Glancing at him, the pimp replied, “Treat a disease with drunkenness, laughter, and sport. If you find any trace of it after that, give it to me.”
Manuli shouted, “By your life, that's what I told him.”
Muhammad Ajami, as though completing his companion's thought, said, “And don't forget drugs, sir.”
Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad shook hishead in astonishment. He asked anxiously, “Tell me where I am, good people: in the home of Abd al-Jawad's son or in an opium den or a tavern? Listen and advise me.”
Giving Shaykh Mutawalli a suspicious look, al-Humayuni asked, “Who's your friend?”
“A blessed saint.”
The pimp said sarcastically, “If you're a saint, tell my fortune.”
Mutawalli Abd al-Samad exclaimed, “Prison or the gallows!”
Al-Humayuni could not keep from laughing out loud. Then he remarked, “He truly is a saint, for this is the end I expect”. Then he told the shaykh, “But watch your tongue, or your prophecy may fall upon you.”
Brining hishead close to al-Sayyid Ahmad's face, Ali Abd al-Rahim said, “Rise, my dear. The world's not worth the skin of an onion without you. What's happened to us, Ahmad? Don't you think we'll have to take ill health more seriously after this? Our fathers married new wives when they were over seventy. What's changed?”
With enough force that a drizzle of saliva flew from his mouth, Mutawalli Abd al-Samad exclaimed, “Your fathers were Believers. They were pure. They did not get drunk and fornicate. There's the answer for you.”
Ahmad Abd al-Jawad told his friend, “The doctor told me that if I ignore my pressure, the result will be paralysis, and then only God can help me. That's what happened to our friend al-Wadini, may God honor him with a suitable end. I ask God, if it's my time, to grant me death. Confinement to bed for years without being able to move…. O God, have mercy on us.”
At this point Ajami, Hamidu, and Manuli excused themselves and left, praying that al-Sayyid Ahmad would have a long and healthy life. Muhammad Iffat leaned over al-Sayyid Ahmad and whispered to him, “Jalila sends you her greetings. She would have liked to see you for herself.”
The ears of Abduh, the qanun player, overheard that. He snapped his fingers and said, “And I'm the sultana's representative to you. She was ready to dress up in men's clothes to come visit you herself but felt apprehensive about the unforeseen consequences that might have. She sent me to tell you…”. After clearing his throat a couple of timeshe sang in a low voice:
“Godspeed, my messenger to him. Kiss the sweet fellow on his lips And tell him, 'Your infatuated slave's At your service.”
Al-Humayuni smiled and revealed his gold dentures. He commented, “An excellent remedy. Try this and pay no attention to the friend of God who predicts the gallows.”
“Zubayda?” al-Sayyid Ahmad asked himself. “I don't desire anything. The world of illness is a despicable one. If the worst had happened, I would have died drunk. Doesn't this mean I've got to turn over a new leaf?”
Ibrahim al-Far told him in a low voice, “We all vowed we wouldn't taste alcohol while you're stuck in bed.”
“I free you from that oath, and ask forgiveness for what you've already missed.”
Smiling, Ali Abd al-Rahim said enticingly, “If only it were possible to celebrate your recovery here this evening.”
Addressing his appeal to all the men present, Mutawalli Abd al-Samad said, “I call you to repentance and pilgrimage.”
Al-Humayuni retorted angrily, “You're acting like a soldier in an opium den.”
At a prearranged signal from al-Far, the heads of Muhammad Iffat, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Ibrahim al-Far drew close to that of al-Sayyid Ahmad, and the three began to sing softly:
“Since you 're not man enough for wine Why do you get drunk?”
For this, they appropriated the tune of
Since you're not man enough for passion Why do you fall in love?
Then Shaykh Abd al-Samad started reciting verses from the Qur'an sura called “Repentance” (Sura 9). Ahmad Abd al-Jawad laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes.
Time passed without anyone noticing, until Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad began to look alarmed. He said, “I want you to understand that I'm going to be the last to leave. I wish to speak privately with Abd al-Jawad's son.”
114
AHMAD ABD AL-JAWAD was able to leave the house after two more weeks. The first thing he did was to take Yasin and Kamal on a visit to the tomb and mosque of al-Husayn to perform their prayers and give thanks to God.
At the time, news of the death of the politician Ali Fahmy Kamil was in the papers. After pondering this event at length, on the way out of the house al-Sayyid Ahmad told his sons, “He dropped dead after addressing a great gathering. I'm walking on my own two legs after a stay in bed when I almost saw death face to face. Who can know the mysteries the future holds? Truly our lives are in God's hands.”
He had to wait patiently for days and even weeks to regain his lost weight, but despite that fact, his dignified appearance and good looks seemed not to have been affected. He walked ahead, followed by Yasin and Kamal. This weekly parade had been abandoned after Fahmy's death. On the way from Palace Walk to the mosque, the two young men observed the prestige their father enjoyed throughout the district. Every merchant with a shop on the street greeted him with open arms and shook hands while applauding his recovery.
Yasin and Kamal responded to these warm demonstrations of mutual affection with joyful pride and smiles that lasted the whole way. All the same, Yasin asked himself innocently why he did not enjoy the same standing as his father, since they were equal both in their dignified and handsome exterior and in their shortcomings. Kamal, although momentarily touched, reexamined his perceptions of his father's remarkable prestige in a new light. In the past, to his small eyes his father's status had seemed the epitome of distinction and greatness. Now he saw it as nothing special, at least not in comparison with his own high ideals. It was merely the prestige enjoyed by a good-hearted, affable, and chivalrous man. True greatness was something totally unlike that, for its thunder shook sluggish hearts and drove sleep from dozing eyes. It was capable of arousing hatred not love, anger rather than satisfaction, and enmity instead of affection. Before it rebuilt, it forced disclosure and destruction. But was it not happiness for a man to be blessed with such love and respect? Yes… and the proof was that at times the greatness of important figures was measured by the amount of love and tranquillity they sacrificed for lofty goals. In any case, his father was a happy man who was to be congratulated on that.
“See how handsome he is,” Kamal told himself. “And how charming Yasin is too! What a strange sight I make between the two of them like a distorted, trick photograph at a carnival. Claim to your heart's content that good looks are the domain of women not men, but that will never erase from your memory that alarming scene at the gazebo. My father's recovered from his high blood pressure. When will I recover from love? Love's an illness, even though it resembles cancer in having kept its secrets from medical science. In his last letter Husayn Shaddad says, ‘Paris is the capital of beauty and love.’ Is it also the capital of suffering? My dear friend is growing as stingy with his letters as if they were drops of his precious blood. I want a world where hearts are not deceived and do not deceive others.”
At the corner of Khan Ja'far, they could see the great mosque. He heard his father say, “O Husayn!” in a heartfelt way, which combined the charm of a greeting with the fervor of a plea for help. Then al-Sayyid Ahmad quickened his steps. Looking into the mosque with an enigmatic smile, Kamal trailed after him and Yasin. Did he suspect for a moment that Kamal was only accompanying, him on this blessed visit to please him or that his son no longer shared any of his religious beliefs? To Kamal, this mosque was now nothing more than one of the many symbols of the disappointment hisheart had suffered. In the old days when he had stood beneath its minaret, hisheart had pounded, tears had come to his eyes,
and his breast had throbbed with ardor, belief, and hope. As He approached it today, all he saw was a vast collection of stone, steel, wood, and paint covering a great tract of land for no clear reason.
“Although forced by obedience to my father's authority, respect for the other people present, and fear of what they might do,” Katnal reflected, “to play the role of a Believer until the visit to the shrine's concluded, I find my hypocritical conduct an affront to honor and truth. I want a world where men live free from fear and coercion.”
They removed their shoes and entered one after the other. The father headed for the prayer niche and invited his sons to perform a prayer in front of it as a way of saluting the mosque. He raised his hands to hishead to begin the prayer ritual, and they followed his example. As usual, the father lost himself in his prayers, and his eyelids drooped as he yielded his will to God's. Yasin too forgot everything except that he was in the presence of God the Merciful and Forgiving. Kamal began to move his lips without reciting anything. He bowed, straightened up, knelt, and prostrated himself as if performing insipid athletic exercises.
He told himself, “The most ancient remaining human structures, on the face of the earth or carved inside it, are temples. Even today, no area is free of them. When will man grow up and depend on himself? That loud voice coming from the far corner of the mosque reminds people of the end. When has there ever been an end to time? How beautiful it would be to see man wrestle with his illusions and vanquish them. But when will the struggle cease and the fighter announce that he's happy and that the world looks so different that it might have been created the day before? These two men are my father and brother. Why shouldn't all men be my fathers and brothers? How could thisheart I carry within me let itself torment me in so many different ways? How frequently throughout the day I'm confronted by people I don't like…. Why should the friend I love have departed to the ends of the earth?”
When they finished praying, the father said, “Let's rest here a little before circling the tomb.”
They sat there silently, their legs folded beneath them, until the father said gently, “We haven't been here together since that day.”
Yasin replied emotionally, “Let's recite the ‘Fatiha’ for Fahmy's spirit.”
They recited the opening prayer of the Qur'an, and then the father asked Yasin somewhat suspiciously, “I wonder whether worldly affairs have not kept you from visiting al-Husayn.”
Yasin, who had not set foot in the mosque all those years except a handful of times, answered, “I don't let a week go by without visiting my master al-Husayn.”
The father turned toward Kamal and cast him a glance as if to ask, “And you?”
Feeling embarrassed, Kamal replied, “Me too!”
The father said humbly, “He's our loved one and our intercessor with his grandfather Muhammad on a day when no mother or father can be of any assistance.”
He had recovered from his illness this time, but only after it had taught him a lesson he would not forget. He had found its violence convincing and feared a recurrence. His intention to repent was sincere. He had always believed he would repent, no matter how long he waited. He was now certain that postponing it after this sickness would be stupidity and a blasphemous rejection of God's blessings. Whenever he happened to think of forbidden amusements, tie consoled himself with the innocent pleasures awaiting him in life, like friendship, music, and jests. Therefore he entreated God to preserve him from the whispered temptations of Satan and to strengthen his resolve to repent. He proceeded to recite some of the Qur'an's simpler, shorter suras that he knew by heart.
When he rose, his sons did too. Then they went to the sepul-cher, where they were greeted by the sweet fragrance pervading the place and a murmur of whispered recitations. They walked around the tomb with the throngs of visitors. Kamal's eyes looked up at the great green turban and then rested for a time on the wooden door, which he had kissed so often. He compared the present with the past and his former state of mind with his current one. He remembered how revelation of this tomb's secret had been the first tragedy in his life and then how the succession of tragedies following it had carried off love, belief, and friendship. Despite all that, he was still standing on his own two feet as he gazed worshipfully at truth, so heedless of the jabs of pain that even his bitterness caused him to smile. He had no regrets over his rejection of the blind happiness illuminating the faces of the men circumatubulating the tomb. How could he buy happiness at the price of light when he had vowed to live with his eyes open? He preferred to be anxious and alive rather than comfortable and sleepy. He chose wakeful insomnia over restful sleep.
When they had finished walking around the sepulcher, the father invited them to rest for a while in the shelter of the shrine. They went to a corner and sat down next to each other. Some acquaintances noticed al-Sayyid Ahmad and approached to shake hands and congratulate him on his recovery. Some stayed to sit with them. Most of them knew Yasin either from his father's store or from al-Nahhasin School, but hardly anyone knew Kamal. Some of them noticed how thin the boy was and one jokingly asked al-Sayyid Ahmad, “What's wrong with this son of yours? He's skinny as a ramrod.”
As if returning the man's compliment with an even nicer one, al-Sayyid Ahmad shot back, “No, you're the ram!”
Yasin smiled. Kamal did too, for this was the first chance he had had to observe his father's secret personality of which he had heard so much. His father was obviously a man who would not miss a chance for a little joke even when he was beside the tomb of al-Husayn in a sacred place devoted to praise of God and repentance. Yasin was inspired to reflect on his father's future, wondering whether al-Sayyid Ahmad would return to his previous joys even after this serious illness.
Yasin told himself, “Knowing this is extremely important to me.”
115
UMM IIANAFI was sitting cross-legged on a mat in the sitting room while Aisha's daughter Na'ima and Khadija's sons Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad sat on the sofa opposite her. The two windows overlooking the courtyard of the house were open because of the hot, humid August weather, but scarcely a breeze stirred and the large lamp suspended from the ceiling cast a steady light throughout the room. The bedrooms opening off the sitting room seemed dark and silent. Umm Hanafi'shead was bowed, and her arms were folded across her chest. She would look up at the children on the sofa for a moment and then lower her eyes again. She said nothing but her lips never stopped moving.
Abd al-Muni'm asked, “How long will Uncle Kamal stay on the roof?”
Umm Hanafi muttered, “It's hot down here. Why didn't you stay up there with him?”
“It's dark, and Na'ima's afraid of bugs.”
Ahmad asked angrily, “How long are we going to remain here? This is the second week. I'm counting every day. I want to go back to Papa and Mama.”
Umm Hanafi said hopefully, “God willing, you'll all return and be in the best possible shape. Pray to God, for He answers the requests of pure young children.”
Abd al-Muni'm said, “We pray before we go to sleep and when we wake up, just the way you instructed us.”
The woman said, “Pray to God all the time. Pray to Him now. He's the only one who can remove our distress.”
Abd al-Muni'm spread out his hands in prayer and looked at Ahmad to invite him to join in. The vexed look still on his face, Ahmad complied. Then they repeated together, as they had grown accustomed to during the last few days, “O Lord, cure Uncle Khalil and our cousins Uthman and Muhammad so we can return home with minds at ease.”
The impact this made on Na'ima was apparent in her face. Her features had a sad look and her blue eyes were filled with tears. She cried out, “Papa, Uthman, and Muhammad how are they? I want to see Mama. I want to see all of them.”
Abd al-Muni'm turned toward her to say in a consoling voice, “Don't cry, Na'ima. I've told you repeatedly not to cry. My uncle's fine. Uthman's fine. Muhammad's fine. We'll return home soon. Grandmother said so. Uncle Kamal said so
too not very long ago.”
Na'ima, who was sobbing, said, “I hear this every day. But they don't let us return. I want to see Papa, Uthman, and Muhammad. I want Mama.”
Ahmad grumbled, “I want Papa and Mama too.”
Abd al-Muni'm said, “We'll go back when they're well.”
Na'ima cried out anxiously, “Let's go back now. I want to go home. Why are they keeping us away?”
Abd al-Muni'm replied, “They're afraid we'll catch the disease.”
Na'ima answered stubbornly, “Mama's there. Aunt Khadija's there. Uncle Ibrahim's there. Grandmother's there. Why won't they catch it?”
“Because they're adults!”
“If adults can't catch diseases, why is Papa sick?”
Umm Hanafi sighed and said tenderly, “Is something upsetting you? This is your house too. And here are Masters Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad to play with you. And your Uncle Kamal loves you more than all the world. You'll soon return to Mama, Papa, Uthman, and Muhammad. Don't cry, little lady. Pray for Papa and your brothers to get well.”
Ahmad complained, “Two weeks! I've counted the days on my fingers. Besides, our apartment's on the third floor, and the disease is on the second. Why can't we return to our apartment and take Na'ima with us?”
Umm Hanafi put a finger to her lips as though to caution them and said, “Your uncle Kamal will get angry if he hears what you said. He buys you chocolates and melon seeds. How can you say you don't want to stay with him? You're not babies anymore. Master Abd al-Muni'm, you'll be starting primary school in a month. And you will too, dear Na'ima.”
Backing down a little, Ahmad said, “At least let us go outside to play in the street.”
The Cairo Trilogy Page 112
