Sugar Street tct-3

by Naguib Mahfouz

  A voice called out from the rear of the room, "My heart told me that today would end badly."

  Another answered, "These are evil times. Since Hoare announced his declaration, people have been expecting momentous events. Other battles will follow. I promise you that."

  "The victims are always students, the most precious children of the nation, alas."

  "But the shooting has stopped. Hasn't it? Listen."

  "The main part of the demonstration is at the House of the Nation. The shooting will continue there for hours to come."

  But the square was silent. Minutes dragged by heavily, charged with tension. Darkness began to fall, and the lamps in the coffeehouse were lit. There was total silence, as if death had overtaken the square and the surrounding streets. When the double doors of the coffeehouse were opened wide, the square — empty of pedestrians and vehicles was visible. A column of steel-helmeted policemen on horseback circled it, preceded by their English commanders.

  Kamal kept wondering about the fate of his nephews. When traffic in the square hesitantly picked up again, he left the coffeehouse and hurried off. He did not return home until he had first visited. Sugar Street and Palace of Desire Alley to reassure himself that Abd al-Muni'm, Ahmad, and Ridwan were safe.

  Alone in his library, his heart filled with sorrow, distress, and anger, he did not read or write a single word. His mind was still roaming around the House of the Nation, thinking of Hoare, the revolutionary speech, the patriotic chants, and the screams of the victims. He found himself trying to recall the name of the pastry shop where he had hidden long ago, but memory failed him.

  120

  The sight of Muhammad Iffat's house in al-Gamaliya was a familiar and beloved one for Ahmad Abd al-Jawad. The massive wooden door looked like the entrance to an ancient caravansary. The high wall hid everything but the tops of lofty trees. Shaded by these mulberry and sycamore trees and dotted with small henna and lemon trees as well as various types of jasmine, the courtyard garden was marvelous. Equally amazing was the pool in the center. And then there was the wooden veranda stretching along the width of the garden.

  Muhammad Iffat stood on the veranda steps, waiting to welcome his guest as he pulled his cloak tighter around him. Ali Abd al-Rahim and Ibrahim al-Far were already seated beside each other. Ahmad greeted his chums and followed Muhammad Iffat to the couch at the center of the veranda, where they sat down together. They had all lost their girth, except for Muhammad Iffat, who looked bloated and had a red face. Ali Abd al-Rahim had gone bald, and the others' hair was streaked with white. Wrinkles spread across their faces. Ali Abd al-Rahim and Ibrahim al-Far appeared to have aged more than the other two. The redness of Muhammad Iffat's face seemed almost to suggest a vascular disorde r.

  Although Ahmad had lost weight and his hair was turning white, he had retained his unblemished good looks. He loved this assembly and admired the view of the garden, which extended all the way to the high wall on al-Gamaliya Street. He leaned his head back a little as if to allow his large nose to inhale the fragrance of jasmine and henna. He closed his eyes occasionally to concentrate on hearing the chirps of the small birds flitting about in the branches of the mulberry and sycamore trees. Still, the most sublime feeling entertained by his heart just then was one of brotherhood and friendship for these men. When his wide blue eyes gazed at their beloved faces, which were masked by age, his heart overflowed with sorrow and sympathy, not only for them but for himself The most nostalgic of them about the past, he was enthralled by anything he could remember about the beauty of youth, its passionate emotions, and his chivalrous escapades.

  Ibrahim went to a nearby table to fetch the backgammon set, asking, "Who will play with me?"

  Ahmad, who rarely joined in their games, said disapprovingly, "Wait a bit. We shouldn't lose ourselves in that from the very beginning."

  Al-Far replaced the box. Then a Nubian servant brought in a tray with three teas and one whiskey and soda. Muhammad Iffat smiled as he took the whiskey glass and the othershelped themselves to tea. This allocation, repeated every evening, often made them laugh. Waving his glass and gesturing toward their tea, Muhammad Iffat said, "May God be merciful to time, which has refined you."

  Sighing, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad responded, "It has refined all of us and you more than the others, for you always were an exceptionally coarse fellow."

  At approximately the same time one year they had all received identical medical advice to give up alcohol, but Muhammad Iffat's physician had allowed him one glass a day. Back then Ahmad Abd al-Jawad had assumed that his friend's doctor was more lenient than his own. He had gone to see this man, but the physician had advised him firmly and earnestly, "Your condition is different from your friend's". When the others had learned about this visit to Muhammad Iffat's doctor, it had provoked many jokes and comments.

  Ahmad laughed and said, "You certainly must have given your doctor a big bribe to persuade him to let you have this one drink."

  Al-Far moaned as he stared at the glass in Muhammad Iffat's hand and said, "By God, I've almost forgotten its intoxication."

  Ali Abd al-Rahim jested, "You've destroyed your repentance by saying this, ruffian."

  Al-Far asked his Lord's forgiveness and then murmured submissively, "Praise God."

  "We've sunk to the point of envying one glass. Whatever has become of our ecstatic intoxications?"

  Laughing, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad said, "If you repent, let it be of something evil, not of a blessing, you sons of dogs."

  "Like all preachers, you have a tongue in one world and a heart in another."

  Making his voice loud enough to suggest a change of subject, Ali Abd al-Rahim asked, "Men, what do you think of Mustafa al-Nahhas? This man was not influenced by the tears of an ailing and elderly king. He refused to forget for one second his highest objective, the 1923 constitution."

  Muhammad Iffat cracked his fingers and said delightedly, "Bravo! Bravo! He's even more resolute than Sa'd Zaghlul. Although he saw that the tyrannical king was sick and tearful, al-Nahhas stood up to him with rare courage and repeated, with all the authority of the nation behind him, 'The 1923 constitution first.' So the constitution was reinstated. Who would have imagined that?"

  Ibrahim al-Far nodded his head admiringly and said, "Picture this scene: King Fuad, broken by age and ill health, places his hand affectionately on the shoulder of Mustafa al-Nahhas and calls for the formation of a coalition government. Al-Nahhas is unmoved. He does not forget his duty as a trusted leader or abandon for one moment the constitution, which royal tears had almost drowned. Unimpressed by any of this, he says resolutely and courageously, 'The 1923 constitution first, Your Majesty.'"

  Mimicking his friend's tone of voice, Ali Abd al-Rahim said, "Or impalement, Your Majesty."

  Laughing, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad said, "I swear by the One whose fates tantalize ushere with whiskey we're not allowed to drink — what a magnificent stand to take!"

  Muhammad drained his glass and then said, "This is 193 5. Eight years have passed since Sa'd's death and fifteen since the revolution. Yet the English are everywhere, in the barracks, the police, the army, and various ministries. The foreign capitulations that make every son of a bitch a respected gentleman are still operative. This sorry state of affairs must end."

  "And don't forget butchers like Isma'il Sidqy, Muhammad Mahmud, and King Fuad'shenchman al-Ibrashi…."

  "If the English leave, none of these other men will matter and the constant change of governments will cease."

  "Yes. If the king wants to make trouble behind the scenes then, he won't find anyone to help him."

  Muhammad Iffat added, "The king will be left with two choices. Either he respects the constitution or he says goodbye."

  Ibrahim al-Far asked rather skeptically, "Would the English forsake him if he sought their protection?"

  "If the English agree to evacuate Egypt, why would they continue to protect the king?"

  Al-Far asked, "Will the English really a
gree to evacuate?"

  Speaking with confident pride in his political acumen, Muhammad Iffat replied, "They caught us off guard with Hoare's declaration. Then there were the demonstrations and the martyrs, may God be compassionate to them. Finally there came the invitation to form a coalition government and the 1923 constitution was restored. I assure you that the English now want to negotiate. … It's true that no one knows how this sorry situation will be sorted out, under what circumstances the English will leave, or how the influence of resident expatriates can be ended. But we have boundless confidence in Mustafa al-Nahhas."

  "Is the exchange of a few words around a table going to end fifty-three years of foreign occupation?"

  "The words have been preceded by the shedding of innocent blood…."

  "Even so…."

  With a wink, Muhammad Iffat replied, "They'll find themselves in an awkward position, given the grave international situation."

  "They can always come up with someone to protect their interests. Isma'il Sidqy's still alive."

  In a knowing tone, Muhammad Iffat responded, "I've spoken with many informed people and have found them optimistic. They say that the world is threatened by a crushing war, that Egypt is a potential target, and that it's in the best interests of both sides to reach an honorable settlement". After stroking his belly he continued with smug self-assurance: "Here's some important news for you. I've been promised the nomination for al-Gamaliya district in the forthcoming elections. Al-Nuqrashi himself promised me."

  The faces of his friends shone with delight. When it was Ali Abd al-Rahim's turn to comment, he said with mock seriousness, "The only thing wrong with the Wafd Party is that they occasionally nominate beasts as deputies."

  Ahmad Abd al-Jawad pretended to defend the Wafd against this charge. "What should the Wafd do? It wants to represent the entire nation. Some of the people are good citizens, and others are trash. What better representatives for trash can you have than beasts?"

  Muhammad Iffat punched him in the side as he retorted, "You're a sly old fox! You and Jalila are exactly alike. You're a pair of old foxes!"

  "I'd be happy to see Jalila nominated. She could sweep the king himself off his feet if she had to."

  Smiling, Ali Abd al-Rahim commented, "I ran into her the day before yesterday near her cul-de-sac. She's still as magnificently massive; as the ceremonial camel litter bound for Mecca, but age has eaten away at her and relieved itself all over her."

  Al-Far added, "She's become a noted madam. Her house is a hotbed of activity, night and day. Even after the piper dies, her fingers keep on playing."

  Ali Abd al-Rahim laughed for a long time and then said, "Passing by her house one day, I saw a man slip inside when he thought no one was looking. Who do you think it was?" With a wink in the direction of Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, he continued: "The dutiful Kamal Effendi, instructor at al-Silahdar School."

  Muh arnmad Iffat and al-Far roared with laughter while Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, his eyes wide with astonishment and alarm, asked in a daze, "My son Kamal?"

  "Yes indeed. His overcoat wrapped around him, he paraded along in a most genteel manner sporting his gold-rimmed spectacles and bushy mustache. He walked with such sedate dignity that it was hard to believe he was the son of our court jester. He turned into her establishment as solemnly as if entering the holy mosque in Mecca. Under my breath I said, 'Don't wear yourself out, bastard.'"

  They laughed loudly. Ahmad Abd al-Jawad had not recovered yet from his stupor but attempted to overcome it by joining in the laughter.

  Staring Ahmad in the face, Muhammad Iffat asked suggestively, "What's so amazing about this? Isn't he your son?"

  Shaking his head with wonder, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad replied, "I've always thought him polite, refined, and cool. He spends so much time in his library reading and writing that I've been afraid he would become isolated from the world. He expends far too much effort on worthless things."

  Ibrahim al-Far joked, "Who knows, perhaps there's a branch of the National Library in Jalila's house."

  Ali Abd al-Rahman ventured, "Or perhapshe retreats to his library to read ribald classics like The Shakyh's Return. What do you expect from a man who began his career with an essay claiming that man is descended from an ape?"

  They laughed again, and Ahmad Abd al-Jawad chuckled along with them. He had learned from experience that if he tried to be serious at a time like this he would become an easy target for jokes and jests. Finally he said, "This must be why the damned fellow has avoided marriage so studiously that I was beginning to have doubts about him."

  "How old is your little boy now?"

  "Twenty-nine."

  "My goodness! You ought to get him married. Why ishe so reluctant?"

  Muhammad Iffat belched, stroked his belly, and then observed, "It's the fashion now. Girls crowd into the streets, and men don't trust them anymore. Haven't you heard Shaykh Hasanayn sing, 'What startling things we see: the gentleman and the lady both at the barbershop'?"

  "Don't forget the economic crisis and the uncertain future facing young people. University graduates accept civil service jobs at only ten pounds a month, if they're lucky enough to find one."

  With obvious anxiety, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad said, "I'm afraid that he's learned Jalila was my mistress or that she knowshe's my son."

  Laughing, Ali Abd al-Rahim asked, "Do you suppose she asks her customers for references?"

  With a wink, Muhammad Iffat commented, "If the hussy knew who he was, she'd tell him his father's life story from A to Z."

  Ahmad Abd al-Jawad snorted, "God forbid!"

  Ibrahim al-Far asked, "Do you think a fellow who can discern that his original ancestor was an ape will have difficulty discovering that his father's a debauched fornicator?"

  Muhammad Iffat laughed so loud that he started coughing. After a few moments of silence he remarked, "Kamal's appearance is truly deceptive … sedate, calm, prim a teacher in every sense of the word."

  In a gratified tone of voice, Ali Abd al-Rahim said, "Sir, may our Lord preserve Kamal and grant him a long life. Anyone who resembles his father can't go wrong."

  Muhammad Iffat commented, "What's important is whether he's a Don Juan like his father. I mean, ishe good at handling women and seducing them?"

  Ali Abd al-Rahim replied, "I doubt it. I imagine he preserves his grave and dignified appearance until the door is closed behind him and the lucky girl. Then he removes his clothes with the same grave dignity and throws himself upon her with grim earnestness. Afterward he dresses and leaves with precisely the same solemnity, as though delivering an important lecture to his students."

  "From the loins of Don Juan has sprung a dunce!"

  Ahmad Abd al-Jawad asked himself almost resentfully, "Why does this seem strange to me?" He would try to forget about it. Seeing al-Far go to fetch the backgammon set, he proclaimed without any hesitation that it was time for them to play. Even so, his thoughts kept revolving around this news. He consoled himself with the reflection that he had raised Kamal conscientiously and had seen him get a University degree and become a respected teacher. Now the boy could do whatever he wanted. In view of his son's lanky build and enormoushead and nose, perhaps it was lucky that he had learned how to have a good time. If there were any justice in the world, Kamal would have married years ago, and Yasin never would have married at all. But who could claim to understand such mysteries?

  Then al-Far asked him, "When did you last see Zubayda?"

  After thinking it over, Ahmad answered, "Last January. About a year ago. The day she came to the store to ask me to find a buyer for her house."

  Ibrahim al-Far remarked, "Jalila bought it. Then that crazy Zubayda fell in love with a cart driver. But he left her destitute. Now she's living in a room on the roof of the house belonging to the performer Sawsan. She's such a ghost of her former self, it's pitiful."

  Ahmad Abd al-Jawad shook his head sorrowfully and murmured, "The sultana in a rooftop shack! Glory to the unchanging One!"
r />   Ali Abd al-Rahim commented, "A sad end, but hardly unexpected."

  A laugh of lament escaped from Muhammad Iffat, and he said, "God have mercy on people who place their trust in this world."

  Then al-Far invited them to play, and Muhammad Iffat challenged him. They quickly turned their attention to backgammon, as Ahmad Abd al-Jawad said, "Let's see whose luck is like Jalila's and whose resembles Zubayda's."

  121

  Kamal, was sitting with Isma'il Latif at Ahmad Abduh's coffeehouse iti the same alcove Kamal and Fuad al-Hamzawi had used as students. Although the December weather was cold, it was warm inside this subterranean establishment. With the entrance closed, all openings to the surface of the earth were sealed, and the air inside was naturally warmer and more humid. But for his desire to be with Kamal, Isma'il Latif would not have patronized this place. Of the old group, he was the only one who still kept in touch, although exigencies of employment had forced him to move to Tanta, where he had obtained a position as an accountant, following his graduation from the School of Commerce. Whenever he returned to Cairo on holiday he telephoned Kamal at al-Silahdar School and arranged to meet at this historic spot.

  Kamal gazed at this old friend, taking in his compact build and the sharp features of his tapering face. He was pleasantly surprised by what he heard about Isma'il's polite, dignified, and upright behavior. The notorious paradigm of reckless and boorish impudence had become an exemplary husband and father.

  Kamal poured some green tea into his companion's glass and then served himself. Smiling, he said, "You don't seem to care for Ahmad Abduh's coffeehouse."

  Craning his neck in his familiar way, Isma'il replied, "It really is unusual, but why not choose somewhere aboveground?"

  "In any case it's an eminently suitable place for a respectable person like you."