his commands, just as an accused man may voluntarily confess to a
lesser offense in an attempt to plea for mercy. He said rather mod
estly,
"It happens sometimes that we distribute appeals on behalf of
nationalism."
Al-Sayyid Ahmad asked in alarm, "Handbills?... Do you mean
handbills?"
Fahmy shook his head no. He was afraid to admit this, since the
word was linked in the official pronouncements to the harshest pen
alties.
When he had found a suitable formula to make his confession
seem less dangerous, he said, "They're nothing but appeals that urge
people to love their country."
His father allowed the prayer beads to fall to his lap. He clapped
his hands together. Unable to control his alarm, he exclaimed,
"You're distributing handbills!... You!"
AI-Sayyid Ahmad could not see straight, he was so alarmed and
th
g,: distributing handbills... a friend of the freedom fighters. "We
th work on the same committee!" Had the flood reached his roost?
He had often been impressed by Fahmy's manners, piety, and intelligence.
He would have lavished praise on his son except that he
thought praise corrupted, whereas gruffness was educational and corrective.
How had all of this peeled away to reveal a boy who distribUted
handbills, a freedom fighter? "We both work on the same
eomnittee..."
lie had nothing against the freedom fighters, quite the contrary.
Naguib Mahfou
He always followed news about them with enthusiasm and pra--
for their success at the conclusion of his normal prayers Newthe
strike, acts of sabotage, and the battles had filled hm with
and admiration, but it was a totally different matter for any of the
deeds to be performed by a son of his. His children were meant
be a breed apart, outside the framework of history. He alone
set their course for them, not the revolution, the times, or the rest
humanity. The revolution and everything it accomplished were n¢
doubt beneficial, so long as they remained far removed from
household. Once the revolution knocked on his door, threatened hi
peace and security and the lives of his children, its flavor, complexion
and import were transformed into folly, madness, unruliness, and vul.
garity. The revolution should rage on outside. He would participate
in it with all his heart and donate to it as generously as he could....
He had done that. But the house was his and his alone. Any member
of his household who talked himself into participating in the revolution
was in rebellion against him, not against the English. AI-Sayyid
Ahmad implored God's mercy for the martyrs both night and day
and was amazed by the courage their families displayed, according to
what people said, but he would not allow one of his sons to join the
martyrs nor would he embrace the courage their families had displayed.
How could Fahmy have seen fit to take this insane step? How
had he, the best of his boys, chosen to expose himself to certain
destruction?
The man was more alarmed than he had ever been before, even
more than during the melee at the mosque. In a stem and threatening
voice as though he were one of the English police inspectors, he
asked Fahmy, "Don't you know the penalty for persons caught distributing
handbills?"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, which required Fahmy to
concentrate his attention on it, the question aroused a recent memorY
that shook his soul. He remembered being asked this same question,
identical in words and import, by the president of the supreme
dent executive committee--together with many other questions--
when he had been chosen a member of the committee. He also remembered
that he had replied with determination and enthusim,
"We are all ready to sacrifice ourselves for our country." He
pared the different conditions under which the same question had
been addressed to him and felt the irony of it.
Fahmy answered his father in a gentle and self-deprecating tone:
PALACE WALK
42.
- -. tribute among my friends. I don't have anything to do with
"I only d!s n
That way there's no risk or danger."
general distrtuuu J
.
.Sayyid Abroad, concealing his fears for his son behind the wr
ulenceAl
of his anger, shouted harshly, "God does not protect those
who expose themselves to danger needlessly. He, may He be glori
fied,
has commanded us not to put our lives in jeopardy." The man
would have liked to cite the verse of the Qur'an that dealt with this
but had only memorized those short suras of the Qur'an he recited
when he prayed. He was afraid that if he tried to quote it he might
overlook a word or get it wrong and thus commit an unforgivable
sin. He was content to cite the meaning and repeat it in order to
make his point.
Before he knew what was happening, he heard Fahmy reply in his
refined way, "But God also urges Believers to struggle, Papa."
Mterward Fahmy asked himself in amazement how he had found
the courage to confront his father with this statement, which betrayed
the fact he had been trying to conceal: that he was sticking to his
ideas. Perhaps he thought the Qur'an would protect him if he took
refuge behind one of its phrases. He was confident that his father
would refrain from attacking him under such circumstances.
AI-Sayyid Ahmad was shocked by both his son's audacity and his
argument. He did not give way to anger, though, Which might have
silenced Fahmy but not his argument. He would ignore the audacity
for a moment while he pounded away at Fahmy's argument with a
comparable one from the Qur'an, so that the erring child could be
provided with correct guidance. Afterward he could settle the other
account with him in any manner he wished. God inspired him to say,
"That's struggle 'for the sake of God.'" (Qur'an, 9:20.)
Fahmy took his father's answer to show a willingness to debate
with him. Once more he found the courage to speak: "We're strug
gling
for God's sake too. Every honorable struggle advances God's
AI-Sayyid Ahmad privately agreed with this statement, but his
agreement itself and the feeling of insecurity it occasioned when he
Was debating with his son made him fall back on anger. Actually he
Was motivated not just by anger but by wounded pride and his conrn
that the youth would go too far in his rebellion and get himself
killed. Fie abandoned the dbate and asked disapprovingly, "Do you
think I called you here to argue with me?"
Fahmy realized the threat his father's words contained. His dreams
Naguib MoAfou[
evaporated and he became tongue-tied. His father continued
"The only struggle for the sake of God is when I intend t,
God's cause in a specifically religious struggle. There's no arglamenl
about that. Now I want to know whether my command is going
be obeyed?"
The young man quickly replied, "Most certainly, Papa."
"Then break every link between you and the revolution Eve
if your role was limited to distributing handbills to your best friends.,
No power in existence could come between him and his patriotic
duty. He absolutely would not retreat even one step. The time for
that had passed, never to return. This passionate, dazzling life, spring.
ing from the depths of his heart and illuminating every area of his
soul, could not die away. How preposterous to think he would kill it
himself. All this was no doubt true, but could he not find some way
to please his father and escape his wrath? He could not defy him or
openly declare that he disagreed with the command. He could rebel
against the English and defy their bullets almost every day, but the
English were a frightening and hated enemy, while his father was his
father, a frightening and beloved man. Fahmy worshipped him as
much as he feared him. It was hard to disobey him. There was ALSO
another feeling Fahmy could not ignore. His rebellion against the
English was inspired by noble idealism. His disobedience against his
father was associated only with disgrace and misery. What reason
was there for this quandary? Why not promise to obey and then do
whatever he wanted?
Lying was not considered contemptible or shameful in this house
hold.
Living in their father's shadow, none of them would have been
able to enjoy any peace without the protection of a lie. They openly
admitted this to themselves. In fact, they would all agree to it in a
crisis. Had his mother intended to admit what she had done the flay
she slipped off to visit al-Husayn when her husband was out of to
Would Yasin have been able to drink, Fahmy to love Maryam,
Kamal toget up to all sorts of mischief when walking between Khan,
Ja'far and al-Khurunfush without the protection provided by lying.
None of them had scruples about it. If they had been totally truth
with their father, life would have lost its savor. For all these reasO
Fahmy said calmly, "Your command is obeyed, Papa."
This declaration was followed by silence as each of them rested
with relief. Fahmy imagined that his interrogation had been sail
concluded. Al-Sayyid Ahmad imagined that he had rescued his
from the pit of hell. While Fahmy was waiting for permission
PALACE WALK 42f
leave, his father suddenly rose and went to the armoire, which he
o.ned He thrust his hand inside as the young man watched with
r- ",--.qn, eves The father returned to the sofa with the
tll]¢ompreBH J •
Qur'an. He looked at Fahmy for some time. Then he held the Book
out to him and said, "Swear it on this Book."
Fahmy jerked back involuntarily as though fleeing from the tongue
of flame that had suddenly shot out at him. Then he remained nailed
to the spot as he stared at his father's face in desperate, alarmed
confusion. AI-Sayyid Ahmad kept his hand stretched out holding the
Book and looked at his son with incredulous disapproval. His face
became flushed, as though on fire, and there was a frightening gleam
to his eyes. He asked in astonishment, as though he could not believe
his eyes: "Don't you want to swear?"
Fahmy was tongue-tied. He could not utter a word or make a
gesture. His father asked in a calm voice, with a shaky quaver
suggestive of the raging anger behind it, "Were you lying to me?"
No change came over Fahmy, although he lowered his eyes to
escape his father's. Al-Sayyid Ahmad placed the Book on the sofa.
Then he exploded and shouted in such a resounding voice that Fahmy
felt he was being slapped on the cheek: "You're lying to me, you son
of a bitch.... I don't let anyone pull the wool over my eyes. What
do you think I am and what do you think of yourself?. You're a vile
insect, vermin, a son of a bitch whose exterior appearance has deceived
people for a long time. I'm not turning into an old lady any
time soon. Do you hear? Don't mistake me for some old woman.
You sons of bitches are driving me crazy. You've turned me into a
laughingstock for people. I'm going to hand you over to the police
myself. Do you understand? By myself you son of a bitch. The only
word that counts here is mine. Mine, mine, mine " He picked up
the Book again and continued: "Swear I command you to swear."
Fahmy appeared to be in a trance. His eyes were fixed on some
unusual motifs in the Persian carpet but saw nothing. He stared at
the motifs for so long they became imprinted on his mind, only to
fragment into chaos and emptiness. With each passing second he
plunged deeper into silence and despair. He had no alternative to this
deSperate, passive resistance.
A1-Sayyid Abroad rose with the Book in his hand and took one
tOWard him. Then he roared, "Did you think you were a man?
tip you think you could do what you like? If I wanted, I'd beat you
t your skull caved in."
Fahmy could not keep himself from crying then, but not from fear
of the threat, for in his condition he was oblivious to any har
.
f
,uat
might befall him. Hs team expressed hs sense o de,eat and
relieve the stmle raging within him. He staed to bite on
to suppress his tears. He [e[t ashamed at being so weak. en
was finally able to speak, he launched into a rambling ple
he was deeply moved and wished to conceal his easnt:
"Forgive me, Papa. Il obey eve command o youm mo
willingly, but I n't do this. I n't. We work like a single hd.
nt accept shnking back and abandoning my brothem, and I
think you would like me to. There's no way that lie would he
le if I did. eres no danger in what we're doing. Othem h
more elted tasks like paidpating in the demonstrations in will
many of them have been marred. I'm no beer than those h0
have en killed ere are funeral processions for tens of m at
a time with no lamentation except for the nation. Even the falies
of the viaims shout slogans instead of weeping. What is my life
womh?... What is the life of any man worth? Don't an, Papa.
Think about what I'm saying I assure you that there's no danger
in our little, nonviolent job."
Fahmy was so overcome by emotion that he could no longer
to face his father. He fled from the room, almost colling with Ymin
and Kamal, who were listening behind the door, their dismay
on their faces.
Yasin was heading for Ahmad Abduh's coffee shop when he ran into
one of his mother's relatives in Bayt al-Qadi. The man approached
him solicitously, shook his hand, and told him, "I was on my way to
your house to see you."
Yasin guessed that this statement presaged some news about his
mother, who had already caused him so much trouble. He felt uncomf0rtable
and asked listlessly, "Good news, God willing?"
The man answered with unusual concern, "Your mother's ill, actually
very ill. She's been sick for a month or more, but I only learned of it this week. At first they thought it was nerves and didn't worry
about it, until it became entrenched. When the doctors examined her,
it,as diagnosed as a serious case of malaria."
Yasin was astonished by this totally unexpected news. He had anticipated
word of a divorce, a marriage, a row, or something along
those lines. He had not considered illness. He scarcely knew what he
felt, since his emotions were so conflicting. He asked, "How is she now?"
The man replied with a premeditated candor not lost on Yasin,
"Her condition's grave In spite of the prolonged treatment there
has not been the least hint of progress. To tell the truth, her condition
has continued to deteriorate. She has sent me to tell you frankly that
she feels her end is near and that she wants to see you at once." He
added in a tone that implied Yasin should carefully consider what he
was saying, "You must go to her without any delay. This is my
advice to you and my plea. God is forgiving and compassionate."
Perhaps there was a certain amount of exaggeration in the man's
ar.ds, intended to induce him to go, but they could not be a total
ncation. So he would go, if only from a sense of duty.
Here he was, once again traversing the curve in the road leading
'alG.a-maliya, between Bayt ai-Mal and Watawit Alley. On his right
I-l'ih Street, where the woman who sold down palm fruit had
hr
,g- ' ce in shimmering memories of darkness. In front of him la
a,d of sorrows. He'would shortly see the store of the fruit me
, lOWer his eyes, and slink past like a fugitive thief. Whenever
42g
Naguib Mahfou
he thought he would never return here, misfortune brought hina
No power short of death could have brought him to her this tie
Death! "Has her time really come?" he wondered "M,. L ".
pounding.., with pain? Sorrow? All I know is that I' a"a
she's gone, I'll never return to this place again All the o]"
ories will succumb to forgetfulness. What's left of my ptolemy
be returned to me, but I'm afraid... I'm angry at tbese viei0
thoughts. O God, preserve us.
"Even if I gain a more comfortable life and greater peace of
my heart will never escape from its pains. On her death I wi[l,b
farewell to a mother, with a son's heart.., a mother and a son, isn't
that the way it is? I'm a person who has suffered a lot, not a
or a stone. Death is new to me. I've never witnessed it before. I
the end could come without it. We all die.., really? I've got to ri.
my fears. Nowadays we hear about people dying all the time, on
Ministries Street, in the schools, nd at the mosque of al-/har. There
are victims of the violence in the city of Asyut daily. Even the
milkman, al-Fuli, lost his son yesterday. What can the families ofe
martyrs do? Should they spend the rest of their lives weeping?
weep and then forget. That's death. Ugh... it seems to me there's
no way out of trouble now. At home there's Fahmy and his st
bornness. In front of me there's my mother. How hateful life is. What
if it's all a trick and I find her in the best of health? She'll pay
dearly.... She'll certainly have to pay a high price for it. I'm not
toy or an object to be ridiculed. She won't find her son until she
Do you suppose there's any money left for me? When I go in
house, will I find that man there? I won't know how to treat hi
Our eyes will meet for a dreadful moment. Woe to him! Should I
ignore him or throw him out? That's a solution. There are violenl
alternatives the man won't have considered. The funeral will crtainly
bring us together. What a jokeI Imagine her coffin with her first
final husbands following behind it, while her son walks between the
with tears in his eyes. By that time there definitely will be tears in
my eyes. Isn't that so? I won't be able to evict him from the funeral.
Scandal will accompany me to the very end. Then sbe'll be buried.
Yes, she'll be buried, and everything will end. But I'm afraid, hur,
and saddened. May God and His angels pray for me Here's
sinister store There's the man. He won't recogniz me. Far frona
it I'm disguised by age. 'Uncle... my mother says...'" The
servant opened the door for him, the same servant who
received him the year before. At first she did not recogni him a
PALACE WALK
eook
ed up curiously, but the questioning look quickly left her face to
replaced by a flash of recognition that seemed to say, "Oh...
you're the one she's waiting for." Then she made way and pointed
to a roor on the right as he entered. She said, "Step this way, sir....
I'I0 one else is there."
Her final phrase attracted his attention immediately, since it addressed
one of his major concerns. He realized that his mother had
removed this obstacle. He headed for her room, cleared his throat,
and entered. His eyes met his mother's as she looked up from her
bed, to his left. Her eyes, known for their clarity, were clouded, so
that her gaze seemed faint, as though coming from far away. Despite
the feebleness of her eyes and their apparent disinterest, occasioned
by their fading strength, she fixed them on him with a look of recognition.
The delicate smile of her lips betrayed her feelings of victory,
relief, and gratitude. Since she was wrapped in a blanket up to
her chin, only her face was visible, a face that was far more changed
than her eyes. Once full and round, it now looked withered and don
gated, pale instead of rosy. Her delicate skin revealed the outlines of
her jaw and protruding cheekbones, giving the pitiable appearance of
a face wasting away. He stopped in stunned disbelief, incredulous
that any power in existence would dare play such a cruel joke. His
heart was seized by alarm, as though he were staring at death itself.
He was stripped of his manhood and seemed to have become a child
again, searching everywhere for his father. Irresistible emotion drew him to the bed. He bent over her, murmuring in sorrowful tones,
"Never mind How are you?"
He felt genuinely sympathetic. In the warmth of this emotion his
chronic pains disappeared. Similarly, in rare cases the symptoms of a
hopeless medical condition, like paralysis, may disappear because of
a sudden, overwhelming onslaught of terror. He seemed to be redis
ch]v.ering
the mother of his childhood whom he had loved, before pain
art hidden her from his heart. Gazing at her faded face, he clung to
this rejuvenated feeling which had also rejuvenated him, taking him
back years before the pain, just as an exhausted invalid clings to a
ent o.f lucidity he fears intuitively may be almost his last. Yasin
g to ttfis sentiment with all the intensitv of a man full conscious
f the Stre Y
to tt. ngth of the forces threatening him. The very way he clung
u ms emotion revealed that those pains still existed deep inside him.
i.Was aware of the sorrow awaiting him if he carelessly allowed
'tinPsr.e emotion to become spoileby letting it mix with other
3°
Naguib Mahfou
The woman extracted from the covers a gaunt, emaciated hand
with dry skin washed with faded black and blue as though it had
been mummified for thousands of years. Immensely touched, he tk
it in his own hands. At that moment he heard her weak, husky v^
say, "As you can see, I've turned into a phantom."
He murmured, "May our Lord bring His mercy to bear on y
-
and make you all well again."
Her head, which was covered with a white scarf, nodded prav
fully as if to say, "May our Lord hear you." She gestured to hi
sit down. When he sat on the bed, she started talking with renewe
strength derived from his presence: "At first I felt strange shivers.
thought it was something that would go away, that it was caused l
nerves. People advised me to make a pilgrimage to the shrines
to burn incense. So I went to the mosques of al-Husayn and his sister
al-Sayyida Zaynab and burned various different types of incense--
Indian, Sudanese, and Arab--but my condition only got worse.
Sometimes I was overcome by a constant shaking that wouldn't leax
me until I was almost dead. At times my body would feel as cold
ice. On other occasions, fire would go through my body until,
screamed, it was so hot. Finally we decided, I and Mi..."She
stopped herself from mentioning the man's name, realizing at the last
moment the error she was about to commit. "Finally I sent for the
doctor, but his treatment did not make me any better and may eve
have set me back some. Now there's no hope."
Gently squeezing her hand, Yasin said, "Don't despair of God'
mercy. His compassion is universal."
Her pale lips smiled and she said, "It pleases me to hear t| t
pleases me to hear it from you more than from anyone else. ¥
-
dearer to me than the world and all its inhabitants. You're right
God's mercy is universal. I've had bad luck for so long. I don't
that I've slipped up and made mistakes. Only God is infallible."
He noticed, uneasily, that her conversation was verging on c
sion. He was upset and alarmed that things he could not bear
be repeated in his hearing, even if only with reflective regret. He
",,
,
ourself out
became tense and lumpy. He implored her, Don t tire y
with talking."
She raised her eyes with a smile and answered, "Your vi.s.i.t
given me back my spirit. I want to tell you that never in my life
peace
I want to harm anyone. Like everyone else, I was seeking P
mind, but my luck'tnpped me up:I didn't "harm anyone, but
people have harmed me."
4
PALACE WALK 43I
yasin felt that his prayer for the hour to pass peacefully would not
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