Palace Walk tct-1

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Suddenly and unexpectedly, an inclination to assault her exploded within his breast like fireworks going off without any warning. This was a forceful, dominating lust. The whole point of his life seemed to be concentrated in it. It got control of him just as it had the night of Aisha’s wedding, when he had seen Umm Hanafi in the courtyard as he was reaching the threshold. His languid being was permeated by a bubbling new life. Restless desire spread through his veins, electrifying him. His ennui and boredom were replaced by an insane, raging, hot interest. All of this happened in the twinkling of an eye. His gait, thought, and imagination all became energetic. Unconsciously he stopped pacing the entire width of the roof. He cut back on the distance by a third and then half. Whenever he passed her, his body was troubled by tempestuous desire… A black maid?… A servant? So what? It would not be the first time for him. Women like Zanuba definitely were not the only ones he craved. Just one beautiful feature was enough for him, like the kohl-enhanced eyes of the doum fruit vendor in al-Watawit, which had compensated for the stench of her armpits and the mud caked on her legs. Even ugliness, so long as there was a woman attached to it, was excused by his blind lust, as it had been with Umm Hanafi or with the one-eyed geomancer with whom he had enjoyed some private moments behind al-Nasr Gate.

  Nur at any rate had a solid, firm body. Touching it would no doubt inspire him to be virile and active. The very fact that she was a black maid would lend interest to the tryst and novelty to the experience. He would be able to verify the rumor about girls of her heritage, who were said to be hot and passionate.

  The circumstances seemed propitious. It was dark and secure on the roof. His desire intensified. His nervous energy was bounding. His heart raced. He cast a piercing glance in her direction and changed course slightly so that he would just happen to rub against her one way or another when he passed her. He would postpone making an open declaration of his intentions until he had a chance to sound out the situation cautiously, for fear that she might be a fool like Umm Hanafi and cause the house to echo with a new scandal.

  Staring at her, he advanced with deliberate steps. He wanted to have all the lust raging inside him conveyed to her by the message in his eyes, in spite of the encompassing darkness. When he got close to her, his heartbeats became irregular. He came up beside her and his elbow touched the upper part of her body. He kept on walking, as though it had been an accident. A tremor passed through his body when he collided with her. He was not sure what he had touched, for he was wandering in a trance world. All he could remember as his mind cleared a bit at the edge of the roof was that he had felt something tender and appealing and she had stepped back nonchalantly. His suspicion that she was not worried about him was corroborated by her reaction.

  He turned around, determined to attack again. He went back toward her with his arm folded so his elbow would touch one of her breasts. His senses did not mislead him this time. He did not move his elbow away, as one would have expected from a person who had simply lost his way. He left it there to brush gently past the other breast, no longer trying to avoid awakening her suspicions. He walked on, telling himself, "She'll no doubt understand what I'm after. Perhaps she has understood and wanted to step aside but was slow to do it. Perhaps she was taken by surprise and startled. At any rate, she didn't push me away with her hand and she remained still. She won't start screaming suddenly like that other bitch. Let’s try a third time".

  On this occasion his pace was quick and impatient. He slowed down when he reached her. Then he stretched his elbow out to her breasts that swelled like a full pair of little waterskins. He moved his arm in a hesitant, doubtful manner. He started to walk on, driven by a desire to flee, but found her so yielding or dull that the remnants of his conscious mind were drowned in an insane flood. He stopped. With a voice that emerged from a fog of lust, trembling and fading away, he asked, "Is that you, Nur?"

  The maid, who was backing away from him, replied, "Yes, master".

  To prevent her from escaping, he pursued her until her back was against the wall and he was almost touching her. He wanted to say anything he could think of to declare his inner turmoil, like a boxer waving his fist in the air while watching for an opportunity to deal a final blow. Breathing on her forehead, he asked, "Why didn't you go into your room?"

  Blockaded by him, she stammered, "I was enjoying the fresh air a little".

  His greedy appetite overcame his hesitation. He put his hand on her waist. Then he pulled her gently toward his breast. She put up some resistance and kept him from achieving his goal. Putting his cheek next to hers, he whispered in her ear, "Come to the room".

  She muttered uneasily, "Shame on you, master".

  Her voice rang out in the silence in a way that disturbed him. She had not raised her voice intentionally, but it did not appear easy for her to whisper or her whisper had a resonance to it, even if less pronounced than that of her normal voice. His panic quickly deserted him, both because his lust was fully ignited and because her tone lacked the protest that her words suggested. He took her by the hand as he murmured, "Come along, sweetheart".

  She did not attempt to free her hand, either because she was pleased or because she was obedient. He was lavishing kisses on her cheek and neck, swaying from the intense emotional impact, in a delirium of happiness. He began to say, "What’s kept you from me all these months?"

  She answered him in her normal tone of voice, lacking any ring of protest, "Shame on you, master".

  Smiling, he commented, "Your objections are very attractive. Make some more".

  She did resist a little when they reached the entrance to the room and said, "Shame on you, master…" Then, as though to caution him, she added, "The room’s full of bedbugs".

  He pushed her inside, whispering with his mouth at the nape of her neck, "I'd lie among scorpions for your sake, Nur".

  She was a servant in every sense of the word. She stood submissively in front of him in the dark while he placed his lips on hers and kissed her in a fiery, passionate manner. She was still and submissive, as though watching a scene in which she had no part. He told her emotionally, "Kiss me!" He put his lips to hers again and kissed her. Then she kissed him.

  He wanted her to sit down. She repeated her phrase, "Shame on you, master," which was becoming comic through monotonous repetition.

  He sat her down himself and she complied without any resistance. He began to enjoy the juxtaposition of her protests and her obedience. He sought to elicit more. Her verbal resistance continued, combined with her active obedience. He forgot the time.

  He imagined that the darkness around him was moving or that there were strange creatures prancing about in it. Perhaps the exertion was beginning to tell on him after he had stayed at it such a long time-if he had been there long. He certainly did not know how much time he had spent with her. Perhaps the raging currents crashing against each other in his head had impinged on his vision, causing him to see imaginary lights. But not so fast… the walls of the room were undulating. A faint light flowed over them into which the pitch-black darkness dissolved so thoroughly that the room’s secrets were disclosed. He raised his head to stare. He saw a faint light slipping through the cracks in the wooden wall, intruding on his privacy.

  Then his wife’s voice was raised to call the maid: "Are you asleep, Nur? Nur… Have you seen Mr. Yasin?"

  His heart trembled in alarm. He leapt up and quickly and regretfully grabbed his clothes to put them on. With roving eyes he searched the room on the chance that he might find a hiding place among its cast-off furnishings. One look was enough to make him despair of concealing himself. Meanwhile the sound of approaching slippers assaulted his ears. The maid could not keep herself from saying in a tearful voice, "It’s all your fault, master. What am I going to do now?"

  He hit her hard on the shoulder to make her stop. He stared at the door with terror and despair. Without thinking about what he was doing, he retreated to the corner farthest from the entrance and pressed
against the wall. He froze there and waited. The calls were repeated, but no one answered. Then the door was pushed open. Zaynab’s arm appeared, holding a lamp in front of her. She was crying, "Nur… Nur".

  The maid was forced to murmur in a sad, weak voice, "Yes, madam".

  She chided her in an angry voice, "How quick you are to fall asleep, old lady… Have you seen Mr. Yasin? My father-in-law sent for him. I looked for him downstairs and in the courtyard. Now I haven't been able to find him on the roof. Have you seen him?"

  As soon as she finished speaking, her head poked inside the room. She looked down at the compromised maid in astonishment. Then, instinctively, she turned to her right and her eyes fell upon her husband, whose enormous body was plastered against the wall, looking flabby and weak from shame and disgrace. Their eyes met for an instant before he looked down. Another instant of lethal silence passed. Then a scream like a howl escaped from the girl. She retreated. Beating her breast with her left hand, she cried out, "You scandalous black slut… You! You!"

  She began to tremble and the lamp in her hand trembled along with her. The light reflected on the wall opposite the door shook. Then she turned and fled. Her wail rent the silence.

  Swallowing, Yasin told himself, "I'm ruined. What’s done is done". He remained standing where he was, oblivious to everything around him. When he came to his senses, he left the room for the roof, without thinking about going any farther. He did not know what to do. How widely known would the scandal become? Would it be confined to his own apartment or travel to the other one? He began to scold himself for being too stunned and weak to catch up with her in order to contain the scandal in the smallest possible circle. He wondered with intense discomfort how he would deal with this scandal. Would he be resolute? Perhaps he could be if the news did not get through to his father.

  He heard movement coming from the direction of the ill-omened room. He turned and saw the figure of the maid leaving it with a large bundle in her hand. She hastened to the door of the stairway and departed. He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. When he touched his chest he realized he had forgotten to put on his undershirt and quickly returned to the room.

  58

  Someone knocked on the door early in the morning. It was the shaykh, or supervisor, of the district. He met with al-Sayyid Ahmad and told him that the authorities had instructed him to inform the residents of the occupied areas that the English would not interfere with anyone except the demonstrators. It was incumbent upon al-Sayyid Ahmad to open his store, on the pupil to go to school, and on the civil servant to go to his place of employment. The shaykh cautioned him against keeping pupils home lest they be suspected of striking. He directed his host’s attention to the orders strictly forbidding demonstrations and strikes.

  In that manner the house resumed the activities with which it normally greeted the morning. The men breathed a sigh of relief after the captivity of the previous day. People felt refreshed, attaining a certain degree of composure and tranquillity.

  After the visit from the shaykh of the district, Yasin told himself, "Conditions outside the house have begun to improve, but inside it’s nothing but mire and muck".

  Most members of the family had passed a hideous night dominated by the scandal. The misfortune had torn the family apart. Zaynab’s patience, which had kept her sorrows and grievances confined to her breast, could not stand up to the shocking vision in her maid’s room. Her reserve exploded and threw flames in every direction. She deliberately intended for her wail to reach the ears of al-Sayyid Ahmad.

  He rushed to her, wondering what was the matter. The scandal was revealed. She told him everything, emboldened by her insane passion. Without it, her courage would not have been up to confronting him with her story, since she still dreaded him more than anyone else. In this manner, she got revenge for her wounded honor and for the patience she had shown, voluntarily at times and resentfully on many other occasions.

  "A maid! A servant! Old enough to be his mother! In my house! So what do you suppose he does elsewhere?"

  She was not weeping from jealousy, or perhaps her jealousy was temporarily hidden behind a thick veil of disgust and anger, like fire concealed by clouds of smoke. It seemed she would prefer death to staying under the same roof with him, even for a single day, after what had happened. In fact, she abandoned her bed to spend the night in the parlor. She was awake most of it, delirious as though she had a high fever. The short time she slept, her slumber was deep but troubled like an invalid's. When she awoke, she was determined to leave the house. This decision was virtually the only thing that provided any relief from her pains. What could even her father-in-law do? He could not undo the reprehensible act after it had occurred. No matter how tyrannical he was, he could not punish her husband as much as he deserved and heal her wounded heart. The most he could do would be to reprimand and pour out his wrath upon his son. The debauched sinner would listen with head bowed but then continue with his nasty style of life. How preposterous!

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad had implored her to leave the matter to him. He had advised her at length to overlook her husband’s slip and rely on the patience of virtuous women like herself. But she could not bear to be patient or forgiving any longer. A black servant over forty! No! This time she would leave him without any hesitation. She would tell her father all her sorrows and remain in his custody until Yasin came to his senses. If he then came to her repentant, having reformed his behavior, she might return. Otherwise, this whole life, with its good and bad aspects, could go to the devil.

  Yasin was wrong to think she was too reasonable and sensible to reveal her worries to other people. The truth was that from the beginning she had been so apprehensive she had shared her concerns with her mother, who had demonstrated how sensible she was by making sure the complaint did not reach Zaynab’s father. She had counseled her daughter to be patient, telling her that men, like her father for example, spent their evenings out and drank. Zaynab should be satisfied if her household was well provided for and if her husband returned to her, no matter how late or how drunk. The girl had heeded her mother’s advice grudgingly and had attempted to the best of her abilities to adorn herself with patience. She had spared no effort to content herself with the reality and trim her vast dreams down, to be satisfied with what she actually had, especially since she was pregnant and looking forward to the proud status of motherhood. With her grievances buried deep inside her, she was content to surrender, consoling herself at different times with her mother’s example and that of the mistress of her new home.

  There was room enough for doubt. Her heart was troubled occasionally about what her husband might be doing at his drinking parties. She confided her fears to her mother. Indeed, she did not conceal from her the man’s diminished interest. Her sensible mother explained to her that this decrease in passion was definitely not caused by what she had in mind. It was "something natural," common to all men. She would become convinced of that herself as she became more experienced in life. Even if her suspicions were correct, what did she think she was going to do about it? Should she leave her home just because her husband had sex with other women? Of course not… a thousand times no! If a woman renounced her position for a reason like this, households would soon run short of honest women. A man might set his sights on one woman or another, but he would always return home, so long as his wife was worthy of being his last resort and enduring refuge. Patient women would be the winners. She proceeded to remind her daughter of women who had been divorced for no fault of their own and of women whose husbands had more than one wife. Was her husband’s fickleness, even if a reality, not a lighter matter than the conduct of those other types of men? Moreover, Yasin was a young man of only twenty-two. It was inevitable that he would become more reasonable in time and return to his home, occupying himself with his children to the exclusion of the rest of the world. The moral of all this advice was that she had to be patient, even if her suspicions were true. What if they were not? What then? Th
e mother had repeated this and other, similar advice until the girl’s defiance was tamed. She had come to believe in patience and had resigned herself to it, but with one fatal blow the incident on the roof had completely destroyed the entire structure of patient resignation.

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad did not comprehend this distressing fact. He thought the girl had resolved to follow his advice. Even so, his anger was too great to be easily assuaged. The maid had done the right thing when she fled, but Yasin had not left the roof, where he was anticipating with alarm the storm that awaited him. When he heard his father’s voice calling him, it sounded like whips cracking. His heart pounded, but he did not answer or obey. Feeling desperate, he stayed put. Before Yasin knew what was happening, the man stormed up to the roof. He stood there snarling for some moments while he searched the area. When he made out his son’s shape, he headed toward him, coming to a stop nearby. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Yasin severely and haughtily. He remained silent for a long time to increase his son’s torment and terror. He seemed to want his silence to express his feelings, which words could not convey. He may also have wished it to symbolize the violent kick and punch he would have used to discipline his son had he not been a man and a husband like himself.

  When he could not stand to be silent any longer, shaking with anger and rage, he rained down insults and rebukes on Yasin: "You defy me within my hearing and sight… You and your disgrace can go to hell… You've defiled my house, you scoundrel. There’s no way this house can ever be pure again so long as you're in it. You had an excuse before you got married, alas. What excuse do you have now?… If my words were addressed to an animal, it would behave itself, but they're directed to a stone… A household that includes you is likely to be cursed". He relieved his flaming breast of words like hot lead.