Cairo Trilogy: Palace Of Desire Part 3

G.o.d forbid. G.o.d knows my intentions are good."

She shook her head as though in sorrow and replied, "You've never had a good intention."

Commenting on Yasin's remark, Khalil Shawkat said, "We live peacefully. Our motto is: 'Live and let live.' "

Khadija laughed until her gleaming teeth showed. In a tone not free of sarcasm she said, "At Khalil's house, it's one party after another. He's always strumming away on his lute while the lady of the house listens, primps in front of the mirror, or chats with this or that girlfriend through a window or the peephole of the enclosed balcony. Na'ima, Uthman, and Muhammad turn the chairs and pillows into a playground, and if Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad get fed up with my supervision, they flee to their aunt's apartment, where they join the demolition squad."

Aisha asked with a smile, "In your opinion, is that all there is to our happy home?"

Khadija replied in the same tone, "Or you might be singing while Na'ima dances ."

Aisha said boastfully, "I'm satisfied with the affection of all the neighbors and my mother-in-law."

"I don't see myself confiding in one of these chatterboxes, and as for your mother-in-law, she likes anyone who flatters her and bows down before her."

"We ought to love people. How wonderful it is when people love us 1:00. Then hearts truly speak directly to each other. My friends all fear you. They frequently tell me, 'Your sister doesn't make us feel at home and never tires of putting us down.' " Then, laughingly addressing her mother, Aisha continued: "She still gives people comic nicknames that we joke about at home.Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad memorize them and repeat them to boys in the neighborhood. That way they become widely known."

Amina smiled again. Khadija, who appeared to be remembering some awkward situations, laughed uneasily. With unconcealed delight, Khalil said, "When you put all of us together, we're a complete ensemble, with a lute player, a vocalist, and a dancer. We only need some more singers and a chorus, but I have my hopes set on my children. It's just a question of time."

Directing his comments to Amina, Ibrahim Shawkat said, "I can testify that your granddaughter Na'ima is a brilliant dancer."

Amina laughed until her pale face turned red. Then she replied, "I've seen her dance. She's charming!"

With an enthusiasm that revealed her well-known affection for her family, Khadija exclaimed, "How beautiful she is! She looks like a picture in an advertis.e.m.e.nt."

"What a beautiful bride she'll make for Ridwan," Yasin commented.

With a laugh Aisha protested, "But she was the first of the grandchildren . (Oh, I'll never be able to lie about her age the way a mother should.)"

Yasin asked calmly, "Why do people insist on the bride being younger than the bridegroom?"

No one answered, but Amina observed, "Na'ima won't have to wait long to find a suitable husband."

Khadija added, "My Lord, how beautiful she is! I've never seen anyone as beautiful."

"What about her mother?" Aisha asked with a laugh. "Haven't you seen her mother?"

Khadija frowned to lend dignity to her remarks and said, "She's more beautiful than you, Aisha. You can't contest that". Her ironic spirit returned at once, and she continued: "And I'm more beautiful than either of you."

"These people are talking about beauty," Kamal reflected. "What do they know about its essence? They like certain colors: the whiteness of ivory and the gold of precious ingots. If you ask me about beauty I won't speak of a pure bronze complexion, tranquil black eyes, a slim figure, and Parisian elegance. Certainly not! All those are pretty, but they're nothing but lines, shapes, and colors subject to investigation by the senses and open to comparison. Beauty itself is a painful convulsion in the heart, an abundance of vitality in the soul, and a mad chase undertaken by the spirit until it encounters the heavens. Tell me about this, if you can ."

"Why should the ladies of Sugar Street seek the affection of Mrs. Khadija?" Yasin asked, to stir his sister up again, when he noticed that the conversation was going to leave her in peace. "Perhaps she does have some good qualities, as her husband has testified, but in general people are attracted by a pretty face and a sweet tongue."

Khadija threw him a look as if to say, "If you knew what was good for you, you'd quit". Sighing audibly, she remarked, "What more can I ask than G.o.d's protection and blessings. I didn't know I had another mother-in-law here."

Then, to Yasin's surprise, she took up the topic again in a serious vein, explaining, "I don't have time to waste on visits. The house aud the children consume every moment, especially since my husband pays no attention to either."

In his own defense, Ibrahim Shawkat said, "Fear G.o.d and don't exaggerate your role in everything. The truth of the matter is that a man with a wife like mine must take an active, defensive role from time to time, whether to protect pieces of furniture from being dusted and cleaned so much they're almost worn away or children from being pushed beyond their capacities. The most recent incident of this kind, as you know, is her thrusting Abd ai-Muni'm into religious school before he's even five."

Khadija retorted proudly, "If I had taken your advice, I would have let him stay home till he came of age. There seems to be some hostility against learning in your family. No, darling, my children will be raised like their maternal uncles. I review Abd al-Muni'm's lessons vvith him myself."

Yasin asked incredulously, "You review his lessons with him?"

"Why not? Mother went over Kamal's lessons with him in exactly the same way. I sit with him every evening while he recites what he's memorized at school". She laughingly admitted, "That also helps me remember the principles of reading and writing, which I fear I may eventually forget."

Arnina blushed from embarra.s.sment and delight. She looked at Kamal as though begging him for a sign that he remembered those bygone rights. He smiled to show how well he did."Let Khadija raise her sons the way their uncles were," Amina told herself. "Let one of them follow in Kamal's footsteps as he makes his way to university. Let one of them emulate oh, broken hearts are too weak to bear such dizzying blows. If he had only lived, today he would be a judge or on his way to becoming one. How often he discussed his hopes with you. Or were they your hopes? What has become of all that? If only he had lived, even as an insignificant member of the thronging ma.s.ses "

Ibrahim Shawkat told Kamal, "We're not as bad as your sister makes out. I sat for the primary certificate in 1895, as Khalil did in 1911. In those days the primary certificate was a major achievement, unlike now, when no one finds it impressive. We didn't continue our education because we had no intention of pursuing a career. In other words, we didn't need a career."

Kamal felt ironic amazement at Ibrahim's words: "I sat for the primary certificate," but answered politely, "This goes without saying."

"How could learning have any intrinsic value for two happy oxen?" he asked himself. "The two of you have provided me with a valuable lesson, teaching me that it's possible to love a person I despise and to wish only the best for someone whose principles in life excite my aversion and disgust. I instinctively hate man's animal nature from the depths of my heart. This emotion became a reality once the heavenly breeze brushed against my heart."

With comic enthusiasm Yasin cried out, "Long live the old primary certificate!"

"We're in the majority in any case". Yasin was annoyed to hear Khalil thrust himself, and by implication his brother, among the holders of the primary certificate, which they had unsuccessfully attempted to obtain, but found himself forced to play along.

Khadija said, "Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad will continue their studies until they receive university degrees. It will be a new era in the Shawkat family. Listen carefully to the sound of these names: Abd al-Muni'm Ibrahim Shawkat and Ahmad Ibrahim Shawkat. Don't they have the same ring to them as Sa'd Zaghlul?"

Ibrahim laughingly shouted, "Where do you get such wild ambitions?"

"Why not? Wasn't Sa'd Zaghlul Pasha a student at al-Azhar? He went from the student dole to being Prime Minister. One word from him is enough to make everyone sit up and take notice. Nothing's too much for G.o.d to achieve."

Yasin asked ironically, "Wouldn't you be satisfied if they were as important as the politicians Adli Yeken Pasha and Abdel Khaliq Sarwat Pasha?"

As though seeking refuge with G.o.d, she shouted back, 'Traitors? My sons won't be the kind of politicians people chant about night and day to get them removed from office."

Ibrahim took out a handkerchief from his trousers and wiped his face, which had turned a deeper red from the heat and from the perspiration caused by drinking cold water and hot coffee. As He dried his face he said, "If a mother's severity is a factor in the creation of great men, then you can already announce the glory awaiting your sons."

"Would you want me to let them do anything they wish?"

Aisha remarked gently, "I don't remember Mother ever scold-iug any of us, let alone striking us. Do you?"

Khadija replied sorrowfully, "Mother never resorted to violence because Papa was there. A mention of him was enough to ensure that his commands were obeyed. But at my house - and yours is just the same the father is present only in name". She laughed when she made this last comment. "What can I do when the situation's like that? If the father's a mother, then the mother must be a father."

Yasin said with delight, "I'm sure you're successful in your paternity. You a father! I've felt this for a long time without being able to put it into words."

Khadija pretended to be complimented and retorted, "Thank you, Miss Bamba Kashar, you seductive songstress."

"Khadija and Aisha," Kamal thought. "What different types . Consider them carefully. Which do you think better suited to be a model for your beloved?

Ask G.o.d's forgiveness! No one can be a model for my beloved. I can't picture her as a housewife. How impossible it is to imagine that!" His beloved in a housecoat, restraining a child, or supervising a kitchen? "How alarming! How disgusting! She ought to be at ease, oblivious, promenading in a splendid gown through a garden or a park, riding in a car, an angel on a happy, impromptu visit to earth, a unique exemplar of her species, itself unlike any other and known only to my heart. If she is referred to by the same term as these women, it's simply because I don't know the correct one. If her beauty is called by the same name as Aisha's and all the other varieties, that's because I don't know the real name for it. Here is my life, which I consecrate to learning about you. What other thirst for understanding is there beyond that?"

"What do you suppose Maryam's news is?" Aisha asked when she happened to think of her former friend. The name made visibly different impressions on the various people sitting there. Amina's expression changed to reveal her intense annoyance. Yasin pretended not to have heard the question and busied himself with an inspection of his fingernails. Kamal'shead swarmed with disturbing memories. It was Khadija who replied coldly, "What do you expect? She's divorced and has returned to her mother."

After it was too late, Aisha realized that she had inadvertently tumbled into an abyss and hurt her mother through a slip of the tongue. Her mother had long believed that Maryam and her mother had not been sincere in their grief for Fahmy and might have actually gloated over the family's misfortune, because of al-Sayyid Ahmad's opposition to the proposed engagement between Maryam and his late son. Khadija had been the first to suggest the idea, and her mother had not hesitated to embrace it uncritically. Amina's feelings toward her longtime neighbor had quickly changed in a way that had led to an estrangement and then a break.

Attempting to apologize for her question, Aisha said nervously, "I don't know what made me ask about her."

With obvious emotion, Amina said, "You shouldn't think about her."

When suspicions had first been voiced about her friend, Aisha had questioned their accuracy. She had argued that the engagement proposal had been kept secret and could not have reached Maryam's home. Thus the girl and her family would have had no reason to rejoice at their sorrow. Her mother had refused to see it that way, on the grounds that it was impossible for an important matter like an engagement to be kept from leaking to the interested parties. Aisha had not insisted on her opinion for long, fearing she would be accused of partiality for Maryam or indifference toward her late brother.

Confronted by her mother's pa.s.sion, Aisha found herself forced to make up for her slip. She remarked, "No one save G.o.d knows the truth, Mother. Perhaps she's innocent". Contrary to her daughter's expectations, Amina's displeasure grew more intense. There were visible warning signs of anger that seemed out of character for her, since she was known for her calm and self-restraint. In a trembling voice she said, "Don't talk about Mary am., Aisha."

Khadija, who shared her mother's feelings, shouted, "Let's not have anything to do with Maryam and her goings-on."

Aisha smiled in confusion but said nothing. Yasin continued to be engrossed with his fingernails until this violent conversation was concluded. Encouraged by Aisha's statement, "No one save G.o.d knows the truth, Mother," he had been on the point of joining in, but had been silenced by Amina's quick answer in that unusual, trembling voice. Yes, he kept his peace and inwardly expressed his thanks for the blessing of silence.

Kama] had followed the conversation with concern, although his face did not betray his feelings. The period during which his love had weathered delicate and adverse conditions had imparted to him enough of an ability to act so that he could conceal his emotions and, if necessary, make people think he felt quite the opposite way. He remembered what he had heard about the alleged gloating of Maryam's family. Although he had never taken the accusation seriously, he recalled the secret message he had conv eyed to Maryam and the answer he had brought back to Fahmy. He had kept that old secret, continuing to guard it to honor his promise to his brother, out of respect for Fahmy's wishes. Kamal was amused and astonished that he had only recently grasped the meaning ofthat message as its ideas took on a new life within him. He had been a stone with obscure inscriptions carved on it, until love had come and solved the riddle.

He did not fail to notice his mother's anger. It was a new phenomenon, to which she had not been subject before the calamity. She was no longer the same. The change was not dramatic or constant, but from time to time she succ.u.mbed to angry spells she had never experienced or at least had never yielded to before. What could he say about that? It must be the wounded heart of a mother, about which he knew nothing except for some few insightshe had come across in his reading. He felt intense pain for her. But what explained Aisha's conduct or Khadija's? Was it fair to accuse Aisha of insensitivity toward the memory of Fahmy? He coulc not imagine or admit that. She was a benevolent person with a heart disposed to friends.h.i.+p and affection. Not without reason, she was inclined to think Maryam innocent. Perhaps since her heart was open to everyone, she felt nostalgic for the time when the girl had been her friend. Khadija had been swallowed up by married life. Her interests were limited to being a mother and housewife. She had no need for Maryam or anyone else. The only part of the past that meant anything to her was her attachment to her family and especially to her mother, in whose footsteps she was following. There was nothing strange in that.

"What about you, Mr. Yasin? How long will you remain a bachelor?" Ibrahim Shawkat asked, motivated by a sincere desire to clear the air.

Yasin jestingly replied, "My youth has left me. It's too late for that now."

In a serious tone, which showed he had not understood that Yasin was joking, Khalil Shawkat said, "I got married when I was about your age. Aren't you twenty-eight?"

Khadija was upset by the reference to Yasin's age, for it indirectly revealed how old she was. She addressed Yasin sharply: "Won't you get married and spare people having to talk about your bachelorhood?"

Aiming to please Amina more than anything else, Yasin answered, "Given our experiences of the past few years, it's been necessary for a person to forget about his own desires."

Khadija drew her head back as though a hand were shoving it. She cast him a glance as if to say, "You devil, you beat me". Then with a sigh she remarked, "You're the limit! If you would just say that marriage doesn't suit you, that would be more truthful."

To show her affection for him, Amina commented, "Yasin's a fine man who stays away from marriage only if he's forced to. The fact is that it's time for you to think about getting married again, if only to comply with the teachings of religion."

He had often thought of perfecting his compliance with Islam in this manner, not merely to try his luck again but out of a desire to wipe his honor clean of the blot it had gained when he had been forced, at the instigation of his father, to divorce Zaynab, because that was what her father, Muhammad Iffat, wanted. Then Fahmy had been slain, and Yasin had put off thinking about marriage. Eventually he had grown accustomed to the free life of a divorce. All the same he meant every word he said when he told Amina, "Some situations are unavoidable. There's a right time for everything."

Their reflections were suddenly interrupted by a screaming hullabaloo and din accompanied by rapid footsteps on the stairs. They looked questioningly at the door to the stairway. It was only a moment before Umm Hanafi appeared on the threshold, frowning and gasping for breath. She cried out, "The children, my lady! Mr. Abd al-Muni'm and Mr. Ridwan are fighting. They threw pebbles at me when I tried to separate them."

Yasin and Khadija rose, rushed to the door, and disappeared up the stairs. They were back again in a couple of minutes. Yasin had Ridwan by the hand and Khadija was pus.h.i.+ng in front of her Abd al-Muni'm, whom she was halfheartedly punching in the back. The others noisily followed them. Na'ima ran to her father, Khalil, Uthman to Aisha, Muhammad to his grandmother Amina, and Ahmad to his father, Ibrahim. Khadija scolded Abd al-Muni'm and warned him he would never see his grandfather's house again. Pointing accusingly at Ridwan, who was sitting between his father and Kamal, the boy began to scream in a tearful voice, "He said they're richer than we are."

Ridwan shouted back, "He's the one who told me that they're richer. Fie also said they own all the treasures hidden in the old city gate, Bab al-Mutawalli."

Trying to calm his son, Yasin said with a laugh, "Forgive him, son. He's a spitfire like his mother."

Khadja could not help but laugh and asked Ridwan, "Why quarrel over Bab al-Mutawalli when you have, sir, another ancient city gate, Bab al-Nasr, near your grandfather's house. You take that one and don't quarrel."

Ridwan shook hishead to show his dissatisfaction and replied, "It's full of corpses, not treasures. Let him have it!"

Aisha spoke up then to implore and tempt them: "Pray by the Prophet; here's a rare opportunity to hear Na'ima sing. What do you think about that suggestion?"

Approval and encouragement came from every corner of the room, and Khalil took Na'ima in his arms to set her on his lap. He told her, "Let all these people hear your voice. My G.o.d my G.o.d, don't be bashful. I don't like it when you are."

Na'ima was overcome by shyness and buried her face in her father's chest until all that could be seen of her was a halo of gold.

Aisha happened to glance around and saw Muhammad attempting unsuccessfully to remove the beauty spot from his grandmother's cheek. She went and brought him back against his will before resuming her encouragement to Na'ima to sing. Khalil too kept after the girl until she whispered that she would not sing unless she could hide behind his back. He gave her permission, and she crept behind him on the sofa, crawling on all fours. A pleased and expectant silence fell on the room. The quiet lasted so long that Khalil almost lost patience, but then a charming, delicate voice could be heard, starting as a whisper. Gradually she gained courage and her tones became increasingly fervent as she sang: Turn aside here And come to me, You whom I love As you love me.

Small hands began to clap to the music.

75.

"IT'S TIME for you to tell me which branch of the university you plan to choose."

Al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad was seated on his bedroom sofa with his legs folded beneath him. At the far end, Kamal sat facing the door with his arms crossed in front of him, cloaked in polite submission. The man would have liked his son to reply, "Whatever you think best, Father," but al-Sayyid Ahmad conceded that choice of specialization at the University was not a matter he could dictate. His son's consent would be an important factor in the selection process. His own knowledge of the topic was also extremely limited, being derived for the most part from occasional discussions at his parties with friends who were attorneys or civil servants. They all agreed that a son should be granted the right to choose which branch of learning to pursue, lest he become discouraged and fail. For all these reasons, the father was not averse to discussing the topic, after confiding his lot to G.o.d's care.

"I have decided, Papa, G.o.d willing and with your approval, of course, to enroll in the Teachers Training College."

Al-Sayyid Ahmad'shead moved in a way that revealed his discomfort. His large blue eyes opened wide. He stared at his son strangely. Then in a disapproving tone he said, "The Teachers College!

A free school! Isn't that so?"

After some hesitation Kamal replied, "Perhaps. I don't know."

The father waved his hand scornfully. He seemed to want to tell his son, "You must exercise a little patience and not leap to a decision on something you know nothing about". Then he remarked disdainfully, "It's just as I said. For that reason it rarely attracts students from good families. And then there's the teaching profession . Do you know anything about teaching or is your information limited to the Teachers College? It's a miserable profession, which wins respect from no one. I'm well informed about what's said of such matters, but you're young and inexperienced. You know nothing of the ways of the world. It's an occupation uniting people who have modern educations with the products of traditional religious education. It's one utterly devoid of grandeur or esteem. I'm acquainted with men of distinction and with civil servants who have flatly refused to allow their daughters to marry a teacher, no matter how high his rank."

After belching and exhaling heavily, he continued: "Jamil al-Hamzawi's son Fuad, to whom you used to give your old suits, will attend Law School. He's a smart boy who's done well in school, but he's no smarter than you. I've promised his father to help pay his fees until he's been there long enough to get free tuition. How can I pay for other men's children to go to decent schools when my own son is studying free of charge in a worthless one?"

This grave report on the teacher and his mission came as an alarming surprise to Kamal. What reason was there for all this prejudice? It was not possible to attribute it to the teacher's calling, which was to impart knowledge. Was it based on the absence of tuition fees at the college where teachers were trained? He could not understand how money entered into the question of the value of learning. Why should learning have any worth beyond that of knowledge for its own sake? He believed too deeply in its intrinsic value for his faith to be shaken. He was convinced of the inherent merit of the sublime ideashe came across while reading the works of men he loved and respected, such as the Egyptian authors al-Manfaluti and al-Muwaylihi. He threw his whole heart into living in the ideal world reflected in the pages of their books. Thushe did not hesitate to reject his father's opinion as mistaken, no matter how much he revered the man. He excused this error by attributing it to their backward society and the influence of his father's ignorant friends. He was sorry but could only repeat, with all the politeness and delicacy he could muster, a phrase he had picked up in his reading: "Learning's superior to prestige and wealth, Papa."

Al-Sayyid Ahmad looked back and forth between Kamal and the wardrobe, as though appealing to an invisible person for confirmation of the absurdity of the idea he had just heard. Then he said indignantly, "Really? Have I lived long enough to hear drivel like this? You imply there's a difference between prestige and learning! There's no true knowledge without prestige and wealth. And why are you talking about learning as though it's one thing? Didn't I say that you're young and inexperienced? There are many different types of learning, not just one. Some kinds of knowledge are appropriate for tramps and others belong to the pashas of the world. You need to comprehend this, you ignoramus, before you regret it."

Kamal was convinced that his father had a high regard for religion and consequently for those who made it their profession. Thushe craftily said, "The students who do their advanced training at al-Azhar Mosque don't pay tuition. They become teachers, and no one can despise their fields of learning."

His father gestured scornfully toward him with his chin and said, "Peligion's one thing and men who make a career of it are somethmg else."

Deriving strength from his despair for this debate with the man whom lie had always been accustomed to obey, he replied, "But, Papa, you revere the religious scholars and love them."

In a voice that was a bit sharp, his father said, "Don't mix things up. I revere Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad and love him. But I would far rather see you a respected civil servant than a man like him, even if you were to spread blessedness among the people, protecting them from evil with amulets and charms . Every era has its men, but you refuse to understand."

He examined his son to gauge the effect of these words. Kamal looked down and bit his lower lip. He began to blink, while the left corner of his mouth twitched nervously.

"How amazing!" al-Sayyid Ahmad thought. Why did people insist on things that were clearly bad for them? He came close to exploding with anger but remembered that he was dealing with an issue outside the realm of his absolute sovereignty. He suppressed his rage and asked, "But why are you so enamored of the Teachers College, as though it had a monopoly on all learning? What do you dislike about Law School, for example? Isn't it the inst.i.tution that graduates important people and government ministers? Isn't it the inst.i.tution where Sa'd Zaghlul Pasha and men like him studied?"

Then with a despondent look in his eyes, he continued in a subdued voice: "And it was the school that Fahmy, may G.o.d be compa.s.sionate to him, chose after serious thought and reflection. If his time had not come so early, he would be a public prosecutor or a judge today. Isn't that so?" Kamal replied emotionally, "Everything you say is true, Papa. But I don't want to study law."

The man struck his hands together and said, "He doesn't want to! Of what relevance to learning and inst.i.tutions are likes and dislikes? Tell me what attracts you to the Teachers College. I want to know which of its alluring beauties has caused you to fall for it. Or are you a person who loves worthless things? Speak. I'm all ears."

Kamal squirmed, as though summoning all his forces to help him clarify the point his father found so obscure. He realized he had a difficult task before him. He was convinced that his efforts would only earn him more of the sarcastic commentshe had already experienced during their argument. Moreover, he did not see himself as having a clearly defined goal he could explain to his father. What could he say? If he thought a little, he would know what he did not want. He was not interested in legal studies, economics, geography, history, or English, although he appreciated the importance of the last two subjects for his pursuits. If he did not want these, what did he desire? The yearnings of his soul would require careful scrutiny before his goals could be ascertained. Perhapshe was not convinced that he could achieve them at the Teachers College but thought this inst.i.tution the shortest route to them. These yearnings had been aroused by thingshe had read that could not be cla.s.sified under a single heading. There had been literary and social essays, religious ones, the folk epic about Antar that heroic black poet of ancient Arabia, The Thousand and One Nights, a medieval anthology of Arabic poetry called al-Hamasa, the writings of al-Manfaluti, and the principles of philosophy. His aspirations were probably connected in some way as well to the realm of fantasy Yasin had disclosed to him long ago and even to the legends his mother had poured into his spirit before that. He was pleased to apply the name "thought" to this mysterious world and the t.i.tle "thinker" to himself. He believed that the life of thought was man's loftiest goal, rising with its luminous character high above the material world. It was superior to prestige, t.i.tles, and all other counterfeit forms of greatness. The life of thought was certainly along those lines even if its features were not clearly delineated. He might find it in the Teachers College or his training there might merely be a means of advancing toward it, but he would never turn away from this goal.