Sugar Street tct-3

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Ahmad told her, "Our neighbor in the second-floor apartment would like to postpone payment of his rent until next month. He met me on the stairs and made that request."

  Frowning at him, she asked, "What did you tell him?"

  "I promised I'd speak to my father."

  "And did you speak to your father?"

  "I'm speaking to you now."

  "We don't share the apartment with him. Why should he share our money? If we give him a break, the tenant in the first-floor apartment will follow his lead. You don't know what people are like. Don't get involved in things that don't concern you."

  Glancing at his father, Ahmad asked, "What do you think, Papa?"

  Ibrahim Shawkat smiled and said, "Spare me the headache. Talk to your mother___"

  Ahmad addressed his mother again: "If we're lenient with a man in difficult circumstances, we won't go hungry."

  Khadija said resentfully, "His wife has already spoken to me, and I agreed to let them pay later. So don't trouble your mind about it. But I explained to her that paying the rent is as obligatory as paying for food and drink. Is there anything wrong in that? I'm occasionally criticized for not making friends with women in the neighborhood, but when you know people the way I do, you praise God for solitude."

  With a wink of his eye Ahmad asked, "Are we better than other people?"

  Scowling, Khadija replied, "Yes … unless you know something about yourself that would make me think otherwise."

  Abd al-Muni'm commented, "In his opinion, he's the best possible man, and his opinion is the only one that counts. All wisdom has been granted to him."

  Khadija said sarcastically, "It's also his opinion that tenants should be able to lease apartments without paying the rent."

  Laughing, Abd al-Muni'm said, "He's not convinced that some people should have absolute ownership rights to houses."

  Shaking her head, Khadija remarked, "I pity such worthless ideas."

  Ahmad glared at his brother, but Abd al-Muni'm shrugged his shoulders scornfully and said, "Straighten your mind out before you get angry."

  Ahmad protested, "It would be better if we didn't try to debate each other."

  "Right. Wait till you grow up."

  "You're only a year older than me. No more than that…."

  "A person a day older than you is a year wiser."

  "I don't believe in that saying."

  "Listen, there's only one thing that concerns me. It's for you to start praying with me again."

  Khadija nodded her head sadly as she said, "Your brother's right. Usually when people grow up they grow wiser, but you … I seek refuge with God from you. Even your father prays and fasts. How could you have done this to yourself? I worry about it night and day."

  In a powerful and profusely self-confident voice Abd al-Muni'm said, "To be blunt, his mind needs a thorough cleansing."

  "It'sjust that…"

  "Listen, Mother. This young man has no religion. This is what I've begun to believe."

  Ahmad waved his hand as if angered and asked loudly, "Where do you get the right to judge a man'sheart?"

  "Your acts betray your secret thoughts". Then, hiding a smile, he added, "Enemy of God!"

  Without abandoning his assured composure, Ibrahim Shawkat said, "Don't make false accusations against your brother."

  Looking at Ahmad but addressing Abd al-Muni'm, Khadija said, "Don't deprive your brother of the dearest thing a person can have. How could he be anything but a Believer? If only his mother's relatives wore turbans, they would be recognized as religious scholars. His maternal great-grandfather had a career in religion. When I was growing up everyone around me prayed devoutly and served God, as if we were living in a mosque."

  Ahmad said sarcastically, "Like Uncle Yasin!"

  A laugh escaped from Ibrahim Shawkat. Pretending to be annoyed, Khadija retorted, "Speak respectfully about your uncle. What's wrong with him? His heart is filled with belief, and our Lord guides him. Look at your grandfather and grandmother."

  "And Uncle Kamal?"

  "Your uncle Kamal is watched over by al-Husayn. You don't know anything."

  "Some people don't know anything…."

  Abd al-Muni'm asked defiantly, "Even if everyone else neglected their religion, would that be any excuse for you?"

  Ahmad replied calmly, "In any case, you shouldn't worry about it. You won't ever be held responsible for my sins."

  Then Ibrahim Shawkat said, "Stop your quarreling. I wish you could be like your cousin Ridwan."

  Khadija stared at him disapprovingly. It was more than she could bear that anyone would prefer Ridwan to her sons. To explain himself, Ibrahim said, "That young man has contacts with top politicians. He's bright and seems guaranteed a glorious future."

  Khadija said furiously, "I don't agree with you. Ridwan's an unlucky boy, like anyone else who has been deprived of his mother's care. The fact is that 'Mrs.' Zanuba thinks nothing of him. I'm not deceived by her good treatment of him. It's simply a political stratagem like those of the English. For this reason the poor boy has no real home. He spends most of his time away from the apartment. And his contacts with important men are meaningless. He's a student in the same year as Abd al-Muni'm. What's the point of this weighty remark? You don't know how to pick your examples."

  Ibrahim gave her a look, as if to say, "It's impossible for you ever to agree with me". Then he continued with his explanation: "Things aren't the same for young people today. Politics has changed everything. Each important figure surrounds himself with young proteges. An ambitious youth wishing to make his way in the world must find a patron he can rely on. Your father's status is based on his close ties to important men."

  Khadija said haughtily, "My father is sought out by people eager to get to know him. He doesn't curry favor with people. As for politics, it doesn't concern my boys. If they had known their uncle who sacrificed his life for the nation, they would learn for themselves what I mean. It's 'Long live so-and-so' or 'Down with someone else,' while people's sons are perishing. If Fahmy had lived, he would be one of the greatest judges today."

  Abd al-Muni'm said, "Everyone has to find his own way. We won't imitate anyone. If we wanted to be like Ridwan, we could be."

  Khadija said, "That's right!"

  Ibrahim told Abd al-Muni'm, "You're just like your mother … no difference at all between you."

  There was a knock on the door and the servant came to announce the tenant from the first floor. As she started to rise, Khadija said, "I wonder what she wants… If she wishes to put off paying her rent, it will take all the policemen from the Gamaliya station to separate us."

  126

  Themuski was very congested. Already teeming with more than its normal pedestrian traffic, it was being flooded by currents of human beings from al-Ataba. The April sun cast fiery rays from a cloudless sky, and Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad were sweating profusely as they made their way through the throngs with more than a little effort.

  Taking his brother's arm, Ahmad said, "Tell me what you feel."

  Abd al-Muni'm thought a little and then replied, "I don't know. Death is always terrifying, especially a king's death. The funeral procession was more crowded than any I'd seen before. Since I didn't witness Sa'd Zaghlul's funeral, I can't compare the two. But it seems to me that most of the onlookers were mourning. Some of the women were weeping. We Egyptians are an emotional people."

  "But I'm asking about your own feelings."

  Abd al-Muni'm thought again while trying to keep from bumping into people. Finally he said, "I didn't love him. None of us did. So I wasn't sad. Yet I wasn't happy either. I followed the bier without feeling anything one way or the other about the man, but the thought of such a mighty person in a coffin affected me. A sight like that was bound to move me. God's sovereignty is universal. He is alive and eternal. I wish people would realize that. If the king had died before the political situation changed, great multitudes would have rejoiced. And you what are your feelings?
"

  Smiling, Ahmad said, "I have no love for tyrants, no matter what the political situation."

  "That's excellent. But what about the sight of death?"

  "I don't care for sick romanticism."

  Abd al-Muni'm asked angrily, "Then were you pleased?"

  "I hope to live long enough to see the world cleansed of all tyrants, no matter what the title or description."

  They were silent for a time, fatigue having gotten the best of them. Then Ahmad asked, "What happens next?"

  With the confident tone for which he was known, Abd al-Muni'm answered, "Faruq is just a boy. He's not as crafty or as vindictive as his father. If all goes well, with successful negotiations and a return of the Wafd to power, things will calm down and the era of c onspiracies will vanish. It seems that the future will be good."

  "And the English?"

  "If the negotiations are successful, they will become our friends and, consequently, the alliance between the palace and the English against the Egyptian people will be terminated. Then the king will be forced to respect the constitution."

  "The Wafd Party is better than the other ones."

  "No doubt… but it hasn't governed long enough to demonstrate its abilities fully. Experience will soon reveal its true potential. I agree it's better than the others, but our ambitions don't stop there."

  "Of course not! I believe that rule by the Wafd Party is a good starting point for much greater developments. That's all there is to it. But will we really reach an agreement with the English?"

  "If there isn't an agreement, then we'll return to a situation like that under Sidqy. Our nation has an inexhaustible supply of traitors. Their main task is always to discipline the Wafdists whenever we say no to the English. They are certainly watching for another opportunity, even if they're aligned with the nationalists at present. Sidqy, Muhammad Mahmud, and men like them are just waiting. That's the tragedy."

  On reaching New Street they suddenly found themselves facing their grandfather, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, who washeading toward the Goldsmiths Bazaar. They went over and greeted him respectfully.

  He smiled and asked, "From where, to where?"

  Abd al-Muni'm answered, "We were watching the funeral of King Fuad."

  The smile still on his lips, the man said, "Thank you for your thoughtful condolences."

  After shaking hands, they went their separate ways. Ahmad watched for a moment as his grandfather walked off. Then he said, "Our grandfather's charming and elegant. His cologne has a pleasant fragrance."

  "Mother recounts amazing tales about his tyranny."

  "I don't think he's a tyrant. That's incredible."

  Abd al-Muni'm laughed and said, "Even King Fuad himself by the end of his days seemed pleasant and charming". They both laughed and proceeded on to Ahmad Abduh's coffeehouse.

  In the room opposite the fountain, Ahmad saw a shaykh with a long beard and penetrating eyes. He sat in the center of a group of young men, who watched him attentively. Ahmad stopped and told his brother, "Your friend Shaykh Ali al-Manufi…. 'The earth casts out its burdens' [Qur'an, 99:2]. So I must leave you here."

  Abd al-Muni'm invited him: "Come sit with us. I'd love for you to get to know him and to hear him speak. Dispute with him as much as you want. Many of the fellows around him are students from the University."

  Freeing his arm from his brother's, Ahmad said, "No, sir. I almost got into a fight with him once. I don't like fanatics. Goodbye."

  Abd al-Muni'm stared at him critically and said sharply, "Goodbye. May our Lord guide you". Then he joined the assembly presided over by Shaykh Ali al-Manufi, head of al-Husayn Primary School. The man stood up to greet him, and the young people sitting there also rose and embraced him. When the shaykh sat down, they all resumed their seats. Examining Abd al-Muni'm with piercing eyes, the shaykh commented, "We didn't see you yesterday."

  "Studying."

  "Industry is an acceptable excuse. Why did your brother leave you to go off by himself?"

  Abd al-Muni'm smiled but did not reply. Shaykh Ali al-Manufi remarked, "Our Lord is the guide. Don't wonder about him. Our founder, Hasan al-Banna, encountered many skeptics who today are some of his sincerest disciples. When God wants to guide a people, Satan has no power over them. We are God's soldiers, spreading His light and combating His enemies. More than others, we have given our spirits to Him. Soldiers of God, how happy you are!"

  One of the congregation observed, "But the kingdom of Satan is large."

  Shaykh Ali al-Manufi scolded, "Look at this fellow who's afraid of Satan's world when he's in God's presence…. What shall we say to him? We are with God, and God is with us. So what should we fear? What other soldiers on earth enjoy your power? What weapon is more effective than yours? The English, French, Germans, and Italians rely primarily on their material culture, but you rely on true belief. Belief can dent steel. Faith is stronger than any other force on earth. Fill your pure hearts with belief, and the world belongs to you."

  Another young man commented, "We believe, but we're a weak nation."

  The shaykh clenched his fist as he cried out, "If you feel weak, then your faith has decreased without your being aware of it. Faith creates power and induces it. Bombs are made by hands like yours. They are the fruit of power, not its cause. How did the Prophet conquer the whole Arabian peninsula? How did the Arabs conquer the entire world?"

  Abd al-Muni'm answered fervently, "Faith and belief."

  Then someone else asked, "But how can the English be so powerful? They're not Believers."

  The shaykh smiled and ran his fingers through his beard as he said, "Anyone strong believes in something. They believe in their nation and in 'progress.' But faith in God is superior to any other kind of belief. It's only fitting that people who believe in God should be stronger than those believing in the physical world. We Muslims have at our disposal a buried treasure. We must extract it. We need to revive Islam and to make it as good as new. We call ourselves Muslims, but we must prove it by our deeds. God blessed us with His Book, but we have ignored it. This has brought down humiliation upon us. So let us return to the Book. This is our rnotto: a return to the Qur'an. That was what our leader called for at the beginning in Isma'iliya, and from that time or his message has been sinking deep into people's spirits, winning over villages and hamlets, filling every heart."

  "But wouldn't it be wise for us to stay out of politics?"

  "Our religion consists of a creed, a code of law, and a political system. God is far too merciful to have left the most troublesome aspects of human affairs devoid of any regulation or guidance from Him. Actually, that's the subject of our lesson for tonight…."

  The shaykh was ebullient. His approach was to affirm some truth, which they would then discuss, as disciples asked questions and he replied. Most of his remarks centered on quotations from the Qur'an and from the collections of hadith reports of the Prophet's words and deeds. He spoke as if preaching, indeed preaching to all the patrons of the coffeehouse.

  From his seat at the far end of the room, where he was drinking green tea, Ahmad could hear the shaykh. There was a sarcastic smile on the young man's lips, as he incredulously attempted to measure the gulf separating him from this zealous group. Angry and scornful, he grew so irritated that he thought of asking the shaykh to lower his voice and to stop disturbing the other patrons. But he abandoned that idea as soon as he remembered his brother was one of the shaykh's disciples. Finally, he saw no alternative to leaving the coffeehouse, rose resentfully, and left.

  127

  Abd al-Muni'm returned to Sugar Street around eight. The fuiy of the weather had abated, making for a pleasant evening with some of the freshness of spring. The lesson was still ringing in his head and heart, but he felt mentally and physically exhausted. As He crossed the courtyard in the darkness, heading for the stairway, the door of the first-floor apartment opened. By the light escaping from inside he saw a figure slip out, close the door, and precede him up the sta
irs. His heart pounded, and his blood pulsed through him like tiny insects inflamed by hot weather. Even in the shadow she could see her waiting for him at the first landing. She glanced at him as lie stared up at her, not averting his gaze.

  It was amazingly easy for young people to deceive their parents. This young girl had stepped out of her apartment on the pretext of visiting the neighbors. And she would visit them, but only after participating in a dangerous flirtation on the dark landing. He found that his head was empty of ideas, for all the thought she had been wrestling with had disappeared like a puff of smoke. He was transfixed by a single desire — to satisfy the craving that would not leave his nerves and limbs alone. His sincere faith seemed to have fled in anger or to have taken refuge deep inside him, where it snarled resentfully, although the sound of its complaints was drowned out by the hissing of lust's flames.

  Was she not his girl? Of course she was. The alcoves of the courtyard, the stairwell, and the corner of the roof overlooking Sugar Street could all testify to this. No doubt she had been watching for him to return so that she could meet him at just the right moment. She had taken all this trouble for his sake. He hurried on cautiously until he stood facing her on the landing. There was hardly any distance separating them. The fragrance of her hair tantalized him, and her breath tickled his neck.

  He gently caressed her shoulder as he whispered, "Let's go to the second landing. It's safer than here."

  She made no reply but headed up the steps, and he cautiously followed behind. At the second landing, halfway between the two floors, she stopped, leaning her back against the wall, and he stood right in front of her. When he put his arms around her, she resisted for a second out of force of habit before warming to his embrace.

  "Darling___"

  "I was waiting for you at the window. Mother has been busy getting ready for the Shamm al-Nasim holiday."

  "Best wishes for our spring festival. Now let me taste spring on your lips."