Yasin learned of the incident the day after it occurred and came to the house for the first time since he had left to marry Maryam. He went directly to his father's room and silently looked at al-Sayyid Ahmad for a long time. Then he retreated to the sitting room in a state of shock. He found Amina there, and they shook hands after their long separation. He was deeply touched, and his eyes filled with tears as he held her hand.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad remained in bed. At first he could not speak or move. The cupping put some life into him, and he was then able to get out a word or a brief phrase to make his wishes known. But at that time, he became conscious of his pain, which he expressed in assorted moans and groans. Once the intensity of his physical pain diminished, he became restless with this compulsory bed rest, which deprived him of the blessings of motion and cleanliness. He was obliged to eat, drink, and do things that disgusted him all in one place - his bed. His sleep was interrupted, but his annoyance was continual. The first thing he wanted to know was how he had been conveyed to the house when unconscious.
Amina replied that his friends Muhammad Iffat, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Ibrahim al-Far - had brought him home in a carriage and had gently taken him up to bed. Then they had found a doctor for him., even though it was very late.
After that, he asked if he had had visitors, and the woman told him they had come regularly, although the physician had forbidden them to see him for the time being.
[n a weak voice he repeated, “The matter's in God's hands, both first and last,” and “We ask God for a good outcome”. But the truth was that he did not despair and did not feel his end was near. His confidence in the life he loved was no weaker, despite his pains and fears. Hope came back with the return of consciousness. He favored no one with last words of advice, made no disposition of his effects, said farewell to no one, and did not reveal any secrets of his busiuess or fortune to those involved. To the contrary, he summoned Jamil al-Hamzawi and asked him to arrange some commercial transactionshe himself would not have known how to conduct. He sent Kamal to the tailor to collect and pay for some new clo theshe had ordered. His only mention of death was in these phraseshe repeated as if to mask fate's cruelty.
At the end of the first week the doctor explained that the invalid had successfully survived the critical stage and would regain hishealth completely and feel as energetic as ever, with a little patience. The physician repeated the previous warning about high blood pressure, and al-Sayyid Ahmad promised to obey. He also vowed secretly to abstain from licentious behavior, for its disastrous consequences were now clear to him and had convinced him that, hishealth was not a joking matter anymore. He consoled himself by saying, “A healthy life with a little self-denial's better at any rate than being sick”. Thus the crisis was successfully overcome. The family members caught their breath, their hearts full of gratitude.
By the end of the second week, al-Sayyid Ahmad was permitted to receive visitors. That was a happy day, and his family were the first to celebrate it. His children with their spouses called on him and conversed with him for the first time since he had been confined to bed. The man looked from face to face, from Yasin to Khadija, Aisha, Ibrahim Shawkat, and Khalil Shawkat. With his customary charm, which did not desert him even in such circumstances, he asked about their children: Ridwan, Abd al-Muni'm, Ahmad, Na'ima, Uthman, and Muhammad. They said they had not brought the children for fear of disturbing him and prayed he would have a long life and be totally restored to good health. They told him of their sorrow over his suffering and their delight at his recovery. Khadija's voice trembled when she spoke, and the tear Aisha left on his hand when she kissed it required no explanation. Yasin suavely said that he had felt ill when his father did and had recovered with him when God had granted a cure. The father's pale face was radiant with joy, and he spoke to them at length about God's decrees, mercy, and grace, explaining that it was the Believer's duty to meet his fate with patience and confidence and to trust only in God.
On leaving his bedroom, they went to Kamal's room so the sitting room would be free to serve as a corridor for the anticipated throngs of visitors.
Yasin approached Amina then and clasped her hand in his as he said, “I haven't spoken to you of my feelings during the last two weeks because Papa's illness left me no mind with which to think. Now that God has restored him to health, I want to apologize for returning to this house without first asking your permission. The truth is that you received me with the same affection as in the happy bygone days, but now it's my duty to present my formal apology to you.”
Amina blushed as she replied emotionally, “What's done is done, Yasin! This is your home. You're most welcome to stay here whenever you want.”
Yasin said firmly, “I don't like to rake up the past, but I swear by my father'shead and the life of my son Ridwan that my heart never harbored any grudge against the members of this family. I love you all as much as I do myself. Perhaps Satan prompted me to err. That could happen to anyone. But my heart was never corrupted.”
Amina placed her hand on his broad shoulder and said sincerely, “You've always been one of my children. I don't deny I got angry once, bat the anger's gone, praise God. All that's left is the previous love. This is your home, Yasin. Welcome home!”
Yasin sat down forcefully. When Amina left the room, he proclaimed to the others, “What a fine woman! May God never forgive a person who wrongsher. God's curse on Satan, who once tempted me into something that hurt her feelings.”
Casting him an eloquent look, Khadija remarked, “Scarcely a year goes by without Satan tempting you into a new disaster. You're just a toy in his hands.”
The glance he directed at her seemed to plead for mercy from her tongue. Then Aisha said in his defense, “That's all ancient history.”
Khadija asked sarcastically, “Why didn't you bring madame your wife to ‘entertain’ us on this blessed occasion?”
Attempting to sound proud, Yasin answered, “My wife no longer entertains at parties. Today she's a lady in every sense of the word.”
In an earnest voice without a trace of sarcasm, Khadija asked, “How can you do such things, Yasin? May our Lord grant you repentance and guide you.”
As though to apologize for his wife's bluntness, Ibrahim Shaw-kat said, “Don't be offended, Mr. Yasin… but what am I to do? She's your sister.”
Smiling, Yasin replied, “May God assist you, Mr. Ibrahim.”
Aisha sighed and said, “Now that God has come to Papa's aid, ['11 tell you frankly that I'll never forget, as long as I live, the way he looked m bed the first time I saw him there. May our Lord not condemn anyone to ill health.”
Khadija commented sincerely and ardently, “This life wouldn't be worth a fingernail clipping without him.”
Yasin responded passionately, “He's our shelter in every adversity, a man like no other
“And what about me?” Kamal asked himself. “Do you remember how you stood in the corner of the room overwhelmed by despair? My heart was shattered by the sight of my mother beside herself with grief. We're familiar with the concept of death, but when its shadow looms on the horizon, the earth spins under us. There will be new attacks of pain each time, no matter how many loved ones you lose. You'll die too, leaving your hopes behind you. But life's desirable, even if you suffer from love.”
The ringing of a carriage bell could be heard from the street. Aisha ran to the window to look out the peephole. She turned back to say proudly, “Important visitors!”
There was a steady stream of visitors representing the many friends with whom the father's life was filled civil servants, attorneys, dignitaries, and merchants. All but a few had been to the house before, although some had come only as guests at the banquets al-Sayyid Ahmad hosted on special occasions. There were also some faces frequently seen in the Goldsmiths Bazaar and on New Street. These men were his friends too, but not in the same class as Muhammad Iffat and his cronies.
The visitors did not stay long, as was appropriate for a
sick call, but al-Sayyid Ahmad's children found plenty to satisfy their vanity and pride in the distinguished appearance of these guests and in all the carriages with their beautiful horses.
Aisha, who was still watching the street, said, “Here are his pals.”
They could hear the voices of Muhammad Iffat, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Ibrahim al-Far as the men laughed and raised their voices with thanks and praise for God. Yasin said, “There are no other friends left in the world like these.”
Ibrahim and Khalil Shawkat agreed with him. Then Kamal observed with a sorrow that passed unnoticed, “It's rare for life to allow friends to stay together for as long as these men.”
Yasin marveled, “A day hasn't gone by without their visiting the house. During his crisis, there were tears in their eyes whenever they left.”
Ibrahim Shawkat said, “Don't be amazed by that, for they've spent more time with him than you have.”
At this point Khadija went to the kitchen to offer her assistance, since the flow of visitors was continuing unabated. Jamil al-Ham-zawi came after closing the store. He was followed by Ghunaym Hamidu, who owned an oil press in al-Gamaliya, and Muhammad Ajami, who sold couscous in al-Salihiya. Then, pointing to the street from the window, Aisha cried out, “Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad! I wonder if he'll be able to climb to the top floor.”
Leaning on his stick, the shaykh began to cross the courtyard, clearing, his throat from time to time to warn anyone in his way that he was corning. Yasin responded, “He can climb to the top of a minaret”. Then, seeing Khalil Shawkat try to figure up the shaykh'5 age with his fingers, Yasin continued: “Between eighty and ninety! But don't inquire about hishealth.”
Kamal asked, “Did he never marry during this long life?”
Yasirj answered, “It's said that he was a husband and a father but that his wife and children passed on to the mercy of God.”
Aisha cried out again, not having budged from her post at the window, “Look! This foreigner! I wonder who he could be.”
The man crossed the courtyard, casting a cautious, inquisitive glance around. He wore a round straw hat, and visible beneath the rim was a pockmarked, curved nose and a bushy mustache. Ibrahim said, “Perhapshe's a goldsmith from the Goldsmiths Bazaar.”
Yasir muttered anxiously, “But he looks Greek. Where do you suppose I've seen that face before?”
A blind youth arrived wearing dark glasses. He was being dragged along by a man in traditional attire with a shawl wrapped around hishead, sporting a long black overcoat beneath which could be seen the tail of a striped gown. Yasin recognized them immediately and was utterly astonished. The blind youth was Abduh, who played the zitherlike qanun in Zubayda's troupe. The ottier man, called al-Humayuni, was the proprietor of a famous coffeehouse in Wajh al-Birka and a gangster, ruffian, pimp, and so on.
KhaLl washeard to say, “The blind man's a qanun player for the vocalist Zubayda.”
With feigned astonishment Yasin asked, “How doeshe know Papa?”
Ibrahim Shawkat smiled as he replied, “Your father's a music lover from way back. It's hardly strange that all the musicians know him.”
Aisha kept her head turned toward the street to hide her smile. Yasin and Kamal observed Ibrahim's smile and understood what it implied. Finally Suwaydan, the Shawkat family's ancient maid, tottered into view. Pointing to her, Khalil murmured, “Our mother's emissary has come to ask after al-Sayyid Ahmad'shealth.”
The widow of the late Mr. Shawkat had visited al-Sayyid Ahmad once but was unable to repeat that effort because of the pains of rheumatism that had recently been conspiring with old age to cripple her.
Khadija soon returned from the kitchen with a complaint that was actually a boast: “We need a man from the coffeehouse just to serve all the coffee.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad was sitting up in bed, leaning against a pillow that had been folded back, with the covers drawn up to his neck. His visitors sat on the sofa or the chairs arranged in a circle around the bed. He seemed cheerful, in spite of his weakness, for nothing could make him as happy as having his friends gather around him and compete in flattering him and assuring him of their affection. Although the ailment had harmed him, he could not deny the favor it had done him by allowing him to see his brothers' alarm at his suffering and their grief at his absence from their parties, which had seemed desolate during his seclusion. He appeared to want to elicit all the affection he could from them, for he began to recount the painshe had endured as well as the tedium. He allowed himself considerable license to exaggerate and embellish.
Sighing, he said, “During the first days of my illness I was convinced that I was finished. I started reciting our Muslim credo and the Qur'an sura about God's absoluteness [Sura 112], but when I wasn't occupied with those I thought of you a lot, and the idea of leaving you troubled me greatly.”
More than one voice was raised to say, “The world wouldn't be the same without you, al-Sayyid Ahmad.”
Ali Abd al-Rahim said emotionally, “This illness of yours has made an impression on me that will never be erased.”
Muhammad Iffat ventured in a faint voice, “Do you remember that night? My Lord, our hair turned white then.”
Ghunaym Hamidu leaned toward the bed a little to say, “You've been saved by the One who rescued us that night the English made us fill in the trench under the city gate at Bab al-Futuh.”
“Those happy days…” al-Sayyid Ahmad reflected. “Days of health and romance, when Fahmy was so outstanding and showed such promise
“Praise to God, Mr. Hamidu,” he replied.
Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad said, “I want to know how much you paid the doctor, who wasn't entitled to anything. You don't need to reply, but I implore you to feed the friends of God who live near the mosque of al-Husayn.”
Muhammad Iffat interrupted him to inquire, “What about you, Shaykh Mutawalli? Aren't you one of them? Explain this to me.”
Terminating each phrase by a blow to the floor with his stick, the shaykh continued: “Feed the saints of al-Husayn with me at the head of them, whether or not Muhammad Iffat approves. He ought to feed them too in your honor, starting with me. And you ought to perform the pilgrimage to Mecca this year, since it is your religious duty. How grand it would be if you took me with you, so that God would multiply your reward….”
“What a fine man you are, Shaykh Mutawalli, and how dear to me,” al-Sayyid Ahmad thought. “You're one of the landmarks of the age.”
“Shaykh Mutawalli, I promise to take you with me to the Hijaz and Mecca, if the Compassionate God permits.”
At that point, the foreigner, whose fine white hair was visible since he had removed his hat, said, “A little too much agitation…. Agitation's the cause of everything. Give it up and you'll be strong as a bomb.”
“Manuli's sold you alcohol for thirty-five years - a purveyor of happiness and an agent for the cemetery,” al-Sayyid Ahmad mused privately.
“It's the fault of your goods, Manuli.”
The foreigner looked at the faces of his other customers and said, “No one's ever said that alcohol's bad for your health. That's nonsense. Is sickness caused by gaiety, laughter, and comfort?”
Training a nearly sightless eye on the foreigner, Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad cried out, “Now I've recognized you, source of calamities! When I heard your voice the first time I wondered where I'd heard this devil before.”
The couscous vendor, Muhammad Ajami, asked Mr. Manuli with a wink in the direction of Shaykh Mutawalli, “Wasn't Shaykh Mutawalli one of your customers once, Manuli?”
The smiling foreigner replied, “His mouth's so full of food, where would he find room for wine, dear friend?”
Gripping the handle of his stick, Abd al-Samad shouted, “Manners, Manuli!”
Then Ajami shouted at him, “Do you deny, Shaykh Mutawalli, you were a big consumer of hashish before age made it hard for you to breathe?”
The shaykh waved his hand in protest, saying, “Hashish is
not forbidden by Islam. Have you ever tried performing the dawn prayer under the influence? … God is most great…. Allahu Akbarr
Noticing that al-Humayuni was silent, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad turned to him with a smile and to be polite said, “How are you, sir? By God, it's been a long time!”
In a voice like an ox's, al-Humayuni responded, “By God, a long time. Ages, by God. It's your fault, al-Sayyid Ahmad. You're the one who left us, but when Mr. Ali Abd al-Rahim told me, ‘Your adversary's confined to bed,’ I remembered the days of our youthful passions as though they had never ceased. I told myself, ‘It would be disloyal not to visit the dear man myself- such a virile, sociable, jolly man.’ If it were not for fear of creating problems for you, I would have brought Fatuma, Tamalli, Dawlat, and Naha-wand. The girls are all eager to see you. My goodness, Mr. Ahmad. You're dear to us whether you honor us with a visit every evening or avoid us for years”. Looking at the others with his sharp eyes, he continued: “You've all forsaken us. Blessings on Mr. Ali. May our Lord protect Saniya al-Qulali, who keeps him coming to us. Anyone who loses track of his past goes astray. We provide the sincerest form of fellowship. What's drawn you away from us? If it were repentance, we'd forgive you. But it's not time for repentance yet. May God keep that far in the future by granting you a long life and many happy times.”
Pointing to himself, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad remarked, “If you look at me, you can see I'm finished with all that.”
The pimp replied enthusiastically, “Don't say that, master of men. A temporary indisposition that will depart, never to return…. I won't leave till you announce you'll return to Wajh al-Birka, even if only once, when God restores you to health.”
Muhammad Iffat said, “Times have changed, Master Humayuni. Where's the Wajh al-Birka that we used to know? Look for it in history books. What remains is a playground for today's youngsters. How can we walk among them when our sons are there?”
Ibrahim al-Far said, “Don't forget that we can't trick our Lord when it comes to age or health. As Mr. Ahmad said, we're finished. We're all forced to visit a doctor, who says, ‘You have this. You have that. Don't drink. Don't eat. Don't breathe.’ And he has many other disgusting prescriptions for us. Haven't you heard of the pressure disease, Master Humayuni?”
The Cairo Trilogy Page 111
