The Cairo Trilogy

by Naguib Mahfouz

  With the bewilderment of a person so buffeted by youthful passions that he found it difficult to imagine boredom, Fahmy murmured, “Perhaps you've discovered something else concealed inside a flawless exterior?”

  Laughing bitterly, Yasin replied, “I'm not complaining about anything except the flawless exterior___My complaint is actually based on the beauty itself…. It's beauty that's made me so bored I'm sick. It's like a new word that dazzles you the first time. Then you keep repeating it and using it until it's no different for you than words like ‘dog,’ ‘worm,’ ‘lesson,’ and other commonplace expressions. It loses its novelty and appeal. You may even forget its meaning, so that it becomes a strange, meaningless word you can't use. Perhaps someone else will come across it in your essay and be amazed at your brilliance, while you're amazed at their ignorance. Don't wonder about the disaster of being bored by beauty. It's a boredom that appears inexcusable and consequently totally con-demnable. It's difficult to try to avoid groundless despair. Don't be surprised at what I'm saying. I excuse you because you're looking at the situation from a distance. Beauty is like a mirage that can only be seen from afar.”

  In spite of his brother's bitter tone, Fahmy doubted it was justified, since from the beginning he had been inclined to blame his brother and not human nature for Yasin's deviant behavior. Was it not possible that his complaint could be attributed to his shameless behavior before he got married? Fahmy held firm to this assumption because he refused to allow his fondest dreams to be destroyed. Yasin was not as interested in what his brother thought as in getting some things off his own chest. Smiling sweetly for the first time, he continued: “I've come to understand my father's position perfectly. I know what turned him into that boisterous man who's always chasing after romance. How could he have put up with a single dish for a quarter century when I'm dying of boredom after five months?”

  Fahmy was upset that his father had been dragged into the conversation. He protested: “Even if we suppose that your complaint arises from some misery that's an integral part of human nature, i:he solution you so cheerfully announce …” he was about to say, “is far removed from being harmonious or natural,” but to seem more logical he switched to: “is far removed from religion.”

  Yasin was content to limit his observance of religion to belief and paid no serious attention to its commandments or prohibitions. He responded, “Religion supports my view, as shown by its permission to marry four wives, not to mention the concubines with whom the palaces of the caliphs and wealthy men were packed. Religion acknowledges that even beauty itself, once familiarity and experience make it seem trite, can be boring, sickening, and deadly.”

  Fahmy observed with a smile, “We had a grandfather who spent the evening with one wife and the morning with another. Perhaps you're hisheir.”

  Yasin murmured with a sigh, “Perhaps.”

  At that time, Yasin had not yet realized any of his rebellious dreams. Although he had returned to the coffeehouse and the bar, he had hesitated before taking the final step of slipping back to Zanuba or some other woman. What had made him reflect and hesitate… some feeling of responsibility toward married life? Perhapshe had not freed himself from respect for the religious view that distinguished between an unmarried fornicator and a married adulterer and punished the latter far more severely? Perhaps until he recovered from the disappointment of the greatest hope he had ever nurtured he would be alienated from worldly pleasures? None of these reasons would have been a serious obstacle capable of restraining him, had he not found an unavoidable and irresistible temptation in the example provided by his father's life.

  Yasin associated the reasonableness of his wife with that of his stepmother. His imagination busied itself sketching out a plan for her future with him based on Mrs. Amina's life with his father. Yes, he deeply wished that Zaynab would settle down in the life for whic h she was destined the way his father's wife had. Then he would embark on a series of daring escapades like his father's. He would come home at the end of the night to a calm house and a compliatit wife. In that manner and that alone, marriage appeared bearable. Indeed, it would be desirable, with qualitieshe would otherwise miss out on.

  “What more does any woman want than a home of her own and sexual gratification? Nothing! Women are just another kind of domestic animal, and must be treated like one. Yes, other pets are not allowed to intrude into our private lives. They stay home until we're free to play with them. For me, being a husband who is faithful to his marriage would be death. One sight, one sound, one taste incessantly repeated and repeated until there's no difference between motion and inertia. Sound and silence become twins…. No, certainly not, that's not why I got married…. If she's said to have a fair complexion, then does that mean I have no desires for a brown-skinned woman or a black? If she's said to be pleasingly plump, what consolation will I have for skinny women or huge ones? If she's refined, from a noble and distinguished family, should I neglect the good qualities of girls whose fathers push carts around in the streets? … Forward… forward.”

  51

  AL-SAYYID AHMAD was bent over his ledgers when he heard a pair of high-heeled shoes tapping across the threshold of the store. He naturally raised his eyes with interest and saw a woman whose hefty body was enveloped in a wrap. A white forehead and eyes decorated with kohl could be seen above her veil. He smiled to welcome a person for whom he had been waiting a long time, for he had immediately recognized Maryam's mother, or the widow of the late Mr. Ridwan, as she had recently become known. Jamil al-Hamzawi was busy with some customers, and so the proprietor invited her to sit near his desk. The woman strutted toward him. As she sat down on the small chair her flesh flowed over the sides. She wished him a good morning.

  Although her greeting and his welcome followed the customary pattern repeated whenever a woman customer worth honoring came into the store, the atmosphere in the corner near the desk was charged with electricity that was anything but innocent. Among its manifestations were the modest lowering of her eyelids, visible on either side of the bridge connecting her veil to her scarf, and the glance of his eyes, which were lying in wait above his huge nose. The electricity was hidden and silent but needed only a touch to make it shine, glow, and burst into flame.

  He seemed to have been expecting this visit, which was an answer to whispered hopes and suppressed dreams. The death of Mr. Mu hammad Ridwan had made him anticipate it, arousing his desires the way the death of winter excites youthful hopes in creature's. With his neighbor's passing, al-Sayyid Ahmad's chivalrous scruples had vanished. He reminded himself that the deceased man had merely been a neighbor, never a friend, and that he was now dead. Today he could recognize the woman's beauty, which he had previously tried to ignore to help preserve his honor. He could express this recognition and allow it a measure of enjoyment and life.

  His affection for Zubayda was starting to go bad, like a fruit at the end of its season. In contrast to the last time, now the woman found him an uninhibited male and uncommitted lover. The unwelcome idea that this might be an innocent visit crossed his mind, only to be banished on the evidence of the tender and exquisitely provocative hints she had let drop at their last encounter. The fact that she was making an unnecessary call on him proved that his doubts were unfounded. An old hand at this game, he finally decided to try his luck. Smiling, he told her tenderly, “What a fine idea!”

  Somewhat uneasily she replied, “May God honor you. I was just returning home when I passed by the store and it occurred to me to do my shopping for the month myself.”

  He considered her excuse but refused to believe it. That it had seemed a good idea to do her shopping for the month was not convincing. There had to be some other motive, especially since she would know instinctively that a second visit after the overtures of the past one would be apt to excite his suspicions and inevitably appear provocative. Her haste to apologize also increased his confidence. He commented, “It's an excellent opportunity for me to greet and serve
you.”

  She thanked him briefly, but he did not give her his full attention. He was busy thinking about what to say next. Perhapshe ought to mention her late husband and ask God's mercy on him, but he abstained for fear it would destroy the mood. Then he wondered whether he should go on the offensive or encourage her advances? Either method had its pleasures, but he could not forget that for her to come alone to see him was a giant step on her part that deserved a warm reception from him. He added to his previous greeting: “Indeed it's an excellent opportunity to see you.”

  Her eyelids and eyebrows moved in a way that revealed modesty or discomfort, or both at once, but most of all that she understood the hidden meanings behind his flattery. Yet he viewed her embarrassment more as a reaction to her own feelings, which had moved her to visit him, than to his statement. He felt certain his hunch was correct and proceeded to repeat his words tenderly: “Yes, an excellent opportunity to see you.”

  At that, she replied in a tone with a bite of concealed criticism, “I doubt that you consider seeing me an 'excellent opportunity.'”

  Her criticism pleased and delighted him, but he protested, “Whoever said that some forms of doubt are sinful was right.”

  She shook her head to tell him that such talk proved nothing. Then she said, “It's not merely a doubt. I'm certain of it. You're a man who doesn't lack understanding. Even if you suspect otherwise, I'm that way too…. So it wouldn't be right for either of us to try to deceive the other.”

  He felt scornful and bitter that a woman would say such things only two months after the death of her husband but thought up an excuse dt her, something he would not have considered doing in other circumstances, and told himself, “Her patience during his long illness has to be considered on her behalf” Spurning this uninvited feeling, he told her with feigned regret, “You're angry with me?… That's an evil fate I don't deserve.”

  She said somewhat impetuously, perhaps because the restrictions of lime and place did not allow much playful repartee, “I told myself when I was on the way here, ‘You shouldn't go.’ So now 1 have only myself to blame.”

  “Why so angry, lady? I ask myself what crime I've committed.”

  She asked provocatively, “What would you do if you greeted someone and he didn't return your greeting?”

  He realized immediately that she was referring to her display of affection on her previous visit, which he had met with silence, but he pretended not to understand the reference. Imitating her allusive style, he said, “Perhapshe wasn't able to hear the greeting for one reason or another.”

  “Hishearing's excellent and so are his other senses.”

  His mouth opened in an uncontrollable and self-satisfied smile. Like a sinner starting to confess, he said, “Perhapshe was too bashful or pious to return the greeting.”

  With a candor that pleased and stirred him, she replied, “As for bashfulness, he's not at all bashful, and how could a serious person accept the remainder of the excuse?”

  A laugh escaped from him, but he cut it short and glanced at Jamil al-Hamzawi, who seemed engrossed in the business of assisting some customers. Then al-Sayyid Ahmad said, “I would prefer not to rehash the complications troubling me at the time. All the same, I shan't despair so long as regret, repentance, and forgiveness remain.”

  She asked skeptically, “Who says there's regret?”

  In an ardent tone that he had perfected over the years, he replied, “With God as my witness, I have been consumed by regret.”

  “And repentance?”

  Boring deep into her with a flaming look, he said, “The greeting is returned ten times over.”

  She asked flirtatiously, “How do you know there's forgiveness?”

  He answered suavely, “Isn't forgiveness one of the qualities of noble people?” Then he continued with delirious intoxication: “Forgiveness is frequently the secret word granting entry into paradise”. Gazing at the sweet smile he detected in her eyes, he concluded, “The paradise I refer to is located at the intersection of Palace Walk and al-Nahhasin. Fortunately, the door opens onto a side alley far from prying eyes and there's no watchman.”

  It crossed his mind that her late husband, who had been the watchman guarding the terrestrial paradise he was attempting to enter, was now an occupant of the heavenly paradise. His mind was troubled by fear that the woman might have realized the same ironic truth, but he found she was daydreaming. He sighed and secretly asked God's forgiveness.

  Jamil al-Hamzawi had finished taking care of his customers and approached to attend to her requests. Al-Sayyid Ahmad had an opportunity to mull things over. He began to remember how his son Fahmy had once wanted to get engaged to Maryam, this woman's daughter, and how God had inspired him to turn Fahmy down. At that time he had believed he was merely acting according to his principles. It had not occurred to him that he was sparing his son the most terrible tragedy that can befall a husband. What course would a girl follow but her mother's? … And what a mother! A thoroughly dangerous woman…. Although she was a precious jewel to skirt chasers like him, on the domestic front she would be a bloody disaster. What had she been up to during the long years when her husband was as good as dead? All the evidence pointed in one direction. Perhaps many of the neighbors knew. Indeed, if anyone in his home had been skilled at observing these affairs, he would have known all about it, and his wife, who even now believed in her, would not have remained a friend. He felt once more a desire, which had first seized him after her doubt-provoking visit, to separate this wanton woman from his pure family. He had found no way then to fulfill it without arousing suspicion. Because of his anticipated liaison with her, he saw that it was time to act on this desire. He would suggest that she gradually terminate her friendship with his wife, and thus, without any damage to her reputation, he would achieve his goal by making use of a Legitimate excuse. The closer this woman got to hisheart, the farther she was removed from his respect.

  When al-Hamzawi finished getting what she needed, she rose and held out her hand to al-Sayyid Ahmad. He accepted it with a smile and said softly, “Until we meet again.”

  As she started to leave, she murmured, “We'll be waiting for you.”

  She left behind her a man who was overjoyed and intoxicated by pride at his conquest, but she had also created a problem for him that wo aid occupy a prominent place among his daily concerns. He would have to think about the safest way to withdraw from Zubayda's house, as seriously as he pondered what the military authority was doing, what the English were up to, and what Sa'd was planning. Yes, as usual, this new happiness carried a tail of thought behind it. If he had not craved for people to love him and it was this love that brought him his happiest moments it would have been easy for him to leave the entertainer. His love had become threadbare, its bloom had faded, and satiation had plunged it into a brackish swamp, but he was always apprehensive about leaving behind an angry heart or a spiteful soul. Whenever he got bored with a relationship he would hope for his lover to initiate the separation so that he would be the one left, not the one departing. How he wished that his relationship with Zubayda could end like those previous ones when a temporary unpleasantness had been washed away by choice farewell presents. Then this former liaison would evolve into a solid friendship.

  He suspected that Zubayda was as satiated as he was. Would she accept h is apologies graciously? Could he hope that his presents would adequately compensate for his leaving her, which he was determined to do? Would she prove to be as bighearted and generous as her colleague Jalila, for example? He would have to think about these questions at length to prepare the most satisfying excuses for himself. He sighed deeply, as though complaining that]ove should be so transitory. If it were lasting, it would spare the heart troublesome passions. Then his imagination wandered off to nightfall. He could see himself creeping along in the darkness, groping his way to the appointed house where the woman was waiting with a lamp in her hand.

  52

  “ENGLAND PROCL
AIMED the Protectorate of its own accord without asking or receiving permission from the Egyptian nation. It is an invalid protectorate with no legal standing. In fact, it was one of those things necessitated by the war and should end now that the war has ended.”

  Fahmy dictated these words, one at a time, deliberately and in a clear voice, while his mother, Yasin, and Zaynab followed this new dictation exercise Kamal was tackling. He concentrated his attention on the words without understanding anything he wrote down, whether he got it right or not. It was not unusual for Fahmy to give his younger brother a lesson in dictation or some other subject (during the coffee hour, but the topic seemed different, even to the mother and Zaynab.

  Yasin looked at his brother with a smile and remarked, “I see these ideas have gained control of you. Has God not inspired you with any dictation for this poor boy except this nationalist address that could get a person thrown into prison?”

  Fahmy quickly corrected his brother: “It's an address Sa'd gave in front of the occupation forces in the Legislative and Economic Assembly.”

  Yasin asked with interest and astonishment, “How did they reply?”

  Fahmy said passionately, “Their answer hasn't come yet. Everyone's anxiously and apprehensively wondering what it will be. The speech was an outburst of anger in the face of a lion not known for restraint or justice”. He sighed with bitter exasperation and continued: “This angry outburst was inevitable after the Wafd Delegation was prevented from making their journey and Rushdi resigned as Prime Minister. Sultan Ahmad Fuad disappointed our hopes when he accepted the Prime Minister's resignation.”

  Fahmy hurried to his room, returning with a piece of paper, which he unfolded. He presented it to his brother and said, “The speech isn't all I've got. Read this handbill, which has been distributed secretly. It contains the letter from the Wafd Delegation to the Sultan.”