Palace of Desire tct-2

by Naguib Mahfouz

In a strained voice, suggesting both resignation and defiance, Ibrahim answered, "Calm down so you'll be relaxed when you see your father."

  How could she relax? The old lady had devised the most terrible vengeance. Shortly Khadija would be summoned before her father. Her blood ran cold at the thought of this encounter. Then Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad's screams resounded through the closed door of their room. These were followed by Ahmad's sobs. Khadija, despite her plumpness, jumped up quickly and headed for their bedroom. Pushing the door open, she entered and screamed, "What's the meaning of this? Haven't I forbidden you to fight a thousand times? The one I'm after is whoever started this."

  Once' she had disappeared behind the door, Ibrahim said, "The poor dear seems to have a deep-rooted antagonism against tranquillity. Beginning first thing in the morning, she wades into a long series of skirmishes lasting the whole day. She doesn't quiet down until she goes to bed. Everything has to yield to her will and design — the servant, the food, the furniture, the chickens, Abd al-Muni'm, Ahmad, and me. Everything must adjust to her system. I feel sorry for her. I assure you that our residence could enjoy the most systematic order without any need for this obsessive behavior."

  Smiling, Khalil said, "May our Lord come to her aid."

  "And help me too!" Ibrahim added as he smilingly shook his head. Then he took his cigarette case out of the pocket of his black overcoat. He rose to offer it to his brother, who accepted a cigarette.

  Ibrahim invited Aisha to have one as well, but she laughingly declined. Pointing to the door behind which Khadija had disappeared, she said, "Let's give the hour every possible chance of going smoothly."

  Ibrahim resumed his seat and lit a cigarette. Gesturing toward the same door, he remarked, "A court of law. There's a trial being conducted in there now. But she'll treat the two defendants mercifully, even if that's against her better judgment."

  Khadija returned, grumbling, "How can I enjoy any peace in this house? How and when?"

  She sat down and sighed. Then, addressing Aisha, she said, "I looked out through the balcony peephole and saw that the mud left behind by yesterday's rain is still covering the road. So tell me, by your Lord, how my father's supposed to walk through it? Why this stubbornness?"

  Aisha asked her, "What about the sky? What does it look like now?"

  "Overcast! All the alleys will be lakes by nightfall, but is that enough to make your mother-in-law postpone, even for a day, the evil she's hatching? No, she went to the store despite the hardship walking there posed. And then she hounded the man until he promised to come. Anyone hearing her complain about me in the store under such adverse conditions would have thought I was a cold-blooded killer like those dreadful women in Alexandria: Rayya and Sakina."

  They all laughed, seizing the opportunity she had provided to release their tension. Ibrahim asked, "Do you think you're less dangerous than the thieving sisters Rayya and Sakina?"

  They heard someone knock on their door. When Khadija's servant opened it, the maid Suwaydan's face appeared. She glanced fearfully at Khadija and said, "My senior master has arrived". Then she speedily vanished.

  Khadija's color drained from her face, and she said in a faint voice, "Don't leave us alone together."

  She waited for Aisha to cast a searching look at her reflection in the mirror to see that her face was free of makeup. Then they left the apartment together.

  Directly under a portrait of the late Mr. Shawkat, al-Sayyid AJhmad Abd al-Jawad sat on a couch in the center of a room decorated in the old style. Widow Shawkat, the mother of Khalil and Ibrahim, was sitting in a nearby armchair wearing a thick coat, which despite its bulk did not conceal her scrawniness or her bent back. Hier face had grown thin, and her deep wrinkles were surrounded by folds of dry skin. Nothing about her remained the same except her gold teeth.

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad was no stranger to this room or its antique furnishings, the age of which detracted in no way from the magnificence. If the curtains had faded and the velvet of some of the chairs and couches had become bald or torn on the arms or backs, the Persian carpet had a lasting splendor and an increasing value. The room was fragrant with a delicate incense of which the old lady was enamored.

  Leaning on her parasol, she said, "I told myself that if al-Sayyid Ahmad didn't come as he promised, he's not my son and I'm not his mother."

  He smiled and said, "God forbid. I'm obedient to your command. I'm your son and Khadija's your daughter."

  She made a face and said, "All of you are my children. Mrs. Amina is a fine daughter to me. You're a prince of a man. But Khadija…" She looked at him, and her eyes grew wide as she continued: "Khadija did not inherit a single quality from her excellent parents". Then, shaking her head, she added, "O Gracious One, be gracious to us."

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad responded apologetically, "I'm shocked that she's made you so angry. The matter comes as an immense surprise to me. I won't stand for this at all. But won't you tell me what she's done?"

  Frowning, the woman said, "This has been going on for a long time. We've kept everything from you out of respect for the pleas of her mother, all of whose attempts to reform Khadija have failed. But I won't say anything behind her back, al-Sayyid, sir, as I declared to you at the store."

  At that moment the group arrived. Ibrahim entered first, followed by Khalil, Aisha, and finally Khadija. They shook hands with al-Sayyid Ahmad one by one until it was Khadija's turn.

  She leaned over with exemplary politeness to kiss her father's hand. The old lady could not restrain herself from saying in astonishment, "Lord, what is this charade of manners? Are you really Khadija? Don't let appearances deceive you, al-Sayyid Ahmad."

  Khalil said to his mother critically, "Won't you give our father a chance to catch his breath? There's really no need for a tribunal."

  The woman's voice grew louder as she replied, "Why are you here? What's brought all of you? Leave her with us, and the rest of you can go in peace."

  Ibrahim said gently, "Think of God."

  She shouted at him, "I'm acting more devoutly than you, you mule. If you were a real man, there would have been no reason for me to call in this fine gentleman. Why are you here? Shouldn't you be sound asleep as usual?"

  Khadija was relieved at this opening. She hoped the quarrel would grow so intense that it would eclipse her case. But al-Sayyid Ahmad blocked the road for the anticipated battle between the old lady and her sons by saying in a loud voice, "What's this I've heard about you, Khadija? Is it true that you haven't been a polite and obedient daughter to your new mother? Asking God's forgiveness — she's a mother for all of us."

  Khadija's hopes were disappointed, and she lowered her eyes. Her lips moved, but their whisper was indiscernible. She shook her head no.

  The old lady waved her hand to get everyone's attention and began to speak: "This has been going on for a long time. I won't be able to recount all of it in one session. From her first day in this house she has opposed me for no reason whatsoever. She speaks to me with the sauciest tongue I've ever encountered in my whole life. I wouldn't like to repeat what I've heard over these five years or more. There have been many, many ugly remarks. She found fault with my management of the house and criticized my cooking. Can you imagine that, al-Sayyid, sir? She kept it up until she separated her living quarters from mine and thus split one home into two apartments. Even the maid Suwaydan was forbidden to enter Khadija's apartment, because Suwaydan is in my employ. Khadija hired a servant of her own. The roof! The roof terrace, al-Sayyid, sir, is very large, but she didn't think it big enough for both of us. I was forced to transfer my chickens to the courtyard. What else should I say, my son? This is a small sample, but we're not to blame. L told myself, 'What's done is done.' I bore it all and was patient, thinking that once she was independent of me the reasons for discord would be removed. But was my assumption correct? By your life, no!" She stopped talking, for she was overcome by a fit of coughing. She coughed so hard her veins swelled. Khadija prayed to God as she watche
d that He would carry off her mother-in-law before the indictment was finished. But the coughing died away. The old lady swallowed and recited the Muslim credo. Then, raising tearful eyes to al-Sayyid Ahmad, she asked in a voice not without a trace of huskiness, "Al-Sayyid Ahmad, do you have any aversion to calling me 'Mother'?"

  Although Ibrahim and Khalil were smiling, their father-in-law put on a grave face as he answered, "God protect us, Mother."

  "May God guard you, al-Sayyid Ahmad. Yet your daughter is averse to it. She calls me Auntie, although I've asked her repeatedly to say Mother. She retorts, 'Then what will I call the one at Palace Walk?' I tell her that I'm Mother and that her mother is also Mother Then she tells me, have only one mother, may our Lord preserve her for me.' Do you see, al-Sayyid, sir me, the woman who received her with my own hands the moment she emerged from the unseen world."

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad leveled an angry look at Khadija and asked her indignantly, "Is this true, Khadija? You must reply."

  Khadija had virtually lost her ability to speak, for both her rage and her fear were extreme. In addition, she was anything but optimistic about the outcome of this discussion. Her instinct for self-defense prompted her to resort to humble entreaty. In a faint voice she said, "I'm unjustly accused. Everyone here knows I'm unjustly accused. By God, Papa, unjustly accused."

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad was amazed by what he was hearing. Although from the beginning he had been aware of the influence of senility on Widow Shawkat and although the humorous atmosphere had not escaped his attention, since it was visible in the smiling faces of Ibrahim and Khalil, he was still determined to project a stern gravity in order to humor the grande dame and to intimidate Khadija. He was astonished by the disclosure of his daughter's obstinacy and irritability. He had never imagined that she was Jike this. Had her temper been so fierce when she lived in his home? Did Amina know more about this than he did? Would he eventually unmask a new image of his daughter, running counter to the one he had had of her, just as he had already found it necessary to revise his picture of Yasin?

  "I want to know the truth. I want to know the truth about you. The person our mother has described is not the girl I know. Which of them is really you?"

  The old lady joined the tips of her fingers together and then shook her hand up and down in a gesture asking him to be patient until she could finish what she was saying. Then she started off again: "I told her, received you with my own hands when you were born.' She replied in a vicious tone I'd never heard before, 'In that case, it's a miracle I survived.'"

  Ibrahim and Khalil laughed, and Aisha bowed her head to hide her smile. The matriarch told her sons, "Laugh, laugh! Laugh at your mother."

  But al-Sayyid Ahmad was grim-faced, even though he too was secretly amused. Was it possible that his daughters were fashioned after his pattern? Was this not worth relating to Ibrahim al-Far, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Muhammad Iffat? He told Khadija roughly, "No, no…. I'll certainly find ways to hold you strictly accountable for all this."

  Relieved, the old lady carried on: "What caused the row yesterday was that Ibrahim invited some of his friends to a luncheon. Among the dishes served was Circassian chicken. Afterwards Ibrahim, Khalil, Aisha, and Khadija passed the evening with me. There was reference to the luncheon and Ibrahim mentioned his guests' praise for the Circassian chicken. Mrs. Khadija was delighted. But she wasn't satisfied. She went so far as to assert that Circassian chicken was the favorite dish in her childhood home. I remarked with the best of intentions that it was Zaynab, Yasin's first wife, who had introduced Circassian chicken to your family and that Khadija must have learned to make it from her. I swear I meant no harm when I said that. I did not mean to injure anyone, may God watch over you, my dear sir. But she jumped up angrily and shouted in my face, 'Do you know more about our house than I do?' I replied, knew your house years before you did.' She screamed, 'You don't really love us. You can't stand for anything praiseworthy to be attributed to us, even if it's only cooking Circassian chicken the Circassian chicken that was eaten in our house before Zaynab was born. It's disgraceful for a woman your age to lie.' Yes, by God, this is what she hurled at me, al-Sayyid, sir, in front of everyone. So which of us is the liar — before your Lord at prayers?"

  Al-Sciyyid Ahmad said with furious indignation, "She accused you of lying to your face! O Lord of heavens and earth, this is not my daughter."

  Khalil asked his mother disapprovingly, "Is that why you've summoned our father? Is it proper to disturb him and waste his time because of a childish quarrel over Circassian chicken? This is too much, Mother."

  The old lady stared him in the eye. She scowled and shouted at him, "Hush! Get out of my sight! I'm not a liar. It's not right for anyone to accuse me of lying. I know what I'm saying. The truth, which no one needs to be ashamed of, is that Circassian chicken was not a dish known in the home of al-Sayyid Ahmad before Zaynab introduced it. There is nothing in that fact to demean or belittle anyone. But it's the truth. Here is al-Sayyid Ahmad. Let hirn say if I'm lying. The excellence of the casseroles in his home is proverbial and the dishes stuffed with rice are as good, but Circassian chicken was not served at his table before Zaynab arrived. Speak, al-Sayyid, sir. You alone are the judge."

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad had been fighting back the temptation to laugh all the time the woman was speaking. But he said in a ferocious tone, "If only her offense were limited to lying and to making a false claim without her having added to it a breach of manners …. Were you tempted to act so badly by the thought that you were beyond the reach of my hand? Without any hesitation my hand will stretch as far as necessary. It's really sad when a father finds his daughter needs to be reprimanded and disciplined after she's fully grown and has taken her place among women as a wife and a mother". Waving his hand, he continued: "I'm angry at you. By God, it hurts me to see your face before me."

  Influenced by her emotions and by a realistic assessment of her situation, Khadija suddenly burst into tears, for crying was the only means she had available for her defense. In a choked and quavering voice she sobbed, "I'm unjustly accused. By God, I'm innocent. The moment she sees my face, she flings harsh words at me. She never stops telling me, 'If it weren't for me, you would have remained a spinster your whole life.' I've never done her any harm. Tliey can all testify to that."

  Her melodramatic performance, half sincere and half counterfeit, was not without its effect. Khalil Shawkat frowned angrily. Ibrahim Shawkat bowed his head. Although al-Sayyid Ahmad's appearance underwent no change, his heart was moved by this reference to spinsterhood, just as it had been in the old days. The lady shot piercing glances at Khadija from beneath her white eyebrows, as if to tell her, "Play your part, crafty girl, but it won't work with me."

  When Widow Shawkat sensed that the atmosphere was becoming sympathetic to the actress, she said defiantly, "Here's Aisha, your sister. I adjure you, Aisha, by your eyes and the holy Qur'an: Did you not witness what I heard and saw? Didn't your sister call me a liar to my face? Didn't I give a fair account of the Circassian chicken dispute, without any exaggeration or hyperbole? Speak, daughter, speak. Your sister now accuses me of injustice, after calling me a liar yesterday. Speak, so al-Sayyid Ahmad will learn who the unjust aggressor is."

  Aisha was terrified at being suddenly dragged into the tumult of this case, which she had thought she could observe safely from the sidelines until the end. She felt danger encompassing her from every direction. She looked back and forth from her husband to his brother, as though begging for help. Ibrahim started to intervene, but al-Sayyid Ahmad spoke first. Addressing Aisha, he said, "Your mother is requesting your testimony, Aisha. You must speak."

  Aisha was so upset that she turned quite pale. But the only movement of her lips came when she swallowed. She lowered her eyes to escape from her father's stare and kept silent.

  Then Khalil protested, "I've never heard of a woman being called on to testify against her sister."

  His mother shouted at him, "I've never heard before of son
s ganging up against their mother the way you are". Then she turned to al-Sayyid Ahmad and said, "But her silence is enough to prove my point. Aisha's silence bears witness on my behalf, al-Sayyid, sir."

  Aisha thought her torment was over at this point, but before she knew what was happening, Khadija, who was drying her tears, entreated Aisha, "Speak, Aisha: Did you hear me insult her?"

  Aisha cursed her sister privately from the depths of her heart. Her golden head of hair began to twitch nervously.

  Then the old lady cried out, "Now we're getting somewhere. She's the one asking you to testify. You no longer have an excuse, Shushu darling. My Lord, if I really were as unjust as Khadija claims, why haven't I been unjust to Aisha? Why do I get along so well with her? Why, my Lord, why?"

  Ibrahim Shawkat rose and went to take a seat next to al-Sayyid Ahmad, telling him, "Father, I'm sorry we've troubled you in this mannei and wasted your precious time. Let's set aside complaint and testimony and put the past behind us, so we can see what's truly important and beneficial. Your presence can only be a positive' influence and a blessing. Let's impose a truce between my mother and my wife and have them promise to abide by it always. '

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad was pleased by this suggestion, but, shaking his head, he objected deftly, "No, I won't agree to oversee a truce, for it would have to be concluded between equals. Here one of the sides is our mother and the other our daughter, and a daughter does not have the status of a mother. First Khadija must apologize to her mother for all past incidents. Then her mother, if she is willing, can forgive Khadija. After that we'll talk about making peace."

  The old lady beamed so wide that her wrinkles were pressed to gether, but she glanced cautiously toward Khadija. Then she looked back at al-Sayyid Ahmad without saying anything. He remarked, "It seems my proposal does not meet with your approval."

  The old lady answered gratefully, "You always say the right thing. Blessings on your lips and life."

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad motioned to Khadija, who stood up without any hesitation and approached him, feeling more forlorn than ever before. When she was directly in front of him, he told her resolutely, "Kiss your mother's hand and ask her, 'Forgive me, Mother.'"