Palace Walk tct-1

by Naguib Mahfouz

  "Enter," an Egyptian policeman shouted to him, pointing to the area inside the great portal. Al-Sayyid Ahmad looked inside questioningly but also ingratiatingly and pitifully. He passed between the English soldiers, barely able to see what was in front of him, he was so scared. He wished he could hide his head in his arms in response to his instinctive fear. What he saw under the gateway explained, without any need for questions, why he was wanted. He saw that a deep pit like a trench had been dug there to obstruct the road. He likewise saw a swarm of citizens working nonstop to fill the hole under the supervision of the police. They were carrying baskets of dirt, which they emptied into the trench. Everyone was working zealously and quickly while their eyes glanced stealthily and fearfully at the English soldiers stationed at the entrance to the gate.

  A policeman came up to him and threw him a basket, telling him in a gruff voice that sounded threatening, "Do what the others are doing". Then he added in a whisper, "Be quick so you don't get hurt".

  This final sentence was the first humane expression he had encountered during his terrifying journey, and it felt like air in the throat of a man close to asphyxiation. Al-Sayyid Ahmad bent over the basket to pick it up by the handle and asked the policeman in a whisper, "Will I be set free when the work’s completed?"

  The policeman whispered, "God willing".

  He sighed profoundly and felt like crying. It seemed he had been born anew. With his left hand he lifted the bottom of his cloak and tucked it into the belt of his caftan so it would not impede his work. He took the basket to the sidewalk where dirt was piled. Putting the basket at his feet he filled his hands with dirt and emptied them into the basket. When it was full, he carried it to the hole and threw the dirt in before returning to the sidewalk. He kept on with this, surrounded by groups of men, both old and young, some in modern dress and others wearing traditional turbans. They all worked with a high degree of energy stemming from their desire to live.

  He was refilling his basket when an elbow nudged him. He turned to see who it was and recognized a friend named Ghunaym Hamidu, the owner of an olive-oil-pressing firm in al-Gamaliya and a guest at some of al-Sayyid Ahmad’s parties. They were delighted to see each other and soon were whispering together.

  "So you got caught too!"

  "Before you. I arrived a little before midnight. I saw you getting your basket, so as I went back and forth with my basket I began to follow a path that would gradually bring me over to you".

  "Welcome… welcome. Aren't any more of our friends here?"

  "You're the only one I've found".

  "The policeman told me they'll let us go when we finish the work".

  "I was told that too. May our Lord hear us".

  "They've ruined my knees, may God destroy their homes".

  "So far as I can tell, I don't even have knees anymore".

  They exchanged a quick smile. "How did this pit get here?"

  "I was told that a bunch of the boys from al-Husayn dug it at the beginning of the night to prevent the trucks from coming through here. They also say a truck fell in".

  "If that’s true, then you can say goodbye to us".

  The second time they worked beside each other at the dirt pile they were somewhat more resigned to their situation. Their spirits had revived and they could not keep themselves from smiling as they filled their baskets with dirt like construction workers.

  Ghunaym whispered, "May God and His blessings repay us for these sons of bitches".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad smiled and whispered back, "I hope they're going to pay us the normal wage".

  "Where did they catch you?"

  "In front of my house".

  "It figures".

  "What about you?"

  "I had taken some dope, but I got over it fast. The English are stronger than cocaine".

  "They're even more effective than throwing up".

  By the light of the torches the men went back and forth quickly between the sidewalk with the dirt and the ditch. They stirred up the dust until it spread throughout the vaulted area of the gate, filling the air. They had trouble breathing. Sweat poured from their brows and plastered their faces with mud. They were coughing from inhaling the dust. They looked like ghosts brought to light when the hole gaped open.

  In any case, he was no longer alone. There was this friend and the other men from his district. Even the Egyptian policemen were with them in their hearts. The fact that they had been stripped of their weapons was evidence of that. They no longer had swords in metal scabbards dangling from their belts.

  "Be patient," he advised himself. "Be patient. Perhaps this suffering will pass. Did you think you'd work until morning or even almost till noon? Buck up. You won't always be carrying dirt and exploited to fill the hole… The hole refuses to fill up… There’s nothing to be gained from complaining. To whom would you complain? Your body’s powerful and strong and can take it, despite being impaired by the evening’s inebriation. What time is it? It wouldn't be prudent to check now. If this had not happened to me, I'd be stretched out in bed enjoying a sound sleep. I would be able to wash my head and face and get a refreshing drink flavored with orange blossoms from the water jug. Congratulations to us for this participation in the hell of the revolution. Why not? The country is in revolt every day. Every hour there are casualties and martyrs. Reading the papers and passing on news is one thing, but carrying dirt at gunpoint is something else. Congratulations to all of you asleep in your beds. O God, preserve us… I'm not meant for this… not meant for this. God vanquish those who doubt Your power. We are weak… I'm not meant for this.

  "Does Fahmy realize the dangers threatening him? He’s reviewing his lessons now, unaware of what is happening to his father. He said no to me for the first time in his life. He said it with tears in his eyes, but it means the same thing. I didn't tell his mother and I won't. Should I reveal my lack of power to her? Should I seek help from her weakness after my power has failed? Certainly not… Let her remain ignorant of the whole affair. He says he’s not exposing himself to any danger. Really? God, hear my prayer. If it had not been for that, I wouldn't have been so easy on him. God preserve him. God preserve all of us from the evil of these days. What time is it now? Once it’s morning, we'll be safe. They won't kill us in front of the people".

  "I spat on the ground to clear the dust from my throat," his friend remarked, "and one of the policemen shot me a look that made my hair stand on end".

  "Don't spit. Do like me. I've swallowed enough dirt to fill this hole".

  "Perhaps Zubayda cursed you?"

  "Perhaps".

  "Wasn't filling her hole better than filling this one?"

  "It was even more strenuous!"

  They smiled quickly at each other. Then Ghunaym said with a sigh, "God help me, my back’s broken".

  "Me too. Our only consolation is that we're sharing some of the pains of the freedom fighters".

  "What do you think? Should I throw my basket in the soldiers' faces and cry out at the top of my lungs, 'Long live Sa'd'?"

  "Has the dope started working again?"

  "What a loss!.. It was a piece the size of the pupil of your eye. I stirred it in my tea three times. Afterward I went to al-Tambakshiya to listen to Shaykh Ali Mahmud recite poetry in the home of al-Hamzawi. On my way back, shortly before midnight, I was telling myself, 'Your old lady’s waiting for you now. There’s nothing to be gained from disappointing her.' Then that monkey popped up and drove me along in front of him".

  "May our Lord compensate you".

  "Amen".

  Soldiers brought in more men, some from al-Husayn and others from al-Nahhasin, who were quickly incorporated into the work force. Al-Sayyid Ahmad looked around. The place was almost packed full of people. They spread out around the trench in every direction, going between the sidewalk and the hole without taking a break, their panting faces illuminated by light from the torches. They looked thoroughly exhausted, humiliated, and afraid. There was blessed safety in n
umbers. "They won't slaughter this swarm of people," he reflected. "They wouldn't take the innocent along with the guilty. Where do you suppose the guilty ones are? Where are those brave young men? Do they know their brothers have fallen in the hole they dug? May God destroy them. Did they think that digging a hole would bring Sa'd back or drive the English out of Egypt? I'll certainly abandon my nightlife if God grants me a new lease on life. Abandon my nightlife? It’s no longer safe to go out at night. Will life retain any savor? Life loses its savor in the shadow of the revolution. Revolution… in other words, a soldier takes you captive, you carry dirt in your hands, Fahmy says no to you. No! When will the world return to normal? A headache?… Yes, a headache and I want to throw up too. A few minutes to rest. I don't want anything more than that. Maryam’s mother, Bahija, is sound asleep. Amina’s waiting for me like Ghunaym’s "old lady". There’s no way you could imagine what’s happened to your father. O Lord, the dust’s filling my nose and eyes. O Master Husayn… Fill, fill… isn't all this enough dirt for you? O grandson of the Messenger of God, Husayn… The Battle of the Trench, that’s what the revered preacher called it. The Prophet Muhammad, God’s peace and blessings on him, fought a Battle of the Trench and worked alongside the other men, digging the dirt out with his own hands. His enemies were pagans back then. Why are the pagans winning today? It’s a corrupt age… The times are corrupt. I'm corrupt. Will they remain camped in front of my house until the revolution’s over?"

  "Did you hear the cock?"

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad listened intently and mumbled, "The cock’s crowing! Is it dawn?"

  "Yes, but the hole won't be filled up until morning… The important thing is that I need to relieve myself, badly".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad’s mind thought about the lower part of his body. He realized that he needed to go too. Part of his pain was no doubt related to his swollen bladder. Thinking about it seemed to make it much worse, and the pressure of his bladder was intense. "Me too,"

  "What can we do?"

  "There’s no solution at hand".

  "Look over there at that monkey pissing in front of Ali al-Zajjaj’s store…"

  "Oh…"

  "Getting a little urine out of my body’s more important to me now than getting the English out of Egypt".

  "Get the English out of all of Egypt? Let them get out of al-Nahhasin to begin with".

  "O Lord… Look. The soldiers are still bringing people in".

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad saw a new batch making their way toward the trench.

  66

  When al-Sayyid Ahmad awoke it was almost time for the afternoon prayer. News of his mishap had spread among his family and friends. Many of them stopped by the house to congratulate him on his deliverance. Despite the seriousness of the topic, he told them the whole story in a style graced by comic touches and flourishes that inspired their comments.

  Amina was the first to hear the story, which he recounted while still psychologically shattered and physically weak, scarcely able to believe he had escaped alive. She heard the terrifying aspects uncensored. Once he fell asleep, she wept profusely and began to pray to God to watch over her family with His care and mercy. She prayed so long she felt she was losing her voice.

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad, on finding himself surrounded by friends, especially close ones like Ibrahim al-Far, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Muhammad Iffat, recovered his spirits and had difficulty ignoring the humorous aspects of the incident, which finally won out over everything else. His rendition turned the episode into a comedy. He might have been telling them about one of his escapades.

  While the top floor was crowded with male visitors, the family gathered on the lower floor, except for the mother, who was busy with Umm Hanafi preparing coffee and cold drinks. Once again the sitting room witnessed a reunion of Yasin, Fahmy, Kamal, Khadija, and Aisha for the traditional coffee hour. Khalil and Ibrahim Shawkat had been with them all day long but had gone to the father’s room shortly after he had awakened, leaving the brothers and sisters alone. Their sorrow over what had happened to their father vanished as they became reassured. Their hearts were filled with affection, and they jumped at the chance to chat and joke with each other the way they had in the past. They had felt anxious until they had seen their father with their own eyes. They had gone to him, one after the other, kissed his hand, and prayed he would have a long and peaceful life. Then they had left his room with military order and discipline.

  Although the father had merely held his hand out to Yasin, Fahmy, and Kamal without saying a word, he had smiled at Khadija and Aisha, asking them tenderly how they were doing and if they were in good health. They had been treated to this tenderness only after they got married. Kamal had noticed it with delighted astonishment, as though he were the recipient. In fact, Kamal was the happiest of anyone whenever his sisters visited. On those occasions he enjoyed a profound happiness tarnished only by anticipation of the visit’s end. The warning would come when one of the men, Ibrahim or Khalil, stretched or yawned. Then he would say, "It’s time for us to leave". The phrase was a command to be obeyed, not rejected.

  Neither of Kamal’s sisters was gracious enough, even once, to tell her husband, for example, "You go. I'll join you tomorrow".

  In time, Kamal became accustomed to the strange bond linking his sisters to their husbands and accepted its authority. He contented himself with their short visits every now and then and rejoiced without longing for more. Yet he could not keep himself from asking wishfully sometimes, "Why don't you return and live here the way you used to?"

  His mother would quickly reply, "May God spare them the evil of your good wishes".

  The most amazing thing he had noticed about their married life was the bizarre change that had befallen their bellies and the attendant symptoms, which seemed as frightening as a disease and as exotic as legends. He had learned some new concepts, like pregnancy and cravings, and associated ones like vomiting, malaise, and the consumption of pellets of dry clay… So what was the matter with Aisha’s belly? When would it stop growing? It looked like an inflated waterskin. Khadija’s belly too appeared to be undergoing the same transformation. If Aisha with her ivory complexion and golden hair craved mud, what would Khadija crave? As it turned out, Khadija confounded his fears and craved pickles.

  Kamal had countless questions but was unable to elicit a satisfactory answer for any of them. His mother told him that Aisha’s belly, as well as Khadija's, would produce a tiny baby, who would be the apple of his eye. But where was this baby living? How was it living? Did it hear and see? What did it hear and see? How did it come into existence? Where did it come from? For these significant questions he received answers that deserved to be added to the lore about saints and jinn, amulets and spells, and other such matters he had gleaned from his mother’s personal encyclopedia. Therefore he asked Aisha with concern, "When will the baby come out?"

  She laughed and replied, "Be patient. It won't be long".

  Yasin asked, "Aren't you in your ninth month?"

  She answered, "Yes, although my mother-in-law insists I'm in my eighth".

  Khadija observed sharply, "It’s just that our mother-in-law always wants to have a different opinion. That’s all there is to it".

  Since everyone knew of the frequent disputes that flared up between Khadija and her mother-in-law, they looked at each other and laughed.

  Aisha said, "I want you to move to our house and stay with us until the English evacuate your street".

  Khadija said enthusiastically, "Yes. Why not? The house is large. You'll be comfortable and have plenty of space. Papa and Mama can stay with Aisha because she’s on the middle floor, and the rest of you can stay with me".

  Kamal was overjoyed by the suggestion and to prod them asked, "Who will tell Papa?"

  Fahmy shrugged his shoulders and said, "You both know perfectly well that Papa will not agree".

  "But he likes to go out at night, and he'll be exposed to interference from the soldiers," Khadija protested. "What crimina
ls they are! To lead him off in the dark and make him carry dirt… My head spins whenever I think about it".

  Aisha said, "I waited for my turn to kiss his hand so I could examine him from head to toe, to reassure myself. My heart was pounding and my eyes were blinking away tears… God’s curse on those dogs, the bastards".

  Yasin smiled. Winking at Kamal, he cautioned Aisha, "Don't insult the English. They have a friend among us".

  Fahmy observed sarcastically, "Perhaps it would amuse Papa to know that the soldier who captured him last night was just one of Kamal’s buddies".

  Smiling at Kamal, Aisha asked, "Do you still love them after what they've done?"

  Blushing from embarrassment and confusion, Kamal stammered, "If they had known he was my father, they wouldn't have harmed him".

  Yasin could not keep himself from laughing so loudly he had to put a hand over his mouth. He looked up at the ceiling warily, as though afraid the sound of his laughter might reach the upper story. Then he said mockingly, "What you ought to say is: If they had realized that Kamal was Egyptian they would not have tormented Egypt and the Egyptians. They just don't know any better".

  Khadija said fiercely, "You should leave this talk to someone else… Are you denying that you have befriended them too?" She addressed Kamal in as biting a tone: "Will you be brave enough to perform the Friday prayer at the mosque of our master al-Husayn now that people know about your friendship with them?"

  Yasin understood her allusion and replied with mock regret, "It’s permissible for you to give me a hard time now that you're married and have acquired some basic human rights…"

  "Didn't I have this particular right before?"

  "God’s mercy on those bygone years… but it’s marriage that returns the spirit to wretched girls. Bow down in thanks to the saints… and to Umm Hanafi’s incantations and prescriptions".

  Trying not to laugh, Khadija retorted, "You've gained the right to attack people, whether or not what you say is true, after inheriting from your late mother and becoming a man of property".