The Cairo Trilogy

by Naguib Mahfouz

  On taking his place in the carriage next to Zanuba, Yasin said, “Talk to me. What's her body to you?”

  “Bey, I'm your servant.”

  “Eveiything's a mess tonight.”

  “May our Lord straighten it out. If you'd like a hotel, we'll go to one.”

  “We've quarreled with the clerks in three hotels. Three or four, Zanuba? Think of something else.”

  “There's always the Nile.”

  Zanuba said angrily, “The gold, fellow.”

  Putting his feet on the other seat, Yasin added, “Besides, there's no place to …”

  The driver answered, “There's always the carriage.”

  Zanuba shouted, “Are you trying to humiliate me?”

  Twisting his mustache, Yasin said, “You're right. Absolutely. The carriage isn't the place. I'm not going to act like a foolish kid at this stage in my life. Listen___”

  The man turned his ear, and Yasin yelled imperiously, “To Palace of Desire Alley.”

  “Clip-clop, clip-clop… you're plunging into the darkness with no friend save the stars,” Yasin reflected.

  Anxiety loomed on the horizon only to sink back into a sea of forgetfuJness, like an elusive memory. His willpower had dissolved in a glass ofwine. Then his companion in merrymaking asked him with a drunken stammer where he washeading in Palace of Desire Alley.

  He replied, “My house, which I inherited from my mother.”

  “The fates decreed that she lived for love there and left it in trust to love at her death,” he thought. “It has greeted with yearning Umm Maryam and her daughter Maryam. Tonight it will open its arms to a lady from my past.”

  “What about your wife, drunkard?”

  “She's sound asleep.”

  “Isn't there a reckoning for everything?”

  “You' re with a man whose heart doesn't know the meaning of fear. Pluck some pearls from the heavens and drape your forehead with them. Sing softly into my ear, 'Bring me my love tonight, Mother.'”

  “Where am I going to spend the rest of it?”

  “I'll take you anywhere you want.”

  “You couldn't carry a straw home.”

  “How about Paris on the Mediterranean?”

  “If only I weren't afraid of him.”

  “Who ishe?”

  Throwing her head back, she answered despondently, “Who knows? I've forgotten.”

  Al-Gamaliya was scarcely visible in the darkness. Even the coffeehouse had closed its doors. The carriage stopped at the entrance to Palace of Desire Alley. As Yasin stepped down, he belched. Supporting herself on his arm, Zanuba followed. They walked off together with a caution that did not keep them from swaying tipsily. Behind them they heard the cough of the driver and the squeaking shoes of the night watchman, who passed inquisitively by the carriage as it turned around.

  She told him, “The ground's uneven. It's rough walking here.”

  He replied, “It'll be easy going in the house”. Then he added, “Don't worry.”

  Although sporting a silly smile that was lost in the shadows, Zanuba tried in vain to remind him that his wife was in the apartment they were approaching. She almost stumbled twice climbing the stairs. When they reached the door of the apartment they were both panting. Alarm at the situation momentarily lent their scattered wits the impetus to collect the shreds of consciousness.

  Yasin carefully turned the key in the lock, gently shoved the door open, and searched for Zanuba's ear in the darkness. Bending over, he whispered for her to remove her shoes. After taking his off, he stepped in front of her, put her hand on his shoulder, and headed for the parlor near the entrance. Opening that door, he slipped inside with her still behind him. They sighed with relief. Closing the door, he led her to the sofa, where they sat down together.

  She said uneasily, “It's very dark, I don't like the dark.”

  Putting their shoes under the sofa, he replied, “You'll get used to it soon.”

  “My head's beginning to spin.”

  “Only now?”

  Without paying any attention to her response, he rose suddenly and whispered with alarm, “I didn't shut the outside door”. Putting up his hand to remove his fez, he cried out, “I forgot my fez too! Do you suppose I left it in the carriage or at Tout-Va-Bien”

  “To hell with your fez! Lock the door, fellow.”

  Once again he slipped into the hall and over to the outside door, which he shut with extreme care. On his way back a tempting idea struck him. He went to the console table, holding his hand out in front of him to keep from bumping into one of the chairs. Then he returned to the parlor holding a half-empty bottle of cognac.

  Placing it in her lap, he said, “I've brought you the remedy for everything.”

  After feeling the bottle with her hand she exclaimed, “Liquor!… Enough's enough. Do you want us to spill over?”

  “One sip to help us catch our breath after all this exertion.”

  He drank until he felt that he was capable of anything and that insanity was a desirable condition. Then the sea of inebriation began to rage. He rode high on a wave only to plunge down again. He spun round in an endless whirlpool. In the corners of the room there were protruding tongues, raving and ranting in the darkness. Boisterous laughter escaped from these throats with a clamor like the commotion of a market, followed by nothing less than singing. The bottle fell to the floor with a warning thump. But he had a lap to finish swimming, even if he had to do it in a sea of perspiration. The time might have been long or short. He was not keeping track. His eyes were closed and oblivious to the passing and graying of the darkness.

  Thushe awakened to voices and movement like a happy dreamer just stretching out his hand to pluck a new treat. Opening his eyes, he saw light and shadow dancing together on the walls. He turned his neck and noticed Maryam at the door. She was holding a lamp, and its light clearly revealed scowling features and eyes flashing with anger. The couple sprawled across the sofa exchanged long, extraordinary looks with the woman standing at the door. Theirs were unsteady and confused, hers flaming with outrage. The silence was unbearable. Zanuba revealed her anxiety by opening her mouth to speak without being able to get any words out. Then she was suddenly overwhelmed by laughter for no apparent reason. She was so convulsed that she had to hide her face in her hands.

  Yasin shouted at her with slurred diction, “That's enough laughter! This is a respectable home.”

  Maryam seemed to want to speak, but either her tongue would not cooperate or fury rendered her speechless. Without knowing what he was saying, Yasin told her, “I found this ‘lady’ in a severely intoxicated condition. So I brought her home to sober up.”

  Zanuba was not going to keep quiet about this. She protested, “He's the drunk, as you can see. And he brought me here by force.”

  Maryam made a motion as if she was seriously considering throwing the lamp at them. Yasin tensed his body and gave her a look that showed he was prepared. But she immediately had second thoughts, once she realized the serious implications of such an act. She placed the lamp on a table and clenched her teeth with rage. Then, her voice dry and trembling but coarsened by resentment and anger, she spoke for the first time: “In my house!… In my house? In my house, you criminal child of the devils.”

  Her voice reverberated like thunder as she poured curses upon him and called him the filthiest names. She screamed, raising her voice so loud that it could be heard through the walls. She summoned the tenants and neighbors, swearing to expose him and to awaken people to be witnesses against him.

  Yasin tried in various ways to caution her to keep quiet. He waved his hand at her, stared at her, and scolded her loudly. When these methods failed, he rose excitedly. He went toward her with long steps to reach her as fast as he could without actually running, for he was afraid of losing his balance. He pounced on her and spread his hand over her mouth to keep her from talking. But she screeched in his face like a desperate cat and kicked him in the belly. He backed off u
nsteadily, his face clouded with resentment and pain. Then he fell flat on his face, like a building collapsing.

  A resounding scream burst forth from Zanuba. Maryam ran and fell upon her, pulling the intruder's hair with her right hand while digging the nails of the other one into the woman's neck. She began to spit in Zanuba's face and then to curse and insult her. Yasin got up again at once, shaking hishead violently, as if to expel his hangover. He went to the sofa and aimed a fierce blow at the back of his wife, who was lying on top of her rival. Maryam screeched and retreated. He pursued her. Blinded by anger, he rained punches on her until she got on the far side of the dining table. Then she took off one of her slippers and hurled it at him,striking him in the chest. He tried to catch her, pursuing her around the hall.

  He shouted at her, “I never want to see you again”. Then he pronounced the irreversible triple divorce formula: “You're divorced, divorced, divorced!”

  There was a rapping on the door, and the woman who lived on the second floor could be heard crying, “Mrs. Maryam, Mrs. Maryam!”

  Breathless, Yasin stopped running. Maryam opened the door and in a voice that filled the whole stairwell immediately said, “Come look in this room and tell me if you've ever seen anything like this before. A whore in my house, drunk and disorderly. Come and see!”

  The neighbor said timidly, “Calm down, Mrs. Maryam. Come stay with me till morning.”

  Yasin cried out recklessly, “Go with her. You have no right to stay in my house.”

  Maryam screamed in his face, “Adulterer! Criminal! Bringing a whore to your wife's home!”

  He pounded on the wall with his fist and shouted at her, “You're a whore! You and your mother!”

  “You insult my mother when she's with God?”

  “You re a whore. I know that for sure. Don't you remember the English soldiers? It's my fault for not paying attention to the warnings of decent people.”

  “I'm your spouse, the crown of your life. I'm better than your folks and your mother. Ask yourself what kind of man marries a woman he ‘knows’ is a whore as you claim. What ishe but a despicable pimp?” Gesturing toward the parlor, she suggested, “Marry that woman. She's the type that fits your filthy character.”

  'One more word and your blood will spill out where you're standing.”

  But screams and fiery invective kept leaping from her throat. Finally the neighbor got between them to be able to separate them if necessary. She began patting Maryam's shoulder and imploring her to leave the apartment until morning.

  Yasin got even more upset and yelled at her, “Take your clothes and leave! Get out of my sight. You're not my wife. I don't know you. I'm going into this room now. You'll be sorry if I find you here when I come out again”. He rushed into the parlor, slamming the door behind him so violently that the walls shook. Then he threw himself on the sofa and dried the sweat from his brow.

  Zanuba whispered, “I'm frightened.”

  He replied gruffly, “Shut up. What are you afraid of?” In a loud voice he said, “I'm free! Free!”

  As though to herself she remarked, “What could have happened to my mind to make me obey you and come here?”

  “Hush! What's done is done. I'm not sorry about anything…. Phooey!”

  Through the closed door several voices reached them, indicating that more than one of the neighbor women had gathered around the angry wife. Then Maryam's voice was audible, sobbing, “Have you ever heard of anything like this before? A prostitute off the street in a home? I woke up because they were making such a racket. They were laughing and singing. Yes, by God, they were singing shamelessly. They were so drunk they were oblivious to everything. Tell me if this is a residence or a brothel.”

  Then a woman's voice protested, “Are you packing up your clothes and leaving home? This is your house, Mrs. Maryam. It's not right for you to leave. It's the other woman who should go.”

  Maryam cried out, “It's not my house anymore. That honorable gentleman has divorced me.”

  The other woman replied, “He wasn't in his right mind. Come with us now. Let's leave talk for the morning. In spite of everything, Yasin Effendi's a fine man and comes from a good family. God's curse on Satan. Come along, daughter. Don't grieve.”

  Maryam shouted, “No talking! No settling! May the sun never rise again on that criminal son of a crooked mother.”

  There were footsteps of people retreating. Finally only an indistinct buzz of voices could be heard. Then the door was closed with a loud bang. Yasin breathed deeply and stretched out on his back.

  98

  HE OPENED his eyes to find the morning sunshine filling the room. Me had the worst hangover of his entire life, although the preceding night had hardly been his first time to get drunk. Rotating hishead mechanically, he noticed Zanuba snoring beside him. Then his memory recalled the events of the past night in one fell swoop. Zanuba was in Maryam's bed. And Mary am? … With the neighbors. And the scandal?… Broadcast everywhere. What a giant leap into the bottomless pit of destruction! What use was there for anger or regret now? What was done was done. Everything might change but not the previous day. Should he wake her up? Why should he? Let her sleep to her heart's content. Let her stay where she was, for she could not leave the house until dark.

  He had to revive himself to meet his difficult day. He pulled the light cover from his body, slipped out of bed, and padded out of the bedroom. His hair was disheveled, his eyelids swollen, and his eyes red. He yawned in the hallway with a bovine sound. Looking at the open door of the parlor, he sighed deeply. He closed his eyes and moaned in response to his hangover. Then he headed for the bathroom. He really had a hard day in front of him. Maryam was at the neighbor's, while the other woman occupied the bed. Day had overtaken him before he could conceal the traces of his crime. How crazy! He should have spirited her out before going to bed. How co aid he have been so negligent? What disaster had befallen him? When and how had he moved her from the parlor to the bedroom? He did not remember anything. He did not even recall how and when he had fallen asleep. The upshot was a colossal scandal with nothing to show for it. It had been a perfectly innocent evening but one now as filled with disgrace as hishead was with distress and discomfort. But it was hardly amazing, for the apartment, a bequest from his mother, God forgive her, had long been inhabited by scandalous demons. The mother had passed on, but the son had remained to become the butt of the neighborhood gossip. By the following day the news would have reached Palace Walk.

  “Forward, denizen of the abyss of debauchery. If this cold water you're using to wash your body could only cleanse your mind of its evil memories…. Who knows? Perhaps if you look out the window, you'll find a group of people watching at your doorway for the departure of the woman who expelled your wife and took her place. No, you won't allow her to leave today, no matter what. As for Maryam, you've divorced her. You divorced her without wanting to, when her mother's grave is still fresh. What will people say of you, liar?”

  He felt a pressing need for a cup of coffee to revive his senses. On his way from bathroom to kitchen he noticed the console table in the front hall and remembered the bottle of cognac that had spilled in the parlor. He wondered for a moment if the rug was damaged but then remembered with ironic regret that the furniture was no longer his property. It would soon go to join the woman who owned it.

  In a few minuteshe was carrying a glass half filled with coffee to the bedroom, where he found Zanuba sitting up in bed as she stretched and yawned.

  She turned toward him and said, “A good morning for both of us! We'll have breakfast at the police station, God willing.”

  He took a sip and looked at her over the rim of the glass. Then he said, “Pray to God the Omniscient Benefactor.”

  She waved her hands until the gold bracelets jangled. Then she blurted out, “You're responsible for everything that's happened.”

  He sat down on the bed near her outstretched legs. He answered uneasily, “A trial, huh? I told you to
address God the Omniscient Benefactor.”

  She rubbed the small of his back with her heels as she moaned, “You've destroyed my home. God only knows what's waiting for me there.”

  Ashe crossed one leg over the other, his house shirt rode up to reveal a thigh that was firm and covered with a forest of coal-black hair. He asked, “Your boyfriend?… May God disappoint him! What'she compared with my wife, whom I've divorced? You're the one who's devastated my household. It's my home that's destroyed.”

  As though addressing herself, she said, “It's been a dark night.

  [haven't been able to tell my head from my feet, and the din is still ringing in my head. But it's my fault. I should never have listened to you.”

  He suspected she actually was pleased, her complaints notwithstanding;, or that she was using them to get at him. Had he not known women in the Ezbekiya fleshpots who boasted of the number of bloody battles waged over them? But he did not get angry. Matters had reached such a desperate pass that he was spared the effort of trying to remedy them.

  He could not help laughing as he observed, “It's the worst catastrophes that make you laugh. Laugh! You've wrecked my home and replaced my wife. Get up and pull yourself together. Prepare for a long stay… till night falls. You won't leave the house until it's dark.”

  “What dreadful news! Imprisoned! Where's your wife?”

  “I don't have a wife anymore.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In divorce court, if my guess is correct.”

  “I'm afraid she'll attack me when I leave.”

  “You afraid? Lord have mercy on us! Last night, menacing though she was, you didn't lose a bit of your sly pluck, you niece of Zubayda.”

  She laughed for a long time. She seemed to be acknowledging the charge against her and to be proud of it too. Then she put out her hand to take the glass of coffee. After drinking a little, she returned the glass and asked, “Now what?”

  “As you can see, I'm in the dark too. It hurts to be exposed in front of people the way I was last night.”

  Shrugging her shoulders disdainfully, she said, “Don't worry about it. There's not a man alive who hasn't more dirty linen than the earth has room to hide.”