after the British soldiers occupied it, and al-Sayyid Ahmad was able
to resume a favorite custom he had temporarily been forced to curtail,
that of attending the Friday prayer service at al-Husayn Mosque,
accompanied by his sons. It was a practice he had scrupulously observed
for a long period. He had invited his sons to join him, when
they were old enough, in order to direct their hearts toward religion
eady in life. He hoped it would be a blessing to him, his sons, and
the entire family. Amina was the only one with reservations about
this caravan that set out at the end of each week, consisting of her
three men, as big as camels, resplendent and virile. She watched them
through the balcony peephole and imagined that everyone was staring
enviously at them. In her alarm, she prayed to God to spare them
the dangers of the evil eye. One day she felt compelled to confide
her fears to her husband, who seemed swayed by her warning momentarily
but did not yield. He told her, "The blessing of the religious
duty we fulfill by attending the Friday prayer service is
sufficient protection against any evil."
Since childhood, Fahmy had cheerfully obeyed the summons to
attend the Friday service with a heart eager to perform his religious
duties. He was motivated not only by his father but by sincere religious
sentiment, enlightened by views drawn from the teachings of
the influential Egyptian theologian Muhammad Abduh and his disciples.
He was the only one in the family to adopt a skeptical attitude
toward incantations, charms, amulets, and the amazing deeds performed
by saints. His mild temperament kept him from making his
doubts public or announcing his disdain for such things. He accepted
without protest the amulets from Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad
that his father brought him from time to time.
be
Yasin complied with his father's request to attend prayers with him
cause he had no alternative. Left to his own devices he might never
have thought of squeezing his huge body in among the masses of
a°.rship.pers, not from any religious doubt but from laziness and a
clt of Interest. On Fridays, Yasin suffered from a special distress all
morning. When it was time to go to the mosque he grumpily put on
his suit. He followed behind his father like a prisoner, but graduall)
as he approached the mosque his grouchiness decreased. By the time
he entered the sanctuary he felt at peace with the world and performed
the prayer, asking God to forgive him and pardon his sins.
He would not ask for repentance, since he secretly feared his prayer
might be granted and he would be turned into an ascetic with no
taste for the pleasures of life he loved and without which he thought
life would be meaningless. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt
that repentance was a necessity and that he could not be pardoned
without it. He just hoped it would come at an appropriate time so he
could have full enjoyment of both this world and the next. Therefore,
despite his laziness and grumbling, in the end he praised the circumstances
that forced him to perform a religious duty as important as
the Friday prayer. In the final reckoning, it might erase some of his
bad deeds and lighten the burden of his sins, especially since it was
virtually the only religious duty he did perform.
Kamal had just recently been invited to join them, when he became
ten. He obeyed the summons proudly, cockily, and happily. He
sensed that the invitation implied recognition of him as a person and
almost put him on a par with Fahmy, Yasin, and even his father. He
was particularly pleased to follow in his father's footsteps without
having to dread some punishment from him. He stood beside him as
an equal in the mosque, where everyone copied the motions of the
same imam or prayer leader. At home when he prayed, he was totally
absorbed in the experience to a degree he could not attain at the
Friday prayer service. There he was nervous about performing his
prayers surrounded by so many people and apprehensive that he
might slip up in some manner his father would detect. When he was
in the mosque, the intensity of his devotion to al-Husayn, whom he
loved more than himself, also interfered with giving the kind of total
attention to God that a person should when praying.
Thus they appeared on aI-Nahhasin Street walking briskly toward
Bayt al-Qadi, al-Sayyid Ahmad in front with Yasin, Fahmy, and Kamal
following in a line behind him. They found places in the mosque
and sat listening to the sermon in total silence, their heads craned to
see the pulpit. Although the father listened attentively, he was also
praying silently. His heart reached out to Yasin in particular, sinCe
he thought the young man deserved compassion after his false steps.
He prayed to God at length to reform Yasin, straighten him out, and
compensate him for everything he had lost. The sermon directed his
PALACE WALK 413
attention to his own sins, sweeping aside all other considerations. He
found himself directly confronted by them. They were given such
terrifying vividness by the penetrating and resonant voice of the
preacher that al-Sayyid Ahmad imagined he was singling him out
and screaming into his ears at the top of his voice. He would not
have been surprised to hear the preacher address him by name: "Ah
mad, restrain yourself from evil. Cleanse yourself of fornication and
wine. Repent and return to God your Lord."
lie was troubled by anxiety and doubt just.as he had been the day
Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad had argued with him. He usually
was not affected this way by the sermon, for he would become dis°
tracted, praying for pardon, forgiveness, and mercy. Like his son Ya
sin, he did not pray for repentance, or if he did it was only with his
tongue and not his heart. If his tongue said, "O God, repentance,"
his heart limited its request to pardon, forgiveness, and mercy. They
seemed to be a pair of musical instruments playing together in a
single orchestra but rendering different tunes. He could not imagine
viewing life in any other fashion than the way it actually appeared
to him. Whenever anxiety and doubt threatened to gain control of
him, he would rise to defend himself against them, putting his defense
in the form of a prayer or a plea for forgiveness. He would say, "O
God, You know my heart, my faith, and my love. God, increase my
dedication to the performance of my religious duties and my ability
to do good deeds. O God, a good deed outweighs ten others. God,
You are forgiving and merciful." With such a prayer he would grad
ually
recover his peace of mind.
Yasin did not have this ability to reconcile his piety and his practice
or did not feel in need of it. He never thought about it. He wandered
through life just as he wanted, believing in God in exactly the same way
he believed in his own existence. He would surrender himself to the
flow of life, not opposing or resisting it. When the preacher's words
reached his ears, he prayed mechanically for mercy and forgiveness
with complete peace of mind, for he felt no real danger. God was too
merciful to cause a Muslim like himself to burn in hell for transitory
lapses that harmed no one. And there was alwaysrepentance It
Would COme one day and erase everything that had preceded it.
Biting on his lip to suppress his laughter, he looked stealthily at
his father and wondered what the man might be thinking while he
listened with such evident interest to the sermon. "Is he tormented
bdY every Friday service or do you suppose he's a hypocrite and
oesn't admit the truth?... No, neither one " He was like Yasin
4 4
Naguib Mafou
and believed in the vastness of God's mercy. If matters were as grave
as the preacher's description implied, then his father would have chosen
one of the two conflicting paths. He stole another glance at alSayyid
Ahmad. He thought he looked like a noble and handsone
stallion among the seated worshippers gazing at the pulpit. The admiration
and love he felt for him were pure. There was no trace of
resentment left in his soul, although on the day of the divorce he had
been so angry that he had revealed his anguish to Fahmy: "Your
father has destroyed my household and made me a laughingstock for
people." Now he had forgotten his resentment along with the divorce,
the scandal, and everything else.
The preacher himself was no better than his father. In fact, he was
quite certainly more debauched. One of his friends at Ahmad Abduh's
coffee shop had told him, "He believes in two things: God in heaven
and adolescent boys on earth. He's such a sensitive type that when
he's in al-Husayn, his eye twitches if a lad moans in the Citadel."
Yasin felt no rancor toward him because of that. On the contrary,
the preacher and his father seemed like a trench at the front lines that
the enemy would have to storm across first before reaching him.
Then the call to prayer was given. The men rose all at once and
positioned themselves in closely packed lines, which filled the courtyard
of the great mosque. They brought the building to life with their
bodies and souls. The congestion was so intense that Kamal was
reminded of the annual procession along al-Nahhasin, or Coppersmiths
Street, of the pilgrims leaving for Mecca. Intermingled in the
long, parallel lines were men with all different styles of clothing--
suits, cloaks, or floor-length shirts--but they all became a single organism,
moving in unison, facing in a single direction for prayer.
Their whispered recitations reverberated in an all-encompassing hum
until the benediction came.
At that moment, the orderly discipline was abandoned. Freedom
drew a deep breath, and everyone rose to go wherever he wished.
Some went to visit the sepulcher, some headed for the doors to leave,
and others stayed behind to chat or to wait until the crowd thinned
out. The streams of traffic in different directions frequently got mixed
up with each other. The happy moment Kamal had promised himself
was at hand, that of visiting the sepulcher, kissing the walls, and
reciting the opening prayer of the Qur'an for himself and on behalf
of his mother, as he had promised her. He began to move along
slowly, following in his father's footsteps.
PALACE WALK
Before anyone knew what was happening, a young theology student
from al-Azhar University suddenly burst out of the crowd to
block their way so violently that people started looking. He spread
his arms out to thrust people aside. He stepped back to glare at Yasin,
frowning as sparks of anger flew from his sullen face. AI-Sayyid Ahmad
was startled by him and began to look back and forth between
him and Yasin, who seemed even more startled and began in turn to
look questioningly from the theology student to his father. People
noticed what was happening and focused their attention to watch
with curious astonishment.
AI-Sayyid Abroad could not restrain himself any longer. He asked
the young man indignantly, "What's the matter, brother? Why are
you looking at us that way?"
The seminarian pointed at Yasin and cried out in a voice like thunder,
"Spy!"
The word ripped into the family like a bullet, making their heads
spin. Their eyes were fixed on the man, and their bodies became rigid.
Meanwhile the accusation was on everyone's lips, repeated with
alarm and resentment. People began to gather around them, warily
linking their arms together to form a circle from which they could
not escape. Al-Sayyid Ahmad must have been the first to come to his
senses, although he understood nothing of what was happening
around him. He sensed the danger of remaining silent and of retreating
into himself. He shouted angrily at the young man, "What are
you saying, Mr. Shaykh? What spy do you mean?"
The seminarian paid no attention to the father. He pointed once
more at Yasin and yelled, "Beware, people. This fellow's a traitor,
one of the spies for the English who has slipped in among you to
collect information he turns over to his criminal masters."
AI-Sayyid Ahmad was furious. He took a step toward the young
man and, losing control of himself, shouted, "What you're saying
doesn't make any sense. Either you're a troublemaker or you're crazy.
This young man is my son. He's no traitor or spy. We're all nationalists.
This district knows us as well as we know ourselves."
Their adversary shrugged his shoulders disdainfully and shouted
oratorically, "A despicable English spy. I have seen him repeatedly
with my own eyes conversing privately with the English at Palace
Walk. I have witnesses to that. He won't dare deny it. I challenge
him.... Down with the traitor."
An angry rumble resounded throughout the mosque. Voices were
Naguib Mahfou
raised here and there, crying, "Down with the spy." Others eali
out, "Teach the traitor a lesson."
It was clear from the threatening looks in the eyes of those near
them that people were just waiting for some initial gesture or sig
before pouncing on them. The only thing holding back the tide
have been the impressive sight of al-Sayyid Ahmad, who was stand.
ing beside his son as though offering to absorb the harm threatening
him, as well as the tears of Kamal, who was wailing. Yasin was
standing between his father and Fahmy, barely conscious from ala
and fear. He began to say in a trembling voice no one could hear,
"I'm not a spy I'm not a spy... with God as my witness
what I say."
The crowd's anger was becoming a frenzy. People were converging
on the circle of prisoners. They were shoving against eh other
with their shoulders and threatening to harm the spy.
Then a voice cried out from the center of the mob: "Not so fast,
gentlemen.... This is Yasin Effendi, the secretary of the school on
Coppersmiths Street."
Voices roared back, "Coppersmiths or ironmongers, it doesn't matter.
Let's teach him a lesson."
Another man was making his way between the bodies with difliculty
but also with invincible determination. As soon as he reached
the front, he raised his hands and screamed, "Listen! Listen!" When
it was a little quieter he pointed at al-Sayyid Ahmad and said, "This is Mr. Ahmad Abd al-Jawad from a well-known family on al-Nahhasin.
There's no way his household could harbor a spy. Be patient
until the truth is discovered."
The theology student yelled angrily, "I'm not concerned with
whether he's Mr. Ahmad or Mr. Mubammad. This young man is a
spy, no matter who his father is. I've seen him joking with the executioners
who are filling the tombs to overflowing with your sons."
At once countless people were shouting, "Let's beat him with our
shoes."
A violent wave surged through the people packed together there.
Eager zealots moved in from every direction waving their shoes and
boots. Yasin felt desperate and defeated. He glanced all around him
and wherever he looked all he saw was the face of someone looking
for a fight, bubbling over with anger and hatred. Al-Sayyid Ahnaad
and Fahmy pressed close to Yasin in an instinctive gesture as though
trying to protect him from harm or at least to share it with him. The
two of them felt as choked by desperation and defeat as Yasin. Mean"
while Kamal's sobs had turned into a scream that almost drowned
out the voices of the mob.
The seminarian was the first to attack. He threw himself on Yasin
and grabbed his shirt. Then he pulled hard to drag him out of the
refuge he had created for himself between his father and his brother
so the blows would not miss him. Yasin grasped the man's wrist to
fight him off and al-Sayyid Ahmad intervened. For the first time in
his life, Fahmy saw his father in an alarming situation. He was so
outraged that he was oblivious to the danger engulfing them. Fahmy
shoved the theology student in the chest hard enough to force him
back. He shouted at the man threateningly, "Don't you dare come a
step closer."
The seminarian lost his temper and screamed, "Get all of them!"
At that moment a powerful voice commanded, "Wait, Mr.
Shaykh.... Everyone, wait."
Eyes were turned toward the voice. It was a young effendi who
emerged from the crowd heading for the circle with the prisoners. He
was followed by three others his age, dressed like him in modern
dothing. They marched forward in a confident and resolute manner
until they stood between the young shaykh and his victim and the
victim's family. Many people whispered to ask each other, "Police
... police?"
The questioning ceased when the theology student held out his
hand to the commander of the group, and the two shook hands
warmly. The leader asked the seminarian resolutely, "Where's this
The young sbaykh pointed with scorn and loathing at Yasin. The
leader turned to scrutinize him coldly. Before he could say a word,
Fahmy took a step forward to attract his attention. When the man
noticed him, his eyes quickly grew wide in amazement and disbelief.
He muttered, "You..."
Fahmy smiled wanly and said somewhat sarcastically, "This spy is
my brother."
The leader turned to the seminarian to ask, "Are you certain of
what you're saying?"
Fahmy answered first: "He may be correct in saying he saw him
talk to the English, but.he really misinterpreted what was happening.
The English are camped in front of our house and confront us whenever
we go in or out. At times we're forced to talk to them, against
our wills. That's all there is to it."
"l'he theology student started to speak, but the young leader si
4 I8
Naguib Mahfou
lenced him with a gesture. Putting his hand on Fahmy's shoulder, k
addressed the crowd: "This young man is one of our friends anaonI
the freedom fighters. We both work on the same committee, so I
take his word for it.... Let them pass."
No one said a thing. The young shaykh from al-Azhar withdrew,
without any hesitation and the crowd began to disperse. The youn
patriot shook hands with Fahmy and then went off, followed by hi"
companions. Fahmy patted Kamal on the head until he stopped
crying.
Silence reigned while everyone nursed his psychic wounds. AI
Sayyid Ahmad realized that some of his acquaintances had gathem
around him. They began to offer him their condolences and apologie
for the grave mistake committed by the theology student and tho
in the crowd whom he had misled. They assured him that they hae
spared no effort to defend him. He thanked them, although he did
not know when they had arrived or how they had defended him. H
renounced the visit to al-Husayn's sepulcher, because he was so overwhelmed
by emotion. He headed for the door, frowning, his lips
pressed tight together. His sons followed him in total silence.
AI-Sayyid Abroad got his breath back in the street, relieved to be
away from the people who had participated in the incident, even if
only by watching. He hated everything to do with the misadventure
and hurled insults at it. He saw scarcely anything of the street along
which he was walking. He exchanged greetings twice with acquaintances in a cursory, formal manner he never used. He concentrated
on himself and his wounded soul, which was boiling with anger.
"I would rather die than be humiliated like that: the prisoner of a
mob of rabble," he reflected. "This ill-fed, louse-infested theology
student claiming to be a patriot attacked me shamelessly. He showed
no respect for my age or dignity. I wasn't made to be treated like
this. I'm not a person who can be humiliated this way. And when I'm with my sons.... Don't be surprised.... Your sons are the
source of the problem. This ox, born of misery, will never stop caus
ing
trouble for you. He has acted scandalously in my home and alien
ated
me from my dearest friend, crowning the year with a divorce.
Was that enough?... No, Haniya's son feels compelled to chat pub
licly
with the English and let me pay the price of being attacked by
riffraff. Take your friends the soldiers to your mother so her museum
of lovers can be rounded out with Englishmen and Australians.
"h seems you'll be causing trouble for me as long as I live."' This
sentence slipped out bitterly, but he resisted the temptation to upbraid
his son.
Despite his anger, he could see the state Yasin was in and felt
Sorry for him. He observed that his son was dazed, pale and ill, and
he could not force himself to attack. The trouble Yasin had gotten
hinaself into sufficed for now. He was not the only one giving him
trouble. There was the hero. "But let's postpone his case till we re
COver
from the headaches caused by the ox... an ox at home and in
the tavern, a bull with Umm Hanafi and Nur. But in the battle at the
nOSque, he was totally useless, a spineless wonder." What bastards
his SOns were If God would only dispense with children, descendants,
and
¢hy don't families "Oh... why are my feet leading me home?
I get a bite to eat away from the poisoned atmosphere of
the house? Amina, for her part, will wail when she hears the news.
don't need to feel any more disgusted. I'll get some kabob at
Dahan's.... I'll surely find a friend there to whom I can recount r
disaster and tell my troubles.... But no, I have other problems th
cannot wait that long. The hero.., a new calamity we must reined
On to the disastrous dinner. Wail, lament, and cry, woman, and
curses on your father too."
Fahmy had only just finished changing clothes when he was sun,moned
to talk to his father. Despite his depleted energy and his distress,
Yasin could not keep himself from muttering, "Now it's your
turn."
Pretending not to understand the point of his brother's rema
Fahmy asked, "What do you mean?"
Yasin laughed, finally able to, and said, "The traitors have had
turn, and now the freedom fighters will have theirs."
Fahmy wished dearly that the terms his friend had used to describe
him in the mosque had been forgotten in all the commotion of
disturbance and the family's dazed reaction, but they had not beeJ
Now Yasin was repeating them. Without any doubt, his father was
summoning him to discuss them. Fahmy sighed deeply and departed.
He found his father sitting on the sofa with his legs tucked under
him. He was fiddling with his prayer beads, and the look in his eyes
was sad and thoughtful. Fahmy greeted him with great courtesy and
stopped, submissively and obediently, about two meters away from
the sofa. The man nodded his head slightly to return the greeting but
the gesture did more to reveal how upset he was than to greet his
son. It seemed to imply: "I'm returning your greeting reluctantly and
only for the sake of politeness, but this spurious courtesy of yours
no longer deceives me."
•
A1-Sayyid Ahmad directed a frowning glare at his son, rhich radiated
anxiety and thus resembled a lamp used to search for a person
concealed in the darkness. He told the boy resolutely, "I've sum"
moned you, to learn everything. I want to know everything. What
did he mean when he said you were on the same committee? Don"
hesitate to tell me everything with complete candor."
Although Fahmy had grown accustomed during the past
weeks to confronting various dangers and had even gotten used
having bullets whiz past, it was his prerevolutionary heart that surfaced
once his father began interrogating him. He was terrified
felt reduced to nothing. He concentrated his attention on skirtin.g, th.i
wrath and trying to escape. He told his father gently and politelY,
PALACE WALK
,The matter's quite simple, Papa. My friend probably exaggerated to
"care us from our dilemma."
ext/.Sayyid Ahmad's patience was exhausted. He said, " 'The matter's
quite simple...' Great But which matter is it? Don't hide
anything from me."
With lightning speed, Fahmy considered the subject from different
perspectives to select something he could say without fear of the
consequences. He responded, "He called it a 'committee' when it's
nothing more than a group of friends who talk about patriotic topics
whenever they get together."
His father cried out furiously and resentfully, "Is this how you
earned the title of 'freedom fighter'?"
The man's voice betrayed intense disapproval, as though he was
hurt that his son was trying to put something over on him. The
wrinkles of his frowning face looked threatening. Fahmy rushed to
defend himself by making a significant admission, in order to con
vince
his father that in every other respect he had been obedient to
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