and he had regained control of himself. He wished to protect his dignity and image at home. His wife was the only member of his
family allowed to see him after he had been out carousing. The only
effect of the drinking she could remark was the smell.
She had never encountered any alarming or perverse conduct from
him, except when they were first married, and she had chosen to
overlook that. Paradoxically by keeping him company at this hour,
she reaped a chattiness and expansiveness in his conversation she
could rarely gain when he was completely sober. She well remembered
how distressed she had been when she first noticed he was
coming home drunk from hi evening escapades. To her mind, wine
had always suggested brutality and craziness and, most shocking of
all, an offense against religion. She had been disgusted and scared.
Whenever he came home, she had suffered unbearable torments. In
time, experience had revealed that on his return from his partying he
was more gentle than on any other occasion and not so stern. His
look was more tender and he was much more talkative. She grew to
enjoy his company and stopped woi'rying, although she never forgot
to implore God to pardon his sin and forgive him. She dearly wished
Naguib Mahfou{
he would be that good humored when he was sober and in his right
mind. She was thoroughly amazed that this sin made him more amiable.
She was torn for a long time between her hatred for it, based
on her religious training, and the comfort and peace she gained from
it. She buried her thoughts deep inside her, however, and concealed
them as though unable even to admit them to herself.
Her husband spared no effort to safeguard his dignity and authority.
His moments of tenderness were fleeting and accidental. As he
sat there, a broad smile might appear on his lips at a memory that
cropped up from his happy evening. At once he would get control of
himself and press his lips together while stealing a glance at his wife.
He would find her as usual, in front of him, with her eyes lowered.
Reassured, he would return to his memories and his heart that cherished
them as though from an unquenchable thirst for the pleasures
of life. It seemed he could still see the party, composed of a select
group of his favorite friends and chums. In the midst of them was
one of those moonlike beauties who shone in his life from time to
time. He could still hear the jokes, wisecracks, and witty comments
for which he had such a talent, stringing one after the other, when
he was animated by wine and music. He recalled his clever remarks
with a care and attention accented by wonder and self-satisfaction.
He remembered their effect on people and the success and delight
they occasioned, making him everyone's best friend.
It was hardly surprising. He often felt the role he played at these
parties was so significant that it was practically the ultimate anyone
could hope for in life. His career as a whole was a necessary task he
performed in order to gain some hours filled with drink, laughter,
song, and flirtation to be spent in the chummy company of his pals.
Now and then some of the sweet, catchy tunes that were sung at
their happy parties ran through his head. He abandoned himself to
them and sighed, as they drifted away from him, "God is most great."
He loved the singing as much as the drink, laughter, companions,
and pretty girls. He would not tolerate a party without song.
It was nothing for him to journey a long way, to the outskirts of
Cairo, in order to hear a renowned male vocalist like al-Hamuli, Muhammad
Uthman, or al-Manilawi, wherever he resided. Thus their
tunes found shelter in his hospitable soul, like nightingales in a leafy
tree. He became a music expert and an acknowledged authority on
lyrics, tunes, and music appreciation. He loved song with both his
soul and his body. Spiritually he was transported and overwhelmed.
PALACE WALK
Physically his senses were strongly aroused, setting him dancing, particularly
his head and hands. For this reason, he had unforgettable
spiritual and physical associations with lines from songs like: "So
why do you torment me and shun me?" or "What will we know
tomorrow?... What will we see the following day?" and "Listen,
then, and pay attention to what I'm telling you." Any one of these
tunes with its associated family of memories would suffice to bring
his intoxication to a boil.
Transported by the music, he would nod his head, smile lasciviously,
snap his fingers, and sing along when alone. Singing, however,
was not an isolated pleasure attracting him for itself. It was a
flower in a bouquet, gaining beauty from the setting and contributing
to it. How welcome it was in the company of a close friend and loyal
comrade when combined with vintage wine and pleasant conversation.
"To devote himself to it alone, to listen to it at home played on
a phonograph, however fine and agreeable that might be, lacked the
appropriate atmosphere, ambiance, and environment. How preposterous
to think his heart should be satisfied with that! What he liked
was to interpose a witty remark between one tune and the next to
set everyone laughing, to take a sip from a full glass before starting
the music again, and to observe its effect in the face of a friend or
the eye of a chum. Then they would all join in expressing their admiration
by saying, "Praise the Lord."
The creation of memories was not the only result of his partying.
Another of its other virtues was the tendency it produced in him to
be kind to his obedient, submissive wife. It was what she longed for
when she was with him. He was companionable and talkative. He
would tell her his innermost thoughts, thus making her feel, if only
for the moment, that she was not just his servant but also a partner
in his life. He proceeded to discuss household matters with her. He
told her he had directed a merchant he knew to buy up a reserve of
clarified butter, wheat, and cheese for the house. He attacked the rise
in prices and the scarcity of necessary commodities caused by this
war, which had been giving the world a pounding for the past three
years. As always when he mentioned the war, he began cursing the
Australian troops who had spread through the city like locusts, destroying
the land.
The truth was that he had a special reason for resenting the Australians.
Their tyranny separated him from the Ezbekiya Garden entertainment
district, which he had abandoned in defeat, except for the
r z
Naguib Mahfou
few rare opportunities he could snatch. He could not stand to expose
himself to soldiers who openly plundered people of their possessions
and took pleasure in abusing and insulting them without restraint.
He began to ask after the "children," as he called them, making no
distinction between the eldest of them, a clerk in al-Nahhasin School,
and the youngest, who was a pupil in Khalil Agha Elementary
School. Then he inquired suspiciously, "And Kamal? You better not
be covering up his mischief."
The woman thought of her young son, whose innocent pranks she
did in fact conceal. Her husband did not recognize that there could
be innocent games or amusements. She replied meekly, "He respects
his father's commands."
Her husband was silent for a moment. His thoughts seemed to be
wandering. Once more he was harvesting memories from his happy
evening. Then his memory slipped back to the events of the day
before the party. He remembered all at once that it had been a momentous
day. In his condition, he did not feel like keeping from her
anything that floated to consciousness. He said as though addressing
himself, "What a fine man Prince Kamal al-Din Husayn is! Do you
know what he did? He refused to ascend the throne of his late father
so long as the British are in charge."
The woman had heard the day before of the death of Sultan Husayn
Kamal, but this was the first time she heard the name of his son.
She could not find anything to say, but moved by her feelings of
veneration for the speaker and afraid not to comment on something
he said, she responded, "May God have mercy on the Sultan and
bless his son."
Her husband continued his remarks: "Prince Ahmad Fuad, or Sultan
Fuad as he will be known from now on, accepted the throne. The
celebration came to a climax today with his investiture. Then he went
in a procession from Bustan Castle to Abdin Palace. Praise to God,
the Everlasting."
Amina listened to him with interest and delight. She was interested
in any news of the outside world, about which she knew almost
nothing. Her delight was inspired by the affectionate attention she
could boast of because her husband had spoken to her of such
weighty matters. Moreover, the knowledge represented by the conversation
gave her pleasure, because she could repeat it to her children,
especially her two daughters, who were as totally ignorant of
the outside world as she. She could think of nothing better to repay
him for his generous sentiments than to repeat in his hearing the
PALACE WALK 13
prayer she knew he heartily endorsed. She was also expressing her
own sincere emotions when she said, "Our Lord can return our sovereign
Abbas to us."
The man shook his head and murmured, "When?... When? Only
the Lord knows. All we read about in the papers are British victories.
Will they really win or will the Germans and Turks be victorious in
the end? Answer our prayer, O God."
The man closed his eyes from fatigue and yawned. He stretched
out, saying, "Take the lamp back to the sitting room."
The woman got to her feet and took the lamp from the table.
Before she left the room, she heard her husband belch. She stammered,
"Health and strength."
Through the stillness of the early morning, when the dark dawn sky
was transfixed by arrows of light, there rose from the courtyard oven
room the sound of dough being kneaded rhythmically, like the beating
of a drum. Amina had been up for about half an hour. She had
finished her ablutions and prayed before going down to the oven
room to rouse Umm Hanafi, the servant, who was in her forties and
had been a maid in the house when she was a girl. She had left the
house to marry and had returned after her divorce. While Umm Hanafi
worked the dough, Amina busied herself preparing breakfast.
The house had a wide courtyard with a well at the far right. The
well's opening had been fitted with a wooden cover once cb,.:ldren's
feet began pattering across the ground. That was followed by the
installation of water pipes. On the far left, by the entrance to the
women's quarters, were two large chambers. The oven occupied one,
devoted to baking, and the other served as a storeroom.
The oven room, although isolated, had a special claim on Amina's
affections. If the hours she had passed inside it were added up, they
would be a lifetime. Moreover, the room came alive with the delights
of each holiday in its season, when hearts, merry with the joys of
life, kept an anxious watch. Appetites were whetted by all the delicious
foods prepared there for each holiday in turn, like the sweet
fruit compotes and doughnuts for Ramadan or the cake and pastries
for Id al-Fitr marking the end of Ramadan. For Id al-Adha, the Feast
of the Sacrifice, there was the lamb that was fattened up and pam.
pered only to be slaughtered while the children watched. Thus the
universal rejoicing was not without a mournful tear. The blaze of the
fire gleamed from the depths of the oven through the arched opening,
like a flaming firebrand of joy in the secret recesses of the heart. It
seemed both one of the ornaments of each festival and its harbinger.
If Amina, in the upper stories, felt she was a deputy or representative
of the ruler, lacking any authority of her own, here she was
the queen, with no rival to her sovereignty. The oven lived and died
at her command. The fate of the coal and wood, piled in the right
hand corner, rested on a word from her. The stove that occupied the
PALACE WALK I
opposite corner, beneath shelves with pots, plates, and the copper
serving tray, slept or hissed with flame at a gesture from her. Here
she was the mother, wife, teacher, and artist everyone respected.
They had full confidence in everything she produced. The only praise
she ever succeeded in eliciting from her husband, if he did favor her
with praise, was for a type of food she prepared and cooked to perfection.
Umm Hanafi was the right arm of this small empire, whether
Amina directed the work herself or allowed one of her daughters to
practice this craft under her supervision. Umm Hanafi was a stout
woman who was shapeless and formless. The single goal governing
her ample increase in flesh had been corpulence. Considerations of
beauty had been ignored. She was totally satisfied, for she reckoned
corpulence to be beauty of the finest sort. No wonder, then, that all
her household chores seemed almost secondary to her in comparison
with her primary duty, which was to fatten up the family, or more
specifically the females, with miraculous remedies that were not only
charms to produce beauty but its secret essence. Although these potions
did not always do the trick, they had proved their value more
than once and deserved the hopes and dreams invested in them. It
was not surprising that Umm Hanafi should grow plump in these
circumstances. But her weight in no way diminished her vigor. The
moment her mistress woke her, she rose, ready to get to work. She
hastened to the bread basin, and soon there rang out the sound of
the kneading, which served as an alarm dock in this house. It reached
the children on the first floor and the father on the top floor, notifying
everyone that it was time to rise.
Mr. Abroad Abd al-Jawad rolled over on his side and opened his
eyes. He scowled at once, furious at the sound that had disturbed his
sleep. He suppressed his anger, however, since he knew he had to
wake up. Normally his first sensation after regaining consciousness
was of his hangover. He struggled against it forcefully and sat up in
bed, although still dominated by a desire to go back to sleep. His
boisterous nights were not able to make him forget his daytime duties.
He would awake at this early hour, no matter how late he had
been in getting to bed, in order to leave for his shop a little before
eight. During his siesta he would have ample time to make up for
his lost sleep and to restore his energy for another night on the town.
Thus the moment he awoke was the worst of his whole day. He
would leave his bed, swaying from exhaustion and dizziness. He en
Naguib Mahfou
countered a life devoid of any sweet memories or warm feelings.
They seemed to have changed into a pounding in his brain and eyelids.
The
blows of the dough went on relentlessly. Fahmy was one of
the earliest of those awakened on the first floor. He was easy to
rouse, even though he stayed up late concentrating on his law books.
The first image that came to him on waking was of a round face with
black eyes at the center of its ivory surface. He whispered to himself,
"Maryam." Had he yielded to the temptation, he would have remained
under the covers for a long time to be alone with the phantom
visitor who came to keep him company with the tenderest affection.
He would gaze at her to his heart's content, converse with her, and
reveal one secret after another to her while drawing close to her with
a daring not imaginable except in this warm repose early in the morning.
As usual, however, he postponed this reverie until Friday morning
and sat up in bed. He turned to look at his brother sleeping in
the adjoining bed and shouted, "Yasin, Yasin! Wake up."
The youth's snoring was cut short. He snorted in annoyance and
muttered rather nasally, "I'm awake. I woke up before you."
Fahmy waited, smiling, till the other began snoring again. Then
he yelled at him, "Wake up!"
Grumbling, Yasin rolled over in bed. The covers slipped off one
side of his body, which resembled his father's in size.and bulk. He
opened his bloodshot.eyes, which gazed vacantly beneath a brow
contracted in a disgruntled frown. "Phooey... how did it get to be
morning so fast? Why can't we sleep till we've had enough? Discipline,
always discipline. We might as well be in the army." He reared
up, supporting himself on his hands and knees. He shook his head to
expel its drowsiness. He happened to look over at the third bed,
where Kamal lay sleeping. No one would wrench him out of his sleep
for half an hour. Yasin said enviously, "The lucky kid!" As his head
cleared a little, he sat up with his legs crossed under him on the bed.
He rested his head in his hands. He wished it was filled with the
sweet thoughts that brighten daydreams, but he, like his father,
awoke with enough of a hangover to keep dreams at bay. He saw
the musician Zanuba in his imagination, though not with his normal
delight. All the same, his lips parted in a smile.
In the adjoining room, Khadija had gotten out of bed without having
to use the dough alarm. She, of all the family, most resembled
her mother in her energy and early rising. Aisha generally was awakened
by the movement of the bed when her sister sat up and jumped
PALACE WALK
to the floor. Khadija inteiationally rocked the bed and thus started a
quarrel and exchange of insults, which through repetition had become
a coarse kind of joke. Although Aisha remained awake, she did not
rise after she had stopped bickering but surrendered to one of her
long happy daydreams.
Life stirred and activity spread throughout the first floor. Windows
were opened and light poured in. Close behind came a draft of air,
bringing with it the grinding of the wheels of the mule-drawn Suars
omnibus, the voices of workmen, and the cry of the hot-cereal vendor.
Movement continued between the two bedrooms and the bath.
Yasin appeared, his stocky body in a loose-fitting house shirt, along
with Fahmy, who was tall and slim, resembling, except for this slenderness,
his father. The two girls went down to the courtyard to join
their mother in the oven room. Rarely will two such dissimilar people
belong to one family. That Khadija was a brunette was not a flaw,
but the features of her face were noticeably out of proportion with
each other. Aisha, on the other hand, was a blonde who radiated a
halo of beauty and good looks.
Although their father was alone on the top floor, Amina had arranged
everything so he would need no assistance. On the table he
found a cup filled with fenugreek tea, which he used to freshen his
mouth. When he went to the bath he inhaled the fragrance of sweet
incense and found clean clothes carefully arranged on the chair. He
washed in cold water, as he did every morning, summer or winter.
Then he returned to his room with renewed vitality and energy. He
took the prayer rug, which had been folded and placed on the back
of the sofa, and spread it out to perform the morning prayer. When
he prayed, his face was humble, not the smiling, merry face his
friends encountered or the stern, resolute one his family knew. This
was a responsive face. Piety, love, and hope shone from its relaxed features, which were molded by a wish to ingratiate, cajole, and seek
forgiveness. He did not pray in a mechanical way limited to recitation,
standing, and prostration. His prayer was based on affection,
emotion, and feelings. He performed it with the same enthusiasm he
invested in every aspect of life, pouring himself into each. When he
worked, he put his whole heart into it. If he befriended someone, he
was exceptionally affectionate. When he fell in love, he was swept
off his feet. He did not drink without getting drunk. He was earnest
and sincere in everything. Thus for him the mandatory prayer became
a spiritual pilgrimage in which he traversed the expansive realms of
the Master. Even after he had finished praying he would sit cross
I g
Nag,ib Mahfou
legged with palms outstretched and implore God to watch over him
carefully, forgive him, and bless his offspring and business.
When the mother had finished preparing the food for breakfast,
she allowed the girls to arrange it on the tray. She went to the brothers'
room, where she discovered Kamal still sound asleep. Smiling,
she approached him and placed the palm of her hand on his forehead
to
opening
began
calling
recite the
prayer of the Qur'an. Then she
him, shaking him gently. She did not leave him until he was out of
bed. Fahmy came in. Seeing her there, he smiled and wished her good
morning. She responded, with a look of love sparkling in her eyes,
"Light of my eyes, may your morning be bright."
She greeted her stepson Yasin with the same tenderness. He replied
with the affection due a woman who was like a real mother to
him.
When Khadija returned from the oven room, Fahmy and Yasin,
particularly Yasin, greeted her with some of the taunts they often
used against her. Their jests were aimed at her disagreeable appearance
or her sharp tongue. Nevertheless, she exerted considerable influence
over the two brothers, since she looked after their concerns
with an outstanding skill seldom volunteered by Aisha, who shone
in the family as the beautiful but useless personification of good looks
and charm.
Yasin accosted Khadija: "We were talking about you. We were
saying that if every woman looked like you, men would be spared
all heartaches."
She shot back, "And if all men were like you, they would never
get headaches from thinking."
At that their mother called out, "Breakfast is ready, gentlemen."
The dining room was on the top floor along with the parents' bedroom.
On this story were also located a sitting room and a fourth
chamber, which was empty except for a few toys Kamal played with
when he had time.
The cloth had been spread on the low table and the cushions arranged
around it. The head of the household came and sat down
cross-legged in the principal place, The three brothers filed in. Yasin
sat on his father's right, Fahmy at his left, and Kamal opposite him.
The brothers took their places politely and deferentially, with their
heads bowed as though at Friday prayers. There was no distinction
in this between the secretary from al-Nahhasin School, the law student,
and the pupil from Khalil Agha. No one dared look directly at
their father's face. When they were in his presence they would not
even look at each other, for fear of being overcome by a smile. The
guilty party would expose himself to a dreadful scolding.
Breakfast was the only time of-day they were together with their
father. When they came home in the afternoon, he would already
have left for his shop after taking his lunch and a nap. He would not
return again until after midnight. Sitting with him, even for such a
short period, was extremely taxing for them. They were forced to
observe military discipline all the time. Their fear itself made them
more nervous and prone to the very errors they were trying so hard
to avoid. The meal, moreover, was consumed in an atmosphere that
kept them from relishing or enjoying the food. It was common for
their father to inspect the boys during the short interval before the
mother brought the tray of food. He examined them with a critical
eye until he could discover some failing, however trivial, in a son's
appearance or a spot on his clothes. Then a torent of censure and
abuse would pour forth.
He might ask Kamal gruffly, "Have you washed your hands?" If
Kamal answered in the affirmative, he would order him, "Show me!"
Terrified, the boy would spread his palms out. Instead of commending
him for cleanliness, the father would threaten him. "If you ever
forget to wash them before eating, I'll cut them off to spare you the
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Naguib Mfou
trouble of looking after them." Sometimes he would ask Fahmy, "Is
that son of a bitch studying his lessons or not?" Fahmy knew whom
he meant, for "son of a bitch" was the epithet their father reserved
for Kamal.
Fahmy's answer was that Kamal memorized his lessons very well.
The truth was that the boy had to be clever to escape his father's
fury. His quick mind spared him the need to be serious and diligent,
although his superior achievement implied he was both. The father
demanded blind obedience from his sons, and that was hard to bear
for a boy who loved playing more than eating.
Remembering Kamal's playfulness, ai-Sayyid Ahmad commented
angrily, "Manners are better than learning." Then turning toward
Kamal, he continued sharply: "Hear that, you son of a bitch."
The mother carried in the large tray of food and placed it on
cloth. She withdrew to the side of the room near a table on which
stood a water jug. She waited there, ready to obey any command. In
the center of the gleaming copper tray was a large oval dish filled
with fried beans and eggs. On one side hot loaves of flat bread were
piled. On the other side were arranged small plates with cheese, pickled
lemons and peppers, as well as salt and cayenne and black pepper.
The brothers' bellies were aflame with hunger, but they restrained
themselves and pretended not to see the delightful army, as though
it meant nothing to them, until their father put out his hand to take
a piece of bread. He split it open while muttering, "Eat." Their hands
reached for the bread in order of seniority: Yasin, Fahmy, and then
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