Husayn cracked his knuckles once more without comment. Kamal's words seemed to mean nothing to him. What had made them discuss politics? It was not fun anymore. Partisan hostilities distracted people from the English. Down with all of it! A person who had caught a whiff of paradise should not trouble himself with terrestrial cares, not even momentarily.
"You're walking with Ai'da in the desert near the pyramids. Ponder this ravishing fact and shout it aloud until the pyramid buildershear you. The beloved and her suitor are strolling together over the sand. The lover's rapture is so intense that the breeze might almost carry him off, while the beloved amusesherself by counting pebbles. If love's malady were contagious, I would not mind the pain. The wind is agitating the fringes of her dress, raking the halo of her hair, and penetrating her lungs. How fortunate it is! Spirits of lovers who float over the pyramid, bless this procession. They admire the beloved and pity the lover. They repeat with the voice of time the phrase: 'Nothing save love is stronger than death.' You see her but a few feet from you. Yet in truth she's as far removed as the horizons, which you imagine touching the earth, even though they are part of the sky and soar high overhead. How my soul wishes I could feel her touch on this excursion, but it seems you'll journey through this earthly existence before you experience that. Why aren't you courageous enough to throw yourself on the sand and kiss her footprints? Take a handful of sand from them for use in an amulet to ward off the pains of love during thought-filled nights. But alas! Everything indicates that the only contact with the beloved will be through singing hymns of praise or via insanity. So sing your psalms or go insane."
He felt a small hand tug at his. He looked down at Budur, who held her arms up to him, asking to be carried. He leaned over and lifted her, but A'ida protested: "No. It seems fatigue's getting the best of us. Let's rest a little."
On a boulder at the top of the slope leading to the Sphinx they sat down in the same order they had observed while walking. Husayn stretched his legs out and planted hisheels firmly in the sand. Kamal sat with his legs crossed, holding Budur beside him. A'ida, seated to the left of her brother, took out her comb, which she ran through her hair. Then she smoothed her bangs with her fingers.
Husayn happened to notice Kamal's fez and asked his friend critically, "Why are you wearing a fez on this outing?"
Kamal removed it and placed it on his lap, saying, "I'm not used to going anywhere without it."
Husayn laughed and said, "You're a fine example of a conservative!"
Kamal wondered whether he was being praised or faulted and wished to force his friend to clarify the point, but A'ida leaned forward a little and turned toward Kamal to have a look at his head. He forgot what he was up to and anxiously concentrated all his attention on his own head. Now that it was bare, its huge size was obvious, and his short cropped hair, free of any attempt at styling, was exposed. Her beautiful eyes were gazing at him. What impression did he make on her?
The musical voice asked, "Why don't you let your hair grow out?"
It was a question he had never considered before. Fuad Jamil al-Hamzawi had his hair cut just like his and so did all their comrades in the ancient quarter. Yasin had not been seen with hair long enough to brush or a mustache until he had found employment. Could Kamal imagine encountering his father every morning at the breakfast table with long hair?
"Why should I?"
Husayn asked thoughtfully, "Wouldn't it look better?"
"That doesn't matter."
Laughing, Husayn commented, "It seems to me that you were made to be a teacher."
"Praise or blame?" Kamal wondered. "In any case, your head's to be congratulated for receiving thisheavenly attention."
"I was. created to be a student."
"Good answer…". Then, with a rising inflection of voice to show he was asking a question, Husayn continued: "You haven't told me the whole story of the Teachers College yet. What do you think of it after almost two months?"
"I hope it will be a serviceable introduction to the world I desire. I'm currently trying to learn the meaning of difficult words like 'literature,'
'philosophy,' and 'thought' from the English professors."
"This is the cultural discipline we want…."
Kamal answered apprehensively, "But it seems human culture is a stormy ocean. We need to know the limits. We must learn more clearly what we want. It's a problem…."
Husavn's interest was apparent in his handsome eyes. He said, "For me, there's no problem. I read French stories and plays, with some help from A'ida to understand the difficult passages. I also listen with her to selections from Western music, some of which she plays expertly on the piano. Recently I've been reading a book that summarizes Greek philosophy in an easy way. All I want is mental and physical forms of tourism, but you also wish to write. That forces you to learn boundaries and goals."
"The worst part is that I don't know exactly what I'm going to write about."
A'ida asked pleasantly, "Do you want to be an author?"
Swept by a tidal wave of happiness rarely experienced by human beings, Kamal answered, "Perhaps."
"Poetry or prose?" Then, leaning forward so she could observe him, she added, "Let me see if I can tell by looking at you."
"I've exhausted all the resources of poetry in my intimate exchanges with your dream vision," he reflected. "Poetry is your sacred tongue. I won't try to make a living from it. My tears have drained its wells during dark nights. How happy I am to have you look at me … and how wretched! I revive under your gaze like the earth, which burgeons with life when the sun shines down on it."
"A poet. Yes, you're a poet."
"Really? How do you know?"
She sat up straight, and a laugh like a whisper escaped from her. She replied, "Physiognomy is too instinctive a science to be explained."
"She's bluffing!" Husayn said, laughing.
She retorted, "Not at all. If you don't like the idea of being a poet then don't be one."
"Nature has made the female bee a queen," Kamal reflected. "The orchard is her palace. The flower's nectar is her drink. Honey is her product. And the reward earned by a person passing her throne is… a sting. But she denied Husayn's accusation."
She had another question for him: "Have you read any French stories?"
"Some by Michel Zevaco, in translation. You know I can't read French."
She said enthusiastically, "You won't be an author until you master French. Read Balzac, George Sand, Madame de Stael, and Pierre Loti. After that write your story."
Kamal said disapprovingly, "A story? That's a rather marginal art form. I aspire to do serious work."
Husayn said earnestly, "In Europe the story is considered a serious art form. Some writers there concentrate on it to the exclusion of all other types of writing. This is the way they've achieved the status of immortals. I'm not throwing praise around blindly. The French professor confirmed that."
Kamal shook his large head skeptically, and Husayn resumed speaking: "Be careful not to make Ai'da angry. She's a reader who delights in French stories. In fact, she's one of their heroines."
Kamal leaned over a little to observe her reaction to Husayn's comment, seizing this opportunity to fill his eyes with the gorgeous sight. Then he asked, "How did that happen?"
"She gets all caught up in the stories, and her head is crammed with an imaginary life. Once I saw her strutting in front of a mirror. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, 'Aphrodite used to walk like this along the beach at Alexandria.'"
Frowning and smiling at the same time, Ai'da said, "Don't believe him. He's more immersed in the world of the imagination than I am. But he's not satisfied until he accuses me of things that aren't true."
"Aphrodite?" Kamal wondered. "What's Aphrodite compared with my beloved? By the truth of your perfection, I'm sad to have you imaane yourself in any form but your own."
He commented sincerely, "You're not to blame. The heroes of al-Manfduti and Rider H
aggard have made a big impression on ray imagination."
Husayn laughed delightedly and cried out, "How fitting it would be for all of us to be united in a single book. Why should we stay here on the ground, since we're so drawn to the world of the imagination? It's up to you. Bring this dream to reality. I'm not a writer and don't want to be, but you would be able to bring us together, if you so desired, in one book."
"A'ida in a book of which you would be the author…" Kamal marveled to himself. "Worship, mysticism, or insanity?"
"And me?" Budur's voice burst out suddenly in protest. The three others roared with laughter.
Husayn cautioned Kamal: "Don't forget to reserve space for Budur."
Hugging the little girl affectionately, Kamal said, "You'll be on the first page."
Ai'da looked off to the horizon and asked, "What will you write about us?"
He did not know what to say. He hid his confusion with a feeble laugh, but Husayn replied for him: "Like all the other authors, he'll write a violent love story ending with death or suicide. They kick your heart around, but it's all a game to them."
"I hope only it's the hero who meets this end," Ai'da said with a laugh.
"The hero is unable to imagine his beloved perishing," Kamal thought. He asked, "Is it mandatory that it should end with death or suicide?"
"That's the normal ending for a passionate love story."
"When one is fleeing from pain," Kamal reflected, "or trying to hold on to happiness, death seems a valid goal."
Then he said ironically, "A very distressing business!"
"Haven't you learned that? It seems you haven't been in love yet."
"There comes a moment in the lives we lead," Kamal told himself, "when weeping serves the purpose of the anesthetic in a surgical operation."
Husayn continued: "To rne the important thing is that you save a place in your book for me, even if I'm out of the country."
Kamal gave him a long look and asked, "Are you still seduced by the notion of traveling?"
A serious note crept into Husayn Shaddad's voice as he said, "Every moment! I want to live. I want to be everywhere, far and wide, high and low. Then let death come, after that."
"What if it came before?" Kamal wondered. "Could that happen? What of the sorrow that's almost killing you? Have you forgotten Fahmy? A life isn't always judged by its length. Your life, Fahmy, was a brief moment, but it was complete. Otherwise, what's the use of virtue and immortality? But you're sad for another reason. It's hard for you to contemplate dispassionately separation from your friend who is so keen to travel. What will your world be like after he's left? What will become of you if his trip separates you from the mansion of your true love? How deceptive today's smiles are. She's at hand now. Her voice tickles your ear, and her perfume your nose. But can you stop the wheel of time? Will you spend the rest of your life circling round her mansion at a distance, like the fabled lunatic lovers of old?"
"If you want my opinion, you should postpone your travels until you've finished your studies."
Ai'da said eagerly, "That's what Papa has told him repeatedly."
"It's sound advice."
Husayn asked sarcastically, "Is it necessary for me to memorize civil and Roman law in order to savor the beauty of the world?"
Still addressing Kamal, A'ida said, "Father hasheaped scorn on Husayn's dreams. He hopes to see his son in the judiciary or working in finance like him."
"The judiciary, finance! I'm not going to join the judiciary. Even if I get my degree and seriously consider choosing a profession, my interest will be in the diplomatic corps. And as for money, do you want more? We're already unbearably rich."
"How amazing that a man's wealth can be unbearable," mused Kamal. " Long ago you thought you would be like your father and own a safe similar to his. Wealth is no longer one of your dreams, but don't you wish you could liberate yourself from material concerns to embark on spiritual adventures? How wretched life is when it's devoted solely to earning a living."
"No one in my family understands my hopes. They think I'm a spoiled child. My mother's brother once said sarcastically so I could hear, 'Wouldn't you have expected the only boy in the family to turn out better than this?' Why should they feel like this? It's because I don't worship wealth and prefer living to making money. You see? Our family believes that any effort not leading to an increase in wealth is a foolish waste of time, and you find them dreaming of titles, as though they were a lost paradise. Do you know why they love the Khedive Abbas II? Mama has often told me, 'If only Our Effendi Abbas had stayed on the throne, your father would have been named a pasha long ago.' Precious money is scorned and spent with abandon if a prince honors us with a visit". Then, laughing, he added, "Don't forget to record these foibles if you ever get around to writing the book I proposed."
He had scarcely finished speaking when Aida told Kamal, "I hope you won't be influenced by the prejudices of my disrespectful brother and slander our family in your book."
Kamal replied in a worshipful tone, "God forbid that I should ever say anything against your family. Moreover, there's nothing disgraceful in what he alleged."
Ai'da laughed triumphantly, and Husayn smiled with relief, although his eyebrows were raised in mock astonishment. Kamal felt that Husayn was not totally sincere in his attack on his family. He did not question Husayn's statement that he did not worship wealth and preferred living to making money. Yet Kamal imagined that Husayn's comments about the Khedive, titles, and entertaining princes had slipped out as boastful criticism, not just oboasts or criticism. Husayn appeared to be bragging about these things with his heart but condemning them with his mind. Or perhapshe resented them but saw nothing wrong in mentioning them to a friend whom they would dazzle and fascinate, even if he deplored them too.
Smiling calmly, Husayn asked, "Which of us is to be the book's central character? Me, Ai'da, or Budur?"
Budur cried out, "Me!"
Hugging her, Kamal said, "Agreed". Then he told Husayn, "This will remain a secret until the book is born."
"What title will you give it?"
"Husayn Around the World!"
Except for Budur, they all roared with laughter at this parody of the title of a farce, The Barbarian Around the World, which was playing at the Majestic.
Inspired by that, Husayn asked him, "Have you found your way to the theater yet?"
"No, the cinema's enough for now."
Husayn told Ai'da, "The author of our book is not allowed to stay out after nine pm"
A'ida replied captiously, "Still, he's better than people who are allowed to circle the planet."
Then she turned toward Kamal and, with a tenderness capable of eliciting his agreement regardless of what she proposed, she said, "Is it really wrong for a father to want his son to grow up to be as vigorous and respected as he is? Is it wrong for us to pursue money, titles, and higher things?"
"Stay as you are," thought Kamal, "and wealth, prestige, and lofty ideals will pursue you. Everyone will want to kiss the ground you walk on. How can I answer, when the response you desire entails my destruction? Alas for your heart, Kamal; it wishes for something you're forbidden."
"There's nothing wrong with that". Then, after a short pause, he added, "On condition that the person's temperament is congenial to it."
"What temperament would not be congenial to that? The strange thing is that Husayn does not renounce this refined life out of an ambition for something superior to it. No, my good man, he dreams of living without any lifework, in idle unemployment. Isn't that amazing?"
Laughing sarcastically, Husayn asked, "Don't the princesses you adore live that way?"
"Because there's no life above theirs to aspire to. What are you compared with them, lazybones?"
Husayn turned toward Kamal and in a voice tinged with anger said, "The precept followed in our family is to work to increase our fortune and to become friends with influential people in hopes of obtaining the rank of bey. Once that is
achieved, you need to redouble your efforts to expand your fortune and befriend the elite so you will be promoted to pasha. Finally you make ingratiating yourself with the princes your supreme goal in life. You have to content yourself with that, since joining the royal family is not an objective you attain by effort or ingenuity. Do you know how much the prince's last visit cost us? Tens of thousands of pounds were wasted on buying new furniture and rare curios from Paris."
Ai'da protested: "That money was not spent to curry favor with the prince just because he's a prince, but because he's the Khedive's brother. The motive for flattering him was our loyal friendsh: p for him and his brother. It wasn't fawning ingratiation. And it's an honor no intelligent person could reject."
But Husayn obstinately persisted: "At the same time, Papa keeps on consolidating his ties to politicians like Adli, Tharwat, and Rushdi, who cannot be accused of loyalty to the Khedive. Doesn't that show he accepts the prevailing wisdom that the end justifies i: he means?"
"Husayn!" Ai'da shouted her brother's name in a voice Kamal had never heard before. It was full of haughty, disdainful censure, as though she wanted to warn Husayn that such things should not be said, at least not in the presence of an outsider. Kamal's face blushed with embarrassment and pain. The happiness that had momentarily hovered over him at being included in the activities of this beloved family dissipated. Her head was erect, her lips were knit, and her eyes betrayed a frown, which she had not allowed to reach her forehead. The impression she gave was one of anger the anger of a highborn queen. Kamal had never seen her emotional be fore. He had not imagined that she had feelings. He gazed at her face with astonishment and relief but felt so uncomfortable he wished he could invent an excuse to avoid continuing this conversation. After a few secondshe recovered and began to observe the beautiful, regal anger on her queenly face. He admired her flaming pride, domineering scorn, and frowning superiority.
As though speaking for Kamal's edification, A'ida proclaimed, "Papa's friendship with the men you mentioned has a long history prior to the Khedive's deposition."
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