Palace Walk tct-1

by Naguib Mahfouz

  "Pardon, Your Majesty, if our intervention in this affair seems inappropriate. In other circumstances perhaps it would be, but the matter has now gone beyond consideration of any concern other than the good of the Nation, of which you are the faithful servant. Our Sovereign holds the highest position in the country and therefore holds the greatest responsibility for it. The greatest hopes are placed in him. We will not be misrepresenting our advice to him if we implore him to take into account the views of his Nation before reaching a final decision regarding the current crisis. We affirm to His Majesty that there is no one among his subjects, from one end of the country to the other, who does not seek independence. Obstruction of the Nation’s request is a weighty responsibility which Your Majesty’s advisers did not consider with the necessary care. Therefore, our duty to serve our country and our loyalty to Our Sovereign have compelled us to bring to the attention of His Majesty the feelings of his Nation, which hopes fervently for independence now and greatly fears what the agents of the colonial party may do to it. The Nation has a right, which it seeks to exercise, for its sovereign to be angry when it is angry and for him to side with it. This is the goal the Nation has chosen… And God is capable of granting that…"

  Yasin raised his head from the handbill. There was an astonished look in his eyes and his heart pounded with a new excitement. He shook his head and exclaimed, "What a letter!.. I doubt I would be able to send anything like that to the headmaster of my school without being severely punished".

  Fahmy shrugged his shoulders disdainfully and said, "The matter has now gone beyond consideration of any concern other than the good of the Nation". He repeated the words from memory, just as they appeared in the handbill.

  Yasin could not keep himself from laughing. He observed, "You've memorized the handbill… but that doesn't surprise me. You seem to have been waiting all your life for a movement like this in order to throw your whole heart into it. Although I may share your feelings and hopes, I'm not happy about your holding on to this handbill, especially after the cabinet has resigned and martial law has been proclaimed".

  Fahmy said proudly, "I'm not just keeping it. I'm distributing it as much as I can".

  Yasin’s eyes widened in astonishment. He started to speak, but the mother spoke first. She said with alarm, "I can scarcely believe my ears. How can you expose yourself to danger when you're such an intelligent person?"

  Fahmy did not know how to answer her. He felt the awkwardness of the situation his recklessness had created. Nothing could be more difficult for him than discussing this matter with her. He was closer to the heavens than he was to convincing her that he had a duty to expose himself to danger for the sake of the nation. In her eyes, the nation was not worth the clippings from his fingernail. The expulsion of the English from Egypt seemed easier to him than persuading her of the necessity of expelling them or inducing her to hate them. Whenever the subject came up in a conversation she would remark quite simply, "Why do you despise them, son?… Aren't they people like us with sons and mothers?"

  Fahmy would reply sharply, "But they're occupying our country".

  She would sense the bitter anger in his voice and fall silent. There would be a veiled look of concern in her eyes that would have said if it could have spoken, "Don't be like that".

  Once when he was exasperated by her reasoning, he had told her, "A people ruled by foreigners has no life".

  She had replied in astonishment, "But we're still alive, even though they've been ruling us for a long time. I bore all of you under their rule. Son, they don't kill us and they don't interfere with the mosques. The community of Muhammad is still thriving".

  The young man had said in despair, "If our master, Muhammad, were alive, he would not consent to being ruled by the English".

  She had responded sagaciously, "That’s true, but what are we compared to the Prophet, peace and blessings on him?… God sent His angels to assist him".

  He had cried out furiously, "Sa'd Zaghlul will do what the angels used to".

  She had raised her arms as though trying to fend off an irresistible calamity and shouted, "Ask your Lord’s forgiveness. O God, Your mercy and forgiveness!"

  That was what she was like. How could he answer her now that she had realized the danger threatening him because he was distributing the handbill? All he could do was resort to lying. Pretending to dismiss the matter lightly, he said, "I was just joking. There’s nothing for you to be alarmed about".

  The woman spoke again entreatingly, "This is what I believe, son. How I would hate for my hopes in the person with the best sense of all to be disappointed… And what business of ours are these affairs? If the pashas think the English should be expelled from Egypt, let them expel the English themselves".

  Throughout the conversation, Kamal had been trying to remember something important. When the conversation reached this point, he shouted, "Our Arabic language teacher told us yesterday that nations gain their independence through the decisive actions of their sons".

  The mother cried out in annoyance, "Perhaps he meant big pupils. Didn't you tell me once that some of the other pupils already have mustaches?"

  Kamal asked innocently, "Isn't my brother Fahmy a big pupil?"

  His mother replied with unaccustomed sharpness, "Certainly not! Your brother’s not an adult. I'm amazed at that teacher. How could he have succumbed to the temptation of discussing something with you that wasn't part of the lesson? If he really wants to be a nationalist, he should address such talk to his sons at home, not to other people’s children".

  This conversation would have grown progressively more heated had not a chance remark intervened to change its direction. Zaynab wanted to gain her mother-in-law’s approval by supporting her. She attacked the teacher and called him "a despicable mosque student to whom the government gave a responsible position despite the changing times".

  The moment the mother heard this insult aimed at students in Islamic universities like al-Azhar, she was distracted from her former concerns. She refused to let the remark slip by unchallenged, even though it had been said to support her. She turned to Zaynab and said calmly, "Daughter, you are disparaging the best thing about him. The religious shaykhs carry on the work of God’s messengers. The man is to be blamed for exceeding the boundaries of his noble calling. He should have contented himself with being a student at a mosque and a religious scholar".

  Yasin was not blind to the secret behind his stepmother’s change of direction. He quickly intervened to erase the bad impression left by his wife’s innocent remark.

  53

  "Look at the street. Look at the people. After all this, who could say that the catastrophe hasn't taken place?"

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad did not need to look. Everyone was asking about the event and trembling. His friends plunged into heated discussions in which grief, sorrow, and anger played equal parts. The news was repeated by everyone, friends and customers alike. They all agreed that Sa'd Zaghlul and his closest associates had been arrested and transported to an unknown location, either in Cairo or outside it.

  Mr. Muhammad Iffat, his face flushed with anger, said, "Don't question the accuracy of the rumor. Bad news has a stench that stops up the nose. Wasn't this to be expected after the Wafd’s letter to the Sultan?… And after Sa'd’s rejection of the British threats with that stupendous letter to the British cabinet?"

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad said despondently, "They arrest the great pashas… What a terrifying event! What do you suppose they'll do with them?"

  "Only God knows. The country is stifling under the shadow of martial law".

  Mr. Ibrahim al-Far, the copper merchant, rushed in. He cried out breathlessly, "Have you heard the latest news?… Malta!" He struck his hands together and proceeded: "Exile to Malta. None of them is left here with us. They've exiled Sa'd and his colleagues to the island of Malta".

  They all exclaimed at the same time, "Exiled them!" The word "exile" stirred up sad old memories that had stayed with them s
ince childhood concerning the revolutionary leader Urabi Pasha and what had happened to him. They could not help feeling anxious, wondering if the same fate lay in store for Sa'd Zaghlul and his colleagues. Would they really be exiled from their nation forever? Would these great hopes be nipped in the bud and die?

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad felt a kind of grief he had never experienced before. It was a heavy, dull sorrow that spread through his chest like nausea. Under its weight he felt rigid, dead, choked. They began to exchange eloquently somber and gloomy looks that screamed out their feelings soundlessly, inciting each other without a single shout. There was a bitter taste in all their mouths.

  On the heels of al-Far came another friend and then a second and a third to repeat the same news, hoping the other men would be able to calm their inflamed souls. All they found was silent sorrow, dejected gloom, and suppressed rage.

  "Will today’s hopes be for naught like those of yesterday?"

  No one answered. The questioner kept looking from face to face, but to no avail. There was no answer to comfort a soul’s turmoil, even though they refused to admit publicly the fear that was killing them. Sa'd had been exiled… That was true, but would Sa'd return, and if so, after what length of time? How would Sa'd return? What power could bring him back? If Sa'd did not return, what would become of these vast hopes? From their new hope a profound and fervent life had sprung that was too overwhelming to abandon to despair. Yet they did not know how their souls could justify reviving it again.

  "But isn't there any way that the information might be a false rumor?"

  No one paid any attention to that suggestion. Even the person making it was not surprised to be ignored. He had only offered his remark in an attempt to find some escape, however imaginary, from the stifling despair.

  "The English have imprisoned him… Who is there to stand up to the English?"

  "He was a man unlike other men. He inspired our lives for a dazzling moment and vanished".

  "Like a dream… He'll be forgotten. Nothing more will be left of him than is left from a dream by midmorning".

  Someone exclaimed in a voice hoarse with pain, "God exists!"

  They all shouted together, "Yes… and He’s the most merciful of all who are compassionate". The mention of God’s name was like a magnet attracting and assembling around it their roving thoughts which had been scattered by despair.

  That evening, for the first time in a quarter century or more, the assembled friends seemed averse to fun and music. They were overwhelmed by gloom. All their comments concerned the exiled leader. Sorrow had subjugated them. Even if one of them was torn between his sorrow and a desire to drink, sorrow would win out over drinking, because of his respect for the feelings of the group and his sense that it was inappropriate under those circumstances. When the conversation had dragged on until they had exhausted all aspects, they took refuge in silence. A covert anxiety afflicted them that revealed the itching addiction to alcohol active within them. They seemed to be waiting for a sign from someone daring enough to lead their forces.

  Mr. Muhammad Iffat said suddenly, "It’s time for us to return to our homes".

  He did not mean what he said. He merely wanted to warn them that they were allowing the time to pass and would soon be forced to go home. Their long familiarity with each other had taught them to understand each other’s hints.

  Abd al-Rahim, the flour merchant, was encouraged by the hidden content of this warning to say, "Are we to part without a glass of wine to lighten today’s suffering?"

  His statement cheered them up the way a surgeon’s does when he leaves the operating room to tell the family of a sick patient, "Praise God… the operation was a success".

  Yet a man whose sorrow was struggling with his desire to drink pretended to protest, while concealing the relief gladdening his heart: "Should we drink on a day like this?"

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad cast him a knowing look. Then he said ironically, "Let them drink by themselves and we'll go outside, you… son of a bitch".

  They laughed for the first time, and bottles of wine were brought in. Apparently wanting to apologize for this behavior, al-Sayyid Ahmad said, "A little fun won't alter what’s in a man’s heart".

  They applauded his words. Throughout the evening they had hesitated a long time before answering the call of their physical yearnings. Stirred by the sight of the wine bottles, al-Sayyid Ahmad soon observed, "Sa'd’s rebellion was intended to cheer the Egyptians, not to torment them. So don't let your sorrow for him make you feel embarrassed about drinking".

  His own grief did not prevent him from joking, although it was not an enjoyable or carefree evening. Al-Sayyid Ahmad described it later as "a sick night which had to be treated with doses of wine".

  The family began their coffee hour with unprecedented gloom. Fahmy launched into a long revolutionary speech with tears in his eyes. Yasin listened sorrowfully and sadly. The mother wanted to dispel the despair and lighten their affliction but was afraid she would only make things worse. Then the infectious sorrow soon passed into her heart. She felt sorry for the old man they had taken away from his house and wife to a distant place of exile.

  Yasin commented, "It’s a sad affair. All our men: the Khedive Abbas II, the nationalists Muhammad Farid and Sa'd Zaghlul… all have been driven far from the nation".

  Fahmy exclaimed passionately, "What rogues the English are!.. We address them in the same terms they used to gain sympathy during their ordeal and they answer with military threats, exile, and banishment".

  The mother could not bear to see her son so upset. She forgot about the leader’s tragedy and said gently and soothingly, "Don't take it so hard, son. May our Lord be gracious to us".

  This gentle tone only made him more upset. Without turning to look at her he shouted, "If we don't confront terrorism with the anger it deserves, may the nation never live again. It’s unthinkable for the nation to be at peace when its leader who has sacrificed himself for it suffers the torments of captivity".

  Yasin commented thoughtfully, "It’s fortunate that Hamad Basil Pasha was one of those exiled. He’s the chieftain of a ferocious tribe. I doubt that his men will keep quiet about his banishment".

  Fahmy replied sharply, "What about the others?… Aren't there men behind them too?… The case doesn't just concern one tribe, it concerns the whole nation".

  The conversation continued without interruption and grew even more bitter and violent. The two women kept still out of anxiety and fear. Zaynab could not understand the reasons for this emotional outburst. It seemed meaningless to her. So what if Sa'd and his men had been exiled? Clearly, if they had lived the way God’s children should, no one would have thought of banishing them. But they were not content to live like that. They wanted things it was dangerous to desire. There was no necessity for what had occurred. Regardless of what had happened to them, why was Fahmy so insanely angry, as though Sa'd were his father or his brother? Indeed, what was making Yasin, a man who never retired to bed sober, so sad? Were men like him and the others really saddened by Sa'd’s banishment? Did her life need anything else to upset it so that Fahmy had to spoil the serenity of this brief gathering with his tantrum? She thought about this as she observed her husband from time to time with vexed amazement. Her expression seemed to say, "If you're really sincere about your sorrow, then don't go out this evening, just this one evening, to the bar".

  She did not utter a word. She was too wise to cast her icy reflections into that fiery stream. Her mother-in-law resembled her in this. Her courage rapidly evaporated when confronted by anger, no matter how trivial. For that reason, she retreated into silence and kept her intense discomfort to herself as she apprehensively followed the raging, unruly conversation. She was better able than Yasin’s wife to fathom the reasons for these storms. She remembered Urabi with her mind, and her heart still felt sad about "Our Effendi," the Khedive Abbas II. Yes, the word "exile" was a meaningful concept to her. Indeed, the way she understood the term it lacked the ho
pe that could tantalize a person like Fahmy. In her mind, like those of her husband and his friends, it was not associated with any possibility of return. If it meant something else, where was "Our Effendi"? Who deserved to return to his nation more than he did? Would Fahmy’s sorrow last as long as Sa'd’s banishment? What was so unlucky about these days that coming and going brought news to shake their security and destroy their peace of mind? How she wished peace would return to its abode and that this gathering would be pleasant again, the way it had been all their lives. She wished Fahmy’s face would smile and that the conversation would be amiable. How she wished it…

  "Malta! Here’s Malta!" Kamal yelled suddenly, raising his head from a map of the Mediterranean Sea. He had set his finger on the outline of the island and now looked at his brother with triumph and delight, as though he had found Sa'd Zaghlul himself. All he saw of Fahmy was a scowling, gloomy face. There was no response to his cry of discovery. His brother paid no attention to him at all. The boy subsided and looked back down at the drawing of the island in confusion and embarrassment. He gazed at it for a long time while he measured with his eyes the distance between Malta and Alexandria and then between Malta and Cairo. He tried to imagine what the real Malta looked like. He pictured the men they had been talking about who had been transported there. Since he had heard Fahmy say the English had taken Sa'd away at spearpoint, he could only visualize him being carried on the points of spears. The great leader was not in pain or screaming, as one would expect in such a situation, but "steadfast as a mountain," as his brother had also described him at another stage of the conversation. How Kamal wished he could ask his brother about the essence of that wonderfully magical man who rested as steadfast as a mountain on the points of spears. In view of the outpouring of anger that had destroyed the peace of the entire gathering, Kamal postponed any action on his desire until a more suitable opportunity.