Sugar Street tct-3

by Naguib Mahfouz

  As usual the elderly bachelor greeted him with the salutation "Welcome, Hajji Yasin". The old man persisted in calling him a hajji, or pilgrim, not because Yasin had been to Mecca, but because of his Qur'anic name.

  The attorney, the most alcoholic, observed, "You're so late, hero, that we said you must have stumbled upon a woman who would deprive us of your company all night long."

  The bachelor commented philosophically, "There's nothing like a woman to come between one man and another."

  Yasin, who had taken a seat next to him and the head clerk from trusts, jested, "There's no need to worry about that with you."

  Lifting his glass to his mouth, the old man said, "Except for a few devilish moments when a girl of fourteen may tempt me."

  The head clerk retorted, "Talking about it in January is one thing, but doing it in February is another."

  "I don't understand what you mean by this rude remark."

  "I don't either!"

  Khalo brought Yasin a drink and some lupine seeds. Accepting the drink, Yasin said, "See what January 's like this year!"

  The personnel director commented, "God creates many different conditions. This year January has brought cold weather but has removed Tawfiq Nasim for good."

  The attorney shouted, "Save us from politics! We always have politics for an appetizer when we're getting drunk and that spoils the effect. Find some other subject."

  The personnel director said, "Actually our lives are nothing but politics."

  "You're a personnel director in the sixth grade of the civil service, What does politics have to do with you?"

  The director answered vehemently, "I've been at the sixth level for a long time, if you don't mind. Since the days of Sa'd Zaghlul."

  The elderly bachelor said, "I reached the sixth level years ago in the era of Mustafa Kamil. In honor of his memory I retired at that rank…. Listen, wouldn't it be better for us to get drunk and sing?"

  On the verge of draining his glass, Yasin said, "First let's get drunk, pop."

  Yasin had never experienced a deep friendship, but wherever he went coffeehouses or barshe had pals. He made friends quickly and found friends even more quickly. He had frequented these men ever since developments in his financial situation had prompted him to make this bar his regular spot for evening relaxation. He chatted on intimate terms with the others, although he never met any of them outside of this setting and made no effort to do so. Alcoholism and frugality brought them together. The personnel director outranked the others but had many dependents. The attorney had sought out this bar because of its reputation for serving potent drinks, after normal ones had ceased to have much effect on him. Then he had gotten accustomed and habituated to the establishment.

  Feeling drunk enough to become talkative, Yasin threw himself into the riotous maelstrom that swept through the place, surging into every corner. The elderly bachelor was Yasin's favorite. He never tired of teasing the old man, especially with allusions to sex, and the bachelor would caution Yasin not to indulge himself too much, reminding him of his domestic responsibilities.

  Yasin's boastful retort was: "My family is made for this. My father's like that, and my grandfather before him was as well."

  When Yasin repeated this statement now, the attorney jestingly asked him, "And what about your mother? Was she like that too?"

  They laughed a lot, and Yasin laughed with them. But his tormented heart plunged in his chest. He drank more than usual and, in spite of his intoxication, imagined that he was collapsing. The place, the drink, the day nothing felt right to him.

  "Everywhere I go people are secretly making fun of me. What am I, compared to my father? Nothing makes a person so miserable as an increase in age or a decrease in wealth. But drinking provides considerable relief It pours forth gentle sociability and attractive solace, making every mishap seem trivial. So say, 'How happy I am.' The lost real estate will never return nor will my vanished youth. But alcohol can be an excellent lifetime companion. I was weaned on it as a callow youth. Now it's cheering up my manhood. When covered with white hair, my head will quiver with alcohol's ecstatic intoxication. So no matter what hardships I suffer, I will never lose heart. Tomorrow when Ridwan's established as a man and Karima struts off as a bride, I'll drink several toasts to happinesshere in al-Ataba al-Khadra Square. How happy I am!"

  Then the group was singing, "What humiliations the prisoner of love experiences…". After that they did a loud and tumultuous rendition of "That girl in the neighboring valley". Men in the other rooms and in the lobby took up the song too. When it was finished, the silence was deafening.

  The personnel director began discussing the resignation of Tawfiq Nasim and asked about the pact designed to protect Egypt from the danger Italy posed for her as a troublesome neighbor occupying Libya. But the assembly quickly sang in response, "Let down the curtain around us… to keep the neighbors from peeking". Although the elderly man had drunk to excess, participating fully in the rowdiness, he protested against this impudent response and accused them of being silly about a serious matter. Their answer was to sing in unison, "Is your opposition real or feigned?" Then the old man was forced to laugh and to join in wholeheartedly once more.

  Yasin left the tavern at midnight, reaching his home in Palace of Desire Alley around one in the morning. As usual each night he walked through the rooms of his apartment as though on an inspection tour. He found Ridwan studying in his room, and the young man looked up from his law book to exchange a smile with his father. The love between them was profound. Ridwan also had great respect for Yasin, even though he realized that his father was always intoxicated when he returned home this late. Yasin was extremely appreciative of his son's good looks and also admired his intelligence and industry. He saw Ridwan as a future public prosecutor who would raise his father's status, give him cause for pride, and console him for many things.

  Yasin asked, "How are your studies?" Then he pointed to himself as if to say, "I'm home, if you need me". Ridwan smiled, and the eyeshe had inherited from his paternal grandmother, Haniya, lit up. His father asked, "Will it bother you if I play something on the phonograph?"

  "It won't disturb me, but the neighbors are sleeping at this hour."

  Ashe left the room Yasin said scornfully, "I hope they sleep well."

  Passing by the "children's" bedroom, he found Karima sound asleep in her little bed. On the other side of the room Ridwan's bed was empty, waiting for him to finish studying. Yasin thought of waking his daughter up to joke with her but remembered how she grumbled when awakened in the night and gave up the idea. He went toward his room. The most wonderful night of the week in this house was without doubt that preceding the Friday holiday. Each Thursday evening when he got home, regardless of the hour, he would not hesitate to invite Ridwan to keep him company in the sitting room. Then he would awaken Karima and Zanuba. Starting up the phonograph, he would chat and joke with them until early the next morning. He was very fond of his family, especially Ridwan. It was true that he did not make any effort or did not have the time to supervise or guide them. He left their care to Zanuba and her instinctive good sense. Even so, he had never washed to play the cruel role with them that his own father had with him. The idea of creating in Ridwan'sheart the feelings of terror and fear he had felt for his own father was deeply abhorrent to Yasin. In fact, he would not have been able to do it, even if he had wanted to. When he gathered them around him after midnight he would openly express his warm affection for them in a double intoxication derived from alcohol and love. While jesting and conversing with them he might tell droll anecdotes about the drunkshe had encountered at the bar. He paid no attention to the effect these could have on their innocent souls and waved aside Zanuba's discreet attempts to signal him to desist. He seemed unselfconscious and acted spontaneously without reserve or caution.

  As usual he found Zanuba half asleep in their room. It was always like this. Before he entered, he could hear her snoring. By the time he reac
hed the middle of the room she was moving and opening her eyes. In her sarcastic voice she said, "Praise God for your safe return". Then she rose to help him take off his clothes and fold them. Unadorned, she appeared older than she was. He frequently thought she looked as old as he did. But she had become his companion, and their lives had become intermeshed. This former entertainer had succeeded in staying married to him, a feat no lady had accomplished before her. His wedded life was firmly anchored. At first there had been fights and loud quarrels, but she had always shown how much she cherished their marriage. In the course of time she had become a mother. When her son had died, leaving her with only Karima, that loss had made her redouble her efforts to safeguard her married life, especially once her beauty began to fade and she was threatened by premature aging. Time had taught her how attractive patience and conciliation are and how to perfect the role of a lady in every sense of the word. She went to such extremes in this regard that she dressed very simply when she went out. Her efforts eventually won a certain degree of respect for her on Palace Walk and Sugar Street. She had the good judgment to treat her stepson Ridwan exactly like Karima, showing both of them great tenderness and affection, even though she did not feel any love for the boy, especially after she lost the only son she bore Yasin. No longer a beauty, she was still careful to wear attractive clothes and to be clean and neat.

  Yasin smiled as he watched her fix her hair in front of the mirror. Although she occasionally annoyed him to the point of anger, he sensed that she had truly become a precious part of his life, someone he could never do without.

  Since she was shivering, she got a shawl, complaining, "It's so cold! Do yourself a favor and don't spend your evenings out during the winter."

  He answered sarcastically, "As you know, alcohol changes the season. Why tire yourself by waking up?"

  She fumed, "What you say is as tiresome as what you do."

  In his nightshirt he looked like a blimp. Rubbing his hand over his belly, he gazed at the woman with satisfaction. His black eyes sparkled. Then he laughed suddenly and said, "If you could have seen me exchanging greetings with the officers…. The ones on the late patrol have become my dear friends."

  Sighing, she muttered, "I'm overjoyed."

  123

  The sight of Yasin's son, Ridwan, striding through al-Ghuriya at a deliberate pace was really enough to turn heads. Seventeen years old, he had attractive dark eyes and a medium build with a slight tendency to be stocky. His attire was so dapper it attracted attention. His rosy complexion was attributable to his mother's family, the Iffats. He had a radiant charm, and his gestures betrayed the conceit of a person whose good looks were no secret to him. When he passed by Sugar Street, he turned his face with its faint smile in that direction, as his aunt Khadija and her sons, Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad, came to mind. The thought of them evoked little reaction save apathy. He had never felt tempted even once to take either of his cousins as a friend in the true meaning of the word. Soon he had passed through Bab al-Mutawalli, the ancient city gate. Then turning into al-Darb al-Ahmar, he went down it until he reached an old house, where he knocked on the door and waited.

  The door opened to reveal the face of Hilmi Izzat, who was a childhood friend, a colleague in Law School, and a rival in good looks. Hilmi beamed at the sight of him. They embraced and exchanged a kiss, as they always did when they met. On their way up the stairs, Hilmi commended his friend's tie and the way it matched his shirt and socks. They were both known for their elegance and good taste, and their interest in clothing and fashion was matched by their enthusiasm for politics and studying law. Their destination was a large room with a high ceiling. The presence of a bed and a desk in it indicated that it served for both sleeping and studying. Indeed the two young men frequently stayed up late studying there and then stretched out to sleep side by side in the great bed with its black posts and mosquito netting. It was nothing new for Ridwan to spend a night away from home. Since childhood, he had accepted invitations to pass days at a time in various different homes, like those of his grandfather Muhammad Iffat in al-Gamaliya or of his mother, Zaynab whose only child he remained, even though she had long since married Muhammad Hasan — in al-Munira. Because of this, his father's natural tendency to be nonchalant, and the secret relief his stepmother, Zanuba, took in anything that kept him away from home even temporarily, Ridwan encountered no opposition to his desire to stay overnight with his friend when they were studying for an examination. Eventually the practice became so common that no one paid any attention to it.

  Hilmi Izzat had been raised in a similar atmosphere of indifference. His father, a police officer in charge of a station, had died ten years before. Hilmi's six sisters had married, and he lived alone with his aged mother. She had difficulty controlling him, and he sooti came to dominate the entire household. The widow lived on her husband's small pension and the rent from the first floor of her ancient house. The family had not had an easy life since the father's death, but Hilmi had been able to continue his studies and to enroll in Law School. All that time he had managed to keep up appearances. For Hilmi there was no pleasure equal to that of seeing his friend, and no period of work or relaxation was truly enjoyable unless Ridwan was present. Then Hilmi would feel a burst of energetic enthusiasm.

  Hilmi invited Ridwan to have a seat on the sofa next to the door of the latticed balcony and, sitting down beside him, began to think of a topic of conversation. There were so many subjects to choose from…. But the despondent look in Ridwan's eyes cooled Hilmi's fervor. He gazed at Ridwan questioningly. Guessing what was wrong, he muttered, "You've been to visit your mother….1 bet you've just been there."

  Ridwan realized that his facial expression had given him away. With a vexed look in his eyes, he nodded his head, without speaking.

  "How is she?" Hilmi asked.

  "Great". Then he sighed and added, "But that man called Muhammad Hasan! Do you know what it means to have a step father? "

  Hilmi said consolingly, "Many people have stepparents. There's nothing shameful about it. Besides, that happened a long time ago."

  Ridwan cried out angrily, "No, no, no! He's always at home. The only time he leaves is to go to his job at the ministry. For once, I'd like to visit her when she's alone. He takes it upon himself to play the role of my father and adviser. Damn him. He never misses an opportunity to remind me that he's my father's boss in the records office and doesn't hesitate to criticize my father's conduct at work. But I don't let it pass in silence". He was quiet for a minute while he got control of his emotions. Then he continued: "My mother was a fool to agree to marry this man. Wouldn't it have been better for her to return to my father?"

  Hilmi knew about Yasin's notorious behavior. With a smile he recited, "How many laments passion has brought me…."

  Waving his hand to show his disagreement, Ridwan said, "So what! Women's taste is a frightening mystery. What's even more disastrous is that she seems happy with him."

  "Don't dwell on things that upset you."

  Ridwan answered sadly, "How amazing! A vast part of my life is miserable. I detest my mother's husband and dislike my father's wife. The atmosphere is charged with hatred. Like my mother, my father made a bad choice. But what can I do about it? My stepmother is nice to me, but I don't think she loves me. How vile this life is!"

  An elderly servant brought in some tea. Ridwan welcomed it with relish, since he had been stung by bitter February winds on the way there. They were silent as they dissolved the sugar in the tea. The expression on Ridwan's face changed, announcing the end of his gloomy recital.

  Hilmi welcomed this and said with relief, "I'm so used to studying with you that I no longer know how to do it by myself."

  Ridwan responded to this affectionate comment with a smile but suddenly asked, "Do you know about the decree that was issued concerning the delegation for the negotiations?"

  "Yes. But many people are making a big stink about the atmosphere surrounding the negotiations. It s
eems that Italy, which poses a threat to our borders, is the real focus of the negotiations. For their part, the English pose a threat if the agreement fails."

  "The blood of our martyrs is not cold yet, and we have fresh blood to spill."

  Hilmi shook his head as he remarked, "What people are saying is that the fighting's over and the talking has begun. What do you think?"

  "At any rate the Wafd constitute an overwhelming majority within the delegation. Picture this. When I asked Muhammad Hasan, my stepfather, his opinion of the situation, he replied sarcastically, 'Do you really think the English can leave Egypt?' This is the man my mother consented to marry."

  Hilmi Izzat laughed out loud and asked, "Does your father's opinion differ?"

  "My father hates the English. That's enough."

  "Dosshe hate them from the depths of his heart?"

  "My father does not hate or love anything from the depths of his heart."

  "I'm asking what you think. Are you confident?"

  "Why not? How long can this situation drag on? Fifty-four years of British occupation? Phooey! I'm not the only one who is miserable."

  Hilmi Izzat took a last sip of tea. Then he smiled and said, "I think you were speaking to me with this kind of enthusiasm when he caught sight of you."

  "Who?"

  Hilmi smiled mysteriously and replied, "When you get excited you blush and that makes you look especially handsome. No doubt lie saw you talking to me at one of those happy moments the day our student delegation went to the House of the Nation to call for unity. Don't you remember?"