“Enough!” I said coldly.
They looked at me gloomily.
“Enough drinking!” I said roughly.
“Were we being impolite?” asked one of them.
“It seems so!” I answered coldly.
“Is this an indication that we should leave?”
“Definitely!” I said, growing angrier.
I was in the sorriest of states as I stood waiting, tormented by misgivings and apprehensions. When he returned around midnight, he turned pale as soon as he set eyes on me, and asked:
“Is everything fine?”
“Absolutely not. This is a house, not a bar.”
“What happened?”
“In a word, I threw them out. Interpret it as you wish.”
He sank silently into the seat facing me. Following a period of silence, he muttered:
“A great structure has just collapsed.”
“On top of a handful of bastards,” I shrieked.
“A disappointment.”
“Don’t you want to understand?” I asked, highly incensed.
“I thought you understood things better,” he said in an irritatingly calm tone.
“Actually, I don’t understand you. You’re a strange person,” I continued.
And, again, with his irritating calmness, he added:
“It’s simply a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?”
“I mean a misjudgment on my part.”
“You are indeed a vile person!” I shrieked.
With a wave of his hand, he indicated that I should control myself and then continued:
“No, no, no need to bring up this subject. I’ve lived a lifetime without getting angry.”
“This speaks for you.”
“Calm down. There’s been a mistake and it can be corrected.”
“I’m going,” I said insistently.
“Why the hurry? Wait until morning.”
“I shall not remain in this house a minute longer!”
“Do what you please, but no need to get angry,” he said, giving up on me.
Muhtashimi Zayed
He loves not the evildoers. What is this decree all about? You declare a revolution on May 5 and then annul it on September 5? You throw all sorts of Egyptians into prison—Muslims, Copts, party men, and intellectuals? Only the opportunists are on the loose. God help you, Egypt!
And whosoever is blind in this world shall be blind in the world to come, and he shall be even further astray from the way.
I remember the day Saad Zaghloul was placed under house arrest in Bayt al-Umma and the opportunists started crawling toward the Palace in a show of affected loyalty. Why are you replaying that old drama that looms large in the repertoire of Egyptian tragedies? I remember the dark days of oppression. Was 1919 then a dream or a myth? (Might does not make right. The mighty are those who can, when incensed, exert self-control.) I wonder what the morrow has in store for us? As for me, I lost my closest and very last friend yesterday. Our friendship lasted seventy-five years, ever since we first set foot in primary school. Were it not for old age and poor means of transport … Oh! I insisted on attending the funeral services, a painful journey like the pilgrimage. I leaned on Elwan. Later, during the condolence services, I recalled old memories: school, the street, the café, the pub, student committees, weddings, birthdays. That face and that smile. Have you heard the latest? Complaints about the hardships of life. We saw eye to eye about everything except football: are you for the Zamalek team or the National team? Drink a glass of water on an empty stomach. Don’t forget the medicine for the memory. I missed your comments on September 5, but I know exactly what you would have said. The Quranic recitation begins: Every soul shall taste of death.
Soon death came along smiling cunningly, and sat beside me. Don’t hurry: only one step left. The death of my old friend is a rehearsal for my own death. I can just see the whole thing: the washing of the corpse, its burial, the pallbearers. I read the obituary: Muhtashimi Zayed, sometime educator and supporter of the Nationalist Movement in his youth. Do you remember him? I thought he had died ages ago. Oblivion shuffles by wearily, but I surrender willingly. Indeed, it has been a long life, but now it seems like only a fleeting moment. Love, violence, anger, hope—so many already gone. There is no difference now between your being in the coffin and my walking behind you or vice versa. His son greeted me warmly and told me that, as he was dying, he said: Please remember me to him.
That evening, my son Fawwaz reprimanded me:
“At your age, you can be excused from these types of obligations.”
On the other hand, Hanaa was saying:
“Today I bought a priceless book entitled How to Repair Your Household Appliances. Let’s hope it will liberate us from the plumber and electrician.” Whereupon Elwan added:
“Is there no book that can liberate us from the rulers?”
“People are speaking of nothing but the imprisonment of those who have been thrown into jail,” continued Fawwaz.
“Professor Alyaa is in prison and so is my friend Mahmud al-Mahruqi!” rejoined Elwan nervously.
“They’ve promised to hold a quick trial so that whoever is innocent would not be harmed,” I added in an attempt to calm them down.
“You still believe those lies, Grandpa?”
Thanks to his state of confusion, he was saved from prison. Woe unto those who are committed!
“I hope you’ll muster enough courage to get over your crisis,” I told him the moment we were alone.
“When calamities accumulate they lose their sharpness and intensity,” he said in an ironic tone.
He switched off the television set and returned to his seat beside me.
“Grandpa, I want to tell you a secret.”
I listened to him anxiously as he went on:
“There are strong indications that I’ll be approached regarding a potential marriage to the sister of Anwar Allam, Randa’s husband.”
“Really! Tell me more about it.”
“She’s a widow, twenty years older than I, and very rich.”
“And looks-wise?”
“Not as you expect. She’s quite acceptable—and respectable.”
When he found that I had kept quiet, he continued: “What do you say, Grandpa?”
“It’s a very personal kind of decision, and it’s best you make it alone,” I said, trying to overcome my perplexity.
“But I insist on knowing your point of view.”
“Do you love her?”
“No, but I don’t hate her either.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There must be something you can say.”
“I have no right to decide her fate. I belong to another world and it would not be wise that my world trespass on another.”
“But I’m not used to your being so elusive.”
For a while I was silent, and then added:
“There are undeniable advantages to this affair and also undeniable disadvantages. But, in your case, the advantages outweigh the disadvantages!”
“I refuse to sell myself!” he said quickly, with a vague smile.
I immediately felt relieved, but asked him:
“Did you give it enough thought before making up your mind?”
“More thought than necessary.”
“God bless you, then, and may He grant you what your heart desires,” I said in an emotional tone of voice. “Pray, work your miracles Sayyidi al-Hanafi!” I muttered under my breath.
Elwan Fawwaz Muhtashimi
“Have you heard, Elwan?” said my grandfather as I was getting ready to go out.
As I looked at him inquiringly, he added:
“Randa got a divorce!”
I was seized by a sudden sense of bewilderment, fear, and relief.
“She’s still on her honeymoon!” I cried.
“Your mother told me so this morning.”
“How could this have happened?”
As he was taking leave of me, I added:
“I wanted to tell you, so it wouldn’t come as a surprise to you over there.”
As I walked to the office, I was all wrapped up in my own thoughts and emotions, conscious only of my own sorrow and joy. A sense of gloom surrounded Randa, and very soon it had spread all over the office.
“I’m …” I said as I greeted her.
“Thanks,” she said, interrupting me.
“You don’t deserve that,” I said with great sincerity.
“Thanks again. And that’s enough now,” she said calmly.
There were a great many rumors going around in Randa’s absence. I heard all sorts of amazing things. It was obvious that he had failed, as often happens with men who get married late in life. No, no, he’s queer.… Look at the way he gesticulates with his hands. No, but the problem is her frigidity: apparent beauty is not everything. There are also rumors that he’s having an affair with his sister. I listened and was hurt. I love you, Randa, as much as I used to, if not more. It hurts me to see you defeated so. My heart goes out to you in your wounded pride.
I thought I might get closer to the truth by resorting to Anwar Allam.
“Thanks!” he muttered sarcastically when I expressed my regret.
“I’m sorry for both of you,” I said as soon as I felt that he was doubting my sincerity.
“There’s nothing that warrants regret,” he said coldly. With not a word more, he returned to the paperwork on his desk.
Gulstan Hanem invited me over. I accepted without hesitation, almost sure that she would tell me the truth. She was all bedecked like a bride.
“You only visit me when I invite you?” she said reprimandingly.
“I don’t want to cause you any embarrassment.”
“A nonsensical excuse, and you’re the first to know that.”
She offered me ice cream filled with nuts.
“It just occurred to me,” she then said.
I looked at her with interest, and she continued:
“My brother now seems far too busy for me, so how about your handling my affairs?”
The suggestion seemed like a bottomless pit opening up beneath me.
“This may upset him,” I said.
“It’s his idea!”
“Give me time to think about it, for I have been toying with the idea of enrolling for a master’s degree,” I said, embarrassed.
“The work is simple but requires someone honest.”
“Just give me a little while to think about it.”
She suddenly offered to reveal an important aspect of her past.
“My marriage has always made me the object of greed. Actually, it was my father who married me off to a man who was thirty years my senior. In spite of that, I continued to lead an impeccably honest and respectable life. My reputation has remained as good as gold.”
“You are the epitome of respect,” I said in a tone of despair which passed her unawares. “Anwar Bey is also respectable, yet see how unlucky he is,” I added cunningly.
“Are you feeling sorry for him or for his wife?” she asked, looking at me suspiciously.
“What’s done cannot be undone!” I said defiantly.
“Really?!”
“That’s the truth, plain and simple.”
“Then forget about other people’s problems and let’s concentrate on ours!”
I crouched in a corner, not knowing what to say. Then, with a bluntness that reminded me of her brother, she added:
“You understand and so do I. I’ve a right to seek my own happiness as long as my dignity remains untouched,” she added somewhat excitedly.
Then, in order to break that unbearable silence, I said, “I respect so sound a logic.”
“You won’t have any regrets. And I’ll be waiting,” she said sweetly.
Randa Sulayman Mubarak
Six pairs of eyes whirling in a cesspool of confusion: my eyes in my mother’s eyes, my eyes in my father’s, and my mother’s in my father’s—all drawing away from each other furtively. My mother was shocked to see me walk in at that time of night. Her face grew pale, reflecting the color of my own face. My father was asleep, covered with a sheet.
“Randa, what happened?” she whispered.
We stood in the center of the hall, and all my pent-up emotions suddenly gushed out at one go:
“I’m getting a divorce!”
I told her the whole story in detail. My father was told about it in bits and pieces after breakfast.
“We can’t possibly see things eye to eye,” I told him.
My mother then started telling him about the guests and the drinking. His face was flushed with anger.
“Take it easy on your health,” I said.
“I now understand everything. If only I had the strength, I would’ve shown him.”
“How come you didn’t see through him?”
“Everyone has secrets which he conceals. I shan’t deny that I was fooled.”
“We’d better consult a lawyer.”
“That’s the best way to spread the scandal. Actually, he’s conceded to all my rights without the least objection,” I said.
“This quick divorce may tempt evil tongues to gossip about you.”
“I can take that, and pretty soon it will all be forgotten.”
Although none of my colleagues said anything, I could sense that the place was fraught with questions, particularly on Elwan’s part. I was exceedingly angry with him.
“I’m very unhappy,” he whispered one day when we were alone.
“Why?” I inquired coldly.
“Maybe it’s a feeling of guilt.”
“You’ve nothing to do with what happened.”
“I still love you,” he said, averting his eyes from me.
“I don’t want to hear this word, please!” I said sharply.
As time went by, everything seemed to aggravate me, even my own anger. I began to feel as sorry for him as I was for myself. I even began to wonder how things were going between him and Gulstan. Would he marry her one day? What’s wrong with that? The woman may be better than her brother. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with her. And she obviously wants him. Damn it, she loves him! Who would’ve thought that one day we would have parted? Who would’ve thought that our big hopes would have frittered away like a handful of dust? One day, as we were getting ready to leave, he whispered:
“I’m dying to have a few words with you.”
My immense desire to talk to him made me as silent as the grave. So we went to the Pyramids Resthouse, where we had some sandwiches with our tea, and kept staring at each other foolishly.
“What are your plans?” he asked.
“I’m living without plans or dreams, which gives me peace of mind,” I said quite simply.
“Me too, but Grandpa says that suddenly—”
I interrupted him. “Forget about your grandfather and his quotable quotes. They’re of no use to us. When will you marry Gulstan?”
“Who said that?” he inquired, glowering.
“Just a question.”
“I don’t sell myself.”
“You therefore think I sold myself?”
“No, it’s a different matter. It’s not unusual for a girl to marry a man older than herself, but the opposite …” he replied hurriedly.
He scrutinized me carefully.
“Why did your marriage break up?” he then asked.
I had a genuine desire to confess the truth to him, to him in particular, rather than to anyone else.
“Promise not to whisper a word to a single soul?”
“On my word of honor.”
So I let out all the feelings bottled up within me.
“The bastard!” he suddenly cried out.
“The time for anger is over. But please don’t forget your promise.”
“It’s beyond one’s wildest imagination.”
“More amazing things have been heard though.”
Muhtashimi Zayed
I dream of my father, my mother, and my sister Mahasin. I even once beheld them in a parachute floating above my head. Has perchance the time to depart drawn close? Is it time that the old man spared the country the cost of his pension? I’m in good health in spite of Sulayman Mubarak’s evil eye! Health is ailment enough. So said the Messenger of God. O Lord! Thy worshipper is waiting. At any moment he expects to hear the knell of parting day, and he shall welcome the caller with all due respect. O Lord, may everything end well! Protect me from pain and infirmity. I thank Thee for a long and happy life. Suffice it that I have not harmed a single soul in the world of ours replete with harm. I have spent my old days strolling amid Thy words, Thy prophets, and Thy saints. Earlier I braved the vicissitudes of Thy world. Worship is now my form of exercise, songs my entertainment, and lawful food my enjoyment. The feast comes along adorned with autumnal dewdrops. White clouds gather over the somber River Nile and the towering evergreen trees. These kinds of days are few and far between in the life of this shattered family. Fawwaz relaxes in his gallabiya, Hanaa combs her white hair whilst Elwan is busy shaving, getting ready to go out.
“Children, we’re finally gathered together as one happy family!” I cried joyfully, looking at them one by one.
“A drop of rest in a sea of fatigue,” said Fawwaz in his loud voice.
“Had things been different, we would’ve gone off to the Qanater Gardens.”
“An idea quite out of keeping with the times. Actually, it’s a crazy idea.”
“We eat and sleep. That’s what’s left of the feast.”
“And you, Elwan?”
“I’ll walk over to the Café.”
“Gossip as usual!” said Fawwaz with a smile.
“Once again, the feast coincides with another festive occasion—Victory Day,” I added.
“Victory and prison,” added Elwan ironically.
“Nothing ever remains the same. There’s always something new under the sun,” I said good-humoredly.
“Really! Long live patience and let’s just keep waiting!”
The Day the Leader Was Killed Page 6