Morning and Evening Talk

by Naguib Mahfouz

  He continued to love Qasim in spite of what happened to him. He sometimes went with him to the Misri Club, where they were flooded by memories of their fathers and grandfathers. As a teacher, he would observe the up-and-coming generations in dismay. He once said to himself: People only care about a morsel of bread and emigrating, so what is the use of suffering?

  Shakir Amer Amr

  He was born and grew up in Bayn al-Ganayin, a street lined with modern houses and fields of vegetables and henna bushes extending east and west. He was the first child of Amer and Iffat, and the grandson of Amr Effendi and Abd al-Azim Pasha Dawud. The income from his father’s salary and private lessons and the small elegant house with a grape trellis, guava tree, and clove bushes in the back garden that his mother owned meant the family enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle, just as it abundantly granted him, the eldest child, a smart appearance and not unreasonable pampering. Though sport was his forte he also achieved good results at school. When his brothers, Qadri and Fayyid, entered the world, sibling rivalry played its part, including fights and a contest with the parents, but the family was nevertheless regarded as cohesive and harmonious. The parents’ mutual love emitted pure breezes that promoted an atmosphere of peace and spread affection. The father’s integrity was as obvious as the mother’s endeavors to control. Shakir loved his grandparents Amr and Radia, and always displayed respect for Radia’s mysteries. Likewise, he loved his grandparents Abd al-Azim Pasha Dawud and Farida Hanem Husam. He took on the Dawud family’s customary contempt for the Murakibis, which intensified after Shakira became his mother, Iffat’s, sister-in-law. He grew up loyal to his family and his inner self more than to the nation or any political party. This was something he inherited from his mother, who was uninterested because of her upbringing, though on formal occasions would profess her father’s loyalty to Adli. As for Shakir’s own father, nothing remained of his Wafdism in the family home except a faint sentiment he kept hidden and which thus made no impression on the children.

  Shakir enrolled in the faculty of medicine and plunged into his first serious emotional experience when he fell in love with Safa, his aunt Samira’s daughter. News of their romance reached his mother, Iffat, and she flew into a frenzy. There was nothing essentially wrong with Safa—she was a beautiful medical student and one of the family. However, despite a good relationship with them, Iffat considered her cousin Amr’s family beneath her; her son’s bride should rank higher on the social scale. Her anger was aroused and she did not conceal it. She made her feelings known to Samira and Amr’s families and offense was taken. At the same time, Shakir himself did not display any real opposition to his mother. Samira thus advised her daughter to sever relations with her cousin. The young girl was angry for her family honor and ended the relationship once she was convinced he was not serious about it. Shakir did not suffer particularly, though was rather annoyed at his mother. He graduated a doctor and, with his uncle Doctor Lutfi Pasha Abd al-Azim’s help, was appointed to a post in the ministry of health’s laboratories, then opened a clinic specializing in blood diseases a few years later. His mother began planning how to realize her dream of a marriage she judged to be suitable for her son. He was a frequent patron of the nightclubs along Pyramids Road and fell for a Hungarian dancer. He rented an apartment for her near the Pyramids and the relationship developed into genuine love, so he married her in secret. He did not dare reveal the truth directly to his mother, but he did tell his father. Iffat was stunned. She raised a storm that everyone heard about, and there was much gloating. The doctor moved to his new apartment and it looked like he would be cut off from the family. “Don’t grudge your son. Marriage is fate in the end,” Radia said to Iffat.

  As time passed limited relations resumed. The July Revolution came and society was turned on its head. The Dawud family was stripped of its pasha rank and the value of doctors and judges diminished. Shakir’s hatred of the new era made him a nervous wreck. He made plans to emigrate and seized the opportunity to attend a medicine conference in Chicago. He left for the United States and took up residence there, severing relations with both his nation and his family. He returned in the middle of the 1980s accompanied by his wife and children. He visited his parents, siblings, and grandmother Radia as a foreign guest, then quickly returned to his adopted country.

  Shakira Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi

  Her eyes opened onto the mansion on Khayrat Square with its furniture, objets d’art, and lush garden. She had the misfortune of inheriting her most important features from her father, Mahmud Bey, with no sign of the beauty and charm her mother, Nazli Hanem, possessed. She was of medium build, had a large head and coarse features, was stubborn to the extreme in her decisions, zealous in her views, and could not be moved from a sentiment. She was also deeply pious, with firm morals and urbane, refined manners. Had she been otherwise, her father would not have married her to Hamid Amr to safeguard her from opportunists. Despite the vast difference between their two families, no one in Amr’s house was enthusiastic about the marriage except Amr himself; from the moment the engagement was announced they referred to her as “Shakira Bey Ata.”

  Shakira loyally loved her young husband from the first day and was completely ready to open her heart to everyone in his family. True, she was not unaware that his common tastes, customs, and conduct were a long way from her refined and urbane upbringing, but she told herself, “Everything can change!” She noticed too that his affection for her was a passing whim and that the first signs of boredom appeared during the honeymoon itself. This realization hit her like a bolt of lightning and caused her immense pain, its poison piercing her love and pride. She did not keep secrets from her mother. “These things will pass. Be subtle and smart,” said Nazli Hanem, speaking to her as a lady of experience and concealing the anxiety in her heart. She also said, “He comes from a common environment and because he is a policeman he only ever deals with good-for-nothings.”

  Hamid was heedful of his father-in-law’s power and of living among his relations, so he would not raise his voice, but instead made his words gentle yet simultaneously hurtful. Once, when Shakira was angry, she said to him, “Most people don’t know a blessing until it’s gone.”

  He guffawed scornfully and replied, “Me marrying you is a blessing. You’re absolutely right!”

  “Then why did you agree?”

  “Marriage is fate.”

  “And ambition and greed too!”

  Thus began a struggle that would go on for years and end in divorce. It grew gradually more heated and one day she screamed at him, “You exude filth!”

  “Didn’t they tell you about your grandfather, the pantofle seller?” he asked sarcastically.

  Yet despite her fury and stubbornness, Shakira did not lack judgment, so the secrets of her wretched marriage remained concealed within the narrowest confines. Even Nazli Hanem did not know the full details. Indeed, in spite of everything, Shakira’s love for her husband did not dry up until after her father’s death. She gave birth to Wahida and Salih and dearly hoped he would change with time, but it was no use. Relations with his family fared no better; she had thought Radia eccentric before she married and now decided she was insane. The two women hated one another with a passion despite Radia and Nazli’s close friendship.

  “Be careful not to provoke your mother-in-law. She fraternizes with the jinn,” said Nazli.

  “I depend on God alone,” Shakira replied.

  She and Amer’s wife, Iffat, also detested one another, compounding the envy and aversion between Ata and Dawud’s families. When the older generation passed away, Hamid could breathe freely. His wrath was unleashed in an atmosphere free of constraints and the matter ended in divorce. Shakira began to despise Hamid and his family deeply and her rage never subsided. She continued to curse and cut him to pieces for the rest of her life. In her loneliness religion claimed her. She performed the hajj more than once and was as bent on the rituals of prayer, fasting, and alms-giving as she was on c
ursing her enemies and damning them in this world and the next.

  Shahira Mu‘awiya al-Qalyubi

  She was the second daughter of Shaykh Mu‘awiya and Galila al-Tarabishi. She was born and grew up in the old family house in Suq al-Zalat in Bab al-Sha‘riya. The hallway of the house was her playground, between the stove, well, and family sofa, where she, Radia, Sadiqa, and Baligh would congregate. There sounded her father, the shaykh’s, exhortations, and there circulated Galila’s mysteries of times past. From the beginning, Shahira showed no interest in religion or religious duties. Yet she eagerly embraced popular heritage and would add to it from her abundant imagination. In body and face she resembled Radia, though she was fairer, remarkably blunt and impudent, and eccentric to the point of insanity. Two years after her father died, one of his students, a Qur’an reciter with a sweet voice, nice appearance, and ample means, sought her hand in marriage. She was wedded to him in his house in Bab al-Bahr, not far from the family residence. She gave birth to a fine-looking son, whom his father called Abduh because he thought the name of the man whose voice he adored, Abduh al-Hamuli, would be a good omen. The marriage prospered in spite of Shahira’s irascibility and impudence. “It’s the spice of married life,” the husband, Shaykh Ali Bilal, would joke.

  Shaykh Ali Bilal made friends with Amr Effendi and his family, and whenever he visited the house on Bayt al-Qadi Square, Amr would ask him to bless it with one of his recitations. Thus, he would sit cross-legged in the reception room after supper, drinking coffee, and recite something easy from the Qur’an in his sweet voice. He was impelled by his voice and friends to recite eulogies to the Prophet at festivals. His livelihood grew and his admirers multiplied. Before long he was invited to enliven weddings with his panegyrics. Amidst the festive atmosphere and pleasant evenings, he got into the habit of smoking hashish. Eventually one of the composers suggested he try singing, foreseeing a rosy future in it for him. The shaykh met the invitation with a merry heart. He saw nothing wrong in abandoning the holy suras of the Qur’an to sing, “Don’t Speak to Me, Papa Is Coming,” “Draw the Curtains So the Neighbors Can’t See,” and “Yummy Scrummy Fried Fish,” and was remarkably successful in so doing. He made recordings, which were circulated in the market, and people started talking about him. Amr clapped his hands together. “What a comedown!”

  The temptations of the new milieu made Shahira anxious about her position as wife. “You were a blessed shaykh when I married you,” she said. “Now you’re a chanteuse!”

  The man was intoxicated by his success and became the organizer of many a hashish gathering. He was soon drinking heavily and the house would be filled with horrid trenchant fumes at the end of the night, reminding Shahira of the tragedy of her brother, Baligh. The sound of her upbraiding and scalding him with her vicious tongue would drown the dawn muezzin. Then reports of him flirting with singers reached her ears. She pounced on him with a savagery that flung open the gates of hell upon him and he made up his mind to divorce her. But one night, before he could put his decision into action, he overdid the drinking and singing and had a heart attack. He died among friends, plucking the strings on his lute.

  Shahira performed the rituals of mourning without emotion. She leased the house and the shop below and returned with Abduh to the old house to share her loneliness with her mother, Galila. “Let Abduh be your eye’s delight,” said Radia. But Abduh was snatched away in a fever, as though in a dream. By this time his mother was already known as Umm Abduh about the quarter, and the eponym would stick for the rest of her life. She became passionate about breeding cats and dedicated her time to looking after them until they filled the gap in her life and crowded the old house. She started to believe she could understand their language and the spirits that inhabited their bodies, and that through them she was in touch with the Unknown. She found her best friend in Radia. Whenever they met up, whether in Bayt al-Qadi or Suq al-Zalat, a curious session invariably ensued during which they would exchange anecdotes about the realm of the jinn, the Unknown, and the offspring of mysteries. In such things they were of one heart and one mind, despite Radia’s misgivings and suspicion that Shahira begrudged her her children and happy marriage. Shahira was famous in Suq al-Zalat for her inscrutable, fearful personality and impudent tongue. She was not known to perform any religious duties and would prepare her meal at sunset in Ramadan saying, “People don’t need religious duties to bring them closer to God.” After her mother died she was wholly immersed in solitude, submerged to the top of her gray head in a world of cats. Her brother, Baligh, saw to her upkeep. He would invite her to visit his sublime mansion, but she hated his wife for no real reason, and only ever left her cats to visit Sidi al-Sha‘rani or Radia. She fell victim to the cholera epidemic of 1947 and moved to the fever hospital after instructing a neighbor to go to Radia for the cats’ care. She died in hospital, leaving some forty cats behind. Radia’s sons and daughters mourned the aunt whom they had laughed at in life.

  Salih Hamid Amr

  HE GREW UP IN THE MANSION ON KHAYRAT SQUARE in the wing set aside for Hamid and Shakira. He and his sister, Wahida, represented the first generation of grandchildren in the Murakibi family and, consequently, enjoyed special deference from their grandparents and maternal aunts and uncles. The big garden was his playground and dream; he loved it in spring, with its abundant medley of pure fragrances, and he loved it in winter, when it was cleansed by the water of precious rains. He was closer to his mother than his father, whose time was taken up with work, and became even more so each time he perceived signs of the ordeal the man put her through. He was strong bodied like his father and good looking like his grandfather, but his mother gave him a pious, aristocratic, and urbane upbringing so he grew into a man of integrity and religious principles. He was also headstrong like his mother, which led some to believe him ignorant, which was far from the truth. The impression was intensified by the harsh way in which he judged people by the Qur’an and Sunna, intolerant and inflexible. His father was probably his first victim despite the fact that the man loved him dearly. He loved his father too, but considered him vulgar and placed him in the same bracket as sinners and good-for-nothings while granting him his full due of reverence and loyalty. Hamid instinctively grasped his position and complained about it to his brother, Amer. “Shakira has brought them up to dislike me.”

  Thus, Amer said to him one day, “You’re a good man, Salih. Don’t forget to respect your father.”

  “I never neglect my duty to my father,” he replied.

  “Perhaps he isn’t content with formalities.”

  “He abuses Mama, Uncle,” he said with absolute frankness.

  He was similar in temperament to his cousin Salim, but with one difference; Salim combined emotion with action, whereas he would say to himself: The heart’s enough; it’s still conviction. Thus, he loved the Muslim Brothers without joining the organization and pledged loyalty, as a Murakibi, to the Crown just as he lent money to all the parties. As a result of the eternal struggle between his parents he generally shunned his father’s relatives—the families of Amr and Surur—and despised the Dawud family. Like his mother, he believed his grandmother Radia was quite simply mad. Because he continued to achieve in school Hamid said to him, “You should study medicine. You’re right for it.”

  “No. Agriculture. You have land you can farm afterward,” said Shakira.

  He preferred his mother’s idea and Hamid privately cursed the two of them. After graduation he traveled to Beni Suef, determined to make a modern farm out of the land his mother inherited when his tyrant grandfather died. He married a woman called Galfadan, a relative of his grandmother Nazli Hanem, and with high hopes dedicated himself to working on the land. He bred calves and set up a beehive to produce honey. He dressed in the clothes of a country nobleman and only wore a suit when he visited Cairo. His heart was hostile to the July Revolution, even though it did not harm him personally and two of his uncles, Abduh and Mahir, were among its men. In t
he period of the infitah, his livelihood increased, his family expanded and he remained loyal to his principles. His indignation at his father intensified after the man divorced his mother and married a second time, but he was genuinely sad when he died. He grew accustomed to country life. He loved it and was passionate about his work and success, and began to refer to Cairo as “The City of Pain.”

  Sadriya Amr Aziz

  She was rightly said to be a gift in Amr’s family. Like the others, she was born and grew up in the old house on Bayt al-Qadi Square. Her skin was a deep shade of brown and she was small with a slender, well-shaped body and pleasant features. She was received with subdued joy for she disappointed hopes of a male child. As the eldest, she took on a motherly role toward her brothers and sisters from childhood. She was her mother’s confidante and heiress to her heritage, but she was not without a measure of conventional religion, and her domestic skills, from cooking to cleaning and needlework, were exemplary. She was sent to Qur’an school and learned how to read and write but reverted to illiteracy when they were not put to use. She worked and sang unceasingly even though she was not endowed with a particularly good voice. You would find her in the kitchen helping her mother or laboring in her mother’s place, sitting at the sewing machine, or on the roof checking on the chickens and rabbits. When the house crowded with Amer, Matariya, Samira, Habiba, Hamid, and Qasim, she played deputy to her mother while joining in the games, gaiety, shouting, and battles, and excelling all round. She obtained a status enjoyed by no one else, which she maintained for the rest of her life. She shared everyone’s worries, despite the burden of her own, and had total faith in her mother, whom she saw as a miracle worker.