The Cairo Trilogy

by Naguib Mahfouz

  As the troupe was getting ready to sing, one of the men rose and called out enthusiastically, “Give the tambourine to al-Sayyid Ahmad. He's an expert.”

  Zubayda shook her head in amazement and asked, “Really?”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad moved his fingers quickly and nimbly as if giving her a demonstration of his skill. Zubayda smiled and remarked, “No wonder! You were Jalila's pupil.”

  The gentlemen laughed uproariously. The laughter continued until M:. al-Far's voice rose to ask the sultana, “What are you planning to teach him?”

  She replied teasingly, “I'll teach him to play the qanun. Wouldn't you like that?”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad implored her, “Teach me internal repetitions, if you will.”

  Many of them encouraged him to join the musicians and he took the tambourine. Then he rose and removed his outer cloak. In his chestnut caftan he looked so tall and broad that he could have been a charger prancing on its hind legs. He pushed back his sleeves and went to the divan to take his place beside the lady. To make room for him she rose halfway and scooted to the left. Her red dress slipped back to reveal a strong, fleshy leg which was white brushed with pink where she had plucked the hair. The bottom of her leg was adorned with a gold anklet that could barely encompass it.

  One of the men who glimpsed that sight shouted in a voice like thunder, “The Ottoman caliphate forever!”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad, who was ogling the woman's breasts, yelled after him, “Say: the Ottoman grand brassiere forever!”

  The performer shouted to caution them: “Lower your voices or the English will throw us in jail for the night.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad, whose head was feeling the effects of the wine, yelled, “If you're with me, I'll go for life at hard labor.”

  More than one voice called out, “Death to anyone who lets you two go there alone.”

  The woman wanted to end the debate begun by the sight of her leg and handed the tambourine to al-Sayyid Ahmad. She told him, “Show me what you can do.”

  He took the tambourine and smiled as he rubbed it with the palm of his hand. His fingers began to strike it skillfully and then the other instruments started playing. Zubayda glanced at the eyes fixed on her and sang:

  I'm an accomplice against myself When my lover steals my heart.

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad found himself in a wonderfully intoxicating situation. The sultana's breath fluttered toward him each time she turned his way, meeting the vapors which rose to the top of hishead with every sip. He quickly forgot the refrains of the famous musicians al-Hamuli, Muhammad Uthman, and al-Manilawi, and lived in the present, happy and content. The inflections of her voice made the strings of hisheart vibrate. His energy flared up and he beat the tambourine in a way no professional could match. His intoxication became a burning, titillating, inspiring, raging drunkenness the moment the woman sang:

  You who are going to see him Take a kiss from me as a pledge for my Sweetheart's mouth.

  His companions kept pace with him or surpassed him as the wine made its ultimate impact on them. They were so agitated by desire they seemed trees dancing in the frenzy of a hurricane.

  Slowly, gradually the time came for the song to close. Zubayda ended by repeating the same phrase that began it: “I'm an accomplice against myself,” but with a spirit that was calm, reflective, and valedictory, and then final. The melodies vanished like an airplane carrying a lover over the horizon. Although the conclusion was greeted by a storm of applause and clapping, silence soon reigned over the hall, for their souls were worn out by all the exertion and emotion. A period passed when nothing washeard except the sound of someone coughing, clearing his throat, striking a match, or uttering a word that required no reply. The guests realized it was time to say good night. Some could be seen looking for articles of clothing they had stripped off in the heat of their musical ecstasy and placed behind them on the cushions. Others were having too good a time to leave until they had sipped every possible drop of this sweet wine.

  One of these cried out, “We won't go until we have a wedding procession to present the sultana to al-Sayyid Ahmad.”

  The suggestion was warmly received and widely supported. Incredulous, the gentleman and the entertainer collapsed with laughter. Before they knew what was happening, several men had surrounded them and dragged them to their feet, gesturing to the troupe to commence the joyous anthem. The couple stood side by side, she like the ceremonial camel litter bound for Mecca and he like the camel. They were giants made less threatening by their good looks. Coquettishly she placed her arm under his and gestured to those surrounding them to clear the way. The woman with the tambourine started playing it, and the troupe along with many of the guests began to sing the wedding song: “Look this way, you handsome fellow”. The bridal couple proceeded with deliberate steps, strutting forward, animated by both the music and the wine.

  Wher she saw this sight, Zanuba stopped playing her lute and could not keep from emitting a long, ringing trill or shriek of joy. If it could have taken bodily form, it would have been a twisting tongue of flame splitting the heavens like a shooting star.

  Their friends tried to outdo each other in offering their congratulations: “A happy marriage and many sons.”

  “Healthy children who are good dancers and singers.”

  One of the men shouted to caution them, “Don't put off until tomorrow what you can do today.”

  The troupe kept playing and the friends kept waving their hands until al-Sayyid Ahmad and the woman disappeared through the door leading to the interior of the house.

  17

  AL-SAYYID AHMAD was sitting at his desk in the store when Yasin walked in unexpectedly. The visit was not merely unexpected but extraordinary, since it was unusual for the young man to visit his father at the store. Even at home he avoided him to the best of his ability. Moreover, Yasin looked absentminded and serious. He approached his father, giving him nothing more than a mechanical salute. Seeming to forget himself, he neglected to show the pronounced respect and deference customary when in his father's presence. Then he said in a voice that showed how upset he was, “Greetings, Father. I've come to talk to you about something important.”

  His father looked up at him quizzically. Although he felt anxious lie relied on his willpower to conceal it and asked calmly, “Good news, God willing.”

  Jamil al-Hamzawi brought Yasin a chair as he welcomed him, and his father ordered him to have a seat. The young man brought the chair closer to the desk and sat down. He seemed to hesitate for a few moments. Then he sighed in exasperation at his own hesitation and said in a quavering voice with touching brevity, “The thing is, my mother's going to get married.”

  Although al-Sayyid Ahmad was expecting bad news, his forebodings had not wandered in the direction of this outgrown corner of his past. Therefore the announcement caught him off guard. H e frowned as he always did when he remembered anything about his first wife. It upset him and he was alarmed because of the direct threat to his son's honor. “Who told you so?” he inquired, asking not to seek information but to escape from an unpleasant reality or provide himself time to deliberate and calm his nerves.

  “Her relative Shaykh Hamdi. He visited me at al-Nahhasin School and told me the news. He confirmed it would take place within a month.”

  The news, then, was a fact beyond doubt, and it was nothing novel for her. If the past was any guide, it would not be her last marriage either. But what sin had this youth committed to be subjected to this harsh punishment, which hurt him again and again? The man felt pity and affection for his son. It was hard on him that he, to whom people turned in times of trouble, could do nothing to relieve Yasin's pain. He asked himself what he would have done if he had been afflicted with such a mother. He was distressed, and his pity and affection for his son became more intense. Then he wanted to ask about her fiance but resisted the temptation, because he was worried about making his son's wound worse and could not bring himself to ask. Given the current disaster, curios
ity about the woman who had been his wife would not be appropriate.

  Yasin, as though reading his mind, volunteered emotionally, “And who's she marrying! A person called Ya'qub Zaynhum who has a bakery in al-Darrasa. He's in his thirties!”

  He became even more agitated, and his voice trembled as he spat out the final phrase like a fish bone. His feeling of disgust and aversion passed over to his father, who began repeating to himself: “In his thirties…. What a disgrace! It's adultery disguised as marriage”. The man was angry because his son was and for his own sake too. He always got angry when news of her private affairs reached him. It appeared to reawaken his sense of responsibility for what she did, since she had once been his wife. He also seemed, even after such a long time, to be hurt by the fact that she had escaped from his discipline and had disobeyed his will. He remembered the dayshe had lived with her, however few, with the exceptional clarity of a man recalling an illnesshe has had. It was hardly surprising that a man as sure of himself as he was should see in the mere wish to disobey him an inexcusable crime and crushing defeat.

  Moreover, she had been and perhaps still was beautiful and full of feminine attractions. He had enjoyed living with her for a few months until she displayed some resistance to his will, which he imposed on close family members. She saw no harm in enjoying some freedom, even if it was limited to visiting her father from time to time. Al-Sayyid Ahmad had grown angry and had attempted to restrain her, at first by scolding her and then by violent beatings. The spoiled woman had fled to her parents, and anger had blinded the haughty man. He thought the best way to discipline her and bring her back to her senses was to divorce her for a time naturally just for a time, since he was very attached to her. He did divorce her and pretended to forget about her for a period of days and then weeks, while he waited for a representative of her family to bring him good news. When no one knocked on his door, he swallowed his pride and sent someone to sound out the situation to prepare for a reconciliation. The messenger returned saying they would welcome him on the condition that he would not forbid her to leave the house and would not beat her. He had expected that they would agree without any stipulation or conditioti. He became violently angry and swore never to marry her again. Thus they had gone their separate ways, and Yasin's fate was to be born away from his father and to suffer humiliation and pain in bis mother's house.

  Although the woman had married more than once and although, in her son's eyes, marriage was the most honorable of her offenses, this anticipated marriage seemed more outrageous than the previous ones and more calculated to cause pain. The woman was at least forty, and Yasin was now fully grown and aware of his ability to defend his honor from harm and humiliation. He was no longer in his previous situation when, because of his youth, he could only react to the disturbing rumors about his mother with astonishment, alarm, and tears. He now considered himself a responsible adult who should not sit on his hands when humiliated. These thoughts passed through the father'shead. He was painfully aware of how serious they were, but he resolved to downplay their significance as best he could in order to spare his eldest son the vexation.

  He shook his broad shoulders as though it did not matter very much and said, “Didn't we vow to consider her a person who never existed?”

  Yasin replied sadly and despondently, “But she does exist, Father. No matter what we vow, she continues to be my mother so long as God sparesher, both in my eyes and in everyone else's.”

  The young man breathed out heavily. With the handsome, black eyeshe had inherited from his mother he gazed at his father in a penetrating plea for help. He seemed to be telling him, “You're my powerful, mighty father. Give me your hand.”

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad was even more profoundly moved but continued to pretend to be calm and unconcerned. He remarked, “I don't blame you for feeling hurt, but don't exaggerate. I can understand your anger, but if you'll just be reasonable, you'll get over it without too much trouble. Ask yourself calmly how her marriage harms you…. A woman gets married? Women get married every day and every hour. In view of her past conduct, she cannot be held responsible for a marriage like this. Perhaps she even ought to be thanked for it. As I've told you repeatedly, your mind won't be at rest till you stop thinking about her and pretend she never existed. Trust in God and don't take it so hard. No matter what people say, you should find consolation in the fact that marriage is a legal relationship sanctioned by religion.”

  He said these things without meaning them, since they totally contradicted his extreme, innate sensitivity over anything relating to family etiquette. He said it all with such warmth that he seemed to be telling the truth, thanks to the diplomatic skillshe had acquired while learning to become a wise arbitrator and beneficent intermediary capable of settling disputes between people. Although his words were not lost on Yasin, since it was inconceivable that any of his children would ignore what he said, the young man's anger was too profound to evaporate all at once. The words affected him like a cup of cold water poured into a boiling pot.

  He immediately replied to his father, “It's a legal relationship of course, Father, but at times it seems as far removed as possible from piety or legality. I ask myself: What could motivate this man to marry her?”

  Despite the gravity of the situation the father said to himself a bit sarcastically, “You ought to ask what's motivating her!”

  Before al-Sayyid Ahmad could answer, Yasin continued: “It's greed and nothing else.”

  “Or maybe a sincere desire to marry her.”

  The youth flew into a rage and shouted in a hurt and furious way, “No, it's nothing but greed!”

  Although it was a serious situation, al-Sayyid Ahmad could not help noticing the sharpness of the tone with which his son had addressed him. Given his son's condition and grief, he felt uncomfortable simply reaffirming what he had said before. Hearing no further objection, Yasin continued with relative composure: “What makes him marry a woman ten years older is greed for her money and property.”

  The fiither shrewdly saw the benefit in shifting the conversation to this topic. It would divert the young man from dwelling on more sensitive and painful matters. Thinking about that man might keep him from examining his mother's motives for getting married. In addition, he realized how well founded his son's opinion probably was regarding this fiance. He was quickly convinced and embraced his son's fears. Yes, Haniya, Yasin's mother, was well-to-do. Her fortune in real estate had remained intact in spite of her experiments with marriage and love. Although in the past she had been a beautiful young woman with both magic and majesty, to be feared and not feared for, now it was unlikely that she had as much control over herself as she once did, not to mention control over others. Her fortune might well be squandered 0:1 the battlefield of love, where she was no longer so competitive. It would be outrageous in the extreme if Yasin emerged from the inferno of this tragedy with both wounded honor and empty hands.

  Al-Savyid Ahmad remarked to his son as though thinking it over by himself, “I see you're right, son, in what you say. A woman her age is an easy mark and could well be a temptation to greedy men. What can we do? Should we seek to contact that man and force him to abandon his adventure? To try to intimidate him, threatening and menacing him, runs contrary to our ethics and wha t people know we stand for. To attempt to entreat and persuade him would be a humiliation our honor could not bear. That leases us only the woman herself. I'm not overlooking your break with her that she richly deserved and still does. The truth is, I'd not be comfortable about your reestablishing a link with her, if the new circumstances did not require it. Necessity has its own rules. No matter how difficult it is for you to visit her, it's your own mcther you're returning to, after all. Who knows? Perhaps your surprise appearance on her horizon will bring her back to her right mild.”

  Yasin looked like a hypnotist's subject in the moments preceding the hypnotic suggestion. He was silent and dazed. His state revealed the profound impact his father had on him or
indicated that this suggestion had not taken him by surprise. All the same, he stammered, “Isn't there any better solution?”

  His father replied forcefully and plainly, “I think it is the best solution ”

  As though addressing himself, Yasin asked, “How can I go back to her? How can I force myself back into a past I fled and want more than anything to erase from my life? I have no mother… no mother at all.”

  Despite what Yasin appeared to be saying, his father felt he had succeeded in converting him to his opinion. He told him diplomatically, “True, but I think if you appear in front of her, after this long absence, it will have an effect. Perhaps if she sees you before her, a full-grown man, her maternal instincts will be awakened. Then she'll mend her ways and shy away from anything that might damage your honor. Who knows?”

  Plunged in thought, Yasin calmed his mind, heedless of his despairing, anguished appearance. He was shuddering from fear of the scandal awaiting him. That was possibly the most heinous thing troubling him, but his fear of losing the fortune he expected to inherit one day was no less appalling. What could he do? No matter how he approached the issue he could find no better solution than the one his father had suggested. Indeed, no matter how shaky he felt, the fact that the idea came from his father lent it, in his opinion, validity and spared him a lot of worry. “So be it,” he said to himself. Then, addressing his father, he said, “Just as you wish, Father.”

  18

  WHEN HIS feet brought him to al-Gamaliya Street, he was so choked up he felt he would die. He had not been there for eleven years, eleven years that had passed without hisheart yearning for it once. Any memory of the area that had flashed into his mind had been surrounded by a depressing black halo and ornamented with the stuff from which nightmares are woven. The truth was that he had not simply left home but, when the opportunity arose, had fled. Angry and dejected, he had turned his back on it and avoided it completely. It was not a place he sought out or even cut across on the way to some other district.