers of milk, and platters of sweet confections and pastries.

  He heard a student ask, “Shall we observe British manners or swoop down on the table like vultures?”

  Another replied rather sadly, “Oh, if only ‘Lady’ Forster weren't present.”

  It was late afternoon, but the weather was pleasant, June's reputation for sultriness notwithstanding. In no time at all the eagerly awaited flock was at the door. As if by design, the only four women students in the department all came together. Wearing a fitted pure-white dress that seemed one with the rest of her charming person except for her coal-black hair Alawiya Sabri came into view, striding jauntily forward. At that moment Ahmad, whose secret had long since gotten out, felt a teasing foot rub against his to alert him to her presence, as if there were any need for that. He kept his eyes on the women until they found seats on the veranda in a corner that had been vacated for them.

  Mr. Forster and his wife appeared, and, pointing to the girls, Mrs. Forster asked, “Would you like to be introduced?”

  Thei r response was resounding laughter. Extraordinarily lively although nearly fifty, the professor said, “It would be far better if you'd introduce them to me.”

  The guests laughed noisily once more, and Mr. Forster continued: “At about this time each year we leave Egypt for a holiday in England, but this year we don't know whether we'll see Egypt again or not___”

  His wife interrupted: “We don't even know if we'll manage to see England!”

  They realized that she was referring to the danger posed to shipping by submarines, and more than one voice called out, “Crood luck, ma'am.”

  The host added, “I'll carry away with me beautiful memories of our life at the Faculty of Arts and of this tranquil and lovely area of al-Ma'adi. I'll always remember you fondly, even your tomfoolery.”

  To be polite, Ahmad replied, “The memory of you will stay with us forever and will continue to develop as our intellects do.”

  “Thank you”. Then, smiling, the professor told his wife, “Ahmad is an academic at heart, even though he has ideas of a kind that often cause trouble in this country.”

  One of Ahmad's fellow students explained, “That meanshe's a Communist.”

  The smiling hostess raised her eyebrows, and Mr. Forster commented in a tone that conveyed more than his words themselves, “I'm not the one who said that. Your comrade did”. Then, standing up, he announced, “It's time for tea. We mustn't let the moment slip away from us. Later there will be an opportunity for conversation and entertainment.”

  The tea party was catered by Groppi's, a famous Cairo establishment, and its waiters stood nearby, ready to serve the guests. “Lady” Forster sat between the girls on one side, and the professor was at the center on the other. To explain the seating arrangement, he said, “We would have liked to mix you up more but decided to respect Eastern etiquette. Isn't that right?”

  With out any hesitation, one o the male students answered, “This, unfortunately, is what we've noticed, sir.”

  A sei-vant poured tea and milk, and the feast began. Ahmad observed furtively that Alawiya Sabri was the most proficient of the girls in Western table manners and the most relaxed. She seemed accustomed to social life and as much at ease as if in her own home. Watching her eat pastries was even sweeter than eating them himself. She was his dear friend who reciprocated his friendship without encouraging him to cross its boundaries.

  He told himself, “If I don't seize the opportunity that today offers, I may as well give up.”

  Mrs. Fo
rster raised her voice to advise them, “I hope you won't let the thought of war rationing make you shy about eating the pastries.”

  A student commented, “It's a lucky break that the authorities haven't restricted tea yet.”

  Mr. Forster leaned over toward Ahmad, who was sitting to his left, and inquired, “How do you spend your holidays? I mean, what do you read?”

  “A lot of economics and a little politics. I write some articles for magazines too.”

  “I'd advise you to go on for a master's degree when you finish this one.”

  After chewing what was in his mouth, Ahmad replied, “Perhaps later on, but I'll start out working as a journalist. That's been my plan for years.”

  “Excellent!”

  His dear friend was conversing easily with Mrs. Forster. How quickly she had perfected her English! The roses and other blooms were as saturated with red and their other colors as hisheart was with love. In a world that was truly free, love would blossom like a flower. Only in a Communist country could love be a totally natural emotion.

  Mr. Forster said, “I'm sad I won't be able to continue my study of Arabic. I would like to read Majnun's poems in praise of Layla without having to rely on one of you.”

  “It's a pity that you won't be able to study it anymore.”

  “Unless circumstances permit, later on.”

  “You may find yourself obliged to learn German,” Ahmad reflected. “Wouldn't it be amusing if London were the scene of demonstrations calling for the evacuation of foreign forces and you took part in them? The seductive charm of the English can be attributed to their manners, but that of my dear friend is unique.

  The sun will soon set, and night will find us together in an isolated spot for the first time. If I don't seize this opportunity, I may as well give up.”

  He asked his professor, “What will you be doing once you return to London?”

  “I've been invited to work in broadcasting.”

  “Then we won't be deprived of hearing your voice.”

  “A polite statement,” Ahmad told himself, “is excusable at a party ornamented by my friend, but we only listen to the German broadcasts. Our people love the Germans, if only because they hate the English. Colonialism is the final stage of capitalism. The situation created by our professor's party merits some thought. Although we justify it in the spirit of intellectual inquiry, there is a conflict between our love for this professor and our loathing for his nationality. Hopefully the war will polish off both the Nazi movement and colonialism. Then I can concentrate entirely on love.”