Khan Al-Khalili

by Naguib Mahfouz

  And yet, in spite of everything, the two brothers still remained very fond of each other, due in no small part to the talents of the younger one. Whenever the elder brother applied pressure, the younger one slowed his pace a little; whenever the former frowned, the latter smiled; if Ahmad cursed and swore, Rushdi used to laugh and then either kiss his brother’s hand or nudge his shoulder; if Ahmad clenched his fist, Rushdi would tease him ever so gently. This phase came to an end with a miracle. Yes indeed, a miracle in the form of a BA degree. All of which drove Ahmad to observe that here was a student being awarded a degree that gave its holder precedence over himself! But then he gave a deep sigh and realized that now his own responsibilities were over. He would not have to concern himself—to an excessive degree—with his younger brother’s raucous behavior any longer; Rushdi was in charge of his own life. All that meant that the atmosphere between the two brothers calmed down a lot; their mutual affection returned to the way it used to be when Rushdi was a boy, with nothing to mar the picture. In fact, they were so comfortable with each other that Rushdi would often share with his brother stories about his love affairs, drawing from his wide experience involving both chaste and distinctly unchaste episodes. He was just as likely to look for adventure in low dives as he was to chase pretty girls across roads and squares. He managed to collect a number of photographs of pretty girls with this odd expression scribbled in pleasant handwriting: “To my beloved fiancé, Rushdi.” It was not that he meant any harm to these young women or that he found it in any way easy to plot dirty tricks against them. The truth of the matter was that it was all too easy for him to fall victim to his own intense passions. For him nothing was easier than to become a lover, a genuine and sincere one at that. But, once he was involved, he would never actually swear a lie, all too often he would break his word.

  When his emotions became really intense, it often happened that he would take it further and make a genuine, truthful promise; then there would be an engagement. But not long afterward, his emotions would calm down or something else would happen. In his life there was no such thing as peace and quiet; it provided fertile ground for pleasures and passions, so much so that he actually wore himself out. He grew thinner and downright skinny, so much so that, according to his parents, he looked like a beanpole. Ahmad, who loved him and felt sorry for him, kept looking at him anxiously. “Have pity on yourself,” he told his brother, to which Rushdi replied with his usual merriment, “God have mercy on us and you!” When the bank had sent him to work in the Asyut branch, his family had been secretly delighted—even though they were sorry to see him go so far away. They clung to the single hope that in his new posting—his exile to the South—their younger son might adjust his lifestyle and regain some of the health he had lost. They also hoped that he would be able to save some of his salary as well. For that very reason they were delighted when they heard he had been moved back to Cairo, all the while keeping their worries to themselves.

  16

  There were just three days left in the month of Ramadan. Ahmad was actually sad that the blessed month was coming to an end. After all, how could he possibly forget all the benefits and mercies it provided? How could he commune with the sunset hour about his rotten luck and lonely heart? What would tomorrow bring, he wondered to himself, and what of the future? His mother, Sitt Dawlat, and the servant girl were both busy getting the room ready for his brother who was coming home from Asyut. It was the room next to his parents’ bedroom and looked out onto the street that led to the old part of Khan al-Khalili, as did one of the windows in Ahmad’s own room. They swept and cleaned the room, then put some furniture in it so that it was completely ready for the young man’s arrival. Their mother then embarked on one of her seasonal campaigns—as usual, one that involved her son, Ahmad—all connected with the arrival of the first day of the Eid, or “the Cookie Feast,” as she liked to call it. After they had all broken the fast, she took advantage of the fact that she was alone with him and started bidding a fond farewell to the Ramadan days with their particular rituals.

  “Just a couple more days,” she said, “and we’ll all be enjoying the smell of cookies!”

  He was expecting something of the sort and realized that there was no avoiding an argument about it; he was bound to lose no matter what he said or however much he objected. Even so, he was not in the habit of surrendering even a single solitary penny without putting up a fight as a way of salving his conscience.

  “In times like these,” he said by way of justification, “people won’t be smelling cookies! They’ll be asking God to keep them safe and provide them with life’s bare necessities. You’re always keen to get us trivial luxuries, Mother. You don’t think about how much money I have. Have mercy on those who dwell on earth, and He who dwells in heaven will have mercy on you!”

  The look she gave him was a blend of reproach and entreaty, but then she smiled. “Oh, you’re impossible!” she responded with a blink of her bespectacled eyelids. “How many times have you started an argument with your own mother for no reason at all, as though she isn’t the one who has loved you and spoiled you to death? Are you pretending to be so poor, when you’re obviously well-off? Are you pretending to forget that it’s your turn now to spoil your mother a bit? I’ve no intention of ever causing you, the best of sons, any hardship. We always manage to make do with just a little, in honor of you!”

  He was well aware that she would never give up until she had her way.

  “Uh-huh,” he sighed in despair.

  “Uh-huh to the idea of a feast day with no cookies. Are we supposed to celebrate the feast day without cookies, when you’re the man of the house?”

  “Cookies are for kids!”

  “And men and women as well. The feast’s for everyone. Haven’t you noticed that your father’s bought himself a new cloak for the feast-day prayers? You’ve bought yourself a new suit, fez, and shoes—good for you in the name of the All-Merciful! As far as I’m concerned, celebrating the feast involves kneading, sculpting, sprinkling sugar, and stuffing with honey-sesame paste!”

  The next morning, the day before the Eid, he made his way to the Cairo train station to await his younger brother’s arrival. It was damp but not too cold, so he sat down on a bench on the platform for trains coming from the South. There were only a few minutes left before the train was supposed to arrive. As usual, he felt a bit panicky around steam trains puffing smoke and blowing shrill whistles. He had never had to meet a train before; in fact, he had never left the boundaries of Cairo itself. He had absolutely no desire to travel or take trips. As far as he was concerned, a prison term would be more tolerable than living in a distant country. No doubt it was his fear of any encounter with the outside world that fueled this hatred of travel, but the way he himself explained it—following his usual pattern of justifying his behavior and temperament—was that it was the natural path for an intellectual who much preferred the world of ideas and avoided material things as much as possible. After all, hadn’t the great poet Abu al-Ala’ al-Ma’arri lived his entire life in devotion to religious obligations? The thing that managed to lessen his sense of panic was the joy he was feeling because his brother, Rushdi, was coming back to Cairo—his own brother, almost his son. Not to mention his assumption that Rushdi would be able to help him shoulder the family burdens that up until now had fallen on his shoulders alone. He was hoping as well that his brother would manage to bring some fun and pleasure into his life.

  Before long everyone’s necks were craning toward the southern direction, and the place was full of all kinds of movement and activity. He too looked in the same direction and watched as the train slowly made its way into the station. Almost immediately the din of the engine could be heard and the ground started shaking; as it gradually approached the platform, the train filled one’s entire field of vision. Heads were poking out of every open window as it drew to a halt alongside the long platform. Everyone rushed forward. With people rushing all around him, Ahmad
scanned the windows until he caught sight of his brother at the front of one of the second-class carriages. Rushdi was handing his suitcase down to one of the porters. Ahmad yelled out his name and gave his brother a wave as he ran toward the carriage. The young man turned toward him, then leapt down from the carriage, and stood in front of his brother. The two brothers greeted each other warmly.

  “I’m glad you’ve arrived home safe and sound!” said Ahmad, clasping his brother’s arm. “How are you?”

  “I’m very well, brother,” Rushdi replied happily, his face somewhat flushed as a result of the journey’s exertions.

  Amid a horde of other people the two brothers walked side by side toward the exit. They were of roughly the same height and had the same thin build. Even though Ahmad looked somewhat crumpled and his younger brother much fresher, there was no mistaking the fact that they were brothers. Their facial features were similar too, except that in Rushdi’s case they were more handsome while Ahmad’s face sagged a bit and more often than not he was frowning and looking tired. Rushdi had the same long, thin face, but his cheeks were not as pale as Ahmad’s, and, while his olive skin may have turned a bit sallow recently, he still looked in the full flush of youth. His eyes were elongated and widely spaced, but their irises were larger. That made his looks seem more piercing; his eyes had a glow to them that suggested a sharp mind, a propensity for fun, and a willingness to take risks.

  As they walked shoulder to shoulder, they soon felt the irresistible urge to chat, as is only to be expected with people who have been apart for a long time. They had no idea where to start, what to talk about and what not. It was the younger brother who started things.

  “Before anything else,” he asked his brother, “how’s Mother?”

  “As well as you could wish her to be. She’s still pursuing those childish fancies of hers without caring in the slightest about the way it affects me. So go ahead and grab your portion of it!”

  “All the time I’ve been in Asyut, I’ve never forgotten my portion of it! I’ve bought her some ivory ornaments, nice plates, and subtle scents that will suit her lady friends, I hope.” (He gave a loud laugh at that.) “And how’s Father?”

  “Just as you remember him: prayers at home and visits to the mosque. Now we’re living close to the al-Husayn Mosque, so may he find blessings there.”

  Smiling, Rushdi said, “I must say, I was amazed when I heard you had all moved to the al-Husayn district.”

  By now they had reached the Station Square, where they took a taxi. Rushdi paid the porter a tip, and then the taxi took off and crossed the broad square. Rushdi’s lovely light brown eyes scanned the scene, taking in all the cars, carts, trolleys, and pedestrians.

  “My head’s almost spinning,” he said, banging his forehead with a finger. “It’s as though I’m seeing trolleys and the metro for the first time ever. Do you remember the joke about the country yokel who comes to Cairo for the first time? No sooner does he look at this teeming square than he panics. He goes straight back to the train. ‘I’ve arrived too late,’ he tells himself sorrowfully, ‘everyone’s leaving!’ ”

  Ahmad laughed out loud. He had always loved his brother’s sense of humor and his basic simplicity. Luckily Rushdi was no university type in the literal sense of the term; not for him academic topics or any concern with memorizing their technical terms. But for that, he would have been a clone of Ahmad Rashid. What’s more, he was one of the people actually taken in by Ahmad’s pseudo-erudition; he regarded his brother as a genuine intellectual and was as convinced as his brother that the other possessed a fine mind. For his part, Ahmad was delighted by the way his brother believed in him and regarded him as a symbol of the Egyptian University’s certification of his superior genius.

  “Cairo’s one of God’s gifts to mankind!” enthused Rushdi. “It’s this world and the next all rolled into one. Day and night, heaven and hell, East and West. The entire process is a miracle!”

  “You must have been very bored in Asyut.”

  “Any place other than Cairo would be equally boring!”

  Ahmad stared at him. “For people like you, prison’s the best place. In any case your expression doesn’t look very relaxed.”

  The younger brother smiled, revealing a set of near-white teeth. “Whenever two bureaucrats get together anywhere,” he remarked with a leer, “the gambling table will always be their companion.”

  Ahmad sighed. “I hereby rule,” he said, “that you be deprived of the blessing of sleep forever!”

  “The blessing of sleep?” his brother replied. “Sleep’s actually a curse. It involves purloining a huge and priceless chunk of our short lives.”

  “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “My dear brother, you’re a very sage man, and I’m a crazy youth. That’s the way young people like me think.”

  “So you’re going back to.…”

  “God willing, yes. In Asyut I met a man who’s a devotee of comedy. He used to say that the best nourishment for good health is drama. If that’s so, then rowdy behavior must be a very precious vitamin!”

  “And what if it’s not so?”

  “Let’s pray to God that it is. But tell me, when did you start getting so fat?”

  “You know I’m continually studying and contemplating.”

  “True enough. Maybe it’s natural for our family to be skinny.”

  “And what about your mother?”

  Rushdi gave a hearty laugh at that. He took off his fez and revealed a gleaming head of hair with a nice clean parting in the middle. “But then,” he said with great affection, “she’s always relied on the drug store to work wonders! How I’ve longed to see her all this time. Tell me, does she still talk about exorcism ceremonies?”

  “No longer quite so blatantly,” Ahmad responded with obvious disgust. “But once in a while she still complains about how cruel people are to prevent her from participating in them.”

  “Our mother is as gentle as an angel. She never loses her temper. I can hardly ever remember her being anything but happy and full of laughter.”

  Ahmad smiled.

  “Devils are certainly something to believe in,” Rushdi continued. “I have to admit though that I’ve never actually seen any despite a lengthy relationship with deserted streets late at night.”

  “Mankind is the worst devil of them all. Just think of this war.”

  Rushdi laughed again. The mention of the war reminded him of the family’s move from al-Sakakini. “Indeed it’s this devilish mankind that’s forced us to leave our old quarter. Amazing! Don’t you realize, Ahmad, that up until now I’ve never even set eyes on the Khan al-Khalili quarter?”

  The mention of the quarter’s name aroused a profound sense of joy in the elder brother’s heart. “You’re going to be seeing it morning and night,” he said with great affection.

  “Did things get so bad that you had to all leave al-Sakakini?”

  “Certainly. Many people were convinced that the air raids were going to destroy Cairo the way they had London, Rotterdam, and Warsaw. But God decided otherwise. Father was in very bad shape, so we decided to get out.”

  The younger brother shook his head sadly. He looked at the street outside and noticed that they were crossing Queen Farida Square on the way up al-Azhar Street. The scene called to mind memories of unforgettable love affairs that now wafted across his heart the way a breeze does over gently glowing embers.

  “So how do you find the new place?” he asked, perking up considerably.

  If he had been asked that same question earlier on, he would have been almost totally negative. But now …! “Just wait until you can see it for yourself, Rushdi. It may take a while, but you’ll get used to it.”

  “What are the neighbors like?”

  “Mostly lower-class types, but some of the people living in the new apartment buildings belong to our class.”

  “Have you found somewhere suitable to think and do your studies?” />
  The question delighted him, as anything would that reminded him he was an intellectual. “As the proverb says,” he replied, “ ‘Wear the appropriate clothing for every occasion.’ That’s why every evening I go to the local café and sit there with some friends. Once the radio stops or the general din dies down, I return home to study.”

  “So at long last you’ve learned how to visit cafés!” Rushdi commented with a laugh.

  “One of the requirements of our new quarter,” Ahmad replied with a smile.

  The taxi came to a halt by the entrance to Khan al-Khalili. The two men got out, and the driver followed behind with the suitcase.

  “Take good note of the things around you,” Ahmad warned as they plunged into the labyrinth of streets. “Learn the streets by heart, or else you’ll get completely lost.”