Palace of Desire tct-2

by Naguib Mahfouz

  When Kamal first saw this as he approached, he felt transported to the kingdom of light. The sidewalk opposite the house was jammed with boys, and the entryway was strewn with golden sand. The gate was wide open, as was the door of the men's reception room, which had been prepared to receive the guests, its big chandelier aglow. The large upper balcony was filled with a resplendent group of young ladies in magnificent evening gowns. Shaddad Bey and men of the family stood at the entrance to the reception hall welcoming the arrivals. The porch was graced by a marvelous orchestra, and the music could be heard as far away as the desert.

  Kamal quickly cast an all-inclusive glance around him, wondering whether A'ida was on the upper balcony with the girls who were looking down. Had she seen him enter with the other guests, his large head and celebrated nose introducing his lanky frame, formal attire, and the overcoat on his arm? He felt ill at ease and, unlike the others, did not go to the reception hall. Instead, he took "his" path, which he had followed to the rear garden so often in the past. Husayn Shaddad had suggested this idea to allow their group as much time together as possible in the beloved gazebo. Kamal seemed to be wading into a sea of light, for he found the door of the rear reception room open too. It was all lit up and crowded with guests, and the upper balcony was swarming with beautiful ladies. The gazebo was deserted except for Isma'il Latif, who wore an elegant black suit that lent his pugnacious appearance a charm Kamal had never observed before.

  Isma'il Latif glanced at him and said, "Superb! But why did you bring an overcoat?… Husayn only stayed a quarter hour with me, but he'll return when he's finished with the receiving line. Hasan spent a few minutes with me. I doubt he'll be able to sit with us, as we had hoped. This is his day, and he has a lot to do. Husayn thought of inviting some of our acquaintances to the gazebo, but I stopped him. It's enough that he's asked them to share our table. We'll ha ye a special room of our own. That's the most important news I have to give you tonight."

  "There's more important news than that," Kamal told himself. " It will amaze me for a long time that I accepted this invitation. Why did you accept? To make it seem you didn't care? Or because you've fallen in love with terrifying adventures?"

  "That's fine," Kamal said. "But why don't we go for at least a moment to the great hall to see the guests?"

  Isma'il Latif replied scornfully, "You won't see what you want, even if we do. The pashas and beys have been given the front room for their exclusive use. If you go, you'll find yourself in the back room with young men from the family and their friends, and that's not what you want. I wish I could sneak us upstairs where the most glorious paragons of beauty are surging back and forth."

  "Only one paragon interests me," Kamal thought. "The paragon for all others. I haven't laid eyes on her since I confessed my love. She discovered my secret and disappeared."

  "I won't try to conceal my interest in seeing the important people. Husayn told me his father had invited many of the men I read about in the papers."

  Isma'il laughed out loud and said, "Do you imagine you'll find some of them have four eyes or six feet? They're men like you and me., although older and not particularly good-looking. But I understand the secret behind your desire to see them. It's part and parcel of your excessive interest in politics."

  "I really ought to drop all interests in the world," Kamal told himself. 'She's no longer mine and I'm not hers. But my curiosity about famous people is derived from my love for greatness. You'd like to be great. Don't deny it. You have a promising aptitude for looking like Socrates and suffering like Beethoven, but you owe this aspiration to the woman who deprived you of light when she departed. By tomorrow you'll find no trace of her in Egypt. Delirium of pain, there's something intoxicating about you."

  Kamal said longingly, "Husayn told me the reception would bring together men from all the different political parties."

  "That's true. Yesterday Sa'd Zaghlul invited the Liberals and the Nationalists to a widely publicized tea party. Today Shaddad Bey invites them to his daughter's wedding. Of the Wafd Party politicians you admire I've seen Fath Allah Barakat and Hamad al-Basil. Tharwat, Isma'il Sidqy, and Abd al-Aziz Fahmy are also here. Shaddad Bey has lofty ambitionshe's actively pursuing, and that's only right. The era of 'Our Effendi' the Khedive Abbas is over. People used to chant, 'God lives…. Abbas arrives.' The truth is that he's gone, never to return. So it's most judicious of Shaddad Bey to look to the future. To be on the safe side, all he has to do is to travel to Switzerland every few years to assure the Khedive formally but falsely of his loyalty. Then he returns to continue from success to success."

  "Your heart abhors this type of judiciousness," Kamal thought. "Sa'd's recent tribulations demonstrate that the nation abounds with such judicious' men. Is Shaddad Bey really one of them? The beloved's father? Not so fast… the beloved herself has descended from the highest heavens to marry a human being. Let your heart crumble into so many scattered fragments you're unable to collect them."

  "Do you think a celebration like this will be complete without singers?"

  Isma'il replied sarcastically, "The Shaddad family's half Parisian. They have little respect for our wedding traditions. They wouldn't allow a woman entertainer to perform at one of their parties. And they don't recognize the worth of any of our male vocalists. Remember what Husayn said about this orchestra, which I'm seeing for the first time in my life? Every Sunday evening they play at Groppi's tearoom. After dinner they'll move into the hall to entertain the dignitaries. Forget about the music. You should realize that the high point of the evening's the dinner and the champagne."

  "The musicians Jalila and Sabir… the weddings of Aisha and Khadija … what a different atmosphere!" Kamal thought. "How happy you were back then…. Tonight the orchestra will escort your dream to the grave. Remember what you saw through a hole in the door the night Aisha got married? I feel sorry for a goddess who grovels in the dirt…."

  "That doesn't matter," Kamal said. "What I really miss is not being able to see the big men up close. I'll regret that for a long time. Th ere are two important things I'd be watching for. The first is to hear what they say about the political situation. After the coalitiorL between the political parties, is there really any hope of having the constitution reinstated and of reviving parliamentary government? The second is to listen to the ordinary small talk of such festive occasions coming from the mouths of men like Tharwat Pasha. Wouldn't it be extraordinary to hear him gossip and crack jokes?"

  Affecting disdain, although his scornful gestures betrayed his pride, Isma'il Latif said, "I've had many chances to sit with friends of my father's like Salim Bey and Shaddad Bey. I can assure you nothing there justifies this interest."

  "Where's the difference then between the son of a superior court judge and the merchant's son? Why is it the fate of one to worship the beloved while the other marriesher? Isn't this marriage a sign that these people are formed of a different clay than normal folks? But you don't know how your father talks to his friends and associates."

  "In any case, Salim Bey isn't the kind of dignitary I had in mind."

  Isma'il smiled at this last remark but did not comment on it.

  The laughter from the men's reception hall was gleeful, that descending from the upper balcony fragrant with the enchanting perfume of femininity. The two types of laughter harmonized with each other like sounds from distant instrumentsheard at times in chords and then as a bouquet of different melodies. The tuneful laughter formed a rosy setting in which Kamal's sad and desolate heart stood out like a black funeral announcement in a floral arrangement.

  Husayn Shaddad soon arrived, his tall, slender body sporting a frock coat. Beaming and radiant, he opened his arms wide, as did Kamal. Then they embraced each other warmly. He was followed by the handsome Hasan Salim, formally attired, his natural arrogance encased in a polite and refined exterior. Even so, he seemed short and insignificant standing next to Husayn. He shook handsheartily with Kamal, who congratulated him
from the depths of his tongue if not his heart.

  With his usual bluntness, which was often hard to distinguish from malicious wit, Isma'il said, "Kamal's really sad he's not getting to sit with Tharwat Pasha and his colleagues."

  In an uncommonly jolly manner that brushed aside his customary reserve, Hasan Salim retorted, "He'll just have to wait until his 'forthcoming' books are published. Then he'll find he's one of them."

  Husayn Shaddad protested, "Don't be stuffy. I'd like us to be completely at ease this evening and enjoy ourselves."

  Even before Husayn sat down, Hasan excused himself and went off. That evening he flitted from place to place like a butterfly. Husayn stretched his legs out and said, "Tomorrow they leave for Brussels. They're getting to Europe before me, but I won't stay here long. Soon I'll be able to amuse myself by traveling between Paris and Brussels."

  "You'll be traveling between al-Nahhasin and al-Ghuriya," Kamal told himself, "without a lover or a friend. This is what you get for gazing at the heavens. You can look everywhere in the city helplessly, but your eyes will never recover from love's anguish. Fill your lungs with this air perfumed by her breath. Tomorrow you'll be pitying yourself."

  "I imagine I'll join you there one day."

  Husayn and Isma'il both asked, "How?"

  "Let your lie be as enormous as your pain," Kamal advised himself.

  "My father agreed to let me go there in a student group at my own expense once I've finished my studies."

  Husayn cried delightedly, "If only this dream will come true…."

  Isma'il laughed and said, "I'm afraid I'll find myself alone in a few years."

  The instruments of the orchestra joined together in a tumultuous movement that allowed each to demonstrate its agility and power. They seemed to be participating in a fierce race. The goal had come in sight of their eyes and ambitions. The music reached its climax, indicating that the end was near. Although Kamal was absorbed by his grief, his mind gravitated toward the fiery tunes, racing after them until his heart beat fast and he felt breathless. Soon he was overcome by tenderness and intoxicated by generosity. These sentiments turned his sorrow into tearful ecstasy. When the music ended, he sighed deeply, as its echoes reverberated melodiously in his spirit, making a powerful impression on him. He wondered whether inflamed emotions would not peak and then die away, like the music. If pieces of music — and everything else had an end, why should not love have one? He recalled listless stateshe had experienced on rare occasions when he had seemed to recollect nothing about Ai'da except her name.

  "Do you remember those times?" he asked himself.

  At such instantshe had shaken his head in bewilderment and wondered whether everything really was over. But he had always imagined or thought of some idea or scene that had awakened him from his slumbers and cast him, bound in fetters, to drown in the sea of passion.

  "If you experience one of these moments," Kamal thought, "try to cling to it with all your might. Don't let it slip away. Then you can hope for a cure. Yes, attempt to destroy the immortality of love."

  Smiling, Husayn Shaddad said, "For good luck the party began with the recitation of a Qur'an sura."

  "The Qur'an!" Kamal exclaimed to himself. "How charming! Even the beautiful Parisian could not get married without an Islamic clerk and the Qur'an. Her marriage will be associated in your mind with both the Qur'an and champagne."

  "Tell as the schedule for the party."

  Pointing toward the house, Husayn said, "The formalities will be concluded shortly. Dinner will be served in an hour. After the banquet, the party ends. Ai'da will spend one last night in our house. Tomorrow morning she leaves for Alexandria, where she'll board the ship for Europe the following day."

  "You'll be deprived of many sights that really ought to be recorded to provide sustenance for your insatiable pains," Kamal thought. "Like seeing her beautiful name inscribed on the certificate, her face waiting expectantly for the happy news, the smile with which she greets it, and then the couple meeting...Even your pain needs nourishment."

  "Will the marriage contract be drawn up by a Muslim notary?"

  "Naturally," Husayn answered.

  But Isma'il laughed loudly. "No, a priest," he said.

  "What a silly question!" Kamal scolded himself. "Ask also whether they plan to spend the night together. Isn't it sad that a man of no significance like this marriage clerk should impede the progress of your life? But a lowly worm eats the corpses of the most exalted individuals. What will your funeral be like when the time comes? Will it be an overwhelming spectacle that fills the streets or a small gathering that soon disbands?"

  Then silence spread through the house. There was light but no music. Kamal felt fearful and uncomfortable. "Now, somewhere, in one room or another, the wedding's taking place," he told himself.

  A long resounding shriek of joy rang out. It revived old memories for him, for it was a trill of joy like all the other oneshe had ever heard and totally un-Parisian. It was followed by a bunch of shrieking trills like sirens going off. At that time the mansion resembled any other home in Cairo. The shrieks made his heart race, and he felt out of breath. Hearing Isma'il congratulate the bride's brother, Kamal did so too. He wished he were alone but consoled himself with the thought that for days and nights to come he would be. He promised his pain limitless sustenance. The orchestra burst out playing a piece Kamal knew very well, "Your forgiveness, lordly beauty". He summoned his amazing powers of endurance and self-restraint, although every drop of his blood was tapping against the walls of his veins to announce it was all over. History itself had concluded. Life was at an end. Dreams worth more than life itself were terminated. He was faced with nothing less than a boulder studded with spikes.

  Husayn Shaddad said reflectively, "A word and a trill, and one of us enters a whole new world. We'll all experience that someday."

  Isma'il Latif said, "I'm going to postpone it as long as I can."

  "All of us?" Kamal asked himself. "For me it's the sky or nothing."

  "I'll never yield to that day," he said.

  The other two did not appear interested in what he had said or at least seemed not to take it seriously. Isma'il continued: "I won't get married until I'm convinced that marriage is necessary and unavoidable."

  A Nubian servant brought around glasses of fruit punch. He was trailed by another with a tray loaded with fancy containers of sweets. They were made of crystal and had four gilded legs. The dark blue glass was decorated with silver, and each box was tied with a green silk ribbon. On a crescent-shaped card attached to the knot were inscribed the initials of the couple's first names: A. H.

  When Kamal received his box he felt relieved for perhaps the first time that day. The magnificent container guaranteed that his beloved was leaving behind her a memento that would be as long-lasting as his love. While he lived, this souvenir would remain a symbol of an unlikely past, a happy dream, a heavenly enchantment, and a spectacular disappointment. He was overcome by a sense of having been the victim of an atrocious assault. Conspiring against him had been fate, the law of heredity, the class system, Aida, Hasan Salim, and a mysterious, hidden force he was reluctant to name. To his eyeshe seemed a miserable wretch standing alone against these combined powers. His wound was bleeding and there was no one to bind it. The only response he could muster against this attack was a stifled rebellion he could not proclaim. In fact, circumstances obliged him to pretend to be delighted, as if congratulating those tyrannical forces for torturing him and eliminating him from the ranks of contented human beings. Por all of them he harbored an undying rancor, but he postponed the question of pinpointing and directing it. Indeed, he felt that after this decisive trill he would not be so indulgent with life. He would no longer be satisfied with what was at hand. Events would not be met with magnanimous tolerance. His way would be arduous, rough, twisting, and crammed with hardships and problems, but he did not think of backing down in face of this assault and refused to consider a truce.
He issued advance warnings and threats but left it up to destiny to choose a foe for him to tackle and his weapons.

  Swallowing to clear his throat of the fruit punch, Husayn Shaddad said, "Don't claim to shun marriage. I believe — if you're allowed to travel as you say that you'll find a wife who pleases you."

  "As though you couldn't find anyone you'd like here," Kamal brooded. "Look for a new country, where the fair sex doesn't take offense at abnormally large heads and noses. Give me heaven or death."

  Then, nodding his head as though in agreement, he said, "That's what I think."

  Isma'il Latif asked sarcastically, "Do you know what it means to marry a European? In a word, you 'win' a woman from the lowest classes, one willing to submit to a man she secretly feels only fit for servitude."

  "You've already experienced servitude," Kamal told himself, "in your own magnificent country, not in Europe, which you'll never see."

  "You're exaggerating!" Husayn protested disapprovingly.

  "See how the teachers from England treat us."

  Husayn Shaddad responded with an enthusiasm that was almost pleading, "The Europeans in their countries don't act the way they do here."

  Kamal asked himself, "Where can I find overwhelming power to annihilate oppression and oppressors? Lord of the universe, where's Your heavenly justice?"

  Dinner was announced, and the three friends went to the reception hall and from there to a nearby room opening onto the rear parlor. A buffet dinner capable of serving at least ten was laid out there. They were joined by other young men, some relatives of the Shaddad family and others who were school friends. Even so, there were fewer than ten guests, a fact for which Kamal was deeply grateful to Husayn. They quickly set about eating with gusto and vigor, so the atmosphere became almost as lively as that of a race. They had to keep returning to the buffet to do justice to all the dishes spread out there, a small bouquet of roses separating one from another. Husayn signaled to the waiter to bring whiskey and bottles of soda.