"But he limits himself to description and analysis. Compared to real struggle, his work is passive and negative."
This girl was a firebrand! She appeared to be extremely serious. Where was her feminine side?
"What would you want him to write?"
"Have you read any modern Soviet literature? Have you read anything by Maxim Gorky?"
He smiled but did not reply. There was no reason for him to feel embarrassed. He was a student of sociology, not of literature. Besides, she was several years his senior. How old was she? She might be twenty-four, or older.
She said, "This is the type of literature you should read. I'll lend you some if you want."
"I'd be delighted."
She smiled and said, "But a liberated man must be more than a reader or a writer. Principles relate primarily to the will… the will above all other things."
Even so, he was aware of her elegance. Although she did not use makeup, she was as fastidious about her appearance as any other girl and her lively breasts were as attractive and fascinating as any other ones. But not so fast… didn't the principles that he espoused distinguish him from other men?
"Our class is perverse," he thought. "We're unable to see women from more than one perspective."
"I'm delighted to have met you and predict that we will have many opportunities to work together closely."
Smiling in a way that was quite feminine, she said, "You're too kind."
"I really am delighted to have a chance to get to know you". Yes, he was. But it was important that he not misinterpret his feelings, which might simply be the natural response of a young man like him.
"Be cautious," he advised himself "Don't create a dilemma for yourseli like that one in al-Ma'adi, for the sorrow it provoked has yet to be erased from your heart."
150
"Good evening, aunt."
He followed Jalila to her preferred spot in the parlor, and once they were installed on the sofa, she called her maid, whom she watched fetch the drinks, prepare the table, and then depart after finishing these tasks. Turning toward Kamal, Jalila said, "Nephew, I swear that I no longer drink with anyone but you, when you come every Thursday night. I used to enjoy having a drink with your father in the old days. But back then I drank with many others too."
Kamal commented to himself, "I'm in dreadful need of alcohol. I don't know what life would be like without it". Then he told her, "But whiskey has disappeared from the market, Auntie, along with all other wholesome drinks. They say that one of the last German air raids on Scotland scored a direct hit on the warehouse of an internationally known distillery and that rivers of the best whiskey flowed out."
"What I wouldn't give for a raid like that! But before you get drunk tell me how al-Sayyid Ahmad is."
"No better and no worse. Madam Jalila, I hate to see him confined to bed. May our Lord be gracious to him."
"I'd love to visit him. Can't you summon the courage to give him my best wishes?"
"What an idea! That's all we need to provoke Judgment Day."
The old lady laughed and asked, "Do you suppose that a person like al-Sayyid Ahmad is capable of thinking any man pure, especially one of his own brood?"
"Even so, most beautiful of women…. To your health."
"And yours…. Atiya may be late, since her son is sick."
"She didn't mention that last time."
"No. Her son fell ill this past Saturday. The poor darling — her son is the apple of her eye. When anything happens to him, she loses her head."
"She's a fine woman who has had rotten luck. I've long felt her character convincing evidence that only dire necessity could have forced her to enter this profession."
In a jovial but sarcastic tone Jalila replied, "If a man like you is embarrassed by his honorable profession, why should she find hers satisfying?"
The maid passed back through the room with an incense burner wafting a pleasant scent. The moist autumn breeze entered through a window at the rear of the parlor, and the alcohol was bitter but potent. Jalila's comment about his profession reminded him of something he might otherwise have forgotten to tell her, and he said, "I was almost transferred to Asyut, Auntie. If the worst had happened, I would be packing my bags now to go there."
Striking her hand against her breast, Jalila exclaimed, "Asyut! How do you like those dates! May your worst enemy be sent there. What happened?"
"It has turned out all right, praise God."
"Your father knows more people in the government ministries than there are ants."
He nodded his head as if in agreement but did not comment. She stil] pictured his father in his old glory and had no way of knowing that when Kamal had informed his father of the transfer al-Sayyid Ahmad had lamented, "No one knows us anymore. What has become of our friends?"
Before telling his father, Kamal had gone to see his old friend Fuad Jamil al-Hamzawi, thinking he might know one of the top men in the Ministry of Education. But the illustrious judge had told him, "I'm very sorry, Kamal. Since I'm a judge, I can't ask anyone for favors."
With enormous embarrassment, Kamal had finally contacted his nephew Ridwan, and that same day the transfer had been rescinded. What an illustrious young man he was! They were both employed by the same ministry at the same rank, but Kamal was thirty-five and Ridwan only twenty-two. But what could a teacher in an elementary school expect? It was no longer possible for him to find consolation from philosophy or from claiming to be a philosopher. A philosopher is not a parrot who merely repeats what other philosophers have said. Any current graduate of the Arts Faculty could write as well as or better than he did. He had once hoped a publis her would bring out a collection of his essays, but those didactic works were no longer of any particular value. How many books there were nowadays…. In that ocean of learning he was an invisible drop. He had grown so weary that boredom oozed from every pore. When would his carriage reach death's station? He looked at the glass in his aunt's hand and then at her face, which clearly revealed her considerable age.
He could not help marveling at her and asked, "What does drinking do for you, Auntie?"
Displaying her gold teeth, she answered, "Do you call what I'm doing now 'drinking'? That time has passed. Liquor no longer has any taste or effect. It's like coffee. Nothing more or less. Toward the beginning of my career I once got so drunk at a wedding party in Birguwan that the members of my troupe were forced to carry me to my carriage at the end of the evening. May our Lord spare you anything like that!"
"Liquor's still the best thing a bad world has to offer," he reflected. Then he asked, "Have you experienced total intoxication? I used to reach it in two glasses. Today it takes me eight. I don't know how many I'll need tomorrow. But it's an absolute necessity, Aunt. Once intoxicated, the wounded heart dances with joy."
"Nephew, you have a sensitive heart that responds joyfully to music, even without any alcohol."
His heart…joyful? What of his sorrow… that constant companion? What of the as hes left from the bonfire of his hopes? … As a bored man, he had no goal beyond filling himself with liquor, in either this parlor or that bedroom, once the woman tending her sick son arrived. He and his favorite prostitute had reached the same point in life that of a person whose life was not worth living.
"I'm afraid Atiya won't come."
"She'll come. When someone's ill, there's even more need for money."
"What a response!" he thought. But she did not give him a chance to brood about it, for, turning toward him, she examined him with interest for a time. Then she said in a low voice, "It's only a matter of days."
Without understanding what she actually meant, he replied, "May God grant you a long life and never deprive me of you."
Smiling, she said, "I'm going to give up this life."
Astonished, he sat up straight and cried out, "What did you say?"
She Laughed and then answered in a mildly sarcastic tone, "Never fear. Atiya will take you to another house as safe as
this one.
"But what's happened?"
"I've grown old, nephew, and God has given me more riches than I need. Yesterday, the police raided a nearby brothel and took the macam to the station. I've had enough. I'm planning to repent. I must change my ways before I meet my Lord."
He fiuished his drink and refilled the glass. Then, as if he did not believe what he had heard, he remarked, "All that's left is for you to board the boat to Mecca and perform the pilgrimage."
"May our Lord give me the power to do what's right."
After wondering about this for a while, he roused himself from his stupor to ask, "Did all this happen suddenly?"
"Of course not. I don't reveal a secret until I'm ready to act on it. I've been thinking about this for a long time."
"You 're serious?"
"Absolutely. May our Lord be with us."
"I don't know what to say. But in any case may our Lord give you the strength to do the right thing."
"Amen". Then, laughing, she added, "Relax. I won't close this house until I've made provisions for your future."
He laughed out loud and asked, "Isn't it absurd to think that I could ever find a house where I would feel as much at home as here?"
"You can depend on me to pass you on to a new madam, even if I'm in Mecca."
"Everything seems ridiculous," Kamal thought. "But alcohol will always be the direction toward which sorrowful people turn their prayerful attentions. Circumstances have changed. Fuad Jamil al-Hamzawi's star has risen, and that of Kamal Ahmad Abd al-Jawad has declined. Yet alcohol will always bring a smile to the face of a grieving person. Kamal once amused Ridwan by carrying the young boy on his shoulder. Now the day has come for Ridwan to grasp Kamal in order to keep him from stumbling. Still, alcohol remains a lifeline for melancholy men."
Even Madam Jalila was planning to repent at the very time that he was searching for a new brothel. But liquor would continue to be his last resort.
"An invalid," he concluded, "finds everything boring, even boredom, but alcohol will always be the key to a happy release."
"Whenever I hear good things about you it makes me happy," he told her.
"May God guide you and bring you happiness."
"Perhaps I had better go? …"
She placed a finger in front of his mouth to silence him and exclaimed, "God forgive you! This is your house so long as it is mine. And whatever house I settle in will be yours, nephew."
Washe expiating some ancient curse of unknown origin? How could he escape from the anguish engulfing his life? Jalila herself was thinking seriously about transforming her life. Why should he not follow her example? A drowning man either finds a boulder to cling to or drowns. "If life has no meaning, why shouldn't we create a meaning for it?" he asked himself. "Perhaps it's a mistake for us to look for meaning in this world, precisely because our primary mission here is to create this meaning."
Jalila gave him a peculiar look, and he realized too late that he had unconsciously spoken these last words. Laughing, Jalila inquired, "Have you gotten drunk so fast?"
He masked his discomfort with a loud laugh and replied, "Wartime liquor's like poison. Forgive me. When do you suppose Atiya's coming?"
151
Kamal left Jalila's house at one-thirty in the morning. The world was veiled in a darkness tempered by silence as he slowly made his way to New Street and then turned toward al-Husayn. How long would he live in this sacred district that had lost all of its spiritual significance for him? He smiled wanly. The only remaining vestige of the liquor was a hangover. His blazing desires had died away, and he plodded along lethargically. Often at a time like this when lust had been satisfied, something not regret or a wish to repent would scream from his inner depths, imploring and urging him to cleanse and free himself from the grip of physical appetites once and for all, as if the receding waves of desire had laid bare sub merged boulders of asceticism. When he raised his head skyward to commune with the stars, an air-raid siren ripped through the stillness of the night. His heart raced fiercely, and his sleepy eyes opened wide. He headed instinctively for the nearest wall, to walk along beside it. Looking up at the sky once more, he saw that searchlights were sweeping across the heavens at great speed. They met at times, only to veer off wildly on separate paths. Still hugging the walls, he increased his pace. He had an oppressive sense of being alone, as though he were the only person left on the face of the earth.
A shrill whistling sound, unlike anything he had ever heard before, plummeted from the sky, and it was followed by an enormous explosion that rocked the earth beneath his feet. Was it near or far? He did not have time to review his information about air raids, since the explosions came in such rapid succession that it took his breath away. There were repeated bursts of antiaircraft fire, and mysterious unidentifiable flashes of light streaked the air like lightning. It seemed to him that the whole earth was ilying apart in a burst of sparks. Heedless of his surroundings, he shot off at a gallop toward Qirmiz Alley to shelter under its historic vaults. The guns were firing with an insane rage, as bombs pounded their targets and made the earth shake. After a few terrifying seconds he reached the passageway, which was packed with a multitude of people, whose bodies gave substance to its gloom. Panting, he slipped in among them. In the pervasive darkness, the prevailing sense of terror was voiced by little moans of alarm. From time to time, the entrance and exit to the vaulted section were illuminated by light reflected from the streaks in the sky.
The bombs had stopped falling — or so it seemed but the anti-aircraft guns kept on firing as wildly as before, and their impact on the soul was no less distressing than that of the bombs. There was a babbling confusion of shrieks, sobs, and scolding reprimands from various men, women, and children.
"This raid's not like the others."
"Our ancient district can't take this new kind of raid."
"Spare us your chatter. Say, Lord!'"
"We are saying, Lord!'"
"Be quiet. Be quiet! May God be compassionate to you."
While watching flashes of light illuminate the exit, Kamal saw a new group approach. He thought he recognized his father among them, and his heart pounded. Was it really his father? How could the man have gotten all the way to the alley? Indeed, how could he have gotten out of bed? Kamal pushed through the agitated throngs of people until he reached the end of the vault. In a glimmer of light, he saw the whole family his father and mother, Aisha, and Umm Hanafi. He made his way to them and then, standing beside them, whispered, "It's Kamal. Are you all right?"
His father did not answer. Utterly exhausted, he was leaning against the wall, between Kamal's mother and Aisha. The mother said, "Kamal? Praise God. This is atrocious, son. It's not like before. We thought the house was going to tumble down on our heads. Our Lord gave your father enough strength to get out of bed and come with us. I have no idea how he made it or how we got here."
Umm Hanafi muttered, "Compassion is from Him. What is this terror? May our Lord be gracious to us."
Suddenly, Aisha cried out, "When will these guns be still?"
Fearing that her voice suggested her nerves were at the breaking point, Kamal went to Aisha and took her hand between both of his, for he had recovered some of his presence of mind on finding himself with people who needed his support. The guns were still firing with a wild rage, but their fury started to abate by barely perceptible degrees. Kamal leaned toward his father and asked, "How are you, Father?"
The man replied in a feeble whisper, "Where wxre you, Kamal? Where were you when the raid started?"
To set the man's mind at ease, Kamal said, "I was near the alley. How are you?"
In a shaky voice the father said, "God only knows… how I got out of bed and rushed along the street. God knows… I wasn't conscious of what I was doing…. When will things return to normal?"
"Shall I take off my jacket for you to sit on?"
"No. I can stand, but when will things calm down?"
"The
raid seems to have ended. Don't worry about getting up so suddenly. Surprises often work miracles in an illness."
He had hardly finished speaking when the ground trembled from thiee explosions in a row, and the anti-aircraft guns went on the rampage again. The passageway was filled with screams.
"It's right over our heads!"
"Declare the unity of God."
"Don't make things worse than they are with your talk."
Kamal released Aisha's hand to take both of his father's in his grasp. It was the first time in his life he had done that. Al-Sayyid Ahmad': D hands were trembling, and Kamal's were too. Umm Hanafi, who had thrown herself on the ground, wailed noisily.
An agitated voice called out irritably, "I've had enough screaming! I'll kill anyone who screams."
But the screaming grew louder, and the gunfire continued. Nervou:; tension increased as they waited for the next shock wave. This expectation of more explosions had a stifling effect on them, as the firing of the guns went unanswered.
"The bombing's over!"
"It only stops to start up again."
"It's far away. If it were close, the houses around us would not have survived."
"The bombs fell in al-Nahhasin."
"It seems that way to you, but they may have fallen on the ordnance depot."
"Listen, will you? Hasn't the gunfire started to die down?"
It had. Soon firing was audible only in the distance. Then it was intermittent, coming at intervals of a whole minute eventually.
Finally silence descended, spread, and became firmly entrenched. People felt free to talk again, and whispered expressions of tearful hope could be heard. They had so many things to remember as they came back to life and sighed with cautious but anxious relief. Kamal tried in vain to inspect his father's face, for the flashes of light had disappeared and the world was dark.
"Father, things will calm down now."
The man did not answer but wiggled his hands, which his son still grasped, to show that he was alive.
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