His response was to clasp Budur to his breast as he said, “If this is what it means to be bothered, I love it.”
He gazed at A'ida with eyes full of myriad desires, enjoying himself, free this time of any supervision. He studied her carefully as though to grasp her secrets and to print her features and expressions on the surface of his imagination. He so lost himself in the vision's magic that he seemed in a daze or stupor. Before he knew what was happening she asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
When he emerged from his daze, his eyes clearly showed his confusion. She smiled and asked, “Do you want to say something?”
Did lie want to say something? He did not know what he wanted. He really did not understand what he wanted. He inquired in turn, “Did you see that in my eyes?”
With a mysterious smile on her lips she replied, “Yes.”
“Whst was it you saw in them?”
She raised her eyebrows in mock astonishment and said, “That's what I want to know.”
Should he reveal his closely held secret and tell her straightforwardly, “I love you,” without regard to the consequences? But why divulge it? What would become of him if, as was most likely, this confession ended the friendship and affection between them forever? As He pondered this question, he noticed a daring, self-satisfied, and supremely confident look in her eyes. Free of embarrassment or confusion, this glance seemed to fall on him from above, even though their eyes were at the same level. That made him uncomfortable and even more hesitant. He wondered what lay behind it. So far as he could see it was inspired by a feeling of disdain or perhaps by a sense of sport - as though she were an adult looking at a child. There was also evidence of a feeling of superiority that could not be justified merely by the difference in age between them, for she was only two years older at the most. The towering mansion on Palaces Street might look down on the old house on Palace Walk in just this way. But why had he not glimpsed it in her eyes before? She had never been alone with him. This was the first time he had had an opportunity to look at her closely. These ideas hurt and saddened him, causing his intoxication to fade away.
Budur held her hands out to him asking to be picked up, and so he lifted her in his arms. Then A'fda said, “How amazing! Why does my little sister love you so much?”
Looking at her eyes, he answered, “Because I harbor the same amount of love for her, or even more.”
A'ida asked skeptically, “Is that a law?”
“The proverb says, 'Hearts communicate directly with each other.'”
She rapped on the table as she inquired, “Suppose a beautiful girl is loved by many men - should she love all of them? What sense would your law make in this case?”
This enchanting discussion made him oblivious to everything including his troubles. He replied, “She should then love the one who loves her most sincerely.”
“How can she pick him out from the others?”
“If only this conversation could last forever,” he wished.
“I refer you once more to the proverb: 'Hearts communicate directly with each other.'”
Her brief laugh sounded like a string being plucked. She remarked defiantly, “If this were true, no sincere lover would ever be disappointed in love. Is that correct?”
Her statement shocked him, as though reality was catching up with a man who relied on logic alone. If his reasoning was right, he would have been the happiest person alive with his love and his beloved. But washe anywhere near that blissful state? The long history of his love had embraced some moments of deceptive hope. These had illuminated the dark corners of hisheart with an imaginary happiness after a sweet smile granted by the beloved, a passing remark open to wishful interpretation, or a cheerful dream concluding a night of pensive insomnia. His fantasies had drawn strength from maximshe revered, like: “Hearts communicate directly with each other”. Thushe had been able to cling to his false hope with all the determination of a desperate person, until reality brought him back to his senses with this sarcastic and definitive statement like bitter medicine. With it, he could cure his future of lying hopes and learn exactly where he stood.
When he offered no response to the question with which she had challenged him, his beloved tormentor cried out victoriously, “I win!”
Silence reigned once more. Again he heard the rustling of the branches, the whispering of the dry leaves, and the chirping of the sparrows, but this time they encountered the tepid response of a disappointed heart. He noticed that her eyes were scrutinizing him more keenly than necessary and that her glance was increasingly daring and self-confident, as though she were toying with him. She looked like anything but a woman engrossed in a romantic conversation. He felt a cold, gnawing sensation in hisheart. He wondered whether he had been destined to be alone with her like this so h is dreams could be demolished in one blow.
She r oticed his anxiety and laughed carelessly. Pointing to hishead, she teased him: “You don't seem to have started to let your hair grow out.”
He said tersely, “No.”
“That doesn't appeal to you?”
Grimacing scornfully, he answered, “No.”
“We told you it would look better.”
“Does a man have to look handsome?”
Astonished, she replied, “Everyone likes people to look nice, whether they're men or women.”
He felt tempted to repeat one of the phraseshe had memorized, like: “The beauty of men is in their deeds,” but realized that a statement of this kind coming from a person resembling him would only meet with sarcastic mockery from his beloved. He attempted to conceal hisheart's pain with a forced laugh and said, “I don't agree with you.”
“Or perhaps you flee from beauty the way you flee from beer and ham.”
He laughed to relieve his despair and grief Then she continued: “Hair is a natural covering. I believe your head needs it. Don't you realize that your head is very large?”
“The two-headed boy!' Have you forgotten that old taunt?” he asked himself. “What misery!”
“Yes, it is.”
“Why?”
Shaking hishead disapprovingly, he answered, “Ask it yourself. [don't know.”
She laughed faintly, and they were silent.
“Your beloved is beautiful, fascinating, and captivating but as is appropriate also all-powerful. Taste her power and discover the different varieties of pain.”
She gave no sign of having mercy on him. Her beautiful eyes kept climbing up his face steadily until they fixed on… yes, his nose. Deep inside he felt a convulsion that caused his hair to stand on end and his eyes to look down. He waited fearfully. He heard her laugh and looked up to ask, “What's so funny?”
“I remembered some hilarious things I came across in a famous French slay. Haven't you read Cyrano de Bergerac?”
“The best time to scorn pain is when it's boundless,” he advised himself
Calmly and disdainfully he said, “There's no need to be polite. I know my nose is bigger than my head. But I beg you not to ask me why again. Ask it yourself, if you want.”
Then Budur suddenly stretched out her hand and grabbed his nose. Aida burst into laughter. She leaned her head back. He too could not help but laugh. To hide his confusion he asked the little girl, “And you, Budur does my nose terrify you?”
They heard Husayn's voice as he came down the steps from the porch. Aida suddenly changed her tone. She warned him entreatingly, “Don't be angry at my little joke.”
Husayn returned to the gazebo and sat down again in his chair, inviting Kamal to be seated. After some hesitation Kamal, placing Budur on his lap, followed his friend's example. But Aida did not stay long. She took Budur and bade them farewell. As she departed she gave Kamal a significant look, as though to stress her warning not to get angry. Kamal felt little appetite for resuming his conversation with Husayn and confined himself to listening or pretending to listen. From time to time he volunteered a question or an exclamation of surprise, ap
preciation, or disparagement, simply to show that he was present. Luckily for Kamal, Husayn harked back to a familiar topic requiring little concentration: his desire to go to France and his father's opposition, which he hoped to overcome shortly.
Kamal'sheart and mind were preoccupied with the new look Aida had displayed in the minutes they were alone or almost alone together. Her visage had been disdainful, sarcastic, and harsh. How cruel she had seemed! She had toyed with him mercilessly. Like a cartoonist confronting the human form with his brush, she had focused her jests on him to produce a caricature extraordinary for both its ugliness and its accuracy. In a daze, he recalled her appearance. Although pain flowed like poison through his spirit, spreading a dark stain of dejection and despair, he felt no resentment, anger, or contempt. Was this not a new attribute of hers? Certainly! Like her infatuation with French or her taste for beer and ham, it was one of her essential characteristics, no matter how strange, and therefore worthy of her, although in someone else it would be considered a flaw, an indulgence, or a sin. It was no fault of hers if one of her attributes produced pain in hisheart or despair in his soul. The guilt was his, not hers. Was she responsible for giving him an enormoushead or a huge nose? In her jests had she deviated from the truth and the reality? She had not and therefore was blameless. He deserved to suffer. It was his duty to accept this with ascetic resignation, like a devotee who believes implicitly in the fairness of a divine decree, no matter how harsh it appears, because the decree has been issued by the perfect beloved whose attributes and acts are beyond suspicion.
In this fashion Kamal fought his way out of the brief but violent ordeal that moments before had overwhelmed him. He felt hurt and tortured, but the strength of his fond fascination with the beloved was in no way affected. He had just experienced a new kind of pain, that of bowing to the harsh verdict passed against him. Previously he had learned, also from love, the different pains associated with separation, forbearance, leave-taking, doubt, and despair. He had learned as well that some pains are bearable, some enjoyable, and others constant, no matter how many sighs and tears are sacrificed to them. It seemed that he had fallen in love in order to master the dictionary of pain. By the glow of the sparks Hying from his colliding painshe could see himself and make fresh discoveries.
“It's not merely God, the spirit, and matter you need to learn about. What is love? What are hatred, beauty, ugliness, woman, and man? You must learn about all of these too. The ultimate stage of damnation reaches up to the first level of salvation. Laugh as you remember or remember as you laugh that you were about to reveal your secret to her. Recall, as you weep, that the hunchback of Notre Dame terrified his beloved when he leaned over to comfort her. He, the hunchback, never elicited her sincere affection until he was breathing his last. ‘Don't be angry at my little joke.’ She even begrudges you the consolation of hopelessness. If the beloved would only speak openly, then we might leave the inferno of uncertainty and content ourselves with the tomb of despair. It's out of the question for despair to eradicate love from my heart, but it could save me from lying dreams.”
Husayn turned to ask why he was so quiet but noticed someone approaching. Looking back, he exclaimed, “Here's Hasan Salim. What time is it now?”
Kamal twisted around and saw Hasan approaching the gazebo.
90
HASAN AND kamal left the mansion of the Shaddad family around ipm. Kamal was going to say goodbye to his friend in front of the gate, but Hasan asked, “Won't you walk a little with me?”
His invitation willingly accepted, Hasan, whose head barely reached his friend's shoulder, set off along Palaces Street with the lanky Kamal, who wondered what the purpose was, especially since the hour was more suitable for dining and resting than a stroll. Before he knew what was happening, Hasan had turned to ask him, “What were you talking about?”
Although the question only increased his curiosity, he answered, “Different subjects as usual… politics, culture, and so on.”
It was a genuine surprise when Hasan said in his calm, level voice, “I mean you and A'ida.”
Kamal was astonished. Seconds passed without his attempting to reply. Then gaining control of himself he asked, “How did you know? You weren't there?”
Without any change of expression, Hasan Salim said, “I arrived while you were talking. It seemed best to leave so I wouldn't interrupt your conversation.”
Kamal wondered whether he would have done the same thing if he had found himself in Hasan's position. He felt even more perplexed, sensing that he was on the verge of an animated conversation with many ramifications. “I don't know why you felt you should go off,” he said. “If I had noticed, I wouldn't have let you.”
“There are standards of polite behavior. I admit I'm very sensitive in this regard.”
“Aristocratic etiquette!” Kamal told himself. “How alien it seems!”
“Excuse me,” Kamal said, “if I tell you frankly that you're being overly meticulous.”
Hasan's delicate smile tarried on his lips for only a second. He seemed to be waiting for something. When the wait became too long he asked, “Yes? What were you talking about?”
How could refined manners sanction such an interrogation? Kamal briefly considered asking Hasan this but elected to use an approach more compatible with his respect for the young man. This respect was based more on Hasan's personality than on their difference in age. Thushe continued: “The matter's too simple to warrant all this, but I wonder how much I'm obliged to say.”
Hasan was quick to respond apologetically, “I hope you won't think I'm intruding or poking my nose into your personal affairs. I have reasons that justify my asking this question. I'll tell you things I haven't had occasion to mention before. All the same, counting on our friendship, I believed you wouldn't be offended by my question. I hope you won't misinterpret it.”
The t ension was eased. Kamal was pleased to hear tender words of this kind from Hasan Salim, the person he had long considered a shining example of aristocracy, nobility, and grandeur. In addition, he was even more eager than Hasan to enjoy an elevated conversation about anything related to his beloved. If it had been Isma'il Latif asking the question, the issue would not have required so much hemming and hawing over what was or was not necessary and was or was not proper. Kamal would have told him everything, a:; they laughed. But Hasan Salim never dropped his reserve and did not confuse friendship with intimacy. So there was nothing wrong in letting him pay the price for his reserve.
“Thanks for your good opinion of me,” Kamal replied. “You can be sure that if there were anything worth telling I would not keep it from you. We just talked for a short time about some ordinary matters. That's all there was to it. But you've aroused my curiosity. May I ask you, if only to expand my horizons, what reasons justify your inquiry? I won't insist, naturally. In fact, I'm prepared to withdraw my question if it's inappropriate.”
With customary calm and moderation, Hasan Salim said, “I'll answer your question but ask you to wait a little. It seems you don't care to brief me on your talk with her. And this is no doubt your right. I don't consider it an offense against the duties of friendship. But I would like to direct your attention to the fact that many are misled by Aida's words and interpret them in a manner bearing no relationship to reality. For this reason, they cause themselves unnecessary problems.”
“Go ahead and spit it out, Hasan,” Kamal wished. “There are portents of foul weather in the air. A whirlwind's going to carry off the remnants of your stricken heart. You're the one who's been deceived, my friend. Don't you know that nothing but modesty keeps me from telling you everything? If it makes you feel any better, go ahead and strike me with your thunderbolts.”
“I haven't understood a single thing you've said,” Kamal protested.
Hasan raised his voice a little to explain: “The most gracious expressions flow easily and freely from her. A young man listening to her words assumes that she attaches some special sign
ificance to them or that they are prompted by some measure of affection. But they're nothing but pretty phrases she addresses to anyone she's conversing with, privately or in public. Thus many people have been duped….”
“The cat's out of the bag,” Kamal reflected. “Your friend's been afflicted by the same malady that has broken you. But who ishe to claim he knows the most secret mysteries? He really makes me mad!”
Smiling and pretending to be unperturbed, Kamal said, “You seem very confident of what you're saying.”
“I know A'ida extremely well. We've been neighbors for a long time.”
The name he was too awestruck to use in secret, let alone to mention to others, had been pronounced carelessly by this infatuated young man, as though it belonged to some member of the swarming masses. This daring of Hasan's lowered him several notches in Kamal'sheart while raising the young man by as many in his imagination. The sentence “We've been neighbors for a long time” plunged into Kamal'sheart like a dagger, for it excluded him from serious consideration as effectively as distance does a traveler.
The Cairo Trilogy Page 87
