Yet contrary to expectation and logic, winds of anxiety would blow around Labib. He constantly proved competent and impartial as a prosecutor and judge, thus earning trust and respect, but his family’s circumstances decreed that his marriage had to wait until he had assisted in his brothers’ education and sisters’ weddings. Meanwhile, impulses he had long restrained erupted, demanding compensation for what they had missed out on during childhood, youth, and adolescence. All of a sudden he craved wine and women. He began indulging in riotous behavior and moral depravity while observing the customs of his profession as far as possible. He grew accustomed to this lifestyle until it took him over completely. He did not consider changing even after he was discharged from his family obligations, despite the threat to his reputation and damage to his health.
The July Revolution shook the status of the law and its men. He was overcome with gloom as an old Wafdist on the one hand, and as a lawyer on the other. He continued visiting every branch of the family and began keenly following the revolution’s effect on them, careful not to give himself away. His cousin Hamid was probably the closest to him. Labib once whispered to his cousin, “What’s the ruse? We have before us a man claiming leadership with a revolver in his hand!”
When he was head of the court of appeals in Alexandria and approaching retirement, he had a sudden upturn and burst with all his energies down the path of prayer and matrimony. He prayed to the point of becoming a dervish and for the first time considered marrying his cousin Dananir. He had not forgotten that he had once, during his period of transgression, tried to get close to her and she had rejected him decisively. But the sight of her now aroused his disgust so he turned to a prostitute, a second-rate singer at a nightclub called The Age of Youth, whom he had stayed in touch with, despite the fickleness of his love life. By that time she had given up work because she was too old, but she had not lost all her femininity. Before long they were married and had taken up residence in an elegant apartment in New Cairo. They performed the hajj together and lived in general peace and splendor. Wine had consumed Labib‘s liver and he began to suffer from internal bleeding while still head of the court of appeals. He was carried from Alexandria to his house in Cairo, where he died. He departed life when Egypt was at the height of its success a few months before the June defeat.
Lutfi Abd al-Azim Dawud
He was the first child of Abd al-Azim Dawud and Farida Husam. In terms of beauty, he was the image of his mother and his sister Fahima, while he owed his intellect to his father and grandfather. During childhood and adolescence, occasions for friendship with Amr’s family, and Amer in particular, were firmly established, and he fell in love with the old quarter and Radia’s extraordinary eccentricity. He was enchanted by Matariya’s beauty, just as she was by his good looks, and a modest romance developed in keeping with the customs of the day. Their hearts opened up expecting to meet a shower of happy tidings, but when Lutfi signaled his aspirations from afar, it was as if a bomb had exploded at the Dawud family villa on Sarayat Road. They forgot kinship, Amer and Iffat’s love, and the fraternity between Amr and Abd al-Azim. They saw the gesture as a misguided lapse in taste and a route into the abyss. A barrier was placed around Lutfi until Matariya was engaged and the danger had disappeared. Radia was furious and rained her curses on those without roots. Amr felt pain in his heart and blood rushed to his face. Surur egged his brother on, “Your anger shouldn’t be stifled.”
However, Farida Husam’s friendship supported Radia and, as usual, Amr was polite despite his agitation. Family ties triumphed over temporary upsets. How Dawud’s daughters talked about Amr and Surur’s daughters and vice versa! How atrociously Dawud’s family joked about Ata’s family and how cruelly Ata’s ridiculed Dawud’s! Nevertheless, solid foundations stood firm against the storms and hurricanes that raged over the great family. During those strange times, love’s routine was forgotten. It was not long before Lutfi was busy with his medical studies and obtained his degree. He traveled to Germany as part of a delegation then returned to begin a career in research at the ministry of health. He demonstrated brilliance in both administration and learning and attained strong standing among the opposition parties despite his family’s known affiliation. He was more independent than partisan and did not hesitate to pledge allegiance to the Crown as a loyal senior official. He was assigned the rank of bey, then pasha, while still between youth and middle age.
Amr played a historic role in Lutfi’s marriage. He was a boyhood friend of a man who had been made president of the medical commission, Bahgat Bey Amr. He saw the Bey’s daughter Amal, a graduate from La Mère de Dieu and a rare beauty, and, with his gentle heart and eagerness to please, had the idea of arranging a marriage between her and Lutfi. He became a kind emissary between Abd al-Azim’s family and Bahgat’s family and at his hands the happiest of marriages took place. The favor was appreciated by both families. A new family grew up in a villa in Dokki, an Egypto-European family, who frequently visited its progenitor, Amr Effendi, in his old house on Bayt al-Qadi Square. Amal was enchanted by the ancient quarter and Radia. Among the visitors of the grand houses of Ata, Dawud, and Baligh’s families, she was a fresh rose that diffused a foreign fragrance and a new kind of magic that enchanted relatives and neighbors like the draw of Sufism. She gave birth to Farida, Mirfat, and Dawud, who moved abroad when they were older—Farida and Mirfat as the wives of two politicians, and Dawud as a doctor in Switzerland where he married a Swiss woman. Lutfi was among the few who were not affected by the afflictions of his class during the July Revolution and could retire as a minister. However, most of his savings, which were invested in shares and bonds, were lost with nationalization. He died of stomach cancer, not long after his father. He was in his seventies, which was considered young among Abd al-Azim’s long-living family.
Mazin Ahmad Ata al-Murakibi
THE SWEETEST ROSE TO GLEAM in the Murakibi family mansion’s large garden. The gentleness of his father, Ahmad Bey, and beauty of his mother, Fawziya Hanem, blossomed in him and he was one of those dearest to the families of Amr, Surur, and Dawud. Since childhood, he had loved his uncle’s daughter Nadira, and she loved him too. Thus, he was the most miserable of all about the dispute that ripped the family apart, and thus, he was exposed to the fury of his brother, Adnan, the instigator of the trouble. He stumbled at school but decided nevertheless to take a degree in agriculture to prepare him for working life and to ensure that the same tragedy was not repeated. Though he was still quite young, he privately endeavored to secure Amr Effendi’s blessing on his efforts to reconcile the angry brothers and secretly urged his beloved cousin to keep their love safe from the storm until it died down. When his amiable father fell sick with the illness that would kill him and the clouds of grief dispersed, his sadness over his father’s death did not prevent him from wholeheartedly welcoming peace back into the family. At the time, he was in his final year of studies and resolved to announce his engagement once the year of mourning was over.
At the beginning of the following spring he traveled with a group of exchange students on a study trip to Alexandria. He decided to go for a swim with some friends in Shatby but was deceived by the waves and drowned. His death came as a violent blow to the family and in Nadira’s heart it left a scar that would never heal. His possessions went to Adnan, who consequently became the richest man in Ata’s family, though also the only one to whom the agriculture reform laws applied after the July Revolution.
Mahir Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi
He was born and grew up in the mansion on Khayrat Square. Like his brothers and sisters, his upbringing was serious and urbane. He was tall, slim, good looking, and palpably proud of his social status. He only visited his relatives on special occasions and avoided the Dawud family in particular. His school career was not promising so he made the war college the goal of his studies. He was infatuated with aristocratic life in all its manifestations, from a preference for the Crown over political parties to forging frien
dships within his class and exploiting his good looks to win the hearts of beautiful girls. He pestered his father with requests for money. Mahmud Bey wanted his sons to be brought up disciplined but not deprived and it troubled him that the boy would not fall in line. At the same time, he loved and admired him so pretended not to mind that his wife was biased toward him and granted his requests—old age and ill health having softened him by that time.
Mahir enrolled at the war college and graduated at the beginning of the Second World War. Through personal connections and his brother Abduh’s influence, he joined the Free Officers Movement on the basis of superficial sentiments and without seriously believing what was said about the “people’s suffering” and “class struggle.” When the revolution came, he found himself among its intimates and leaped effortlessly to a rank his stunted academic achievements could never have brought him. He was uncomfortable with the agriculture reform laws, though they did not apply to anyone in the family but his cousin Adnan, but the scope of his ambition knew no ends. He rented an apartment in Zamalek for his romantic adventures. His star continued to rise and he was appointed to the leader’s private guard. He stayed in his post after the Setback, up to Abdel Nasser’s death. He was then pensioned off, so devoted himself to the apartment in Zamalek. All this time the idea of marriage never once crossed his mind. When presages of the infitah policy appeared, he was convinced by some friends to start dealing in imports. He sold his land and abandoned himself wholeheartedly to this new line of work and made a huge fortune. Abduh, Mahir, and Nadira were brought together in the mansion in their childlessness and effusion of wealth, which they believed they were amassing for others.
Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi
The first fruit of Ata al-Murakibi’s marriage to the rich widow, Huda al-Alawzi, he was born, grew up, and matured in an atmosphere of glory and splendor in the mansion on Khayrat Square and the farm in Beni Suef. He knew nothing of his father’s former life, but he mingled with his relatives—his sister Ni‘ma, and her children, Rashwana, Amr, and Surur—from the beginning and his heart was saturated with love for the old quarter. The markings of a strong and proactive personality manifested at the outset, more apparent for their juxtaposition with the mild temper and gentle manners of his younger brother, Ahmad. Nevertheless, the two were equally unpromising in school and, like their cousins Amr and Surur, made do with the primary school certificate. Ahmad then settled into the life of privilege while Mahmud stuck with his father, an astute pupil, faithful follower, and hardy assistant.
He was a model of strength and coarseness; medium in height, a hulking face, handsome features, and a large head supported by a short, thick neck. His demeanor, aggressive gaze, and solid frame bespoke challenge, struggle, and violence. His father found little occasion to censure him in his early teens other than a few flare-ups out in the fields, so arranged for him and his brother to marry two well-bred sisters from the neighboring Bakri family. Mahmud began a prosperous marriage with Nazli Hanem and his eyes never looked at another woman all his life. The partnership succeeded thanks to his attachment to the hanem and his wife’s refinement and traditional dedtication to her husband and marriage. As the days passed, she gave birth to Hasan, Shakira, Abduh, Nadira, and Mahir. From the very beginning, and with rare shrewdness, Mahmud was resolved on mastering his father’s heart. He knew the man was tight-fisted so played the part of a miser in front of him, even though he was himself neither overly stingy nor free handed. At work, on the other hand, he won the man’s admiration through his perseverance, precision, and judgment, as well as his excessive violence when dealing with others and his refusal to show leniency, as if it was a crime or betrayal. His father, for his part, suffered moments of cowardice and would say to him, “It’s also not wise to make a new enemy every day.”
“Everyone likes my brother, Ahmad, but I don’t care who likes me. The only way to protect your rights is with force,” the son replied.
Ata even exclaimed once, “I’ve got one son and two daughters!”
Mahmud was unconcerned by his abundant enemies and their rising numbers. He preferred to be feared rather than loved by either employees or business associates. The cases brought against him day to day and repeat visits to court with defense lawyers did not bother him. When his father, Ata, died and he was alone with his brother, Ahmad, and his mother, he said, “You’re entitled to manage half of the estate.”
Ahmad was confused. The bewilderment showed in his eyes.
“It’s a struggle in a forest of wild beasts,” Mahmud continued. “Nice people are lost there.”
Ahmad was even more bewildered and confused. Mahmud said, “Would you agree to me managing the business alone?”
“Happily! You’re my older brother and dear friend. We’ve only ever known love.”
“And I’ve never neglected a religious duty in my life. I work as though God is watching me.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Ahmad and let out a deep, satisfied breath.
Thus, Mahmud took his father’s place. It was a black day for the employees, watchmen, and business associates. He went about fields, farms, and the market like a steamroller, regarded with contempt, curses raining down on him from men and women alike. One night, returning to the mansion, a couple of anonymous men attacked him with clubs until he collapsed unconscious on the ground. They threw him in a ditch and disappeared into the darkness. Not long after, a patrol passed by and heard groaning from the ditch. They rushed over and rescued him from the brink of death. He was taken to hospital. When people heard the news they struck their foreheads in exasperation and cursed the bad luck that hastened to save him at the critical moment. He left hospital, healthy and recovered, with new contusions and scars from the surgery on his forehead, cheek, and neck, which made him look even grimmer and more ferocious. These did not, however, change his nature in any way, though he became better armed and more wary. His cousin Amr Effendi, the person closest to his heart, said to him, “My friend, you must adopt a different policy.”
“People are made for one policy. Woe to he who backs away from it,” Mahmud replied.
He would visit Bayt al-Qadi in his resplendent carriage, laden with gifts. He enjoyed chatting to Amr and Radia, then would become immersed in talking about his countless lawsuits. Once Amr said to him, laughing, “You’ll soon be a legal expert like Abd al-Azim!”
He laughed—he often laughed in Bayt al-Qadi—and said, “I’d rather die than waive my rights.”
“But this life isn’t worth such toil,” Radia burst out passionately.
“Dear dervish, we were created for toil,” he guffawed.
He would visit Abd al-Azim Dawud in East Abbasiya, where he enjoyed sharing news of his success and affluence and discussed cases. When he had gone, Abd al-Azim would say to Farida, “Sickness is better than a meeting with that oaf.”
“His wife is a precious jewel,” Farida Hanem would say.
“Lord give her patience in her suffering!” Abd al-Azim would reply sarcastically.
Even Nazli Hanem, who loved him more than anything in the world, advised him to be more moderate. But nothing could divert him from his path, ever.
“Can’t Abd al-Azim Dawud help you at all in your lawsuits?” she also asked.
“He affects probity to hide his depravity and lack of chivalry. He’s an infidel and copycat of the English—he drinks whisky at lunch and supper!” he replied resentfully.
When the 1919 Revolution came, a new kind of emotion stirred in his heart for the first time. He was touched by the magic of its leader and donated several thousand Egyptian pounds to the cause. For the first time too he perceived in the simple peasants a frightening power he had not known before. When the different positions of the Crown, Adli, and the leader crystallized, he began to take stock of his accounts. He met with his brother at the mansion on Khayrat Square and asked him, “What are your thoughts on the current situation?”
“Sa‘d is undoubtedly in the right,” Ahmad
said innocently.
“I’m asking what is in our best interest,” he said coldly.
“I haven’t thought about it,” Ahmad said confused. “Do you think we should support Adli Pasha?”
“The Crown is the permanent center of power.”
“You’re always right, brother,” Ahmad said simply.
“What is your social circle saying?”
“They are all for Sa‘d.”
“Publicize your political affiliation so as many people as possible know.”
“Our nephews, Amr and Surur, support Sa‘d too.”
“They don’t have anything at stake. The games are over. Don’t imagine the English will leave Egypt. And don’t imagine Egypt can survive without the English.”
In return for pledging allegiance to the Crown, he and his brother were awarded the rank of bey. “Now the Dawud family must admit rank isn’t restricted to them alone.…” he said to Ahmad. However, a revolution of another kind flared up in the family, this one led by his nephew Adnan. The family, both men and women, split into two rival factions. Opponents savored its misfortune while friends, like Amr and Rashwana, were sad. Even Surur said, “A curse has befallen that damned family.”
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