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

by Naguib Mahfouz

  “Yes!”

  This interrogation might imply something or it might not. He had often brooded about these ideas, but the situation demanded extraordinary courage. Both his inherited and acquired mentalities were on trial in this frightening inquisition. He imagined that he had caught her drift, but perhaps she was merely testing him. Even if she was serious, he would not retreat. Although gripped by pain as jealousy pulsed through him, he would not back down.

  “I consent to your conditions. But let me tell you frankly that I was hoping to win an affectionate woman, not merely an analytical mind.”

  As her eyes followed the swimming duck, she asked, “To tell you that she loves you and will marry you?”

  “Yes!”

  She laughed and inquired, “Do you think I'd discuss the details if I had not agreed in principle?”

  He squeezed her hand gently, and she added, “You know it all. You just want to hear it.”

  “I'll never grow tired of hearing it.”

  159

  “IT CONCERNS the reputation of our entire family. If nothing else, he's as much your son as he is mine. But you're free to hold your own opinions.”

  As Khadija spoke, her eyes glanced swiftly and anxiously from face to face, from her husband, Ibrahim, who was sitting on her right, to her son Ahmad in the opposite corner of the sitting room, uot omitting Yasin, Kamal, and Abd al-Muni'm on the way.

  Imitating his mother, Ahmad said playfully, “Pay attention, everyone. The family's reputation is at stake, and I'm your son, if nothing else.”

  She complained bitterly, “What is this ordeal, son? You won't listen to anyone, not even your father. You refuse advice, even when it's for your own good. You're always right, and everyone else is wrong. When you stopped praying, we said, ‘May our Lord guide him.’ You refused to go to Law School like your brother, and we said, ‘The future's in God's hands.’ You said, ‘I'm going to be a journalist.’ We replied, 'Be a cart driver if you want.'”

  He replied jovially, “And now I want to get married….”

  “Get married. We're all delighted. But marriage has certain conditions….”

  “Who sets these conditions?”

  “A sound mind.”

  “My mind has chosen for me.”

  “Hasn't time shown you yet that you can't rely only on your own intellect?”

  “Not at all. Asking advice from other people is possible in everything but marriage, which is exactly like food.”

  “Food! You don't just marry a girl. You marry her entire family. And consequently, we marry along with you.”

  Ahmad laughed out loud and exclaimed, “All of you! That's too much! Uncle Kamal doesn't want to marry, and Uncle Yasin would like my bride for himself.”

  Everyone laughed except Khadija. Then before the smile vanished from his face, Yasin commented, “If that would remedy the situation, I am more than ready to make the sacrifice.”

  Khadija cried out, “Go ahead and laugh! This just encourages him. It would be far better if you'd give him your frank opinions. What do you think of a person who wishes to marry the precious daughter of a printshop employee who works for the girl's own magazine? It's hard for us to bear your working as a journalist. How can you want to marry into the family of a pressman? Don't you have an opinion about this, Mr. Ibrahim?”

  Ibrahim Shawkat raised his eyebrows as if he wanted to say something but kept quiet. Khadija continued: “If this disaster takes place, the night of the wedding your home will be jammed with press operators, artisans, cabdrivers, and God knov/s what else.”

  Ahmad responded passionately, “Don't talk like that about my family.”

  “Lord of heaven do you deny that her relatives are people like this?”

  “She's the only one I'm marrying, folks.”

  Ibrahim Shawkat said in exasperation, “You won't marry just her - may God give you as much trouble as you're causing us.”

  Encouraged by her husband's protest, Khadija said, “I went to visit their home, as custom dictates. I said, ‘I'll go see my son's bride.’ I found them living in a cellar on a street inhabited almost entirely by Jews. Her mother's appearance differs in no respect from that of a maid, and the bride herself is at least thirty. Yes, by God! If she had even a hint of beauty, I would excuse him. Why do you want to marry her? He's bewitched. She's cast a spell on him. She works with him at that ill-omened magazine. Perhaps she put something in his coffee or water when he wasn't looking. Go and see her yourselves. You be the judge. I've met my match. I returned from the visit scarcely able to see the road because of my chagrin and sorrow.”

  “You're making me angry. I won't forgive you for saying such things.”

  “Sorry!” Then, quoting the title of a wedding song, she continued: “ ‘Sorry, sovereign beauty!’ I'm in the wrong! All my life I've been overly critical of other people, and now our Lord has afflicted me with children who suffer from every known defect. I ask the forgiveness of God Almighty.”

  “No matter what allegations you make about her family, unlike you they don't make false accusations about other people.”

  “Tomorrow, after it's too late, when you've heard everything,” you'll utiderstand that I was right. May God forgive you for insulting, me.”

  “You're the one who has done an outstanding job of humiliating me.”

  “She's after your money. If she had not come upon a failure like you, the most she could have hoped for would have been a newspaper vendor.”

  “She's an editor at the magazine with a salary twice the size of mine.”

  “So she's a journalist too! God's will be done! What kind of girl works outside the home except an old maid, a hag, or a woman who apes men?”

  “God forgive you.”

  “And may He forgive you, too, for all the suffering you're causing us.”

  Yasin, who had followed the conversation attentively while twisting his mustache, said at this point, “Listen, sister. There's no reason to squabble. Let's give Ahmad the candid advice he needs, but arguing won't help matters.”

  Ahmad stood up angrily, saying, “Please excuse me. I'm going to get dressed and go to work.”

  Once he was out of the room, Yasin went to sit beside his sister and, leaning toward her, said, “Quarreling won't do you any good. We can't rule our children. They think they are better and cleverer, than we are. If there's no way to avert the marriage, let him get married. If he's not happy with her, it will be entirely his fault. As you know, I was never able to settle down until I married Zanuba. It's just possible that he has made a wise choice. Besides, we gain understanding from experience not from words”. Then he laughed and corrected himself: “Although I haven't been enlightened by either words or experience.”

  Kamal agreed with Yasin. “My brother's right.”

  Giving him a reproachful look, Khadija asked, “Is this all you have to say, Kamal? He loves you. If you would talk to him in private….”

  Kamal answered, “I'll leave when he does and have a word with him. But we've had enough quarreling. He's a free man. He has a right to marry any woman he wants. Can you stop him? Are you planning to break off relations with him?”

  Smiling, Yasin said, “The matter's quite simple, sister. He'll get married today and divorced tomorrow. We're Muslims, not Catholics.”

  Narrowing her small eyes and speaking through half-closed lips, Khadija said, “Of course. What attorney doeshe need to defend him besides you? Whoever said that the son takes after his maternal uncle was right.”

  Yasin roared out his mighty laugh and said. “God forgive you. If women were left at the mercy of other females, no girl would ever get married.”

  Pointing to her husband, she observed, “His mother, God rest her soul, chose me for him herself.”

  Sighing cheerfully, Ibrahim said, “And I've paid the price… may God have mercy on her and pardon her.”

  Khadija ignored his comment and continued regretfully: “If only she were pretty! He's blind!”
>
  Laughing, Ibrahim remarked, “Like his father!”

  She turned toward him angrily and snapped, “You're an ingrate, like all men.”

  The man replied calmly, “No, we're just patient, and paradise belongs to us.”

  She shouted at him, “If you ever enter it, that will be thanks to me, because I taught you your religion.”

  Kamal and Ahmad left Sugar Street together. The uncle was skeptical and undecided about this proposed marriage. He could not fault himself for adherence to foolish traditions or for indifference to the principles of equality and human dignity, but still the hideous social reality, which he could not change, was a fact a person could not ignore. In the past he had been infatuated with Qamar, the daughter of Abu Sari', who sold grilled snacks. Despite her charms, she had almost repulsed him with the disagreeable odor of her body. Kamal admired the young man, envying Ahmad's courage, decisiveness, and other qualities that he himself lacked - particularly belief, diligence, and a will to marry. Ahmad could almost have been awarded to the family in compensation for Kamal's stolid negativism. Why did marriage seem so significant to him while for other people it was a normal part of everyday life like saying “Hello”?

  “Where are you going, my boy?”

  “To the magazine, Uncle. What about you?”

  “Al-Fkr magazine to meet Riyad Qaldas…. Won't you think a little more before taking this step?”

  “What step, Uncle? I'm already married.”

  “Is that true?”

  “It's true. And I'm going to live on the first floor of our house … because of the housing crisis.”

  “How provocative!”

  “Yes, but she won't get home until after my mother has gone to bed.”

  After recovering from the impact of the news, Kamal asked his nephew jovially, “Did you marry in the manner prescribed by God and His Messenger?”

  Ahmad laughed too and replied, “Of course. We marry and bury according to the precepts of our former religion, but we live according to the Marxist faith”. Then, as they parted, he added, “You'll like her a lot, Uncle. Once you see her, you can judge for yourself. She's a wonderful personality, in every sense of the word.”

  160

  WHAT APPALLING indecisiveness…. It might just as well have been a chronic disease. Every issue seemed to present a multitude of equivalent sides, making it almost impossible to choose between them. Neither metaphysical questions nor the simple operations of daily life were exempt. Perplexity and hesitation posed an obstacle everywhere. Should he marry or not? He needed to make up his mind but fluctuated so much that he felt dizzy. The normal balance between his spirit, intellect, and senses became disrupted. When the maelstrom finally calmed down, no progress would have been made, and the question - to marry or not would still lack an answer. Occasionally he felt distressed by his freedom and by his loneliness or resented a life spent in the company of dreary mental phantoms. Then he would yearn for a companion, and the loving family instincts imprisoned inside him would groan for release. He would picture himself a husband, cured of his introspective isolation, his fantasies dissipated… but also preoccupied by his children, wholly absorbed in earning a living, and oppressed by all the concerns of everyday life. Then, dreadfully alarmed, he would decide to stay single, no matter how much tormented lonelinesshe suffered. But indecision would soon rear itshead again as he started to wonder about marriage once more, and so on and so forth. How could he make up his mind?

  Budur really was a wonderful girl. The fact that she rode the streetcar today did not detract from her charms, for she had been born and raised in the paradise of those angels who had inflamed hisheart in the old days. She was a meteor that had fallen from the sky, a truly outstanding girl, and an educated beauty of good character. She would not be difficult to obtain. If he chose to proceed, she would be a promising bride in every respect. All he had to do was to get on with it.

  In addition to these considerations, he had to admit that she occupied a central place in his consciousness. Hers was the last image of life he saw on falling asleep and the first he greeted on waking. During the day, she was rarely far from his thoughts. The moment he saw her, the rusty strings of hisheart began to vibrate with poignant songs. His world of lonely and confused suffering had been transformed. Breaths of fresh air had penetrated it, and the water of life flowed through it. If this was not love, what was it? For the last two monthshe had sought out Ibn Zaydun Street late each afternoon, traversing it slowly and training his eyes on the balcony until they met hers. Then they would exchange a smile, as was only appropriate for two colleagues. That had started as if by chance, but the continuation could only have been deliberate. Whenever he turned up at the appointed hour, he found her seated on the balcony, reading a book or glancing around. He was certain that she was waiting for him. Had she wished to erase this idea from his mind, she would have needed only to avoid the balcony for a few minutes each afternoon. What must she think of his visit, smile, and greeting? But not so fast…. Instincts are rarely mistaken. Each of them wished to encounter the other. This realization sent him into transports of joy and left him drunk with delight. He was filled with a sense of life's value. But this happiness was marred by anxiety. How could it help but be, when it had not yet been coupled with a determination to proceed? A current swept him along, and he yielded to it, not knowing where it would carry him or where he would land. A little reflection might have forced him to be more circumspect, but the joy of life sympathetically diverted him. He was intoxicated with gaiety but not free of anxiety.

  Riyad had told him, “Get on with it. This is your chance”. Ever since starting to wear an engagement ring, Riyad had spoken of marriage as if it was man's original and ultimate objective in life, saying conceitedly that since he was boldly embarking on this unique experience, he would be granted a new and more accurate understanding of life, one that would create opportunities for him to write about children and couples. “Isn't this what life is all about, you high-soaring philosopher?”

  Kamal had answered evasively, “Today you've gone over to the other side, and so you're the last person from whom to expect a fair judgment. I'll miss having you as my sincere adviser.”

  Viewed from another perspective, love seemed to him a dictator, an d Egypt's political life had taught him to hate dictatorship with all bisheart. At his aunt Jalila's house, he surrendered his body to Atiya but then quickly reclaimed it, as if nothing had happened. This girl, shielded by her modesty, would be satisfied with nothing less than possessing his spirit and his body, forever. Afterward, there would only be one course for him to pursue: the bitter struggle to earn a living to support his wife and children properly a bizarre destiny transforming an existence rife with exalted concerns into nothing more than a means of “gaining” a living. The Indian sadhu might be a fool or a lunatic but was at least a thousand times wiser than a man up to his ears in making a living.

  “Enjoy the love you once yearned for,” he advised himself. “Here it is, resuscitated in your heart, but bringing lots of problems with it.”

  Riyad had asked him, “Is it reasonable for you to love her, to have it in your power to marry her, and then to decline to take her?”

  Kamal had replied that he loved her but not marriage.

  Riyad had protested, “It's love that consoles us to marriage. Since you're not in love with marriage as you say - you must not be in love with the girl.”

  Kamal had insisted, “No, I love her and hate marriage.”

  Riyad had suggested, “Perhaps you fear the responsibility.”

  Kamal had said furiously, “I already shoulder far more responsibilities at home and at work than you do.”

  Riyad had snapped, “Perhaps you're more selfish than I had imagined.”

  Kamal had inquired sarcastically, “What inspires an individual to marry if not latent or manifest egotism?”

  Smiling, Riyad had retorted, “Perhaps you're sick. Go to a psychiatrist. He may be able to
cure you.”

  Kamal had remarked, “It's amusing that my forthcoming article in al-Fikr magazine is 'How to Analyze Yourself ”

  Riyad had told him, “I admit that you puzzle me.”

  Kamal had answered, “I'm the one who is always puzzled.”

  Once, walking down Ibn Zaydun Street as usual, he had encountered his sweetheart's mother on her way home. He had recognized her at first glance, although he had not seen her for at least seventeen years and she was no longer the lady he had once known. She had withered in a most distressing way, and worry had marked her even before age could. A person would hardly have imagined that this emaciated woman scurrying by was the lady who had sauntered through the garden of the mansion, a paragon of beauty and perfection. Nonetheless the shape of her head had reminded him of A'ida, and the sight of her had affected him deeply. Fortunately, he had already exchanged a smile with Budur before seeing her mother. Otherwise, he would not have been able to. Then, for no particular reason, he had found himself remembering Aisha and the ill-tempered fit she had thrown that morning when searching for her dentures, after forgetting where she had deposited them before going to sleep the previous evening.

  Then one day he noticed that, contrary to her usual practice, Budur was standing on the balcony. He perceived that she was preparing for an excursion. He asked himself, “Will she go out alone?” She immediately disappeared from view, and he proceeded on his way, slowly and reflectively. If she really did come out alone, she would be coming to see him. Perhaps this intoxicating victory would wash away the humiliation he had suffered years before. But would A'ida have done this, even if the moon had split apart? When he was halfway down the block, he turned to look back and saw her coming… by herself. He imagined that the pounding of hisheart was audible to the neighbors and sensed immediately the gravity of the developing situation. One side of his personality strongly advocated flight. Their previous exchanges of smiles had been an innocent sentimental entertainment, but this encounter would be of unparalleled significance, bringing with it new responsibilities and the need to make a decisive choice. If he fled now, he would give himself more time for reflection. But he did not run away. He continued on with deliberate steps, as if drugged, until she caught up with him at the comer of al-Galal Street. As He turned, their eyes met, they smiled, and he said, “Good evening.”