131
THE NEW friends parted at al-Ataba, and Kamal returned by the Muski. Although it was nearly 8 p.m., the air he breathed in was hot enough to be stifling. He slowed down on reaching al-Gawhari Alley, which he entered. Then he stepped into the third house on the right, climbing the stairs to the second floor. After he rang the bell, a little window in the door opened, revealing the face of a woman over sixty. She welcomed him with a smile, which showed off her gold teeth, and admitted him.
“Welcome to my lover's son!” she exclaimed. “Welcome to my brother's son!”
He followed her to a sitting room surrounded by bedrooms. The two sofas were placed opposite each other. Between them were a small carpet gleaming with gold and silver thread, a table, and a water pipe. The fragrance of incense permeated the room.
The woman was plump, but old enough to be fragile, and her head was wrapped in a spangled kerchief. Although decorated by kohl, her eyes had a heavy look indicative of drug abuse. The wrinkles of her face revealed traces of her former beauty and of an enduring wantonness. Sitting down cross-legged on the sofa near the water pipe, she gestured for him to sit beside her.
Obeying her, he smiled and asked, “How is Mrs. Jalila?”
She protested, “Call me 'Aunt.'”
“How are you, Auntie?”
“Superb, son of Abd al-Jawad”. Then she shouted in a harsh voice, “Girl! Nazla!”
In a few minutes the maid brought two full glasses, which she placed on the table. Jalila directed: “Drink!… How often I said that to your father in those sweet bygone days___”
As Kamal picked up a glasshe remarked jovially, “It's really sad that I arrived too late….”
She gave him a punch that made the gold bracelets covering her arm jangle. “Shame on you! Would you have wished to ravage what your father adored?” Then she added, “But what are you compared to your father? He had already married a second time when I met him. He married young, as was the custom then. But that did not prevent him from keeping me company for a period that was the sweetest of my life. Then he left me for Zubayda, may God take her by the hand. And there were dozens of other women besides us, may God be indulgent with him. But you're still a bachelor, and even so you only visit my house once a week, Thursday evenings. Shame on you! What ever happened to virility?”
The father he heard about from her was not the one he knew personally. This was not even the father Yasin had described to him. Jalila's lover had been a passionate and impetuous man with a heart untroubled by qualms. What was Kamal compared to that man? Even when he visited this brothel each Thursday, only alcohol could release him from his worries long enough for him to enjoy “love” here. Without its intoxication, he would have felt the brothel's atmosphere to be devastatingly grim. That first night, when fate had led him to this house, had been unforgettable. He had seen this woman for the first time, and she had invited him to sit with her until a girl was ready. When he had revealed his full name during the course of the conversation, she had cried out, “Are you the son of al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad whose store is in al-Nmhasin?”
“Yes. Do you know my father?”
“A thousand welcomes to you!”
“Do you know my father?”
“I know him far better than you do. We were lovers, and I performed at your sister's wedding. In my time, I was as famous a singer as Umm Kalthoum in your gray days. Ask anyone about me.”
“It's an honor to meet you, ma'am.”
“Pick any of my girls you like. Benevolent folks like us don't bill each otier.”
So his first girl in this house had been a gift from his father. That evening Jalila had looked at his face for so long he had felt embarrassed. Only fear of being rude had kept her from expressing her astonishment, for what resemblance was there between this boy's bizarre head and amazing nose and his father's exquisite and ruddy face? During a lengthy conversation with her he had learned about his father's secret history, peculiarities, amazing deeds, romantic adventures, and hidden qualities.
“I'm so bewildered,” Kamal reflected. “I've always wavered between instinct's searing flame and mysticism's cool breeze.”
He replied, “Don't exaggerate, Auntie. I'm a teacher, and teachers like to be discreet. Don't forget that during the vacation I visit you several times a week. Wasn't I here the day before yesterday? I visit you whenever…”
“Whenever I'm tormented by anxiety,” he confessed to himself. “Anxiety drives me to you far more often than lust.”
“Whenever what, my dear?”
“Whenever I don't have to work.”
“Say anything but that. Down with this age of yours. Our coins were made of gold. Yours are nickel and copper. We had live entertainment. You have the radio. Our men were descended from Adam's loins. Yours come from Eve's womb. What do you have to say about that, you teacher of girls?”
She took a drag on the water pipe and then sang:
Teacher of girls, show them how To play instruments and sing.
Kamal laughed, leaned toward her, and kissed her cheek, half affectionately and half flirtatiously.
She cried out, “Your mustache pricks. God help Atiya!”
“She loves pricks.”
“By the way, yesterday we had the honor of a visit from a prominent police officer. I'm not bragging. All our clients are distinguished gentlemen. Or do you consider your visitshere to be charitable contributions?”
“Madam Jalila, your very name means ‘glorious,’ and you certainly are that.”
“I love it when you're drunk. Intoxication liberates you from your schoolmasterly earnestness and makes you a little more like your father. But tell me. Don't you love Atiya? … She loves you!”
How could these hearts, hardened by the coarseness of life, love anyone? Yet what experience did he have of hearts generous with love or eager for it? The daughter of the snack shop owner had been in love with him, but he had ignored her. He had loved Aida, but she had spurned him. In his living dictionary, the only meaning for love was pain… an astonishing pain that set the soul on fire. By the light of its raging flames amazing secrets of life became visible, but it left behind only rubble.
He commented ironically, “May you find health and love too!”
“She's only been in this line of work since her divorce.”
“Praise God! He alone is praised for hateful things.”
“Praise to Him in all circumstances.”
He smiled sardonically. Grasping what his smile implied, she protested, “Do you begrudge me my enthusiasm for praising God? That's enough from you, son of Abd al-Jawad. Listen, I don't have a son or a daughter. I'm fed up with the world. Forgiveness is from God.”
It was interesting that the woman's conversation was so frequently interspersed with this melody celebrating asceticism. Kamal glanced at her stealthily as he drained his glass. For him, alcohol's magic effect began with the first drink. He found himself recalling a bygone age when drinking had brought him a heavenly bliss. How many of his joys had vanished…. At first lust had been both a rebellion and a victory for him. Then it had eventually been transformed into a whore's philosophy. Time and habituation had extinguished its delirium. It was also frequently marred by the agony of a man wavering between heaven and earth - before doubt had reduced heaven to earth's level.
The doorbell rang, and Atiya entered. Her body was full, supple, and fair. Her shoes and her laughter both resounded noisily. She kissed the madam's hand. Casting a smiling glance at the two empty glasses, she teased Kamal, “You've been unfaithful to me!”
She leaned down to the madam's ear and whispered to her. Then, giving Kamal a laughing look, she vanished into the bedroom on the madam's right. Jalila punched Kamal and told him, “Go along, light of my eye.”
Picking up his fez, he headed for the bedroom. Nazla immediately caught up with him, carrying a tray with a bottle, two glasses, and sortie appetizers. Atiya instructed her, “Bring us two pounds of kebab from al-A
jati's restaurant. I'm hungry!”
He took off his jacket and made himself comfortable by stretching out his legs. As He sat watching her, she removed her shoes and dress. Then at the mirror she straightened her chemise and combed her hair. He loved her body, which was so full, supple, and fail'. What did Ai'da's body look like? Frequently when he remembered her, it seemed that she had no body. Even when he recalled her grace, slenderness, and brown skin, these physical characteristics took their place in his spirit as pure ideas. As for the customary kind of memories concerned with bodily attributes like breasts, legs, or buttocks, he could not remember his senses ever having paid attention to them. Today, if a beautiful woman whose only attractions were a graceful slenderness and a swarthy complexion was presented for his admiration he would not even offer twenty piasters for her. So how had his love for A'ida been possible? Why was his memory of her so firmly protected by veneration and adoration, even though he scorned all her qualities?
“It's hot. Darn it.”
“Once the alcohol gets into our systems, we won't care if the weather's hot or cold.”
“Stop eating me with your eyes. Take off your glasses!”
“A divorced woman with children,” he brooded. “She masks gloomy melancholy with boisterous behavior. These greedy nights carelessly swallow her femininity and her humanity. Her every breath blends together fake passion and loathing. It's the worst form of bondage. Thus, alcohol provides an escape from suffering as well as from thought.”
She plopped down beside him and prepared to pour their drinks, reaching her soft hand out to the bottle, which was sold in this establishment for twice what it was worth. Everything here was expensive except women, except for human beings. Without alcohol to distract one from humanity's disdainful glare, reunions like this would be impossible. But life is full of prostitutes of various types. Some are cabinet ministers and others authors.
As his second drink went to work inside him the harbingers of forgetfulness and delight arrived. “I've craved this woman for a long time, even without being conscious of it. Lust is a tyrannical master. Love is something entirely different. When liberated from lust, it appears in the most amazing garb. If one day I'm permitted to find love and lust united in a single human being, a desirable stability will be achieved. I still see life as a set of mismatched parts. I'm searching for a marriage that will affect both the private and public aspects of my life. I don't know which is more basic, but I'm certain that I'm miserable, despite having created a life that assures me both intellectual pleasures and bodily delights. A train, too, rolls forcefully down the tracks without having any idea of where it has been or where it is going. Lust is a tyrannical beauty readily felled by disgust. The heart cries out as it vainly searches in agonizing despair for eternal bliss. Complaints are endless. Life is a vast swindle. To be able to accept this deception gracefully, we must assume that life contains some secret wisdom. We're like an actor who, while conscious of the deceit implicit in his role onstage, worships his craft.”
He downed his third drink in a single gulp, sending Atiya into gales of laughter. She loved to get drunk, even though it had a bad effect on her. If he did not stop her in time, she would become rowdy, twitch, weep, and throw up. The liquor had gone to hishead, and he quivered with excitement. He gazed at her with a beaming face. She was simply a woman now, not a problem. Problems no longer seemed to exist. Existence itself- the most troublesome issue in life - had stopped being a problem.
“Just drink some more and lose yourself in her kisses,” he thought.
“You're so charming,” he told her, “when you laugh for no reason at all.”
“If I seem to laugh for no reason, I hope you'll understand that some reasons are too important to be mentioned.”
132
WRAPPED UP in his overcoat, Abd al-Muni'm returned home to Sugar Street, bracing himself against the bitter winter cold. Although it was only six, darkness had fallen. When he reached the entry to the staircase, the door of the first-floor apartment opened and out slipped the lithe figure that had been waiting for him. Hisheart pounded and his fiery eyes watched her advance as he climbed the stairs with light steps, taking care not to make any sound. He was torn between his desire, which tempted him to yield, and his will, which urged him to take control of a nervous system apparently bent on betraying and destroying him. He remembered, only then, that she had made a date with him for this evening and that he could have come home earlier or later, thus avoiding the encounter. He had forgotten all about it. How forgetful he was! There was no time for deliberation and reflection. He would have to wait until he was alone in his room, until a moment that would mark triumphant victory or miserable defeat.
Nothing could make him forget his endless struggle. Throwing himself into this trial, he mounted the stairs behind her without having reached any decision. At the landing, he imagined her figure had swelled so large that it filled space and time to bursting.
With some difficulty, he concealed his anxiety and hid his determination to resist temptation when he said, “Good evening.”
The voice replied affectionately, “Good evening. Thank you for heeding my advice to wear your overcoat.”
He was touched by her tenderness, and the wordshe was about to cast at her melted in his mouth. Trying to mask his confusion, he said, “I was afraid it might rain.”
She raised her head as though to look at the sky and remarked, “It will rain sooner or later. You can't see a single star in the sky. I had trouble recognizing you when you turned into our street.”
He collected his unruly faculties and observed as if to caution her, “It's cold and extremely humid in the staircase.”
With a directness the girl had learned from him, she replied, “I don't feel the cold when I'm near you.”
The heat welling up inside him made his face burn. His condition suggested that he was going to err again, his best intentions notwithstanding. He summoned all his willpower in an effort to master the tremor sweeping through his body.
“Why don't you speak?” she asked.
Sensing her hand gently squeeze his shoulder, he could not stop himself from putting his arms around her. He began with one long kiss and then showered her with more, until he heard her say breathlessly, “I can't bear to be apart from you!”
He kept on hugging her, as he warmed to her embrace. She whispered in his ear, “I wish I could stay like this forever.”
Tightening his grip on her, he said in a trembling voice, “I'm sorry!”
In the darkness she drew her head back a little and asked, “Aboui: what, darling?”
He replied hesitantly, “The mistake we're making.”
“By God, what mistake?”
He gently freed himself from her and removed his overcoat, which he folded and started to place on the railing. But at the last terrifying moment he changed his mind, draped it over his arm, and took a step backwards, breathing heavily. His willpower was able to halt his progressive surrender to lust, and that changed everything. When her hand sought to return to his neck, he grabbed hold of it. Then he waited until his breathing had returned to normal and said calmly, “This is a great error.”
“What error? I don't understand.”
“A young girl not yet fourteen,” Abd al-Muni'm chided himself, “and you're toying with her to satisfy a merciless desire. This flirtation will lead to nothing. It's merely an amusement that will draw down God's wrath and anger on you.”
“You must try to understand,” he said. “Would we be able to tell everyone what we're doing?”
“Tell everyone?”
“Don't you see you would be forced to deny it? If we can't talk about it, then it must be a despicable error.”
He felt her hand search for him again. He climbed the first step of the next flight of stairs, confident that he had passed safely out of the danger zone. “Admit that we're doing something wrong. We mustn't continue to make this mistake.”
“I'm amazed to
hear you talk like this.”
“Don't be. My conscience can no longer tolerate this mistake. It torments me, making it hard for me to pray.”
“She's silent,” he thought. “I've hurt her, may God forgive me. How painful! But I won't give in. Praise God that desire didn't lead you to commit an even greater error.”
“What's happened must teach us not to do anything like this in the future. You're young. You've made a mistake. Don't ever yield to temptation again.”
In a sobbing voice she protested, “I haven't done anything wrong. Are you planning to desert me? What are your intentions?”
In full command of himself now, he answered, “Go back to your apartment. Don't do anything you would have to conceal. Don't ever meet anyone in the dark.”
The shaky voice asked, “Are you deserting me? Have you forgotten what you said about our love?”
“Those were a fool's words. You were mistaken. Let this be a lesson for you. Beware of the dark, for it could be your ruin. You're young. How come you're so daring?”
Her sobs reverberated in the gloom, but that made no impression on hisheart. He was intoxicated by the stern delight of victory.
“Heed my words. Don't be angry. Remember that if I were really a scoundrel I wouldn't have been satisfied with anything less than ruining you. Goodbye.”
He bounded up the stairs. The torment was over. Remorse would no longer be able to sink its teeth into him. But he should remember what his mentor Shaykh Ali al-Manufi said: “You cannot conquer the devil by ignoring the laws of nature”. Yes, he had to remember that. He quickly changed into his house shirt. Then as he left the room he told his brother, Ahmad, “I want to talk privately with Father in the study. Please give us a little time to be alone.”
When Abd al-Muni'm asked his father to join him there, Khadija raised her head to inquire, “Good news?”
“I want to talk to Father first. Then it will be your turn.”
The Cairo Trilogy Page 125
