Palace Walk tct-1

by Naguib Mahfouz

  He had once seen a cat give birth when he was not quite six. She had attracted his attention with her piercing meows. He had rushed to her, finding her on the roof under the arbor of hyacinth beans, writhing in pain with her eyes bulging out. When he saw her body part with an inflamed bit of meat, he had backed away in disgust, screaming as loudly as he could. This memory haunted his mind, and he felt the same old disgust. It was a pesky, distressing memory, encompassing him like a fog, but he refused to let himself be frightened. He could not imagine any connection between the cat and Aisha, except the slight relationship between an animal and a human being, whom he believed to be as far apart as earth from heaven. But what was going on in Sugar Street, then? What strange things were happening to Aisha? These were vexing questions that appeared to have no easy answers. The moment he got out of school that afternoon he dashed off at full speed to Sugar Street.

  He was panting when he entered the courtyard of the Shawkat residence. He went to the door of the women’s quarters but chanced to peer into the reception room. To his chagrin, he found himself looking straight into his father’s eyes. The man was sitting down, grasping with both hands the top of the walking stick held between his legs. Kamal froze, staring as though hypnotized, not blinking or moving. He felt he must have unwittingly done something wrong. He waited for the punishment to fall on him, as the chill of fear spread through his limbs. Then al-Sayyid Ahmad started talking to the person sitting beside him and turned in that direction. Kamal averted his eyes and swallowed. He caught a glimpse of Ibrahim Shawkat, Yasin, and Fahmy in the pavilion before he fled. He leapt up the stairs till he reached Aisha’s floor. The door was partway open and he went in. There he found Khalil Shawkat, Aisha’s husband, standing in the sitting room. He noticed that the bedroom door was closed. He could hear voices conversing inside. He recognized those of his mother and Widow Shawkat, but there was a third he did not know. He said hello to Khalil and, looking up at him with smiling eyes, asked, "Has Aisha had her baby yet?"

  The man put a finger to his lips to caution him and said, "Hush".

  Kamal realized that he and his question were not welcome, although Khalil usually greeted him warmly. Kamal was embarrassed and felt uneasy for no particular reason. He wanted to go over to the closed door but was stopped by Khalil’s voice yelling at him peremptorily, "No".

  Kamal turned toward him questioningly. The man told him quickly and urgently, "Be a good boy and go downstairs and play".

  The boy was crushed. Disheartened, he retreated with heavy feet. It hurt him to be rewarded so shabbily for the torment of waiting he had endured all day. Just as he was about to leave, a strange sound coming from the closed room made his ears ring. It began high, shrill, and piercing and then became husky and disjointed, even raucous, before ending as a long, harsh rattle. It died away just long enough for the person to breathe. Afterward there was a deep moan of complaint. At first Kamal did not recognize the voice, but despite its shrillness, huskiness, and rattling, there was something distinctive about its tortured sound that revealed the person’s identity. It was the voice of his sister Aisha, without any doubt, or of Aisha exhausted and fading away. When the deep, complaining moan was repeated, he knew he was right. He trembled all over. He imagined her writhing in pain. That reminded him of the cat. He glanced toward Khalil and found him contracting and relaxing his fists as he murmured, "O Gracious Lord".

  Kamal imagined that Aisha’s body was contracting and relaxing like her husband’s hands. He lost control of himself and raced off, unable to say anything because of his sobs. When he reached the door of the women’s quarters he heard footsteps behind him. He looked up and saw the servant Suwaydan hurrying down. She passed without paying any attention to him. Stopping at the door, she called her master Ibrahim. When the man hastened to her, she told him, "Praise to God, master". She added nothing further and did not wait to hear his reply. She turned on her heels and rushed back up the steps without any delay.

  Ibrahim went to the reception chamber with a beaming face. Kamal stayed where he was, alone, not knowing what to do. In less than a minute Ibrahim returned, followed by al-Sayyid Ahmad, Yasin, and Fahmy in that order. The boy stepped aside to let them pass and then trailed after them with a pounding heart.

  Khalil received them at the door of the apartment. Kamal heard his father say, "Praise to God for good health".

  Khalil muttered despondently, "Praise to God in any case".

  With concern, al-Sayyid Ahmad asked him, "What’s the matter?"

  In a low voice Khalil said, "I'm going to call the doctor".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad asked anxiously, "For the baby?"

  He replied as he shook his head no, "Aisha!.. She’s not in good shape. I'll get the doctor at once".

  He departed, leaving behind him undisguised dejection and anxiety. Ibrahim Shawkat invited them into the parlor. They went there silently. Widow Shawkat arrived soon and greeted them. She smiled to reassure them. When she sat down she said, "The poor dear suffered so long that her strength gave out. It’s just a temporary condition and will soon pass. I'm sure of what I say, but my son seems to be unusually fearful today. In any case, there’s no harm in having the doctor come". Then she commented in a low voice to herself, "The real doctor is our Lord. He’s the true physician".

  Though surrounded by his sons, al-Sayyid Ahmad was unable to maintain his customary composure. With evident anxiety he asked, "What’s the matter with her?… Can't I see her?"

  The woman smiled and said, "You'll see her shortly, when she’s feeling better. It’s my crazy son’s fault that he alarmed you unnecessarily".

  Within his broad, powerful chest that seemed so resolute, dignified, and awe-inspiring was a grievously tormented heart. Inside those grave, despondent eyes was a frozen tear. "What’s happened to my little girl? The doctor! Why is the old lady keeping me from seeing her? A tender smile or an affectionate word from me, from me in particular, would certainly lessen her pains. Marriage, husband, pain… She never tasted the bitterness of pain in my house. The beautiful, darling little girl… mercy, God. Life’s lost its flavor. The taste is destroyed by the least harm threatening them. Fahmy… I see he’s dejected and in pain… Has he understood the meaning of pain? How could he know what a mother’s heart feels? The old lady’s calm and confident of what she says. Her son upset us for no reason at all. O God, hear our prayer. You know the state I'm in. You'll save her the way You saved me from the English. My heart can't take this torment. God is merciful. He’s capable of saving my children from every evil. Otherwise, life would have no taste. What enjoyment would I get from gaiety, music, and entertainment if there was a sharp thorn planted in my side? My heart prays for their deliverance, because it’s a father’s heart. It can't enjoy amusements unless it’s free from worry. Will I go to the party tonight with a heart at ease? When I laugh, I like it to resound from the depths of my sincere heart. An anxious heart is like a string that’s out of tune. Fahmy’s enough for me to worry about. He pesters me like a toothache. How hateful pain is! A world without pain… nothing is too much for God. A world without pain, even if only for a brief time… a world in which my eye’s delighted by my children. Then I would laugh, sing, and play. Most Merciful of the merciful… Have mercy on Aisha, O God".

  Khalil returned with the doctor after an absence of three-quarters of an hour. They entered the door at once, closing it behind them. When al-Sayyid Ahmad learned they had arrived, he rose and went to the door of the parlor. He stood at the threshold for a little while, looking at the closed door. Then he went back to his place and sat down.

  Widow Shawkat said, "We'll see how right I am once the doctor speaks to us".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad raised his head heavenward and murmured, "Pardon comes from Him".

  He would soon know the truth and escape from the fog of doubt, regardless of the outcome. His heart pounded rapidly. Let him be patient. It would not be long. His faith in God was deep, profound, and not easily shaken. He should s
urrender the affair to Him. No matter how long the doctor stayed inside, he would eventually come out. Then he would ask what it was all about. A doctor?… He had not thought about that before… A doctor at a delivery, face to face with her womb. Was not that so? But he was a doctor… What could be done? "The important thing is for our Lord to take her by the hand. We ask him for deliverance".

  In addition to being worried, al-Sayyid Ahmad felt embarrassed and annoyed. The examination lasted about twenty minutes. Then the door opened. He rose and went at once to the sitting room, followed by the boys. They gathered around the doctor, who knew al-Sayyid Ahmad. Shaking his hand, he said with a smile, "She’s in good health". He continued more seriously: "They brought me for the mother, but I found the one really in need of my care was the baby girl".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad sighed with relief, feeling better for the first time in about an hour. With a gracious smile brightening his face, he asked, "Can I be sure of what you say, then?"

  Pretending to be astonished, the doctor said, "Yes, but aren't you concerned about your granddaughter?"

  Smiling, he replied, "I'm not familiar yet with the duties of a grandfather".

  Khalil asked, "Isn't there any hope she'll live?"

  Knitting his brows, the doctor answered, "Lives are in God’s hands. I found that her heart’s weak. It’s likely she'll die before morning. If she makes it safely through the night, she'll be out of immediate danger, but I think she won't live long. In my judgment, she won't live past her twenties. But who knows? Only God controls our lives".

  When the doctor had gone off about his business, Khalil turned toward his mother with a sad smile. He told her, "I was intending to name her Na'ima, after you".

  The woman gestured with her hand to scold him and observed, "The doctor himself said, 'Lives are in God’s hands.' Are you going to have less faith than the doctor? Name her Na'ima. You must name her Na'ima in my honor. God willing, her life will be as long as her grandmother's".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad was thinking to himself, "The fool called a doctor to look at his wife for no reason, no reason at all. What an idiot he is!" Unable to contain his fury, although he disguised it in a gentle tone, he said, "It’s true that fear makes men do foolish things, but shouldn't you have thought a little before rushing off to bring an outsider to take such a searching look at your wife?"

  Khalil did not respond. He glanced at the people around him and remarked earnestly, "Aisha must not know what the doctor said".

  69

  "What’s happening in the street?" al-Sayyid Ahmad wondered as he rose hastily from his desk. He went to the door, followed by Jamil al-Hamzawi and some of their customers. Al-Nahhasin was not a quiet street, quite the contrary. Its strident noise did not abate from one dawn until shortly before the next. There were the loud cries of vendors, haggling of shoppers, pleas of crazed beggars, and wisecracks of passers by. People conversed as though delivering a public oration. Even the most personal discussions ricocheted everywhere, flying up to the minarets. To this general commotion the Suarès omnibus added its clanking and the donkey carts their clatter. In no sense was it a quiet street, but a sudden clamor had arisen, at first heard in the distance like the roar of waves, then growing stronger and more raucous until it sounded like a howling wind. It enveloped the whole district, near and far. Even on this noisy street it was out of the ordinary and exceptional.

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad thought a demonstration had broken out, as anyone who had experienced those days would have, but cries of joy were audible in the uproar. Wondering what it was, he went to the door where he bumped into the shaykh, or supervisor, of the district, who had rushed up. He was crying out with a jubilant face, "Have you heard the news?"

  Even before he heard any more, the proprietor’s eyes began to glow optimistically. "No," he said. "What’s it all about?"

  The man replied enthusiastically, "Sa'd Pasha has been freed".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad could not restrain himself from yelling, "Really?"

  The shaykh affirmed, "Allenby broadcast a bulletin with this good news just now".

  The next moment the two men were hugging each other. Al-Sayyid Ahmad was deeply moved. His eyes filled with tears. Laughing to disguise his emotions, he said, "He’s known for broadcasting threats, not good news. What’s made him change, that old son of a gun?"

  The shaykh of the district replied, "Glory to the one who never changes". He shook hands with the proprietor and then left the store shouting, "God is most great. "Allahu akbar". Victory to the Muslims".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad stood at the door of the shop, looking up and down the street with a heart that had recaptured the delight and innocence of childhood. The effect of the news about Sa'd was evident everywhere. The entries of the shops were jammed with their owners and customers, who were congratulating each other. The windows of the houses were crowded with children, and ululating trills of joy could be heard from the women at the peepholes of the window grilles. Impromptu demonstrations took place between al-Nahhasin, the Goldsmiths Bazaar, and Bayt al-Qadi, with people yelling their hearts out for Sa'd, Sa'd, Sa'd, and then Sa'd. The muezzins went up to the balconies of their minarets to give thanks, pray, and shout. There were tens of donkey carts with hundreds of women, fully covered in wraps, dancing and singing patriotic songs. All he could see were people, or, more precisely, people shouting. The earth had disappeared and the walls were concealed by them. Shouts for Sa'd were heard everywhere. The air seemed to have turned into a tremendous phonograph record, spinning incessantly on a turntable, repeating his name. News bounced along the mass of heads that the English were striking their camps, which had been set up at the street corners, in preparation for redeployment of the soldiers to al-Abbasiya. The enthusiasm increased and delirium reached a fever pitch. Al-Sayyid Ahmad had never seen such a sight before. He looked every which way with sparkling eyes and a bounding heart. Under his breath, he sang along with the women dancers, "O Husayn… a burden has been lifted".

  Then Jamil al-Hamzawi put his head close to the proprietor’s ear to say, "The shops are distributing cold drinks and putting up flags".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad told him enthusiastically, "Do what the others are doing and more. Put your whole heart into it". Then with a trembling voice he added, "Hang Sa'd’s picture under the calligraphy of 'In the Name of God.'"

  Jamil al-Hamzawi looked reluctant and cautioned him, "In that place it can be seen from outside. Wouldn't it be better for us to bide our time until things return to normal?"

  The proprietor replied scornfully, "The era of fear and bloodshed has passed, never to return. Don't you see that demonstrations are going on under the eyes of the English, who aren't making any attempt to interfere with them? Hang up the picture and trust in God".

  "The days of fear and bloodshed have vanished. Isn't that so? Sa'd is free and at liberty. He’s probably on his way now to Europe. Only a step or a word stands between us and independence. These are demonstrations with trills of joy, not bullets. Those of us who are still alive are happy people, having passed safely through the fires. God’s mercy on the martyrs… Fahmy? He’s escaped from a much greater danger than he ever imagined. He’s escaped, praise and thanks to God. Yes, Fahmy has escaped. What are you waiting for? Pray to God your Lord".

  When the family gathered that evening, their hoarse voices revealed that they had spent the day shouting. It was a happy evening. Joy was evident in their eyes, lips, gestures, and words. Even Amina’s heart imbibed some of the overflowing happiness. She realized that Sa'd’s release brought good news of a return to peace and joy.

  "From the balcony I saw something no one has ever seen before," she commented. "Has Judgment Day come with the scales to weigh our sins? Were those women crazy? The echo of their singing still rings in my ears: 'O Husayn… a burden has been lifted.'"

  Laughingly messing up Kamal’s hair, Yasin said, "It was a word of farewell to speed the departing English on their way, just as you see off an unwelcome guest by breaking a jug af
ter him".

  Kamal looked at his brother without saying anything. Then Amina had another question: "Is God finally pleased with us?"

  Yasin replied, "No doubt about it". Then he asked Fahmy, "What do you think?"

  Fahmy, who seemed as happy as a child, said, "The English wouldn't have freed Sa'd if they weren't agreeing to our demands. He'll travel to Europe and then return with independence. This is what everyone says. No matter what else happens, April 7, 1919, will remain the date marking the success of the revolution".

  Yasin exclaimed, "What a day! Government employees participated openly in the demonstrations. I didn't think I was capable of walking that distance or yelling for so long".

  Fahmy laughed. He said, "I wish I could have seen you shouting zealously. Yasin takes part in a demonstration. He gets excited and yells. What a rare spectacle!"

  It truly was an amazing day. Yasin had been swept along by its swelling current and carried by its strong waves like a tiny, weightless leaf, fluttering everywhere. He could scarcely believe that he had been able to regain control of himself and had retreated to a quiet observation tower where, through its glass, he had calmly watched what was happening, without any emotional involvement. In the light of Fahmy’s observation, he began to recall the state he had been in while he was in the demonstration. He remarked with astonishment, "A man forgets himself in the strangest way when he’s with so many people. He almost seems to become a new person".

  Fahmy asked him with interest, "Did you really feel enthusiastic?"

  "I shouted for Sa'd so much my throat became sore. I had tears in my eyes once or twice".

  "How did you get into the demonstration?"