In the library he had a few outstanding friends like Darwin, Bergson, and Russell, but in this pavilion there were thousands of friends. If they seemed mindless, they still collectively embodied a commendable natural alertness. In the final analysis, such people were as responsible as intellectual giants for shaping the events of history. In his political life Kamal loved and hated; he felt pleased and annoyed. Yet as an intellectual skeptic, he thought nothing mattered. Whenever he confronted this contradiction, he was overwhelmed by anxiety. No sector of his life was free from contradictions and therefore from anxiety.
For this reason, hisheart yearned intensely to achieve a harmonious unity both perfect and happy. Where was this unity to be found? He felt that the life of thought was unavoidable for him so long as he had a mind with which to think. Yet that did not keep him from considering the opposite style of life toward which all his suppressed and ignored vital impulses pushed him as if toward a secure rock surrounded by surging water.
Perhaps for causes like these Kamal found this gathering splendid. The larger the crowd got, the more magnificent everything seemed. He waited for the leaders to appear with as much fervor and impatience as the rest of the audience.
Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad sat next to each other, but Ridwan and his friend Hilmi Izzat were either strolling back and forth in the central aisle of the pavilion or standing at the entrance, where they chatted with some of the officials in charge of the festivities. The two certainly were influential young men. The crowd's whispers created a general hubbub. From the far seats occupied by young people there rose a clamor punctuated by yells. Then a loud cry washeard from outside, making heads turn toward the entrance. Everyone stood up and released a deafening roar. Mustafa al-Nahhas appeared on the dais, where he greeted the multitudes with his sincere smile and mighty hands.
Kamal watched the Wafd Party leader with eyes that had temporarily lost their skeptical look, although he wondered how he could believe in this man after ceasing to believe in everything else. Was it because the man was a symbol of independence and democracy? In any case, the warm relationship between the leader and the public was obvious and worth seeing. It had doubtless been a significant factor in the formation of Egyptian nationalism.
The atmosphere was charged with enthusiasm and ardor. The officials wore themselves out quieting the audience so that a reciter could chant some appropriate verses from the Qur'an, including “Prophet, goad the Believers to fight” (8:65). People had been waiting for this call, and their shouts and applause rang out in response to it. Some of the more sedate deplored the outburst and demanded that the audience be silent out of respect for God's Book. Their protest awakened old memories for Kamal of a time when he had been numbered among these pious souls. He smiled and immediately was reminded of his special world, so full of pairs of contradictions canceling out each other that it seemed empty.
The leader rose to deliver his address, which was clear, effective, and delivered in a resonant voice. Lasting for two hours, it concluded with an open call for the use of force and an unambiguous appeal for revolution. The crowd's excitement reached a fever pitch. People stood on the chairs and yelled with wild enthusiasm. Kamal shouted as passionately as anyone else. He forgot he was a teacher who was expected to maintain his dignity. He imagined that he had been transported back to the glorious revolutionary dayshe had heard about but had not been privileged to experience. Had the speeches back then been as forcefully delivered? Had the crowds received them with comparable enthusiasm? Had death seemed insignificant for those reasons? No doubt Fahmy had been in a gathering like this once and had then rushed off to death and immortality or annihilation. Was it possible for a skeptic to become a martyr?
“Perhaps patriotism, like love,” he thought, “is a force to which we surrender, whether or not we believe in it.”
The passionate outbursts were intense. The chants were ardent and me tiacing. Chairs rocked with the motion of the men standing upon them. What would be the next step? Before anyone knew what was happening, throngs of people were heading outside. As He left his place, Kamal looked around, searching for his young relatives, but found no trace of them. He left the pavilion by a side door and then walked briskly toward Qasr al-Ayni Street to get there before the crowd. On his way he passed by the House of the Nation and, as always, gazed at it, moving his eyes from the historic balcony to the courtyard, which had witnessed such momentous events in the nation's history. The building had an almost magical fascination for him. Here Sa'd Zaghlul had stood. Here Fahmy and his comrades had stood. On this street bullets had lodged in the breasts of the martyrs. His people were in perpetual need of a revolution to combat the waves of oppression that prevented their rebirth. Periodic revolutions were necessary to serve as a vaccine against this dread disease, for tyranny was the nation's most deeply entrenched malady.
Kamal's participation in this patriotic holiday had successfully reinvigorated him. Nothing mattered to him except the need for Egypt to reply emphatically and decisively to Hoare's declaration. He held his tall, slender body erect and his large head high as his feet pounded against the pavement. He had lofty affairs and significant deeds on his mind as he passed by the American University campus. Even a teacher occasionally had to join a revolution with his students. He smiled almost in despair. He was an instructor with a big head, destined to teach the fundamentals of English and nothing more, even though this language had introduced him to countless mysteries. His body occupied a tiny space on the swarming surface of the earth, while his imagination spun round in a whirlpool embracing all the secrets of nature. In the morning he asked what this word meant and how to spell that one. In the evening he pondered the meaning of his existence this riddle that follows one puzzle and precedes another one. In the morning hisheart was ablaze with rebellion against the English but in the evening it was chastened by a general feeling of brotherhood for all mankind as he felt inclined to cooperate with everyone in order to confront the puzzle of man's destiny.
He shook hishead rather forcefully as if to expel these thoughts. As He approached al-Isma'iliya Square he could hear people shouting. He realized that the demonstrators had reached Qasr al-Ayni Street. The combative spirit animating his breast made him hesitate. Perhapshe would join in the day's demonstrations after all. For too long the nation had patiently endured the blows it received. Today it was Tawfiq Nasim, yesterday Isma'il Sidqy, and before that Muhammad Mahmud. This ill-omened chain of despots stretched back into prehistory. “Every bastard has been deluded by his own power and has claimed to be the chosen guardian for us children…. Not so fast! The demonstration is raging ahead furiously, but what's this?”
Disturbed, Kamal turned to look back. The sound he heard shook hisheart. As He listened intently, the noise of shots rang out once more. He could see demonstrators in the distance, milling around chaotically. Groups of people were rushing toward the square, while othersheaded for the side streets. English constables on horseback were galloping in the direction of the demonstrators. The shouting grew louder. Screams mixed with angry voices, and the firing became more intense. Kamal'sheart pounded as, overcome by a troubled rage, he worried with each beat about Abd al-Muni'm, Ahmad, and Ridwan. Turning right and then left, he noticed a coffeehouse at the corner nearby and made for it. The doors were almost closed, and on entering he remembered the pastry shop in al-Husayn district where he had first heard gunfire.
There was pandemonium everywhere. Initially the rapid firing was frightening, but then the shots became less frequent. The sound of breaking glass was audible as well as the neighing of horses. An increase in volume of the furious voices showed that rebellious bands were dashing at breakneck speed from one location to the next. An elderly man entered the cafe. Before anyone could ask him what he had seen, he exclaimed, “The constables' bullets rained down on the students. Only God knows how many were hit”. He sat down, breathing hard, and then added in a trembling voice, “It was treachery pure and simple. If their goal
had been to break up the demonstration, they would have fired into the air from their distant positions. But they escorted the demonstration with calculated calm and then stationed themselves at the intersections. Suddenly they drew their revolvers and began firing. They shot to kill, showing no mercy. Young boys fell writhing in their own blood. The English were beasts, but the Egyptia n soldiers were no less brutal. It was a premeditated massacre, my God.”
A voice called out from the rear of the room, “My heart told me that today would end badly.”
Another answered, “These are evil times. Since Hoare announced his declaration, people have been expecting momentous events. Other battles will follow. I promise you that.”
“The victims are always students, the most precious children of the nation, alas.”
“But the shooting has stopped. Hasn't it? Listen.”
“The main part of the demonstration is at the House of the Nation. The shooting will continue there for hours to come.”
But the square was silent. Minutes dragged by heavily, charged with tension. Darkness began to fall, and the lamps in the coffeehouse were lit. There was total silence, as if death had overtaken the square and the surrounding streets. When the double doors of the coffeehouse were opened wide, the square - empty of pedestrians and vehicles was visible. A column of steel-helmeted policemen on horseback circled it, preceded by their English commanders.
Kamal kept wondering about the fate of his nephews. When traffic in the square hesitantly picked up again, he left the coffeehouse and hurried off. He did not return home until he had first visited. Sugar Street and Palace of Desire Alley to reassure himself that Abd al-Muni'm, Ahmad, and Ridwan were safe.
Alone in his library, hisheart filled with sorrow, distress, and anger, he did not read or write a single word. His mind was still roaming around the House of the Nation, thinking of Hoare, the revolutionary speech, the patriotic chants, and the screams of the victims. He found himself trying to recall the name of the pastry shop where he had hidden long ago, but memory failed him.
120
THE SIGHT of Muhammad Iffat's house in al-Gamaliya was a familiar and beloved one for Ahmad Abd al-Jawad. The massive wooden door looked like the entrance to an ancient caravansary. The high wall hid everything but the tops of lofty trees. Shaded by these mulberry and sycamore trees and dotted with small henna and lemon trees as well as various types of jasmine, the courtyard garden was marvelous. Equally amazing was the pool in the center. And then there was the wooden veranda stretching along the width of the garden.
Muhammad Iffat stood on the veranda steps, waiting to welcome his guest as he pulled his cloak tighter around him. Ali Abd al-Rahim and Ibrahim al-Far were already seated beside each other. Ahmad greeted his chums and followed Muhammad Iffat to the couch at the center of the veranda, where they sat down together. They had all lost their girth, except for Muhammad Iffat, who looked bloated and had a red face. Ali Abd al-Rahim had gone bald, and the others' hair was streaked with white. Wrinkles spread across their faces. Ali Abd al-Rahim and Ibrahim al-Far appeared to have aged more than the other two. The redness of Muhammad Iffat's face seemed almost to suggest a vascular disorde r.
Although Ahmad had lost weight and his hair was turning white, he had retained his unblemished good looks. He loved this assembly and admired the view of the garden, which extended all the way to the high wall on al-Gamaliya Street. He leaned hishead back a little as if to allow his large nose to inhale the fragrance of jasmine and henna. He closed his eyes occasionally to concentrate on hearing the chirps of the small birds flitting about in the branches of the mulberry and sycamore trees. Still, the most sublime feeling entertained by hisheart just then was one of brotherhood and friendship for these men. When his wide blue eyes gazed at their beloved faces, which were masked by age, hisheart overflowed with sorrow and sympathy, not only for them but for himself The most nostalgic of them about the past, he was enthralled by anything he could remember about the beauty of youth, its passionate emotions, and his chivalrous escapades.
Ibrahim went to a nearby table to fetch the backgammon set, asking, “Who will play with me?”
Ahmad, who rarely joined in their games, said disapprovingly, “Wait a bit. We shouldn't lose ourselves in that from the very beginning.”
Al-Far replaced the box. Then a Nubian servant brought in a tray with three teas and one whiskey and soda. Muhammad Iffat smiled as he took the whiskey glass and the othershelped themselves to tea. This allocation, repeated every evening, often made them laugh. Waving his glass and gesturing toward their tea, Muhammad Iffat said, “May God be merciful to time, which has refined you.”
Sighing, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad responded, “It has refined all of us and you more than the others, for you always were an exceptionally coarse fellow.”
At approximately the same time one year they had all received identical medical advice to give up alcohol, but Muhammad Iffat's physician had allowed him one glass a day. Back then Ahmad Abd al-Jawad had assumed that his friend's doctor was more lenient than his own. He had gone to see this man, but the physician had advised him firmly and earnestly, “Your condition is different from your friend's”. When the others had learned about this visit to Muhammad Iffat's doctor, it had provoked many jokes and comments.
Ahmad laughed and said, “You certainly must have given your doctor a big bribe to persuade him to let you have this one drink.”
Al-Far moaned as he stared at the glass in Muhammad Iffat's hand and said, “By God, I've almost forgotten its intoxication.”
Ali Abd al-Rahim jested, “You've destroyed your repentance by saying this, ruffian.”
Al-Far asked his Lord's forgiveness and then murmured submissively, “Praise God.”
“We've sunk to the point of envying one glass. Whatever has become of our ecstatic intoxications?”
Laughing, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad said, “If you repent, let it be of something evil, not of a blessing, you sons of dogs.”
“Like all preachers, you have a tongue in one world and a heart in another.”
Making his voice loud enough to suggest a change of subject, Ali Abd al-Rahim asked, “Men, what do you think of Mustafa al-Nahhas? This man was not influenced by the tears of an ailing and elderly king. He refused to forget for one second his highest objective, the 1923 constitution.”
Muhammad Iffat cracked his fingers and said delightedly, “Bravo! Bravo! He's even more resolute than Sa'd Zaghlul. Although he saw that the tyrannical king was sick and tearful, al-Nahhas stood up to him with rare courage and repeated, with all the authority of the nation behind him, ‘The 1923 constitution first.’ So the constitution was reinstated. Who would have imagined that?”
Ibrahim al-Far nodded hishead admiringly and said, “Picture this scene: King Fuad, broken by age and ill health, places his hand affectionately on the shoulder of Mustafa al-Nahhas and calls for the formation of a coalition government. Al-Nahhas is unmoved. He does not forget his duty as a trusted leader or abandon for one moment the constitution, which royal tears had almost drowned. Unimpressed by any of this, he says resolutely and courageously, 'The 1923 constitution first, Your Majesty.'”
Mimicking his friend's tone of voice, Ali Abd al-Rahim said, “Or impalement, Your Majesty.”
Laughing, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad said, “I swear by the One whose fates tantalize ushere with whiskey we're not allowed to drink - what a magnificent stand to take!”
Muhammad drained his glass and then said, “This is 193 5. Eight years have passed since Sa'd's death and fifteen since the revolution. Yet the English are everywhere, in the barracks, the police, the army, and various ministries. The foreign capitulations that make every son of a bitch a respected gentleman are still operative. This sorry state of affairs must end.”
“And don't forget butchers like Isma'il Sidqy, Muhammad Mahmud, and King Fuad'shenchman al-Ibrashi….”
“If the English leave, none of these other men will matter and the constant change of governments
will cease.”
“Yes. If the king wants to make trouble behind the scenes then, he won't find anyone to help him.”
Muhammad Iffat added, “The king will be left with two choices. Either he respects the constitution or he says goodbye.”
Ibrahim al-Far asked rather skeptically, “Would the English forsake him if he sought their protection?”
“If the English agree to evacuate Egypt, why would they continue to protect the king?”
Al-Far asked, “Will the English really agree to evacuate?”
Speaking with confident pride in his political acumen, Muhammad Iffat replied, “They caught us off guard with Hoare's declaration. Then there were the demonstrations and the martyrs, may God be compassionate to them. Finally there came the invitation to form a coalition government and the 1923 constitution was restored. I assure you that the English now want to negotiate. … It's true that no one knows how this sorry situation will be sorted out, under what circumstances the English will leave, or how the influence of resident expatriates can be ended. But we have boundless confidence in Mustafa al-Nahhas.”
The Cairo Trilogy Page 117
