Novels by Naguib Mahfouz

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Fam answered with pride. “He brought engineers and workers from the land of Haira and acquired the most beautiful furnishings and works of art that the land of Halba can boast of.”

  I was silent for a while, then said, “Tell me, Fam, about your religion.”

  “All the people of Mashriq worship the moon. At the full moon the god appears in his perfection, so they hurry out to the open space and form a circle round the priest for prayers, then they practice his rites by dancing, singing, drinking, and making love.”

  I was greatly amazed. “And thus they assure themselves eternity in heaven?”

  “We know neither eternity nor heaven—all we have is the night of the full moon.”

  “Is there no medicine and education?” I asked after a slight pause.

  “The sons of the overlord learn horsemanship and information about the moon god. In every palace there is a doctor who comes from Haira or Halba. As for the ordinary people, they are left to nature, and anyone who falls ill is isolated until he is cured or dies, when he is eaten by predatory birds.” I glanced at him questioningly and he went on, “It is the law of the moon and its teachings, which are completely consistent with life. So it is that we are a people who are content and cheerful most of the time. We are the happiest of peoples, Mr. Qindil.”

  I told myself that this was a state of unconsciousness, neither more nor less. However, I said, “Congratulations, Mr. Fam.”

  I spent part of the night writing in my notebook the chronicle of my journey and the sights I had seen. Another part of the night was taken up lying awake and thinking about the circumstances and ideas I had met with. I pondered over the torments suffered by human beings in this life and wondered whether in fact there was to be found in the land of Gebel the elixir for all ills.

  The days passed without event, except that I found the courage to dress more skimpily, making do with short trousers and a skullcap. Then, one morning, I came unexpectedly upon an unusual movement of people rushing about and a whispered exchange of words among the guests. I hurried off to Fam to ask him what it was about.

  “This is the night of the full moon,” he exclaimed. “The night of worship and the appearance of the god.”

  I was excited by the news. He promised me that whoever saw it would find it a truly happy spectacle. I at once made my way to the market, where I met my merchant companions, who were encamped at its entrance. They were spending their days working and their nights in the places of entertainment. They had quickly become engrossed, with expert endeavor, in the business of barter, though I noticed that they did not deal with the locals but only with the representatives of the overlord of the capital, for he alone was both buyer and seller. As for the rest of the market, it consisted of a passageway with tents set up on both sides for the selling of foodstuffs and simple articles like combs, small mirrors, and cheap bead jewelry.

  I took my lunch in the inn, and then, with the sun inclining towards the west, went to the square of worship. The people, men and women, were gathering, forming themselves into a dense circle, with the center empty. Naked, they waited, their bronze bodies exuding sweat and discharging into the atmosphere an exciting animal smell. Before the setting of the sun, clouds rushed past and obscured the blue dome of the sky, and for five minutes drizzle rained down and was greeted with shouts of joy from mouths filled with faith and a readiness for adventure. No sooner had the sun disappeared than the full moon strode forward, rising up from the opposite side of the sky, grand and majestic. The people shouted with joy, putting the birds of the air to fright. The moon continued to rise, dispersing its golden light over the naked bodies, their arms outstretched as though to clutch the swimming orb of light. A considerable passage of time went by in awed silence until the moon came to rest in the very center of the sky. At that there sounded from somewhere a long warning note on a trumpet, and a path was opened up in the north side of the circle, making way for a venerable figure: tall of stature, with flowing, disheveled beard, his body naked. He came forward supporting himself on a long stick until he stood at the center of the circle. All eyes were fixed on the moon priest, and the silence grew more intense. The man stayed motionless for a while, then he let the stick fall to his feet and raised his head and arms towards the moon, and thousands upon thousands of arms imitated him. He clapped his hands and there burst forth in a single moment from the people’s throats a single hymn; it burst forth, strong and universal, as though the earth and the sky and everything between them had joined forces, intoxicated with the singing and the ardor of lovers. A tune full of passion made its way to the depths of my being, a tune distinguished by a barbaric crudeness, exalted by reverberating echoes that stirred my heart with emotions of awesome pleasure. It ascended to a peak of explosion, then began a slow descent, step by step, until it let itself be lulled into a sleep of stillness and silence. The priest lowered his arms and looked above him; arms followed his, eyes turned to him. With dignified bearing he picked up his stick and, grasping it in his left hand, he commenced speaking.

  “Here is the god manifesting himself in his beauty and majesty, appearing at his appointed time, not abandoning his slaves. How wonderful is the god, how blessed are his slaves!” From the surrounding sea of people there rose a murmur of thanks. The priest continued, “In his rotation he tells us that life knows no permanence and that it is towards waning that it makes its way. Yet it is good to those who are good, smiling to those who smile, so do not squander its riches in folly.” Shrill cries of joy burst forth from the throats of the crowd like shooting stars and hands clapped to a dancing rhythm. The priest went on, “Beware of dispute, beware of evil. Hatred rends the liver, greed causes indigestion to the stomach and brings about disease. Avidity is a calamitous affliction. Be joyful and play, conquer wicked thoughts with contentment.”

  Immediately the beating of drums was heard and bodies weaved as they danced. The call was answered by breasts and buttocks. The movement continued, spreading out and extending under the light of the moon. The earth danced and the full moon blessed it. Embraces mingled with the dancing, everyone merging into universal lovemaking under the moonlight. I looked on with stupefied gaze, as though in an adolescent dream, my blood boiling in my veins, my desires colliding together madly, my heart yearning for madness. I returned to the inn, staggering from the state of excitement I was in, with the grip of lust pulling violently at my inflamed nerves. I remained in my room, staying awake by the light of a candle, writing down words in my notebook and thinking of the trials that lay in wait for my faith and my piety, reminding myself of the time of my religious and intellectual education at the hands of Sheikh Maghagha al-Gibeili. I gave myself over to my thoughts in a miserable state of languor until, all of a sudden, my ear was pierced by a shout for help. I jumped to my feet in a state of readiness and found myself in utter darkness. I quickly grasped that I had been asleep, that in fact sleep was covering the whole universe. I had awoken early.

  “Can I as a foreigner meet the sage of the capital?” I asked as I was about to leave the inn.

  “He is the moon’s priest,” said Fam. “He is always happy to meet foreigners. I’ll arrange a meeting with him.”

  I went to the market but did not find any of the merchants. Al-Qani ibn Hamdis informed me that they had gone to the palace to complete certain formalities with the chamberlain of the overlord.

  “Have you decided to journey on with my caravan?” he asked me.

  “Yes,” I answered automatically. “There’s nothing else here worth seeing.”

  “You’re right, for it’s a poor country, but the coming journeys promise places of great interest.”

  “What really is important to me is the land of Gebel,” I said earnestly.

  “May God grant you enjoyment of the most beautiful things He has created,” he said, smiling.

  The boredom and heat became trying, so I went off to amuse myself by walking in the market. By chance I paused and stood in wonder before the t
ent of an old man selling dates in boxes of palm leaves. Behind him, deep within the tent, I had spotted the alluring girl, the Halima of Mashriq, bronze and naked, feeding a pigeon and moving about with her elegant body and that ripeness that had not yet been spoiled. I stood agape, forgetful of myself, seeing only the girl standing in front of my eyes, and remembering, through her, Halima with her face like the full moon, her black eyes, her long neck. I was seeing the whole of my heart’s history brought together in the image of a moment: in its center there met the awakening of the past, the magic of the present, and the dream of the future. What passion poured into my soul from that unique conformation! What a summons and what a shackling! I stared at her, drowned in her, ignoring her old father, my innate shyness, and the restraints that good manners imposed upon me. I forgot completely the boredom and the heat, the projects and the dreams of the journey and of Gebel, even the accumulated hopes of being back in my homeland. I forgot everything because I possessed everything: contentment, delight, and riches were locked in my bosom. The girl withdrew, becoming hidden from my sight, and I found myself alone with the fixed gaze of the old man. With my happy madness abated, I fell again into the grip of daily life with its temptations and sweat, and I proceeded to move away. I became aware of the voice of an old man calling.

  “Stranger!”

  I told myself I was guilty of something I should have been on my guard against. I turned round and stopped.

  “Come here,” he said gently.

  I approached shyly and he asked, “Doesn’t my daughter Arousa please you?”

  I was tongue-tied with astonishment and made no answer.

  “Doesn’t Arousa please you?” he asked again. “There’s no one like her in Mashriq.”

  “Please excuse me,” I muttered in confusion.

  “No young man has seen her without falling in love with her,” he boasted.

  “I never meant any harm,” I said in apology, thinking that he was making fun of me.

  “I don’t understand the language of foreigners. Answer me: Does she please you?”

  I hesitated a while, then said, “She’s worthy of every admiration.”

  “Answer me frankly: Does she please you?”

  I lowered my head in admission.

  “Come in,” he said.

  I hesitated and he took me by the hand and drew me inside. He called Arousa and she came forward in all her nudity and stared at me until he asked, “What do you think of this foreigner who is in love with you?”

  Without shyness or faltering she answered, “He’s acceptable, Father.”

  “At last the moon has shed light on you!”

  He took us to a corner of the tent and lowered a curtain. I found myself alone with her, and apparently secure, but I was in such confusion that it spoiled for me the utter happiness that was presented. Did this mean marriage in this land? Did it mean the abandonment I had witnessed being practiced under the light of the moon? She continued to look at me and to wait, while my love rushed out to her from under the outer covering of apprehension. “What’s the meaning of this, Arousa?” I asked her.

  “What’s your name? From what country are you?” she asked me.

  “My name is Qindil and I’m from the land of Islam.”

  “What were you asking?”

  “Is he your father?” I asked, pointing outside.

  “Yes.”

  “What relationship is there between us now?”

  “My father knew that you appeal to me, so he has handed you over to me.”

  “Is that what is customary here?”

  “Of course.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know. But why do you cover your middle with that loincloth?”

  She began to strip it off me, scornfully, and we stood there gazing at each other. Suddenly I knelt down, throwing off every worry, and embraced her legs to my chest.

  At midday the father said to me, “Invite us to lunch.”

  I went and brought meat and fruit and we partook of our food like one family. After a short interval the old man said to me, “Go in peace.”

  “Shall I come tomorrow?” I asked him uncertainly.

  “That’s up to you and her,” he said, unconcerned.

  I returned to the inn, having lost my mind and my heart. I condensed the whole of life into Arousa. I requested more enlightenment from Fam.

  “Such a relationship,” he answered, “is practiced here without any reservations. No sooner does a young man appeal to a girl than she invites him in, before the eyes and ears of her family—and she’ll throw him out if she gets tired of him, keeping the children, which are hers.”

  I hated all this from the bottom of my heart, but Fam cut in on my thoughts. “In the afternoon we shall go to the priest of the moon. He is expecting you.”

  My enthusiasm for the meeting had dwindled slightly, but I decided to make use of him so that I might accomplish the book of my journey as perfectly as possible. In the afternoon Fam accompanied me to the priest’s tent, which was set up in an empty space. He was sitting squat-legged on a pelt in front of its entrance. He gazed at me attentively and said, “Sit down. Welcome.”

  When Fam had left us the priest said, “Fam has told me that you are called Qindil Muhammad al-Innabi and that you are from the land of Islam.”

  “That’s right,” I said in a friendly manner.

  With his penetrating gaze directed at my chest, he said, “It’s clear that you’re eager to obtain information, like any foreign traveler.”

  “With the sage are to be found meanings that are hidden from the fleeting spectator,” I said pleasantly.

  “Be frank, there’s no reason to be afraid, for meanings will only emerge to him who knocks at the door with sincerity.”

  I thought for a while, then started with the subject that engaged me. “The most extraordinary thing I have met with in Mashriq is the relationship of man with woman.”

  “Half, if not all, the misfortunes that happen in countries come from the heavy shackles that are placed on passion. If you are sexually satisfied, life can be contented and enjoyable.”

  “In our land,” I said cautiously, “God orders us to act differently.”

  “I have learned things about your land. You have marriage and only too often it brings about distressing tragedies, and even the successful among them continue by virtue of patience. No, my friend, our life is easier and happier.”

  “What if the woman loses interest in her man though he is still in love with her?” I asked uneasily.

  “There are many women, and finding solace is easy. All your troubles come from deprivation.”

  “Even an animal feels jealousy towards its partner.”

  He smiled. “We must be better than the animals.”

  Hiding my disgust, I muttered, “Our views are impossibly far apart!”

  “I concede that, but you must understand us well. We search for simplicity and play. Our god does not interfere in our affairs. He says one word to us: that nothing lasts in life and that it is heading for annihilation. Thus he has pointed to the way in silence, that we might make of our lives a game and exist in contentment.”

  Encouraged by the heated manner in which he talked, I said, “I have heard your exhortation and find that it does not apply to the overlord who is the possessor of everything.”

  He shook his head sadly. “Often the thoughts of foreigners revolve round that, but it is the overlord who repels the attacks of the nomads. In him and the rest of the overlords lies our hope for resisting the ambitious desires of a land such as Haira. Yes, war threatens us, and it is the overlords who prepare themselves for our defense, and it is they too who oppose any hostility within the country and afford a safe life to the slaves. After all that, do you begrudge them that they should own everything so that they can spend money on weapons and mercenaries?”

  “There’s a better system which gives the people all their rights,” I challenged, “and it prepar
es them to defend their land when necessary.”

  The man pouted his tightly closed lips and said peremptorily, “Creatures in our land are of four species: plants, animals, slaves, and masters; and every species has an origin different from that of the other species.”

  Heatedly, I said, “In our land people are brothers, from one father and one mother. There is no difference in this between the ruler and the least significant of people.”

  He waved his hand in scorn. “You’re not the first Muslim I’ve talked to,” he said. “I know many things about you. What you say is in truth your slogan, but is there to be found in this alleged brotherhood any trace in the way the people behave towards each other?”

  This was a telling blow. “It’s not a slogan but a religion,” I answered passionately.

  “Our religion,” he scoffed, “does not claim what it does not put into practice.”

  His frankness shook me to my very depths. “You are a wise man and I’m amazed at how you worship the moon and imagine it to be a god.”

  For the first time he spoke sharply and seriously. “We see it and we understand its language. Do you see your god?”

  “He is beyond mind and the senses.”

  “Then he is nothing,” he said, smiling.

  I almost slapped him, but I suppressed my rage and asked forgiveness of my Lord. “God grant you guidance,” I said.

  “And I ask my god to give you guidance.” He smiled.

  I shook him by the hand and bade him goodbye, then returned to the inn, my nerves frayed and my heart in pain. I made a pledge that in my journey I would listen much and argue little, or not at all. “Our religion is wonderful,” I said to myself in grief, “but our life is pagan.”

  On the following day I went early to the market, to Arousa’s tent. The old man greeted me with smiles and Arousa said coquettishly, “You were so late I thought you’d fled.” I kissed her on the mouth, and she was about to go to our secluded corner when I stopped her and said to her father, “Father, I wish to marry Arousa.”