Cairo Trilogy: Palace Of Desire Part 36

When Yasin left the store, his father looked after him with eyes filled with pity and scorn. He could not help taking some pride in the young man's appearance, inherited from him, but not in Yasin's character, inherited from the mother. He suddenly remembered how once he had almost fallen into this abyss, courtesy of the same Zanuba. But he also recalled restraining himself just in time. Had it really been self-restraint? He felt vexed and anxious. He cursed Yasin and then cursed Yasin again.

111.

WHEN THE twentieth of December arrived, he sensed the day was unlike any other, at least for him. On this date he had entered the world and that fact was recorded on his birth certificate, so that no one would be able to fib about it. Clad in an overcoat, he was pacing back and forth in his room. Glancing at his desk, he saw his diary, which was open to a blank page with the date of his birth at the top. He was thinking about what to write for his birthday. He kept moving to stay warm in the biting cold. As He could see through the windowpane, the sky was concealed behind gloomy clouds. The intermittent rain made him pensive and dreamy.

A birthday had to be celebrated, even if the birthday boy was the only one at the party. The old house had no tradition of commemorating birthdays. His mother herself did not know this was a day she should not forget. Of the births of her children all she retained were vague memories of the seasons when they had occurred and of the pain accompanying them. The most she could say of his birth was: "It was in winter and the delivery was difficult. My labor pains and screams lasted two days."

Formerly, when he had thought of his birth, hisheart had been filled with pity for his mother. When he had witnessed Na'ima's birth, these feelings had intensified, as hisheart pounded painfully with sympathy for Aisha. Today he thought of his birth in a new way, for his mind had drunk so avidly from the fountains of materialist philosophy that in two monthshe had grasped ideas mankind had taken a century to develop. He wondered about his delivery and whether part or all of its difficulty was attributable to neglect or ignorance. He asked this as though interrogating a suspect who stood before him. He thought about difficult deliveries, the damage they might cause the brain or nervous system, and the profound effect such injuries could have on the life, destiny, and happiness of the newborn. Might not his exaggerated interest in love be the result of shocks to the top or side of his large head in the hidden reaches of the womb nineteen years before? Why not consider his idealism - which had misled him for so long with ignorant fantasies and induced him to shed countless tears on torment's b.l.o.o.d.y altar - a sad consequence of the clumsiness of an ignorant midwife?

He thought about the prenatal period, including the time before conception, the uncharted territory from which life sprang, the mechanical and chemical equation to which a living creature could be reduced, the scornful rejection this creature accorded his actual origin from the start as he claimed descent from the stars at which he gazed. Kamal had learned that his origin was not nearly so remote. It was something called sperm. Nineteen years and nine months before, he had been nothing but a drop of sperm ejected because of an innocent desire for pleasure, a pressing need for solace, a bout of excitement inspired by an intoxication extinguis.h.i.+ng common sense, or even a feeling of obligation toward a wife who was confined to the house. To which of these did he owe his conception? Perhaps duty had caused him to come into the world, for he was haunted by a concern for doing his duty. He had not allowed himself certain pleasures until they presented themselves as a philosophy he ought to follow and a view he should adopt. Even then, he had engaged in a painful struggle with himself first. His approach to life was hardly one of carefree abandon.

Sperm penetrated a living creature, found the ovum in the Fallopian tube, and fertilized it. Then they slid together into the womb, where they changed into a fetus, which developed flesh and bones. This creature then emerged into the light, causing pain it could not appreciate. It started crying even before its features could be seen clearly. The development of its instincts gave rise in time to so many beliefs and ideas that it was crammed with them. It fell in love and as a result claimed to partake of the divine. Then it was badly shaken, its beliefs were destroyed, and its thoughts were turned upside down. Itsheart was broken, and it was reduced to a humbler status than its initial one.

In this manner nineteen years had pa.s.sed what a long period! Youth fled with the speed of lightning. What consolation was left, besides enjoying life hour by hour and even minute by minute until a crow's call heralded the end?

The age of innocence was over. He had reached a stage of life in which he dated things by love: B. L. and A. L. Today he was conscious of many desires, but the ident.i.ty of his beloved was unknown. The closest he could come to identifying his beloved was through attribution to it of some divine names, like truth, the joy of life, and the light of knowledge. It seemed his journey would be long. His lover appeared to have boarded the train of Auguste Comte and pa.s.sed by the station of theology, where the pa.s.sword was "Yes, Mother". This train was now traversing the realm of metaphysics, where the pa.s.sword was "Certainly not, Mother". In the distance, visible through a telescope, was the mountain of reality on which was inscribed its pa.s.sword: "Open your eyes and be courageous."

He stopped in front of the desk and fixed his eyes on the diary, wondering whether to sit down and allow his pen to record whatever it chose for his birthday or to postpone that until his ideas had crystallized. Hearing the drone of falling rain, he glanced at the panes of the window overlooking Palace Walk. He noticed pearly drops clinging to the surface of the gla.s.s, which was misty from the humidity in the air. A pearl soon slid to the bottom, tracing on the surface a bright line with a curving path like a shooting star's.

Kamal went to the window and looked up at the raindrops pouring from the heavy clouds. The heavens were united with the earth by these glittering threads. The minarets and domes of the district seemed oblivious to the rain, and the horizon behind them resembled a silver frame. The entire scene was washed with a white blended with the brown of teak, a combination suitable for exalted dreams. The cries of children rose from the street. Kamal glanced down and saw the earth streaming with water and mud. Carts were moving with difficulty, their wheels spattering everything in reach. The shops had withdrawn their outdoor displays, and pedestrians sought refuge in shops and coffeehouses or under balconies.

This view of the sky struck a responsive chord in Kamal's mind. What could be more appropriate than drawing inspiration from it as he contemplated his situation at the beginning of another year of his life? Since Husayn Shaddad had left his homeland, Kamal no longer had a companion with whom he could discuss his spiritual secrets. He had to mull them over by himself if he felt a need for discussion. Since his soul mate had left him, Kamal had been forced to make his own soul his companion.

He asked his spirit, "Do you believe in the existence of G.o.d?"

When his spirit's turn came, it asked, "Why don't you jump from star to star and planet to planet as you do from one step to another on the stairs?"

It also inquired about the chosen elite among the self-proclaimed descendants of the heavens who had elevated the earth to a central place in existence, making even the angels bow down to Adam's clay. Then their brother Copernicus had returned earth to the status originally granted it by existence as nothing more than the sun's small servant. He was followed by his brother Darwin, who exposed the secrets of man, this bogus prince, announcing for all to hear that man's true ancestor was the ape held captive in a cage in the zoo, where man invited his friends to gawk at it during holiday excursions.

"In the beginning, the universe was one large nebula. Then stars spread out from this center as if spattered into s.p.a.ce by the rotating wheel of a bicycle. Through the eternal interplay of gravitational fields, these stars gave birth to planets. The earth itself was flung out like a molten ball trailed by the moon, which teased the earth by frowning at it with one side of its face and smiling with the other. When the earth's fire cooled, its features a.s.sumed their permanent shape as mountains, plateaus, plains, and rock formations. Then life crept forth. Crawling on all fours, earth's son arrived, questioning anyone he encountered about high ideals.

"I won't hide my impatience with legends. In the immense raging wave, I discovered a three-sided rock, which from now on I'll call the rock of knowledge, philosophy, and idealism. Don't say that philosophy, like religion, has a mythical character. It rests on solid, scientific foundations and advances systematically toward its objectives. Art is an elevated form of entertainment and enhances life, but my aspirations stretch beyond art. What I want is to draw inspiration only from the truth. Compared with truth, art seems an effeminate pursuit. To attain my goal, you'll find I'm prepared to sacrifice everything except life itself. My qualifications for this important role include a large head, an enormous nose, disappointment in love, and expectations of ill health. Be careful not to mock youthful dreams, for that's a symptom of senility. People affected by this disease term their sarcasm Wisdom.' There's nothing to prevent a sensible person from admiring Sa'd Zaghlul as much as, Copernicus, the chemist Ostwald, or the physicist Mach; for an effort to link Egypt with the advance of human progress is n.o.ble and humane. Patriotism's a virtue, if it's not tainted by xenophobia. Of course, hating England is a form of self-defense. That kind of nationalism is nothing more than a local manifestation of a concern for human rights.

"You ask if I believe in love. My response is that love is still in my heart. I must acknowledge this truth of human nature. Although the roots of love were tangled up with those of religion and of other legends, the collapse of the sacred temples did not shake die pillars of love or diminish its importance. Its status remained unchanged even when its ceremonial niche was invaded by study and a.n.a.lysis. Examination of its biological, psychological, and sociological components has not harmed it. None of these investigations can make the heart pound any less fiercely when a special memory or image comes to mind."

"Do you still believe in love's immortality?"

"Immortality's just a myth. Presumably love will be forgotten, like everything else in the world."

"A year has pa.s.sed since A'ida's wedding; why do you still hesitate to p.r.o.nounce her name?"

"I've made some progress on the path to forgetfulness. I've traversed stretches of insanity, stupor, intense pain, and then less frequent discomfort. Now a whole day may pa.s.s without my thinking of her, except when I wake up or go to bed, and then once or twice during the day. When I remember her, that affects me in different ways. A mild longing is revived, a sorrow flees by like a cloud, or a regret stings but doesn't burn me. At times my soul will suddenly erupt like a volcano, as the earth turns under my feet. In any case, I've come to believe that I'll continue my life, even without A'ida."

"What do you rely on in your search for forge tfulness?"

"I depend on the study and a.n.a.lysis of love, as previously mentioned, and on minimizing my individual pains through speculations that embrace all of existence so that by comparison man's world seems a trivial speck. I also refresh my soul with alcohol and s.e.x. I seek consolation with philosophers who specialize in it like Spinoza, who thinks that time is unreal, that pa.s.sions linked to an event in the past or future make no sense, and that we're capable of overcoming them, if we can form a clear and distinct idea of them."

"Did it make you happy to discover love can be forgotten?"

"It did, because that promised me release from captivity, but the experience also saddened me by introducing me to death prematurely. In no matter what context, I'll despise bondage and love absolute freedom as long as I live."

"It's a happy person who has never thought of suicide or longed for death. It's a happy person who has the torch of enthusiasm blazing in hisheart. A person's immortal when working or preparing seriously for work. A person's truly alive when he responds to Umar al-Khayyam's invitation to take up a book, a drink, and a sweetheart. A soul full of fervent hopes forgets or is oblivious to marriage in the same way that a gla.s.s full of whiskey has no room for soda water. What more can you want if your infatuation with drink continues happily and your encounters with women are not blocked by disgust or aversion. If you long occasionally for purity and asceticism, that could be a holdover from your previous piety."

The rain kept pouring down. Thunder roared, and there was a gleam of lightning. The street was deserted and all its cries silenced. Wis.h.i.+ng to look at the courtyard, he left the bedroom and went to the window of the sitting room. Gazing out the peephole, he saw that water was was.h.i.+ng away the loose dirt on the surface, eroding it, and then rus.h.i.+ng off toward the old well. Water was also flowing out of the well on the other side and flooding a depression between the oven room and the storeroom. In that declivity, where a residue of wheat, barley, and fenugreek seed, accidentally dropped by Umm Hanafi, had collected, a growth like green silk brocade would sprout. For some days it would thrive, until trampled by their feet. In his childhood, that area had served as the setting for his maneuvers and his dreams. That wellspring of memories still supplied hisheart with a yearning and a delight shaded by sorrow like a diaphanous cloud veiling the face of the moon.

Turning away from the window to go back to his room, he became aware of the presence of other people in the sitting room. They were the last remnants of the old coffee hour. His mother sat on the sofa with her legs tucked beneath her and her arms spread over the brazier. She had no one to keep her company save Umm Hanafi, who sat cross-legged on a sheepskin opposite her mistress. He thought of the gathering in its brightest days and of the beautiful memories it had left behind. The brazier was the only survivor not to have undergone changes the viewer wished to reject.

112.

AHMAD ABD AL-JAWAD walked slowly along the bank of the Nile on his way to Muhammad Iffat's houseboat. The night was calm, the sky clear, the stars twinkling, and the weather cool. When he reached the gangplank and started across it, he glanced from force of habit at the distant houseboat he had once called Zanuba's. A year had pa.s.sed since those painful events, and all that was left of them in hisheart was resentful embarra.s.sment. One other consequence had been his boycott of parties comparable to his previous ban following Fahmy's death. He had avoided them scrupulously for a year, before becoming exasperated. After a change of heart, he was now seeking out the forbidden baccha.n.a.l.

The next moment he was joining the beloved gathering and seeing his three male friends and the two women. The men he had seen as recently as the previous night, but he had not set eyes on the women for about a year and a half or, to be precise, not since the night Zanuba had been introduced to his life. The party had yet to begin, for the liquor bottles were full and decorum was still being observed. Jalila, who occupied the main sofa, was toying with her gold bracelets as if wanting to make them jingle. Zubayda, who stood beneath the hanging lamp, was examining her appearance in a small mirror she held in her hand. Her back was to the table crowded with whiskey bottles and plates of appetizers.

Bareheaded, the three men, who had removed their cloaks, were scattered around the room. Ahmad Abd al-Jawad shook hands with them and then warmly clasped the hands of the women.

Jalila greeted him, "Welcome, dear brother."

Zubayda cast him a censorious smile as she said, "Welcome to a person who would deserve nothing but goodbye from us, except for common courtesy."

The man removed his cloak and fez and looked around for a vacant place. Zubayda had taken a seat next to Jalila. He hesitated a little before going to their sofa and sitting there. His vacillation did not escape the eyes of Ali Abd al-Rahim, who said, "You almost seem a novice at this."

Jalila tried to encourage al-Sayyid Ahmad by telling Ali Abd al-Rahim, "Leave him alone. There's never been any reserve between us."

Zubayda was quick to laugh and say scornfully, "I'm the one with the most right to say that. Isn't he my in-law?"

Al-Sayyid Ahmad understood her allusion and wondered anxiously how much she knew of the whole affair. But he replied tenderly, "It's my honor, sultana."

Gazing at him suspiciously, Zubayda asked, "Are you really pleased with what's happened?"

He answered suavely, "Only because you're her aunt."

Wav] ng her hand in disapproval, she said, "My heart will never forgive her."

Before al-Sayyid Ahmad could ask why, Ali Abd al-Rahim, who was rubbing his hands together, yelled, "Save the conversation till we've filled our heads". After rising and going to the table, he opened a bottle and poured drinks, which he presented to them, one at a time, with a solicitude that revealed his customary satisfaction with tending bar. Then he waited until everyone was ready before saying, "To the health of our lovers, our brothers, and music. May we never lack these three things."

Smiling, they raised their gla.s.ses to their lips. Ahmad Abd al-Jawad looked over the rim of his at the faces of his companions, these friends with whom he had shared affection and loyalty for almost forty years. They almost seemed slivers of hisheart. He could not keep his feelings of sincere fraternal affection from agitating his breast. As his eyes turned to Zubayda, he resumed his conversation with her, asking, "Why won't your heart forgive her?"

She cast him a glance that made him feel she welcomed this chance to talk and replied, "Because she's a traitor with no respect for promises. She betrayed me more than a year ago. She left my house without asking permission and disappeared."

Was it possible she really did not know where Zanuba had been during that time? Since he did not care to offer the least comment on her words, she finally asked him, "Didn't you hear about that?"

"I did eventually."

"I've taken care of her since she was a child and have looked after her as though I were her mother. See how I've been rewarded! To h.e.l.l with her genes!"

Pretending to object, Ali Abd al-Rahim teased her, "Don't insult her family. You're part of it."

But Zubayda replied seriously, "She doesn't have any of my genes."

Al-Sayyid Ahmad inquired, "Who do you suppose her father was?"

"Her father!" This comment emerged from Ibrahim al-Far in a tone that suggested a string of sarcastic remarks was to follow, but Muhammad Iffat headed him off by interjecting, "Remember you're talking about Yasin's wife."

The mirthful look left al-Far's face, and he retreated into an uneasy silence. Then Zubayda spoke up again: "I'm not joking about her. She envied me for a long time. Even when she was in my custody she wanted to rival me. I spoiled her and pretended not to see her defects". Then she laughed and continued: "She wanted to be a soloist, a vocalist". Looking around at her friends, she observed sarcastically, "But she failed and got married."

Ali Abd al-Rahim asked incredulously, "In your opinion, does marriage const.i.tute failure?"

She squinted an eye at him and raised the eyebrow of the other one and then answered, "Yes, fellow. A performer never leaves her troupe unless she's a failure."

Then Jalila sang, "You're the wine, my love. You've cheered us up."

Al-Sayyid Ahmad grinned broadly and greeted the song with a gentle sigh that revealed his delight. But Ali Abd al-Rahim rose once more, saying, "A moment of silence until we finish off this round". He filled the gla.s.ses again, redistributed them, and returned to his seat with his own drink.

Grasping his gla.s.s, al-Sayyid Ahmad glanced at Zubayda, who turned toward him and smilingly raised her drink as if to say, "To your health". He imitated her and they both drank at the same time. She was gazing at him with a merry look. A year had pa.s.sed since he had felt like looking for a woman. The harsh experience he had endured seemed to have deadened his enthusiasm, but pride or ill health could also have been responsible. Even so, the combined influence of alcoholic intoxication and this affectionate look stirred hisheart. He savored the sweetness of this welcome, which followed a bitter rejection. He considered this a friendly greeting from the entire s.e.x he had been so fond of all his life. It bound up his wounded dignity, which had fallen victim to betrayal and age. Zubayda's eloquent smile seemed to say, "Your day's not finished yet". He kept looking and smiling at her.

Muhammad Iffat brought the lute and placed it between the two women. Jalila picked it up and began to play. Once she was confident of their attention, she sang, "Beloved, I promise you "

As usual when he heard Jalila or Zubayda sing, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad pretended to be moved by the music. He nodded hishead appreciatively, as if wis.h.i.+ng to induce ecstasy by acting it out. The truth was that all he had left from the world of song was a set of memories. The great performershe had admired, like al-Hamuli, Uthman, al-Manilawi, and Abd al-Hayy, had pa.s.sed away -just as his youthful era of conquests had vanished. He would have to accusto tn himself to taking pleasure in what was at hand and in triggering a feeling of ecstasy by going through the motions. His love of song and infatuation with music had led him to visit the theater of Munira al-Mahdiya, but he had not liked the combination of theater and music. Besides, he chafed at sitting in a theater like a school auditorium. At Muhammad Iffat's house he had also listened to records of the new singer Umm Kalthoum but only with a cautious and suspicious ear. He did not enjoy her singing., even though it was said that Sa'd Zaghlul had praised the beauty of her voice.

Yet his appearance gave no hint of his feelings as he gazed at Jalila with happy delight and sang the words of the refrain, "I hold you responsible," with the others in his pleasing voice.

Then al-Far cried out with regret, "Where, oh where is the tambourine? Where is it so we can hear the son of Abd al-Jawad?"

"Ask rather: Where's the Ahmad Abd al-Jawad who used to play the tambourine?" he said to himself. "Oh why has time changed us?"

Jalila ended her song in an atmosphere of receptive approval. But with a grateful smile she said apologetically, "I'm tired."

Zubayda heaped her with praise. The two performers frequently complimented each other either from politeness or from a desire to keep the peace. Everyone realized that as a performer Jalila's star was rapidly setting. One of the most recent indications of that was the desertion of her tambourine player, Fino, to another troupe. This eclipse was only natural, given the withering away of all the qualities on which her past glory had rested: her charm, beauty, and voice. For that reason, Zubayda no longer felt particularly envious of her and was capable of flattering her former rival good-humoredly, especially since Zubayda had reached the pinnacle of her career, one that could only be followed by a decline.

The friends often wondered whether Jalila had prepared properly for this dangerous stage of her life. It was Ahmad Abd al-Jawad's opinion that she had not. He accused some of her lovers of squandering much of her fortune but at the same time proclaimed that she was a woman who knew how to get money one way or another. Ali Abd al-Rahim supported him, saying, "She profits from the beauty of the women in her troupe, and ever so gradually her home's turning into a different kind of house."

Their consensus was less sanguine about Zubayda's future, for despite the freedom with which she helped herself to her lovers' wealth, she spent liberally and was fond of the showy possessions that dissipate money quickly. Moreover, she was addicted to alcohol and narcotics, cocaine in particular.

Muhammad Iffat told Zubayda, "Allow me to express my admiration for the sweet looks you are directing to one of us."

Jalila laughed and said softly, "His infatuation's revealed by his eyes ."

Ibrahim al-Far asked with sham disapproval, "Do you think you're in a charitable inst.i.tution for the blind?"

With feigned regret Ahmad Abd al-Jawad replied, "If you continue to speak so bluntly, you'll never fulfill your ambition to be pimps."

Zubayda told Muhammad Iffat, "The only reason I'm looking at him, G.o.d forgive rne, is out of envy at his youth. Look at his black head of hair among your white ones and tell me if you'd think he's a day over forty?"

"I'd give him about a century more."

Ahmad Abd al-Jawad retorted, "From your surplus years."

Jalila sang the opening of the song "The envious eye has a log in it, sweetheart."

Zubayda commented, "He doesn't need to fear my envy, for my eye would never harm him."

Shaking hishead suggestively, Muhammad Iffat replied, "Your eyes are the cause of all the trouble."

Ahmad Abd al-Jawad told Zubayda, "Why are you talking about my youth? Haven't you heard what the doctor said?"

As though she could not believe it, she said, "Muhammad [ffat told me, but what's this pressure you're supposed to have?"

"He wrapped a strange sack around my arm and began to pump it up. Then he told me, 'You've got pressure.'"

"Where did this pressure come from?"

Al-Sayyid Ahmad laughingly answered, "I imagine that pump induced it."

Clapping his hands together, Ibrahim al-Far said, "Perhaps it's a contagious disease, because within a month of our friend's attack each of us had a doctor's examination too, and the diagnosis in each case was the same: pressure."

Ali Abd al-Rahim observed, "I'll tell you the secret behind it. This is one of the side effects of the revolution. The proof is that no one ever heard of it before then."

Jalila asked al-Sayyid Ahmad, "What are the symptoms of this pressure?"

"A b.i.t.c.h of a headache and difficulty breathing when I walk."

Smiling somewhat anxiously, Zubayda murmured, "Who doesn't have those symptoms, if only occasionally? Do you think I've got pressure too?"

Ahmad Abd al-Jawad asked, "Above or below your waist?"

They all laughed, including Zubayda herself, and then Jalila said, "Since you're experienced with pressure, why don't you examine her. Perhaps you can discover what ailsher."

Ahmad Abd al-Jawad replied, "If she'll bring the sack, I'll supply the pump."

They laughed again. Then Muhammad Iffat protested, "Pressure, pressure, pressure all we ever hear nowadays is the doctor giving us orders as though we were his slaves: Don't drink alcoholic beverages. Don't eat red meat. Beware of eggs."

Ahmad Abd al-Jawad asked scornfully, "What's a man like me to do? I eat only red meat and eggs and drink nothing but alcohol."