The Cairo Trilogy

by Naguib Mahfouz

  He escorted her to the door, apprehensive at each step that she might stop walking and take another shot at conversation. When he could at last sit down again, he was breathing heavily. He was distressed and dejected. He had a sensitive heart, more sensitive than most people would have suspected. In fact, it was too sensitive. How could anyone believe that who had only seen him grinning, bellowing, or laughing sarcastically?… Sorrow was going to scorch his flesh and blood in a way that could spoil his whole life, making it seem ugly to him. How happy it would make him to spare no expense to delight both his daughters, the one in whose beautiful face he could detect a resemblance to his mother's and the other girl who had only received a faint glimmer of good looks. Each of them was a vital part of him.

  The husband whom the widow of the late Mr. Shawkat was offering was a catch in every sense of the word. He was a young man of twenty-five with a monthly income of not less than thirty pounds. It was true that, like many members of the elite, he had no occupation and little education, the latter not extending beyond knowledge of reading and writing. All the same, he had many of his father's good qualities. He was pleasant, generous, and polite.

  What should he do? He had to make up his mind. He did not usually hesitate or ask for advice. It was not acceptable, even for a brief moment, for him to appear indecisive to his family, as though he did not know what he thought. Could he not consult with his closest friends? He was not ashamed to do that when something serious came up. In fact, their evenings usually began with a discussion of worries and problems before wine transported them to a world where worries and problems were unknown. He realized that he was very opinionated and would not deviate from what he believed. He was the kind of person who requests advice to shore up his opinion, not to undermine it. Even so, that would provide consolation and relief.

  When the man was exasperated with thinking he cried out, “Who would believe that the unbearable state I'm in results from a blessing God has bestowed upon me?”

  37

  AMINA HAD no occupation during her exile other than sitting beside her mother and discussing at length anything that came to mind. They had talks about the distant and not so distant past and the present, ranging from precious memories to the current drama. Had it not been for the painful separation and the specter of divorce, she would have been content with her new life. It was like a restful holiday after the burden of her duties or a voyage to a world of memories.

  When days passed with nothing happening to frighten her and when she heard about the mediation by Umm Maryam and Widow Shawkat, she felt less apprehensive and more relaxed. Moreover, the evening visits of the boys continued without interruption and breathed new hope into her breast. She got to spend almost as much time with them in the new house as in the old one. In both instances, she was separated from them until they were free to come to the evening reunion. Even so, she longed for them like an emigrant in a distant land parted by fate from her loved ones. She yearned for them, feeling deprived because she could not breathe the same air, share their memories, and supervise their workaday and leisure activities. Every inch a person's body travels on the road of separation seems like miles to the heart.

  When the old lady found her silent or sensed that her daughter's thoughts were wandering, she would tell her, “Patience, Amina. I feel sorry for you. A mother away from her children is a stranger. She's a stranger even if she's staying in the house where she was born.”

  Yes, she was a stranger. The house might just as well not have been the only home she had known as a child. Her mother was no longer that mother she could not bear to leave for even a moment. So long as the house was her place of exile where she waited regretfully for a word of pardon from heaven, it could not be her home.

  After a long interval her pardon did arrive. The boys brought it one evening. When they came, their eyes flashed like lightning. Her heart pounded so hard it shook her whole chest. She was apprehensive about giving this sign a grander interpretation than it deserved, but Kamal ran toward her and put his arms around her neck. Then, beside himself with joy, he yelled to her, “Put on your wrap and come with us.”

  Yasin roared with laughter and said, “It's all over.”

  Then he and Fahmy together said, “Father summoned us and told us, 'Go get your mother.'”

  She lowered her eyes to hide her overwhelming joy. She could not conceal the emotions rocking her soul. Her face seemed an extremely accurate mirror, registering everything that was inside her, no matter how small. She wanted so much to receive the happy news with a composure befitting her maternal role, but she was transported by joy. The features of her face laughingly expressed her childish delight. At the same time she felt ashamed, although she did not know why. She remained motionless for so long that Kamal's patience was exhausted. He pulled her by the hand, putting his entire weight into it until she yielded and rose. She stood for a little while in a strange confusion. Before she realized what she was doing she turned and asked, “Should I go, Mother?”

  This question sounded peculiar and slipped out with an inflection of confusion and embarrassment. Fahmy and Yasin smiled. Only Kamal was astonished and almost alarmed. He affirmed to her once more the news of the pardon they brought.

  The grandmother had sensed everything her daughter was feeling and surmised what was going on inside her. Her heart was touched. Taking care not to appear surprised by the question, not even registering so much as a faint smile, she replied seriously, “Go to your house, and may the peace of God go with you.”

  Amina went to put on her wrap and bundle up her clothes, with Kamal following at her heels. The grandmother asked the young men in a critical tone softened by a tender smile, “Wouldn't it have been more appropriate for your father to come himself?”

  Fahmy answered apologetically, “Grandmother, you know very well what my father's like.”

  Yasin laughed and observed, “Let's thank God for what's happened.”

  The grandmother muttered something they could not understand. Then she sighed and said, as though replying to her own muttering, “In any case, al-Sayyid Ahmad's not a man like the others.1'

  They left the house with their grandmother's prayers and blessings ringing in their ears. For the first time in their lives they walked along the street together. They found it an extraordinary event. Fahmy and Yasin exchanged smiling glances. Kamal remembered the day he had gone along, as he was now, holding his mother's hand tight and leading her from alley to alley. Then there had ensued the pains and fears that were even worse than a nightmare. He marveled about it for some time but soon was able to overlook the sorrows of the past in favor of the joy of the present. He found himself wanting to jest. He laughingly suggested to his mother, “Come on, let's sneak off to our master al-Husayn ”

  Yasin laughed and commented allusively, “May God be pleased with him. He's a martyr and loves martyrs.”

  They could see the protruding wooden balcony of their house and two shapes moving behind the spindles of its latticework. The mother'sheart fluttered with affection and longing at the sight of her daughters. Just inside the door she found Umm Hanafi waiting to welcome her and smother her mistress's hands with kisses. In the courtyard she met Khadija and Aisha, who clung to her like little girls.

  They climbed the stairs in a tumultuous parade with exhilarating and frenzied happiness. They came to a halt in her room. Each one tried to help her remove her wrap, that symbol of the loathsome separation, as they roared with laughter. When she sat down among them she was breathless from the impact of her emotions. Kamal wanted to tell her how happy he was. The best way he found to put it was: “Today's dearer to me even than the procession with the holy shrine on the camel when the pilgrims leave for Mecca.”

  For the first time in a long while all the regulars were present at the coffee hour. They resumed their evening chat in an atmosphere of delight. Its splendor was doubled by the days of separation and dejection preceding it, just as the pleasure of a warm day is
greater if it follows a frigid week. The joy of the reunion notwithstanding, the mother did not forget to ask the girls about the household affairs, progressing from the oven room all the way up to the hyacinth beans and jasmine. She also asked a lot about their father. She was delighted to learn that he had not allowed anyone to assist him with removing or putting on his clothes. Whatever rest she might have afforded him by her absence, a change had crept into the system of his life, which had without doubt imposed a burden on him that would disappear now that she was back. Her return, and that alone, would guarantee him the kind of life he was accustomed to and comfortable with.

  One thing that did not occur to Amina was that some of the hearts happy at her return discovered in this return itself a reason for brooding about their sorrow and pain. Yet this is what happened. These hearts, distracted from their sorrows by their mother's, began to think again about their own worries now they were reassured about their mother's well-being. In the same way, when we have acute but temporary intestinal pain we forget our chronic eye inflammation, but once the intestinal distress is relieved, the pain in the eyes returns.

  Fahmy was telling himself, “It appears that every sorrow has an end. My mother's affliction is over. But it seems my sorrow will never end”. Aisha resumed her own reflections, to which no one else was privy. Her dreams and memories visited her, although compared with her brother she was considerably calmer and readier to forget.

  Amina could not read their thoughts, and nothing disturbed her serenity. When she retired to her room that night it was clear she would not be able to sleep, her mind was so overflowing with happiness. She only dozed off a few times before she got out of bed at midnight. She went to the balcony as usual to gaze through the latticework screens at the wakeful street until the carriage bringing her husband home swayed into sight.

  Her heart beat violently, and she blushed with shame and confusion. She might well have been meeting her husband for the first time. Had she not reflected about this moment for a long time… the awaited moment of reunion and how she would approach him? How would he treat her after this long separation? What could she say to him, or he to her? If only she could pretend to be asleep. But she had no talent at all for acting and could not bear for him to find her lying down when he came in. Yes, she would not be able to neglect her duty to go to the stairway with a lamp to] ight the way for him. Over and above all these considerations, after winning the right to return and overcoming his anger at her, stie felt good. She forgave everything that had happened and assumed full responsibility for the offense, to the point of thinking, that, although her husband had not taken the trouble to go to her mother's house to reach a settlement with her, he deserved to be treated in a conciliatory fashion.

  She took the lamp and went to the staircase. She held her arm out over the railing and stood there with a throbbing heart, listening to the sound of his approaching footsteps, until he made his way up to her. She greeted him with her head bowed, so she did not see his face when they met. She did not know if any change had taken place in his appearance since she last saw him. She heard him say in a normal voice that bore no trace of the painful recent past, “Good evening.”

  She mumbled, “Good evening, sir.”

  He wsnt to his room. She trailed after him holding up the lamp. He began to remove his clothes silently. She went to assist him. She set to work, privately heaving sighs of relief. She remembered the ill-fated morning of the separation when he had risen to don his clothes and told her harshly, “I'll put my clothes on myself”. The memory, though, lacked any of the feelings of pain and sorrow that had overwhelmed her at the time. As she carried out this service for him, which he had not allowed anyone else to perform, she felt she was reclaiming the dearest thing she possessed in all the world.

  He took his place on the sofa and she sat cross-legged on the pallet at his feet, without either of them uttering a word. She expected him to put the painful past to rest with some word of advice or admonition. She had prepared herself for that in a thousand different ways. All he did was ask her, “How's your mother?”

  Sighing with relief, she answered, “Fine, sir. She sends you her greetings and prayers.”

  Another period of silence passed before he remarked with apparent disinterest, “The widow of the late Mr. Shawkat disclosed to me her wish to choose Aisha as Khalil's wife.”

  Amina looked up at him in an astonishment that eloquently revealed the impact of the surprise on her. He shrugged his shoulders as though it was nothing. Fearing she might express an opinion that happened to agree with his decision, which he had kept secret from everyone, and would then suspect he had taken her advice, he quickly added, “I've thought about the matter for a long time and have decided to accept. I don't want to interfere with my daughter's fortune any more than I have already. The matter is in God's hands, both now and later.”

  38

  AISHA RECEIVED the good news with the joy of a girl who since early childhood had cherished the dream of getting married. She could scarcely believe her ears when she was told about it. Had her father actually agreed? Had marriage become an imminent reality and not a dream or a cruel joke? No more than three months had passed since the disappointment she had suffered. Although the impact on her ofthat experience had been harsh and intense, with the passi ng days it had become lighter and weaker, turning into a pale memory, which when aroused would excite only a gentle sorrow of no particular significance.

  Everything in the house yielded blindly to a higher will with a limitless authority almost like that of religion. Within these walls even love itself had to creep into their hearts timidly, hesitantly, and diffidently. It did not enjoy its normal influence or dominance. The only dominant force here was that higher will. Therefore, when her father had said no, his verdict had become lodged in the depths of her soul. The girl had firmly believed that everything was really over, since there was no way to escape or to ask for a review. She had no hope that anything would help. It was as though this “no” were one of the processes of nature, like the alternation of night and day. No objection to it would be of any significance, since only obedience was allowed. This belief of hers, whether conscious or not, worked to terminate everything, and terrninaxd it was.

  Aisha wondered privately whether her current good fortune did not embrace an incomprehensible contradiction. Less than three months after one rejection, permission had been granted for tier to marry. Thus she would not be part of the destiny of the young man for whom her heart had yearned. She kept this thought to herself, and no one learned about it, not even her mother. To announce her happiness with a suitor, even one of whom she had only the vaguest concept, would be a wanton affront t o modesty. It would have been inconceivable for her to express a desire for some specific man. In spite of all this and despite the fact that she knew nothing about the new bridegroom except what her mother had mentioned in a general discussion of his family, Aisha was happy beyond words with the good news. Her eager emotions had found a pole toward which to gravitate. Her love seemed to be more a disposition than an attachment to any particular man. Even if one man was disqualified and another took his place, she was satisfied and everything was fine. She might prefer one man over another but not enough to destroy her taste for life or to push her into rebellion and revolt.

  Now that she was in good spirits and her heart fluttered with delight, she felt, as she usually did in such circumstances, pure affection and sympathy for her sister. She wished that Khadija had married first. By way of apology and encouragement she told her, “I wish you'd been the first to marry… but it's fate and destiny. It will all come soon.”

  Khadija did not enjoy affectionate words of comfort when defeated. She received Aisha's statement with unconcealed annoyance. Their mother had already apologized to her delicately: “We all wanted your turn to come first. We acted on this assumption more than once, but perhaps it is our stubbornness about something beyond our control that has thwarted your luck until now. L
et's allow things to proceed as God wills. Something good comes out of every delay.”

  Khadija found that Yasin and Fahmy were also full of affection for her, whether they expressed it in words or revealed it by being nice to her, at least for the moment, instead of resorting to the stinging humor customary between them, especially between her and Yasin. The only thing matching Khadija's sorrow at her bad luck was her nervousness about the affection smothering her, but not because of an innate aversion to sympathy. She was like a patient with influenza whose health would be harmed by exposure to the fresh air that would normally invigorate him when well. She discounted this affection as a trifling substitute for lost hope and may well have been suspicious of their motives for showering it on her. Was her mother not always the intermediary between the matchmakers and her father? How could Khadija know whether her mother's mediation had been confined to carrying out the duties of the mistress of the house and had not been influenced by a covert desire for Aisha to get married? Was it not Fahmy who brought the message from the officer at the Gamaliya police station? Could he not have acted deftly behind the scenes to change the officer's mind?