When his deliberate pace finally brought him to the mosque of al-Husayn, he removed his shoes and entered, reciting the opening prayer of the Qur'an. He made his way to the pulpit area, where he found Muhammad Iffat and Ibrahim al-Far waiting for him. They all performed the sunset prayer together and then left the mosque, heading for al-Tambakshiya to visit Ali Abd al-Rahim. Each of them had retired due to ill health, but they were in better shape than Ali Abd al-Rahim, who was bedridden.
Sighing, al-Sayyid Ahmad said, "I imagine that soon the sole way I'll be able to get to the mosque is by riding."
"You're not the only one!"
Then al-Sayyid Ahmad added anxiously, "I'm dreadfully afraid I'll be confined to bed like Mr. Ali. I pray that God will favor me with death before my strength gives out."
"May our Lord spare you and the rest of us every misfortune."
As if frightened by the thought, he commented, "Ghunaym Hamidu lay paralyzed in bed for about a year. Sadiq al-Mawardi suffered the same kind of torment for months. May God grant us a speedy end when the time comes."
Muhammad Iffat laughed and said, "If you let gloomy thoughts get the better of you, you'll be nothing but a woman. Declare that there is only one God, brother."
When they reached the home of Ali Abd al-Rahim, they went to his room. Before they could say anything, he blurted out unhappily, "You're late, may God forgive you."
The vexation of the bedridden man was visible in his eyes. The only time he ever smiled was when they were with him. He complained, "All day long my only occupation is listening to the radio. What would I do if it had not yet been introduced to Egypt? I enjoy everything that's broadcast, even lectures I can barely understand. All the same we're not so old that we should be suffering like this. Our grandfathers married new wives at this age."
Ahmad Abd al-Jawad's sense of humor got the better of him, and he observed, "That's an idea! What do you think about us taking another wife? Perhaps that would bring back our youth and cure what ails us."
Ali Abd al-Rahim smiled but refrained from laughing for fear he would break into a fit of coughing that would strain his heart. "I'm with you!" he said. "Select a bride for me. But tell her frankly that the bridegroom can't move and that it's all up to her."
As though suddenly remembering something, al-Far told him, "Ahmad Abd al-Jawad will see a great-grandchild before you do. May our Lord prolong his life."
"Congratulations in advance, son of Abd al-Jawad."
Al-Sayyid Ahmad frowned as he replied, "Na'ima is pregnant, but I have some misgivings. I still remember what was said about her heart when she was born. I've tried without success to forget that for a long time."
"What an ungrateful soul you are! Since when do you put your faith in the prophecies of physicians?"
Laughing, al-Sayyid Ahmad answered, "Since I'm kept awake till dawn whenever I eat anything they've forbidden me."
Ali Abd al-Rahim asked, "What about our Lord's compassion?"
"Praise to God, Lord of the universe". Then he added, "I'm not oblivious to God's mercy, but fear spawns fear. Ali, the fact is that I'm more worried about Aisha than Na'ima. All my anxieties in life converge on Aisha, that miserable darling. When I leave her, she'll be alone in the world."
Ibrahim al-Far commented, "Our Lord is always present. He is the ultimate guardian for everyone."
They were silent for a time. Finally Ali Abd al-Rahim's voice curtailed the silence: "It will be my turn after yours to see a greatgrandchild."
Al-Sayyid Ahmad laughed and said, "May God forgive girls for making parents and grandparents old before their time."
Muhammad Iffat cried out, 'Old man, admit you're old and stop being so obstinate."
"You mustn't raise your voice for fear my heart will hear you and act up. It's like a spoiled child."
Shaking his head sorrowfully, Ibrahim al-Far said, "What a year we've had…. It's been rough. It hasn't left any of us in good shape — as if ill health had booked an appointment with us."
"In the words of Abd al-Wahhab's song, 'Let's live together and die together.'"
The} all laughed. Ali Abd al-Rahim changed his tone and asked seriously, "Is it right? I mean what al-Nuqrashi did?"
Ahmad Abd al-Jawad frowned as he answered, "I hoped so much that things would return to normal…. I ask the forgiveness of God Almighty."
"A fraternal bond developed through a lifetime of shared struggle went up in smoke."
"Nowadays all good deeds go up in smoke."
Ahmad Abd al-Jawad continued: "Nothing has made me so sad as al-Nuqrashi's departure from the Wafd. He should not have carried the dispute that far."
"What fate do you suppose awaits him?"
"The inevitable one, for where are rebels like al-Basil and al-Shamsi today? This valiant leader has sealed his own fate and taken Ahmad Mahir down with him."
Then Muhammad Iffat said nervously, "Spare us this story. I'm about ready to renounce politics."
Al-Far had an idea and asked with a smile, "If we were forced — God forbid it to take to our beds, like Mr. Ali, how would we meet and converse with each other?"
Muhammad Iffat murmured, "God's will be done — not yours!"
Ahmad Abd al-Jawad laughed and replied, "If the worst happens, then we'll talk to each other by radio, the way Papa Soot talks to the children when he does his show."
They laughed together. Muhammad Iffat took out his watch to consult it. Ali Abd al-Rahim became alarmed and said, "You'll stay with me until the doctor comes, so you can hear what he has to say — may he and his days be cursed."
138
The shops in al-Ghuriya were closing. There were few people in the street, and the cold was intense. It was the middle of December, and winter had arrived early. Kamal had no difficulty tempting Riyad Qaldas to visit the district of al-Husayn. Although not a native of the area, the young man loved strolling through it and sitting in its coffeehouses. More than a year and a half had passed since their first meeting at al-Fikr magazine, and not a week had gone by without their seeing each other once or twice. During the school vacation they got together almost every evening at either the magazine, the house on Palace Walk, Riyad's home in Manshiya al-Bakri, the cafes of Imad al-Din Street, or the grand coffeehouse of al-Husayn, to which Kama! had retreated after Ahmad Abduh's historic one had been destroyed and permanently erased from existence.
They were both happy with this friendship, and Kamal had once told himself, "I missed Husayn Shaddad for years. His place remained empty until Riyad Qaldas took it". When he was with Riyad, Kamal's spirit came to life and was filled with an explosion of energy sparked by their intellectual exchange. This was true despite their marked — if complementary differences from each other. They were both conscious of a mutual affection but never referred to it openly. Neither said to the other, "You're my friend" or "I can't imagine life without you," but this was the truth of the matter. The cold weather did not diminish their desire to walk, and they had decided to proceed on foot to their favorite cafe on Imad al-Din Street.
Riyad Qaldas was upset that evening. He said passionately, "The constitutional crisis has concluded with the rout of the people. Al-Nahhas's removal is a defeat for the nation in its historic struggle with the palace."
Kamal answered sorrowfully, "It's clear now that Faruq's as bad as his father."
"Faruq's not the only one responsible. The traditional enemies of the people have engineered this debacle. It's the work of Ali Mahir and Muhammad Mahmud. Lamentably Ahmad Mahir and al-Nuqrashi, these two populist leaders, joined ranks with the enemies of the people. If the nation were cleansed of traitors, the king would not find anyone to help him suppress the rights of the people". After a short silence he continued: "The English aren't playing an active role now, but the people and the king are at loggerheads. Independence isn't everything. There is also the people's sacred prerogative to enjoy their rights and their sovereignty to live as free men, not slaves."
Unlike Riyad, Kamal was n
ot deeply engaged in politics, but his doubts had not been able to destroy it for him, as they had so many other interests. It retained an emotional vitality for him. His heart believed firmly in the rights of the people, no matter how divided his intellect was on the subject, espousing at times "the rights of man," and on other occasions proclaiming, "It's all a question of the survival of the fittest. The masses are the common herd". It might also wonder, "Isn't Communism an experiment worth exploriig?" His heart had not been purged of the populist sentiments with which he had grown up, and these were mixed with memories of Fahmy.
Politics was an essential element of Riyad's intellectual activity. He asked, "Is it possible for us to forget the humiliating reception Makrarti Ubayd got in the square in front of Abdin Palace or al-Nahlias's criminal ouster, that insulting calumny, like spit in the face of the nation? Blind hatred makes some applaud it, alas."
"You're just angry because of what happened to Makram Ubayd," Kamal teased.
Without any hesitation Riyad replied, "All of us Copts are Wafdists. That's because the Wafd Party represents true nationalism. It's not a religious, Turkish-oriented bunch like the National Party. The Wafd is a populist party. It will make Egypt a nation that provides freedom for all Egyptians, without regard to ethnic origin or religious affiliation. The enemies of the people know this. That's why the Copts were targeted for barefaced oppression throughout the Sidqy era. Now we'll be experiencing that again."
Kamal welcomed this candor, which demonstrated the depth of their friendship. All the saine he felt like teasing Riyad some more: "Here you are, talking about Coptic Christians, when you believe in nothing but science and art…."
Riyad fell silent. They had reached al-Azhar Street, where the cold wind gusted rather fiercely. As they walked along they came to a pastry shop, and Kamal invited Riyad to have some with him. They each got a modest plateful and stepped to the side of the shop to eat. Then Riyad said, "I'm both a freethinker and a Copt. Indeed I'm both a Copt and a man without any religion. I frequently feel that Christianity is my community, not my faith. If I analyzed this feeling, I might entertain some reservations about it. But not so fast… isn't it cowardly to ignore my people? There's one thing that can help me overcome this quandary, and that is to devote myself to the kind of sincere Egyptian patriotism envisaged by Sa'd Zaghlul. Al-Nahhas is a Muslim by way of religion, but he's also a nationalist in every sense of the word. He makes us think of ourselves as Egyptians, whether we are Muslims or Copts. I could lead a happy life with an untroubled mind by focusing on thoughts like these, but a real life is at the same time a responsible one."
Kamal's breast was agitated by emotion and his thoughts wandered as he smacked his lips over the pastry. Riyad's appearance, which was so purely Egyptian that it reminded him of a pharaonic portrait, stirred various reflections: "Riyad's point can't be denied. I'm torn between the dictates of my intellect and of my heart, and so ishe. How can a minority live in the midst of a majority that oppresses it? Different sacred scriptures are commonly compared according to the level of happiness they provide to human beings, and that is most clearly represented by the amount of aid they give the oppressed."
Kamal said, "Forgive me. I've never had to deal with racism. From the very beginning my mother trained me to love everyone, and I grew up in the revolutionary atmosphere that was free of ethnic prejudices. So I have had no experience with this problem."
As they resumed their walk, Riyad said, "One would hope there wouldn't be any problem at all. I'm sorry to have to tell you bluntly that we grew up in homes with plenty of gloomy memories. I'm not a Coptic chauvinist, but anyone who neglects human rights, whether at home or at the ends of the earth, has neglected the rights of all mankind."
"That's beautifully put. It's not surprising that truly humanitarian manifestos originate frequently in minority circles or with people whose consciences are troubled by the problems of minorities. But there are always some fanatics."
"Always. Everywhere. Men have only recently evolved from animals. Your fanatics consider us cursed infidels. Our fanatics consider you infidel usurpers. They call themselves descendants of the kings of ancient Egypt and people who were able to preserve their religion by paying the poll tax levied on non-Muslims."
Kamal laughed out loud. Then he said, "That's precisely what the two sides say. Do you suppose the origin of this dispute is religion or a human proclivity for dissension? Muslims don't all agree with each other and neither do Christians. You will find that there have long been disagreements between Shi'i Muslims and Sunni Muslims, Hijazi Muslims and Iraqi Muslims, Wafdists and Constitutionalists, students in the humanities and in the sciences, and supporters of the rival Ahli and Arsenal soccer teams. But in spite of this contentious streak in human nature, we are deeply upset when we read newspaper accounts of an earthquake in Japar. Listen, why don't you treat this subject in your stories?"
"The problem of Copts and Muslims…". Riyad Qaldas was quiet for a time. Then he said, "I'm afraid it would be misunderstood". After another period of silence he added, "And don't forget that, in spite of everything, we're enjoying our golden age. At one time Shaykh Abd al-Aziz Jawish suggested that Muslims should make shoes from our hides."
"How can we eradicate this problem?"
"Fortunately it has been absorbed by the problems of the people as a whole. Today the Copts' problem is the people's problem. We are oppressed when everyone else is. When the people are free, we are."
"Happiness and peace," Kamal thought. "That's the goal we dream of. Your heart lives by love alone. When will your mind find its proper way? When will I be able to say, 'Yes, yes!' with the certainty of my nephew Abd al-Muni'm? My friendship with Riyad has taught me to read his stories. But how can I believe in art at the very time that I find philosophy inadequate and inhospitable?"
Glancing stealthily in his direction, Riyad suddenly asked Kamal, "What are you thinking about now?… Tell me the truth."
Understanding the reason for his friend's question, Kamal answered candidly, "I was thinking about your stories."
"Weren't you distressed by my bluntness?"
"Me! God forgive you."
Riyad laughed a bit apologetically and then inquired, "Have you read my latest story?"
"Yes. It's nice. But I can't help thinking that art isn't serious work. Of course, I need to point out that I don't know whether work or play is more significant in life. You have advanced training in the sciences and perhaps know as much about them as anyone who is not actually a scientist, but all your efforts are squandered on writing stories. I wonder occasionally how science hashelped you."
Riyad Qaldas replied vigorously, "I have transferred from science to art a sincere devotion to the truth, a willingness to confront the facts no matter how bitter they are, an impartiality of judgment, and finally a comprehensive respect for all creatures."
These were grand words, but what relationship did they have to comic stories? Riyad Qaldas looked at him and, reading the doubt in his expression, laughed aloud. Then Riyad said, "You have a low opinion of art. My only consolation is that there's nothing on earth that escapes your doubts. We understand with our minds but live with our hearts. Despite your skeptical stance, you love, work together with other people, and share in the political life of your nation. Whether we are conscious of it or not, behind each of these initiatives there is a principle that is no less powerful than faith. Art is the interpreter of the human world. Besides that, some writers have produced works forming part of the international contest of ideas. In their hands art has become one of the weapons of international progress. There is no way that art can be considered a frivolous activity."
"Is this a defense of art or of the artist?" Kamal asked himself. "If the man who sells melon seeds had a talent for debating, he would prove that he plays a significant role in the life of mankind. It's quite possible that everything has an intrinsic merit. Similarly, it's not out of the question that everything, without exception, is wor
thless. Millions of people are breathing their last at this moment, and yet a child's voice is raised to bewail the loss of a toy and a lover's moans resound throughout existence to broadcast the torments of his heart. Should I laugh or weep?"
Kamal remarked, "With regard to what you said about the international competition of ideas, let me tell you that it's being played out on a small scale in our family. One of my nephews is a Muslim Brother and one a Communist."
"Sooner or later this struggle will be reflected in some form everywhere. We don't live in a vacuum. Haven't you thought about these issues?"
"I read about Communism when I studied materialist philosophy, and similarly I've read books about Fascism and the Nazis."
"You read and understand. You're a historian with no history. I hope you observe the day you emerge from this condition as your true birthday."
Kamal was offended by this remark, not only because of its stinging, criticism but also because of the truth it contained. To avoid commenting on it, he said, "Neither the Communist nor the Muslim Brother in our family has a sound knowledge of what he believes."
"Belief is a matter of willing, not of knowing. The most casual Christian today knows far more about Christianity than the Christian maiatyrs did. It's the same with you in Islam."
"Do you believe in any of these ideologies?"
After some reflection, Riyad replied, "It's clear that I despise Fascism, the Nazi movement, and all other dictatorial systems. Communism might be able to create a world free from the calamities of racial and religious friction and from class conflicts. All the same, my primary interest is my art."
In a teasing tone, Kamal asked, "But more than a thousand years ago Islam created this ideal world you've mentioned."
"But it's a religion. Communism is a science. Religion is nothing more than a myth". Then, smiling, he added, "The problem is that we interact with Muslims, not with Islam."
They found Fuad I Street very crowded despite the cold weather. Riyad stopped suddenly and asked, "What would you think about having macaroni with an excellent wine for supper?"
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