Palace Walk tct-1

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad said fervently, "The finest of all blessings and peace on him".

  "I ask a double portion of mercy for your father of blessed memory".

  "May God have great mercy on him".

  "Then I ask God to delight your eyes with your family and offspring for generations to come".

  "Amen".

  Sighing he continued: "I ask Him to return to us 'Our Effendi' the Khedive Abbas II, Muhammad Farid, and Sa'd Zaghlul".

  "May God hear your prayer".

  "And devastate the English for their past and present sins".

  "Glory to the Omnipotent Avenger".

  At that point, the shaykh cleared his throat and wiped his face with his palm before saying, "I saw you in a dream waving your hands. As soon as I opened my eyes I resolved to visit you".

  The proprietor smiled somewhat sadly and replied, "That’s not surprising, because I'm in desperate need of your blessings, may God multiply them".

  The shaykh leaned his face toward al-Sayyid Ahmad affectionately and asked, "Is what I heard about the incident at Bab al-Futuh correct?"

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad smiled and answered him: "Yes… I wonder who told you".

  "I was passing by the oil-pressing establishment of Ghunaym Hamidu when he stopped me and said, 'Haven't you heard what the English did to me and your dear friend al-Sayyid Ahmad?' In alarm I asked him to explain. So he told me, wonder of wonders".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad recounted the whole story with every detail. He never tired of repeating it, even though he had told it tens of times over the past few days.

  As the shaykh listened, he recited the Throne Verse about God under his breath (Qur'an, 2:255). "Were you frightened, my son?" he asked. "Describe your fear to me. Tell me about it. There is no power or might save from God. Were you convinced you would be saved? Have you forgotten that fright doesn't just go away? You prayed for a long time and asked God for salvation. That’s excellent, but you'll need an amulet".

  "Why not!.. It will bring us added blessings, Shaykh Mutawalli. And the children and their mother-weren't they frightened too?"

  "Of course… their hearts are weak, inexperienced with brutality or terror… An amulet… An amulet’s the remedy".

  "You are goodness and blessing, Shaykh Mutawalli. God rescued me from a grave evil, but there’s another evil still threatening me that keeps me awake nights".

  Once again the shaykh’s face leaned toward al-Sayyid Ahmad affectionately. He asked, "May God forgive you. What’s troubling you, son?"

  The proprietor looked at him despondently and muttered angrily, "My son Fahmy".

  The shaykh raised his white eyebrows inquisitively or in alarm and commented hopefully, "He’s safe, with the permission of God the Merciful…"

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad shook his head sorrowfully and said, "He disobeyed me for the first time. The matter’s in God’s hands".

  The shaykh spread his arms out in front of him as though to ward off affliction and shouted, "I take refuge in God. Fahmy’s my boy. I'm certain he’s dutiful by nature".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad said with annoyance, "His honor insists on doing just what the other boys are doing at this bloody time".

  The shaykh was astonished and incredulous. He protested, "You're a resolute father. There’s no doubt about that. I would never have imagined that one of your sons would dare oppose you in anything".

  These words cut him to the quick and drew blood. He felt upset and inclined to downplay his son’s rebellion in order to defend himself, both to the shaykh and to himself, against the accusation of weakness. He said, "Of course he did not dare do so directly, but I asked him to swear on a copy of the Qur'an that he would not participate in any revolutionary activity. He wept instead of having the courage to say no. What can I do? I can't lock him up in the house. I can't keep him under surveillance at school. I'm afraid that the current of events at this time will be too strong for a boy like him to resist. What should I do? Threaten to beat him? Beat him? But what good is a threat when he doesn't mind risking death?"

  The shaykh stroked his face and asked anxiously, "Has he thrown himself into the demonstrations?"

  Shaking his broad shoulders, the proprietor answered, "Of course not. But he distributes handbills. When I pressured him, he claimed he only distributed them to his best friends".

  "Why is he interested in such activities?… He’s the mild-mannered son of a mild-mannered father. These activities are for a different type of man. Doesn't he know that the English are brutes with rough hearts unaffected by mercy who feed on the blood of the poor Egyptians from dawn to dusk? Talk to him amicably. Preach to him. Show him the difference between light and darkness. Tell him that you're his father, that you love him and are afraid for him. For my part, I'll make several amulets of a special type and remember him in my prayers, especially the Dawn Prayer. It’s God who is our help from first to last".

  The proprietor said mournfully, "Every hour there’s more news of fatalities. That should be warning enough for anyone with half a mind. What’s happened to his intellect? The son of al-Fuli, the milkman, was lost in an instant. Fahmy attended the funeral with me and offered his condolences to the boy’s poor father. The lad was distributing bowls of curdled milk when he ran into a demonstration. He was tempted by fate to join it, without giving the matter any thought. Then in not much more than an hour he was slain in front of al-Azhar Mosque. There’s no might or power save with God. We are from God and return to God. When he was late getting back, his father became anxious and went to his customers to ask after him. Some of them said he had brought the milk and departed and others said he had not passed by them as usual. When he reached Hamrush, who sells sweet shredded pasta bars, he found the boy’s tray and the remaining bowls that hadn't been distributed. Hamrush told the father that the boy had left them with him while he participated in a demonstration that afternoon. The poor man went crazy and proceeded at once to the Gamaliya police station. They sent him to the Qasr al-Ayni Hospital, where he found his son in the autopsy room. Fahmy heard the story with all the details, just the way al-Fuli related it to us when we were at his house to offer him our condolences. Fahmy learned how the boy had been lost and might just as well have never existed. He witnessed the father’s excruciating grief and heard the wails of the family. The poor lad perished, but Sa'd didn't return and the English didn't leave. If Fahmy were a stone, he would have understood something. Still, he’s the best of my children, for which I praise and thank God".

  In a sad voice, Shaykh Mutawalli said, "I knew that poor boy. He was the oldest of al-Fuli’s children, isn't that so? His grandfather was a donkey driver, and I used to hire his donkey to go to Sidi Abu al-Sa'ud. Al-Fuli has four children, but he was fondest of the one who died".

  For the first time Jamil al-Hamzawi entered into their conversation: "In these crazy times, people can't think straight, not even the youngsters. Yesterday my son Fuad told his mother he wanted to take part in a demonstration".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad said anxiously, "The young ones participate in demonstrations and the big ones are struck down in them. Your son Fuad’s a friend of my son Kamal, and they both go to the same school. Hasn't he, haven't they both been tempted to join in a demonstration?… Huh? Nothing seems amazing anymore".

  Al-Hamzawi regretted having let that slip out and observed, "It hasn't gone this far, al-Sayyid Ahmad, sir. I disciplined him mercilessly for his innocent wish. Mr. Kamal never goes out unless he’s accompanied by Umm Hanafi, may God preserve and watch over him".

  They were silent. The only thing that could be heard in the store was the rustling of the paper in which al-Hamzawi was wrapping the present for Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad. Then the shaykh sighed and commented, "Fahmy’s a bright boy. He mustn't let the English threaten his dear soul. The English!.. May God make it up to me. Haven't you heard what they did in the villages of al-Aziziya and Badrashin?…"

  The proprietor was so perturbed he did not really wish to inquire what had happened. He ex
pected it would be the same sort of thing he kept hearing about. He merely raised his eyebrows to seem interested.

  The shaykh commenced: "The day before yesterday I was visiting the esteemed and noble Shaddad Bey Abd al-Hamid in his mansion in al-Abbasiya. He invited me to have lunch and supper, so I presented him with some amulets for him and the members of his household. There I learned what happened at al-Aziziya and Badrashin".

  The shaykh was silent for a bit. Al-Sayyid Ahmad asked, "The well-known cotton merchant?"

  "Shaddad Bey Abd al-Hamid is the greatest of all the cotton merchants. Perhaps you knew his son Abd al-Hamid Bey Shaddad? He was closely linked with Mr. Muhammad Iffat once".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad spoke slowly to give himself time to think: "I remember I saw him at one of Mr. Muhammad Iffat’s parties before the outbreak of the war. Then I heard he had been exiled following the fall of 'Our Effendi' Abbas II. What news is there of him?"

  Shaykh Mutawalli replied quickly in passing, as though putting his words in parentheses so he could return directly to his original topic, "He’s still in exile. He lives in France with his wife and children. Shaddad Bey is intensely worried he will die before he sees his son again in this world". He fell silent. Then he began to shake his head right and left, reciting in a musical voice as though chanting the opening of a poem in praise of the Prophet, "Two or three hours after midnight when the people were sleeping, a few hundred British soldiers armed to the teeth surrounded the two towns".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad’s attention was rudely awakened. "They surrounded the villages when the people were sleeping? Weren't the besiegers similar to the soldiers camped in front of the house? They began by attacking me. What’s the next step they plan?"

  The shaykh slapped his knee as though trying to set the rhythm for his recitation as he continued: "In each village they burst into the home of the magistrate, ordering him to surrender his weapons. Then they penetrated the women’s quarters, where they plundered the jewelry and insulted the women. They dragged them outside by their hair, while the women wailed and called for help, but there was no one to help them. Have sympathy, God, for Your weak servants".

  "The homes of the two magistrates! Isn't the magistrate a government official? I'm no magistrate, nor is my house the home of one. I'm just a man like any other. What might they do to people like us? Imagine Amina being dragged by her hair. Is it fated that someday I'll wish I were insane?… Insane!"

  Shaking his head, the shaykh continued with his account: "They forced the magistrates to show them where the village elders and the leading citizens lived. Then they stormed those houses, breaking down the doors and plundering everything of value. They attacked the women in a most criminal fashion, after killing those who tried to defend themselves. They beat the men violently. Then they moved out of the towns, leaving nothing precious untouched and no honor undefiled".

  "Let them take anything precious with them straight to hell," al-Sayyid Ahmad brooded. "But 'no honor undefiled'… where was God’s mercy? Where was His vengeance?… The flood and Noah… the nationalist leader Mustafa Kamil… Imagine! How could a woman remain under one roof with her husband after that? And what fault had she committed? How could he countenance it?"

  The shaykh struck his knee three times before resuming his account. His voice had begun to tremble and he lamented, "They set fire to the villages, pouring gasoline over the poles and thatch forming the roofs of the houses. The towns awoke in dreadful terror. Residents fled from their homes, screaming and wailing as though they had gone mad. The tongues of flame reached everywhere until both villages were engulfed".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad cried out involuntarily, "O Lord of heaven and earth!"

  The shaykh proceeded: "The soldiers formed a ring around the burning villages to wait for the wretched inhabitants, who rushed off in every direction followed by their livestock and dogs and cats, looking for some way to escape. When they reached the soldiers, the latter fell upon the men, beating and kicking them. Then they detained the women to strip them of their jewelry and divest them of their honor. Any woman who resisted was killed. Any husband, father, or brother who lifted a hand to protect them was gunned down".

  Shaykh Mutawalli turned to look at the stunned proprietor. He struck his hands together and shouted, "And they led the survivors to a nearby camp, where they forced them to sign a document containing their confessions to crimes they had not committed and their admission that what the English had done to them was an appropriate punishment. Al-Sayyid Ahmad, this is what happened to al-Aziziya and Badrashin. This is an example of the kind of punishment imposed on us, mercilessly and heartlessly. O God, bear witness, bear witness".

  A despondent, oppressive silence reigned while each of the men wrestled with his own thoughts and images. Then Jamil al-Hamzawi moaned, "Our Lord exists".

  "Yes!" shouted al-Sayyid Ahmad, applauding his statement. Gesturing in all four directions, he said, "Everywhere!"

  Shaykh Mutawalli advised the proprietor, "Tell Fahmy that Shaykh Mutawalli counsels him to stay away from danger. Tell him, 'Surrender to God your Lord. He alone is capable of devastating the English as He has devastated those who disobeyed Him in the past.'"

  The shaykh leaned over to grasp his stick. Al-Sayyid Ahmad gestured to Jamil al-Hamzawi, who brought the present. He put it in the shaykh’s hand and helped him rise. The shaykh shook hands with both men and recited as he left, "'The [God-fearing] Byzantines have been defeated in a nearby land, but after their defeat, they will be victorious' [Qur'an, 30:2–3], and not the friends of the pagans. The words of God Almighty are true".

  68

  At dawn, when darkness was slowly giving birth to light, a servant from Sugar Street knocked on the door of al-Sayyid Ahmad’s house and informed Amina that Aisha’s labor had begun. Amina, who had been in the oven room, turned her work over to Umm Hanafi and rushed to the stairway.

  For perhaps the first time in the long history of her employment in the house, Umm Hanafi appeared to be indignant. Was it not obligatory for her to be present when Aisha gave birth? She had every right to be there, just the same as Amina. Aisha had first opened her eyes in Umm Hanafi’s lap. Every child in the family had two mothers: Amina and Umm Hanafi. How could she be separated from her daughter at such a terrifying time?

  "Do you remember what it was like when you had your child?" she asked herself. "The apartment in al-Tambakshiya…" The master had been out as usual. She had been alone, although it was after midnight. Umm Hasaniya had been both a friend and a midwife. "Where is Umm Hasaniya now? Is she alive today?" Then her son Hanafi had arrived amid moans of pain. He had departed amid moans of pain too, when he was still in the cradle. If he had lived, he would be twenty. "My little mistress will be suffering, while I'm stuck here preparing food".

  Amina’s heart was filled with the same apprehensive joy she had felt when she first prepared to give birth. Here was Aisha getting ready to deliver her first child and commence life as a mother, as she herself had begun with Khadija. Thus the life that had sprung from her would continue on endlessly. She went to her husband to announce the good news to him in a quiet, courteous way. She tried her best to appear shy and polite, so her ardent desire to rush off to her daughter would not show. Al-Sayyid Ahmad received the news calmly and then ordered her to go without delay. She got dressed quickly, appreciative of the wonders motherhood could work at times for a weak woman like herself.

  The brothers learned the news when they woke up, shortly after the mother’s departure. They smiled and exchanged questioning glances.

  "Aisha’s a mother!"

  "Isn't that strange?"

  "What’s strange about it? Mother was younger than Aisha when Khadija was born".

  "Has Mother gone to deliver the baby with her own hands?" Kamal’s question was answered by two smiles.

  "This is a warning for me," Yasin observed. "The bitch will have her baby soon…"

  "Who do you mean?"

  "Zaynab".

  "O
h, if Papa ever heard you…"

  "Aisha’s a mother and I'm a father".

  "And I'm an uncle twice over," Fahmy remarked. "You will be too, Mr. Kamal".

  "I'm going to have to stay out of school today to go to Aisha's".

  "That’s great. Just ask Papa’s permission at breakfast, if you're able".

  "Oh! We need more births to keep up with the dent the English are making in our population".

  "If I stay home from school, that won't be a problem. Three-fourths of the students have been on strike for more than a month".

  "Tell Papa that. He'll surely be convinced by your argument. Then he'll hit you in the face with a plate of beans".

  "Oh! A new baby… In an hour or two Papa will become a grandfather and Mama a grandmother. We'll all be uncles. This is a significant event. How many children are being born at this moment, do you suppose? And how many people are dying right now? We need to let Grandmother know".

  "I can go to al-Khurunfush and tell her, if I stay home from school…"

  "We've explained that your school is none of our business. Tell Papa. He'll welcome your idea".

  "Oh! Perhaps Aisha’s suffering now. The poor darling… Golden hair and blue eyes won't make the labor pains any lighter".

  "May our Lord bring her through it safely. Then we'll drink the traditional broth and light some candles".

  "A boy or a girl?"

  "Which do you prefer?"

  "A boy, of course".

  "Perhaps she'll begin with a girl, like her mother".

  "Why not start with a boy, like her father?"

  "Ah… by the time school lets out, the baby will already have arrived. Then I won't get a chance to watch him come out".

  "You want to see him being born?"

  "Of course".

  "You'd better postpone this desire until it’s your own child".

  Kamal was the most deeply affected by the news. It preoccupied his mind, heart, and imagination. Had he not felt that the school disciplinarian was keeping track of him and watching his every move to report in detail to his father, he would have been unable to resist the temptation to go to Sugar Street. He remained in school, but only in body. His spirit was hovering over Sugar Street, inquiring about the new arrival he had been awaiting for months, in hopes of learning its secret.