The Cairo Trilogy

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Commenting on his sister's words, Husayn said, “Ai'da's able to translate my thoughts into her special feminine language.”

  The vehicle sped along to al-Sakakini, then down Queen Nazili Street, followed by Fuad I Street. From there it crossed over the Nile to Zamalek at a speed Kamal thought insane.

  “The re are a few clouds in the sky, but we need even more if we're to have a comfortable day at the pyramids.”

  The miraculous voice was then heard, apparently addressing Budur: “Wait till we get to the pyramids. Then you can sit with him all you want.”

  Laughing, Husayn asked, “What does Budur want?”

  “She desires, my dear sir, to sit with your friend.”

  “ ‘Your friend!’ Why not say 'Kamal'? Why not grant that name a happiness beyond the aspirations of its owner?”

  Husayn told him, “Yesterday Papa heard her ask me, ‘Is Uncle Kamal coming with us to the pyramids?’ So he wanted to know who Kamal was. When I told him, he asked her, ‘Do you want to marry Uncle Kamal?’ She told him quite plainly, 'Yes.'”

  Kamal looked around, but the little girl had leaned back to hide her face against her sister's shoulder. Before turning hishead away, Kamal fortified himself with a fleeting glance at the superb face of his beloved. He said, “If she's serious, she better not forget her promise.”

  When their automobile reached the Giza road, Husayn accelerated, and the roar of the engine increased so much that no one felt like talking. Kamal welcomed this opportunity to be alone with his thoughts and to enjoy his happiness. The day before, their family h ad discussed him, and the head of the household had suggested he should marry the little girl.

  “Oh, what a warbling, flowery happiness! Memorize every word said. Replenish your soul with her Parisian perfume. Stock your ears with these calls of doves and gazelles. Perhaps you will be able to return to these experiences if you're troubled again by sleepless nights. The words of the beloved lack the wisdom of philosophers and the glittering insights of fine authors, and yet they shake you to the core and cause springs of happiness to well up in your heart. This is what makes happiness a mystery baffling the most brilliant minds. All you who breathlessly pursue happiness, I've come across it in a casual remark, a foreign phrase, in silence, and even in nothing at all. My Lord, how huge these giant trees are on both sides of the road! Their lofty branches form a canopy overhead, creating a lush green sky. There's the Nile flowing along with a brilliant coat of pearls supplied by the sun's decorative rays. When did I last see this road? On a trip to the pyramids when I was in the third year of secondary school. Each time I promise myself I'll return here alone. Behind you is sitting the person who has inspired you to see everything in a new way, even the traditional style of life in the ancient quarters of the city. Would you wish for anything beyond your present condition? Yes, for the automobile to continue racing along like this forever. … O Lord! Is this the aspect that always escaped you when you were wondering what you desired from love? The inspiration of the hour has revealed it to you, impossible though that seems. Rejoice in this preordained moment. There are the pyramids, looking small in the distance. Soon we'll stand at the foot of the largest one, like an ant at the base of a towering tree.”

  “We're going to visit the tomb of one of our original ancestors.”

  Kamal laughed. “To recite the opening prayer of the Qur'an in his memory in hieroglyphics,” he joked.

  Husayn remarked ironically, “A nation whose most notable manifestations are tombs and corpses!” Pointing to one of the pyramids, he continued: “Look at all that wasted effort.”

  Kamal replied enthusiastically, “Immortality!”

  “Oh, as usual, you'll spare no effort to defend Egypt. Your patriotism's chronic. We differ in this. I might actually prefer to be in France instead of Egypt.”

  Hiding his pain behind a tender smile, Kamal answered, “There you'll find that the French are one of the most patriotic nations in the world.”

  “Yes, patriotism is an international disease. But I love France itself and I admire qualities of the French people unrelated to nationalism.”

  This kind of talk really saddened Kamal, but it did not cause resentment, since it came from Husayn Shaddad. He occasionally became vexed with Isma'il Latif on account of his arrogance. Hasan Salim angered Kamal at times with his haughtiness. But Husayn Shaddad always met with KamaFs approval, no matter what.

  The automobile stopped near the foot of the great pyramid and at the end of a long line of empty vehicles. Many people could be seen here and there scattered in small groups. Some were riding donkeys or camels and others were climbing the pyramid. There were also the vendors and the donkey and camel drivers. The expanse of land seemed vast and limitless, but the pyramid shot up in the center like a legendary giant. On the far side, beyond the downward-sloping plateau, the city of Cairo was visible with the tops of its trees, a thread of water, and the roofs of its large buildings. Where were Palace Walk and Kamal's ancient house in all of that? Where was his mother, who would be putting out water for the chickens now, near the jasmine arbor?

  “Let's leave everything in the car, so we'll be free to scout around.”

  They got out of the automobile and set off in single file: A'ida, Husayn., Budur, and finally Kamal, who was holding his young friend's hand. They walked around the great pyramid, admiring it from every direction. Then they went into the desert. The sand made it hard to walk and hindered their progress, but the refreshing breeze blew gently. The sun alternately hid and reappeared. Clusters of clouds spread along the horizons, sketching on the celestial canvas spontaneous pictures, which the hand of the wind altered at will.

  Filling his lungs with the air, Husayn exclaimed, “Beautiful! Beautiful___”

  A'ida said something unintelligible in French. Kamal with his limited knowledge ofthat language assumed that she was translating her brother's comment. Using foreign words was a common practice for her, one that softened his extreme identification with the national tongue, Arabic, and imposed itself on his taste as a characteristic of feminine beauty.

  Looking at everything around him, Kamal was moved and said, “Truly beautiful, praise to God Almighty.”

  Laughing, Husayn commented, “You always find God or Sa'd Zaghlul in everything.”

  “I think we have no quarrel concerning the first of those two.”

  “But your insistence on mentioning Him gives you an especially religious flavor, as though you were a scholar of religion”. Then, in a tone of surrender, he continued: “What's strange about that since you're from a religious district?”

  Was there any sarcasm lurking behind this statement? Was it possible that Ai'da felt the same way? What did they really think of the ancient Islamic district at the heart of Cairo? How did residents of al-Abbasiya view Palace Walk and al-Nahhasin?

  “Should you be embarrassed?” Kamal wondered. “Not so fast…. Husayn demonstrates scarcely any interest in religion and the beloved even less. Didn't she say once that she attends classes in Christianity at Mere de Dieu School, goes to mass, and sings their hymns? But she's a Muslim! A Muslim despite the fact that she knows nothing worth mentioning about Islam…. What do you think of this? I love her, I love her to the point of devotion. Despite the pricking of my conscience, I confess that I love her religion, while asking forgiveness from my Lord.”

  Husayn gestured toward the beauty and splendor surrounding them. Then he said, “This is what really attracts me. You're wildly patriotic, but compare the splendors of nature with demonstrations, Sa'd Zaghlul and Adli, and trucks packed with soldiers.”

  Smiling, Kamal replied, “Both nature and politics are splendid.”

  As though the association of ideas reminded him of an important event, Husayn said suddenly, “I almost forgot. Your leader has resigned”. Kamal's only response was a sad smile.

  Intending to provoke him, Husayn said, “He resigned after losing both the Sudan and the constitution. Isn't that so?”
<
br />   With a calm attributable solely to the company in which he found himself, Kamal answered, “The assassination of Sir Lee Stack Pasha was a blow directed at Sa'd's government….”

  “Let me repeat for you what Hasan Salim said: 'This attack is a manifestation of the hatred that some people, including the killers, harbor for the English. Sa'd Zaghlul is more responsible than anyone else for inciting this hatred.'”

  Kamal suppressed the rage ignited within him by Hasan Salim's opinion. With the composure mandatory when he was in the presence of his beloved he said, “This is the English view. Haven't you read the telegrams printed in the newspaper, in al-Ahram? No wonder the Liberal Constitutionalists are repeating it. One of Sa'd's proudest achievements is that he aroused hostility against the English.”

  With a look of criticism or warning in her eyes and a fetching smile, Ai'da intervened to ask, “Are we here to picnic or to politick?”

  Kamal gestured toward Husayn as he said apologetically, “There's the one responsible for bringing up this subject.”

  Laughing and combing his silky black hair with his slender lingers, Husayn said, “I thought I'd offer you my condolences for the resignation of your leader. That's all there is to it”. Then he asked in a serious tone, “Didn't you take part in the momentous demonstrations that erupted in your district during the revolutionary iara?”

  “I was too young!”

  In a voice not free of gentle irony, Husayn observed, “In any case, the way you hid in that pastry shop during a demonstration must be considered participation in the revolution.”

  They all laughed. Even Budur imitated the others. Their quartet was composed of two horns, a violin, and a whistle. After a momem: of silence, as though coming to Kamal's defense, Ai'da said, “It's enough that he lost his brother.”

  Feeling pride pulsing through hisheart because of their sympathy, Kamal said, “Yes, we lost the best of our family.”

  She asked with interest, “He was in Law School; isn't that so? How old would he be if he were alive today?”

  “He'd be twenty-five…”. Then he continued in a mournful voice: “He was a genius in every sense of the word.”

  Cracking his knuckles, Husayn said, “Was! This is what you reap from patriotism. How can you cling to it after that?”

  Smiling, Kamal said, “The time will come when we're all referred to in the past tense. But what a difference there is between one form of death and another!”

  Husayn cracked his knuckles once more without comment. Kamal's words seemed to mean nothing to him. What had made them discuss politics? It was not fun anymore. Partisan hostilities distracted people from the English. Down with all of it! A person who had caught a whiff of paradise should not trouble himself with terrestrial cares, not even momentarily.

  “You're walking with Ai'da in the desert near the pyramids. Ponder this ravishing fact and shout it aloud until the pyramid buildershear you. The beloved and her suitor are strolling together over the sand. The lover's rapture is so intense that the breeze might almost carry him off, while the beloved amusesherself by counting pebbles. If love's malady were contagious, I would not mind the pain. The wind is agitating the fringes of her dress, raking the halo of her hair, and penetrating her lungs. How fortunate it is! Spirits of lovers who float over the pyramid, bless this procession. They admire the beloved and pity the lover. They repeat with the voice of time the phrase: ‘Nothing save love is stronger than death.’ You see her but a few feet from you. Yet in truth she's as far removed as the horizons, which you imagine touching the earth, even though they are part of the sky and soar high overhead. How my soul wishes I could feel her touch on this excursion, but it seems you'll journey through this earthly existence before you experience that. Why aren't you courageous enough to throw yourself on the sand and kiss her footprints? Take a handful of sand from them for use in an amulet to ward off the pains of love during thought-filled nights. But alas! Everything indicates that the only contact with the beloved will be through singing hymns of praise or via insanity. So sing your psalms or go insane.”

  He felt a small hand tug at his. He looked down at Budur, who held her arms up to him, asking to be carried. He leaned over and lifted her, but A'ida protested: “No. It seems fatigue's getting the best of us. Let's rest a little.”

  On a boulder at the top of the slope leading to the Sphinx they sat down in the same order they had observed while walking. Husayn stretched his legs out and planted hisheels firmly in the sand. Kamal sat with his legs crossed, holding Budur beside him. A'ida, seated to the left of her brother, took out her comb, which she ran through her hair. Then she smoothed her bangs with her fingers.

  Husayn happened to notice Kamal's fez and asked his friend critically, “Why are you wearing a fez on this outing?”

  Kamal removed it and placed it on his lap, saying, “I'm not used to going anywhere without it.”

  Husayn laughed and said, “You're a fine example of a conservative!”

  Kamal wondered whether he was being praised or faulted and wished to force his friend to clarify the point, but A'ida leaned forward a little and turned toward Kamal to have a look at hishead. He forgot what he was up to and anxiously concentrated all his attention on his own head. Now that it was bare, its huge size was obvious, and his short cropped hair, free of any attempt at styling, was exposed. Her beautiful eyes were gazing at him. What impression did he make on her?

  The musical voice asked, “Why don't you let your hair grow out?”

  It was a question he had never considered before. Fuad Jamil al-Hamzawi had his hair cut just like his and so did all their comrades in the ancient quarter. Yasin had not been seen with hair long enough to brush or a mustache until he had found employment. Could Kamal imagine encountering his father every morning at the breakfast table with long hair?

  “Why should I?”

  Husayn asked thoughtfully, “Wouldn't it look better?”

  “That doesn't matter.”

  Laughing, Husayn commented, “It seems to me that you were made to be a teacher.”

  “Praise or blame?” Kamal wondered. “In any case, your head's to be congratulated for receiving thisheavenly attention.”

  “I was. created to be a student.”

  “Good answer…”. Then, with a rising inflection of voice to show he was asking a question, Husayn continued: “You haven't told me the whole story of the Teachers College yet. What do you think of it after almost two months?”

  “I hope it will be a serviceable introduction to the world I desire. I'm currently trying to learn the meaning of difficult words like ‘literature,’ ‘philosophy,’ and ‘thought’ from the English professors.”

  “This is the cultural discipline we want….”

  Kamal answered apprehensively, “But it seems human culture is a stormy ocean. We need to know the limits. We must learn more clearly what we want. It's a problem….”

  Husavn's interest was apparent in his handsome eyes. He said, “For me, there's no problem. I read French stories and plays, with some help from A'ida to understand the difficult passages. I also listen with her to selections from Western music, some of which she plays expertly on the piano. Recently I've been reading a book that summarizes Greek philosophy in an easy way. All I want is mental and physical forms of tourism, but you also wish to write. That forces you to learn boundaries and goals.”

  “The worst part is that I don't know exactly what I'm going to write about.”

  A'ida asked pleasantly, “Do you want to be an author?”

  Swept by a tidal wave of happiness rarely experienced by human beings, Kamal answered, “Perhaps.”

  “Poetry or prose?” Then, leaning forward so she could observe him, she added, “Let me see if I can tell by looking at you.”

  “I've exhausted all the resources of poetry in my intimate exchanges with your dream vision,” he reflected. “Poetry is your sacred tongue. I won't try to make a living from it. My tears have drained its wells dur
ing dark nights. How happy I am to have you look at me … and how wretched! I revive under your gaze like the earth, which burgeons with life when the sun shines down on it.”

  “A poet. Yes, you're a poet.”

  “Really? How do you know?”

  She sat up straight, and a laugh like a whisper escaped from her. She replied, “Physiognomy is too instinctive a science to be explained.”

  “She's bluffing!” Husayn said, laughing.

  She retorted, “Not at all. If you don't like the idea of being a poet then don't be one.”

  “Nature has made the female bee a queen,” Kamal reflected. “The orchard is her palace. The flower's nectar is her drink. Honey is her product. And the reward earned by a person passing her throne is… a sting. But she denied Husayn's accusation.”

  She had another question for him: “Have you read any French stories?”

  “Some by Michel Zevaco, in translation. You know I can't read French.”

  She said enthusiastically, “You won't be an author until you master French. Read Balzac, George Sand, Madame de Stael, and Pierre Loti. After that write your story.”

  Kamal said disapprovingly, “A story? That's a rather marginal art form. I aspire to do serious work.”

  Husayn said earnestly, “In Europe the story is considered a serious art form. Some writers there concentrate on it to the exclusion of all other types of writing. This is the way they've achieved the status of immortals. I'm not throwing praise around blindly. The French professor confirmed that.”

  Kamal shook his large head skeptically, and Husayn resumed speaking: “Be careful not to make Ai'da angry. She's a reader who delights in French stories. In fact, she's one of their heroines.”

  Kama] leaned over a little to observe her reaction to Husayn's comment, seizing this opportunity to fill his eyes with the gorgeous sight. Then he asked, “How did that happen?”

  “She gets all caught up in the stories, and her head is crammed with an imaginary life. Once I saw her strutting in front of a mirror. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, 'Aphrodite used to walk like this along the beach at Alexandria.'”