implore him to take into account the views of his Nation before
reaching a final decision regarding the current crisis. We affirm to
His Majesty that there is no one among his subjects, from one end
of the country to the other, who does not seek independence. Obstruction
of the Nation's request is a weighty responsibility which
Your Maiesty's advisers did not consider with the necessary care.
Therefore, our duty to serve our country and our loyalty to Our
Sovereign have compelled us to bring to the attention of His Majesty
the feelings of his Nation, which hopes fervently for independence
now and greatly fears what the agents of the colonial party may do
to it. The Nation has a right, which it seeks to exercise, for its sovereign
to be angry when it is angry and for him to side with it.
This is the goal the Nation has chosen.... And God is capable of
granting that.... "
Yasin raised his head from the handbill. There was an astonished
look in his eyes and his heart pounded with a new excitement. He
PALACE. WALK
shook his head and exclaimed, "What a letter!... I doubt I would be
able to send anything like that to the headmaster of my school without
being severely punished."
Fahmy shrugged his shoulders disdainfully and said, "The matter
has now gone beyond consideration of any concern other than the
good of the Nation." He repeated the words from memory, just as
they appeared in the handbill.
Yasin could not keep himself from laughing. He observed, "You've
memorized the handbill... but that doesn't surprise me. You seem
to have been waiting all your life for a movement like this in order
to throw your whole heart into it. Although I may share your feelings
and hopes, I'm not happy about your holding on to this handbill,
especially after the cabinet has resigned and martial law has been
proclaimed."
17ahmy said proudly, "I'm not just keeping it. I'm distributing it as
much as I can."
Yasin's eyes widened in astonishment. He started to speak, but the
mother spoke first. She said with alarm, "I can scarcely believe my
ears. How can you expose yourself to danger when you're such an
intelligent person?"
Fahmy did not know how to answer her. He felt the awkwardness
of the situation his recklessness had created. Nothing could be more
difficult for him than discussing this matter with her. He was closer
to the heavens than he was to convincing her that he had a duty to
expose himself to danger for the sake of the nation. In her eyes, the
nation was not worth the clippings from his fingernail. The expulsion
of the English from Egypt seemed easier to him than persuading her
of the necessity of expelling them or inducing her to hate them.
Whenever the subject came up in a conversation she would remark
quite simply, "Why do you despise them, son?... Aren't they people
like us with sons and mothers?"
Fahmy would reply sharply, "But they're occupying our country."
She would sense the bitter anger in his voice and fall silent. There
would be a veiled look of concern in her eyes that would have said
if it could have spoken, "Don't be like that."
Once when he was exasperated by her reasoning, he had told her,
"A people ruled by foreigners has no life."
She had replied in astonishment, "But we're still alive, even though
they've been ruling us for a long time. I bore all of you under their
rule. Son, they don't kill us and they don't interfere with the mosques.
The community of Muhammad is still thriving."
Nagui[ Matfou
The young man had said in despair, "If our master, Muhammad,
were alive, he would not consent to being ruled by the English."
She had responded sagaciously, "That's true, but what are we compared
to the Prophet, peace and blessings on him?... God sent His
angels to assist him."
He had cried out furiously, "Sa'd Zaghlul will do what the angels
used to."
She had raised her arms as though trying to fend off an irresistible
calamity and shouted, "Ask your Lord's forgiveness. O God, Your
mercy and forgiveness!"
That was what she was like. How could he answer her now that
she had realized the danger threatening him because he was distributing
the handbill? All he could do was resort to lying. Pretending to
dismiss the matter lightly, he said, "I was just joking. There's nothing
for you to be alarmed about."
The woman spoke again entreatingly, "This is what I believe, son.
How I would hate for my hopes in the person with the best sense of
all to be disappointed.... And what business of ours are these affairs?
If the pashas think the English should be expelled from Egypt, let
them expel the English themselves."
Throughout the conversation, Kamal had been trying to remember
something important. When the conversation reached this point, he
shouted, "Our Arabic language teacher told us yesterday that nations
gain their independence through the decisive actions of their sons."
The mother cried out in annoyance, "Perhaps he meant big pupils.
Didn't you tell me once that some of the other pupils already have
mustaches?"
Kamal asked innocently, "Isn't my brother Fahmy a big pupil?"
His mother replied with unaccustomed sharpness, "Certainly not!
Your brother's not an adult. I'm amazed at that teacher. How could
he have succumbed to the temptation of discussing something with
you that wasn't part of the lesson? If he really wants to be a nationalist,
he should address such talk to his sons at home, not to other
people's children."
This conversation would have grown progressively more heated
had not a chance remark intervened to change its direction. Zaynab
wanted to gain her mother-in-law's approval by supporting her. She
attacked the teacher and called him "a despicable mosque student to
whom the government gave a responsible position despite the changing
times."
The moment the mother heard this insult aimed at students in
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Islamic universities like al-Azhar, she was distracted from her former
concerns. She refused to let the remark slip by unchallenged, even
though it had been said to support her. She turned to Zaynab and
said calmly, "Daughter, you are disparaging the best thing about him.
The religious shaykhs carry on the work of God's messengers. The
man is to be blamed for exceeding the boundaries of his noble calling.
He should have contented himself with being a student at a mosque
and a religious scholar."
Yasin was not blind to the secret behind his stepmother's change
of direction. He quickly intervened to erase the bad impression left
by his wife's innocent remark.
"Look at the street. Look at the people. After all this, who could say
that the catastrophe hasn't taken place?"
At-Sayyid Ahmad did not need to look. Everyone was asking about
the event and trembling. His friends plunged into heated discussions
in which grief, sorrow, and anger played equal parts. The news was
repeated by everyone, friends and customers alike. They all agreed
that Sa'd Zaghlul and his closest associates had been arrested and
transported to an unknown location, either in Cairo or outside it.
Mr. Muhammad Iffat, his face flushed with anger, said, "Don't
question the accuracy of the rumor. Bad news has a stench that stops
up the nose. Wasn't this to be expected after the Wafd's letter to the
Sultan?... And after Sa'd's rejection of the British threats with that
stupendous letter to the British cabinet?"
Al-Sayyid Ahmad said despondently, "They arrest the great pashas
.... What a terrifying event! What do you suppose they'll do
with them?"
"Only God knows. The country is stifling under the shadow of
martial law."
Mr. Ibrahim al-Far, the copper merchant, rushed in. He cried out
breathlessly, "Have you heard the latest news?... Malta!" He struck
his hands together and proceeded: "Exile to Malta. None of them is
left here with us. They've exiled Sa'd and his colleagues to the island
of Malta."
They all exclaimed at the same time, "Exiled them!" The word
"exile" stirred up sad old memories that had stayed with them since
childhood concerning the revolutionary leader Urabi Pasha and what
had happened to him. They could not help feeling anxious, wondering
if the same fate lay in store for Sa'd Zaghlul and his colleagues.
Would they really be exiled from their nation forever? Would these
great hopes be nipped in the bud and die?
AI-Sayyid Ahmad felt a kind of grief he had never experienced
before. It was a heavy, dull sorrow that spread through his chest like
nausea. Under its weight he felt rigid, dead, choked. They began to
PALACE WALK
exchange eloquently somber and gloomy looks that screamed out
their feelings soundlessly, inciting each other without a single shout.
There was a bitter-taste in all their mouths.
On the heels of al-Far came another friend and then a second and
a third to repeat the same news, hoping the other men would be able
to calm their inflamed souls. All they found was silent sorrow, de
jected
gloom, and suppressed rage.
"Will today's hopes be for naught like those of yesterday?"
No one answered. The questioner kept looking from face to face,
but to no avail. There was no answer to comfort a soul's turmoil,
even though they refused to admit publicly the fear that was killing
them. Sa'd had been exiled That was true, but would Sa'd return,
and if so, after what length of time? How would Sa'd return? What
power could bring him back? If Sa'd did not return, what would
become of these vast hopes? From their new hope a profound and
fervent life had sprung that was too overwhelming to abandon to
despair. Yet they did not know bow their souls could justify reviving
it again.
"But isn't there any way that the information might be a false rumor?"
No one paid any attention to that suggestion. Even the person
making it was not surprised to be ignored. He had only offered his
remark in an attempt to find some escape, however imaginary, from
the stifling despair.
"The English have imprisoned him Who is there to stand up
to the English?"
"He was a man unlike other men. He inspired our lives for a dazzling
moment and vanished."
"Like a dream.... He'll be forgotten. Nothing more will be left of
him than is left from a dream by midmorning."
Someone exclaimed in a voice hoarse with pain, "God exists!"
They all shouted together, "Yes... and He's the most merciful of"
all who are compassionate." The mention of God's name was like a
magnet attracting and assembling around it their roving thoughts
which had been scattered by despair.
That evening, for the first time in a quarter century or more, the
assembled friends seemed averse to fun and music. They were overwhelmed
by gloom. All their comments concerned the exiled leader.
Sorrow had subjugated them. Even if" one of them was torn between
his sorrow and a desire to drink, sorrow would win out over drink
3 2
Naguib Mahfou
ing, because of his respect for the feelings of the group and his sense
that it was inappropriate under those circumstances. When the
versation had dragged on until they had exhausted all aspects, they
took refuge in silence. A covert anxiety afflicted them that revealed
the itching addiction to alcohol active within them. They seemed to
be waiting for a sign from someone daring enough to lead their
forces.
Mr. Muhammad Iffat said suddenly, "It's time for us to return to
out homes."
He did not mean what he said. He merely wanted to warn them
that they were allowing the time to pass and would soon be forced
to go home. Their long familiarity with each other had taught them
to understand each other's hints.
Abd al-Rahim, the flour merchant, was encouraged by the hidden
content of this warning to say, "Are we to part without a glass of
wine to lighten today's suffering?"
His statement cheered them up the way a surgeon's does when he
leaves the operating room to tell the family of a sick patient, "Praise
God... the operation was a success."
Yet a man whose sorrow was struggling with his desire to drink
pretended to protest, while concealing the relief gladdening his heart:
"Should we drink on a day like this?"
A1-Sayyid Abroad cast him a knowing look. Then he said ironically,
"Let them drink by themselves and we'll go outside, you...
son of a hitch."
They laughed for the first time, and bottles of wine were brought
in. Apparently wanting to apologize for this behavior, al-Sayyid Ahmad
said, "A little fun won't alter what's in a man's heart."
They applauded his words. Throughout the evening they had hesitated
a long time before answering the call of their physical yearnings.
Stirred by the sight of the wine bottles, al-Sayyid Abroad soon
observed, "Sa'd's rebellion was intended to cheer the Egyptians, not
to torment them. So don't let your sorrow for him make you feel
embarrassed about drinking."
His own grief did not prevent him from joking, although it was
not an enjoyable or carefree evening. AI-Sayyid Abroad described it
later as "a sick night which had to be treated with doses of wine."
The family began their coffee hour with unprecedented gloom.
Fahmy launched into a long revolutionary speech with tears in his
eyes. Yasin listened sorrowfully and sadly. The mother wanted to
dispel the despair and lighten their affliction but was afraid she would
only make things worse. Then the infectious sorrow soon passed into
her heart. She felt sorry for the old man they had taken away from
his house and wife to a distant place of exile.
Yasin commented, "It's a sad affair. All our men: the Khedive Ab- has II, the nationalists Muhammad Farid and Sa'd Zaghlul... all have
been driven far from the nation."
Fahmy exclaimed passionately, "What rogues the English are!...
We address them in the same terms they used to gain sympathy
during their ordeal and they answer with military threats, exile, and
banishment."
The mother could not bear to see her son so upset. She forgot
about the leader's tragedy and said gently and soothingly, "Don't
take it so hard, son. May our Lord be gracious to us."
This gentle tone only made him more upset. Without turning to
look at her he shouted, "If we don't confront terrorism with the anger
it deserves, may the nation never live again. It's unthinkable for the
nation to be at peace when its leader who has sacrificed himself for
it suffers the torments of captivity."
Yasin commented thoughtfully, "It's fortunate that Hamad Basil
Pasha was one of those exiled. He's the chieftain of a ferocious tribe.
I doubt that his men will keep quiet about his banishment."
Fahmy replied sharply, "What about the others?... Aren't there
men behind them too?... The case doesn't just concern one tribe, it
concerns the whole nation."
The conversation continued without interruption and grew even
more bitter and violent. The two women kept still out of anxiety and
fear. Zaynab could not understand the reasons for this emotional outburst.
It seemed meaningless to her. So what if Sa'd and his men had
been exiled? Clearly, if they had lived the way God's children should,
no one would have thought of banishing them. But they were not
content to live like that. They wanted things it was dangerous to
desire. There was no necessity for what had occurred. Regardless of
what had happened to them, why was Fahmy so insanely angry, as
though Sa'd were his father or his brother? Indeed, what was making
Yasin, a man who never retired to bed sober, so sad? Were men like
him and tile others really saddened by Sa'd's banishment? Did her
life need anything else to upset it so that Fahmy had to spoil the
serenity of this brief gathering with his tantrum? She thought about
this as she observed her husband from time to time with vexed
3 4
Naguib Mahfou
amazement. Her expression seemed to say, "If you're really sincere
about your sorrow, then don't go out this evening, just this one evening,
to the bar."
She did not utter a word. She was too wise to cast her icy reflections
into that fiery stream. Her mother-in-law resembled her in this.
Her courage rapidly evaporated when confronted by anger, no matter
how trivial. For that reason, she retreated into silence and kept her
intense discomfort to herself as she apprehensively followed the raging,
unruly conversation. She was better able than Yasins wife to
fathom the reasons for these storms. She remembered Urabi with her
mind, and her heart still felt sad about "Our Effendi," the Khedive
Abbas II. Yes, the word "exile" was a meaningful concept to her.
Indeed, the way she understood the term it lacked the hope that could
tantalize a person like Fahmy. In her mind, like those of her husband
and his friends, it was not associated with any possibility of return.
If it meant something else, where was "Our Effendi"? Who deserved
to return to his nation more than he did? Would Fahmy's sorrow last
as long as Sa'd's banishment? What was so unlucky about these days
that coming and going brought news to shake their security and destroy
their peace of mind? How she wished peace would return to its
abode and that this gathering would be pleasant again, the way it
had been all their lives. She wished Fahmy's face would smile and
that the conversation would be amiable. How she wished it....
"Malta! Here's Malta!" Kamal yelled suddenly, raising his head
from a map of the Mediterranean Sea. He had set his finger on the
outline of the island and now looked at his brother with triumph and
delight, as though he had found Sa'd Zaghlul himself. All he saw of
Fahmy was a scowling, gloomy face. There was no response to his
cry of discovery. His brother paid no attention to him at all. The boy
subsided and looked back down at the drawing of the island in confusion
and embarrassment. He gazed at it for a long time while he
measured with his eyes the distance between Malta and Alexandria
and then between Malta and Cairo. He tried to imagine what the real
Malta looked like. He pictured the men they had been talking about
who had been transported there. Since he had heard Fahmy say the
English had taken Sa'd away at spearpoint, he could only visualize
him being carried on the points of spears. The great leader was not
in pain or screaming, as one would expect in such a situation, but
"steadfast as a mountain," as his brother had also described him at
another stage of the conversation. How Kamal wished he could ask
his brother about the essence of that wonderfully magical man who
PALACE WALK
35'5
rested as steadfast as a mountain on the points of spears. In view of
the outpouring of anger that had destroyed the peace of the entire
gathering, Kamal postponed any action on his desire until a more
suitable opportunity.
Fahmy finally grew uncomfortable at dominating the session, after
be bad ascertained that the emotions he felt were too great to be
relieved by a conversation with Yasin in this setting, where the latter,
even if sympathetic, still played the part of a spectator. Fahmy's soul
urged him to join his comrades at the coffee shop of Ahmad Abduh,
where he would find hearts as responsive as his own and souls that
vied with his to express the perceptions and ideas raging inside.
There he would hear an echo of the anger crackling in his heart. He
would be able to formulate his daring and unruly impulses in a splendid
atmosphere of yearning for total freedom. Fahmy leaned toward
Yasin and whispered, "To Abroad Abduh's coffee shop."
Yasin sighed deeply, because he had begun to wonder with great
discomfort about some graceful way of slipping out of the coffee hour
to go off in search of entertainment without adding any more fuel to
Fahmy's flaming anger. Yasin's grief had not been fabricated, at least
not entirely. The momentous news shook his heart, but left to his
own devices he would have forgotten it without much effort. In view
of the strain on his nerves of trying to keep up with F'ahmy, to flatter
him and show respect for his unprecedented anger, Yasin left the
room saying to himself, "I've done enough for the nationalist movement
today. Now it's my body's turn."
Fahmy opened his eyes when he heard the sound of dough being
pounded in the oven room. The shutters were closed, and the room
was almost dark except for the pale light coming through the openings
between the slats. He could hear Kamal's regular breathing and
turned his head toward his brother's nearby bed. Memories of his life,
fresh this morning, swarmed through his mind. He was waking up
from a deep sleep resulting from his total exhaustion of mind and
body. He had not known whether he would wake up in this bed or
never wake up again. He had not known, nor had anyone else, for
death was roaming the streets of Cairo and dancing along its arcades.
How amazing! Here was his mother making bread as always. Here
was Kamal, sound asleep, rolling around as he dreamt. Yasin's footsteps
overhead indicated that he had wrenched himself out of bed.
His father was probably taking a cold shower. Here was the morning
light, both splendid and shy. Its first rays were gently seeking entry.
Everything was proceeding as usual, as though nothing had happened,
as though Egypt had not been turned upside down, as though
bullets were not searching for chests and heads, as though innocent
blood was not enriching the earth and walls. The young man dosed
his eyes with a sigh. He smiled at the swelling current of his emotions
that carried zeal, sorrow, and belief in successive waves.
During the last four days he had lived a life of far greater scope
than he ever had known before. His only comparable experience had
been in shadowy daydreams. It was a pure, lofty life, ready to sacrifice
itself in good conscience for the sake of something glorious, a
goal worthier and more exalted than life itself. It did not care whether
it risked death, which it greeted resolutely and attacked scornfully. If
it escaped from death's clutches once, it returned to attack again,
shunning any consideration of possible consequences. This life always
had its eyes fixed undeviatingly on a magnificent light and was
driven by an irresistible force. It submitted its fate to God, whom it
felt encompassing it like the air.
Life considered as a means to something else was despicable. It
was less significant than an atom. Life considered as an end in itself
PALACE WALK
3f7
was so exalted it was equal to the heavens aod the earth. Life and
death were brothers. They were like one hand in the service of one
hope. Life strengthened this hope with exertion, and death strengthened
it with sacrifice. If the awesome upheaval had not occurred,
Fahmy would have perished from grief and distress. He could not
have stood for life to have continued on in its calm, deliberate way,
treading beneath it the destinies and hopes of men. The upheaval had
been necessary to relieve the pressure in the nation's breast and in
his own. It was like an earthquake providing relief to the pressures
that accumulate inside the earth.
When the struggle began, it found him ready. He threw himself
into the midst of it. When and how had that happened? He was riding
a streetcar to Giza on his way to the Law School when he found
himself in a band of students who were waving their fists and protesting:
"Sa'd, who expressed what was in our hearts, has been banished.
If Sa'd does not return to continue his efforts, we should be
sent into exile with him."
The other passengers, their fellow citizens, joined in their discussion
and threats. Even the conductor neglected his work and stopped.
to listen and talk with them. What a moment!... After a dark night
of grief and despair, Fahmy's hope shone anew. He was certain that
this blazing fire would not grow cold.
When they reached the courtyard of the school, it was swarming
with clamorous students creating a great uproar. Their hearts raced
ahead of them as they rushed to their colleagues. They sensed that
something was brewing. Someone immediately began calling for a
strike.... That was new and unheard of then. While they were
shouting for a strike with their law books under their arms, the head
of the Law School, Mr. Walton, came to greet them with unusual
graciousness and advised them to enter their classrooms. In response,
a young man climbed up the stairway leading to the secretary's office
and began to address them with extraordinary zeal. All the dan could
do was withdraw.
Fahmy listened to the speech With rapt attention. His eyes were
fixed on the speaker, and his heart was beating rapidly. He would
have liked to climb up there too and pour out the contents of his
raging heart, but he did not have a background in public speaking.
He was content for someone else to repeat the outbursts of his own
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