"An Englishman]" Pounding his hands together, Fahmy shouted,
"The daughter of al-Sayyid Muhammad Ridwan "
mumbled
Shaking her head in amazement and sighing, Amina
something to herself.
yasin observed thoughtfully, "For a girl to flirt with an English
man is no easy matter. This degree of corruption could not have
appeared in a single leap."
,'What do you mean?" asked Fahmy.
"I mean that her corruption must have proceeded a step at a time."
Amina implored them, "I ask you to swear by God to give up this
c0nversation."
As though he had not heard her entreaty, Yasin kept on with his
observations: "Maryam's the daughter of a lady whose art in adorning
herself has been witnessed by the women of our family "
Amina cried out in a voice filled with censure and rebuke, "Yasin!"
Backing down, Yasin said, "I want to say that we as a family live
according to such strict standards that we know little of what goes
on around us. No matter how hard we try to guess, we imagine that
other people live the way we do. We've associated with Maryam for
years without knowing what she's really like, until the truth about
her was discovered bythe last person one would have expected to
uncover the facts." He laughed and patted Kamal on the head.
Amina once again implored them fervently, "I beg you to change
the topic of this conversation."
Y'asin smiled and said nothing. Silence reigned. Fahmy could not
bear to stay with them any longer. He responded to the inner voice
that was anxiously calling for help and encouraging him to flee far
from other eyes and ears, so that he could be all alone and repeat the
conversation to himself from start to finish, word by word, phrase by
phrase, sentence by sentence, in order to understand and fathom it.
Then he could see where he stood.
It was after midnight when al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad left th
home of Maryam's mother, Umm Maryam, concealing himself in the
darkness of the cul-de-sac. The whole district appeared to be sound
asleep, enveloped in the gloom. It had been that way every night
since the English had set up camp there. No one chatted in a coffee
house,
no vendor roamed about, no shop stayed open late, and no
passerby stole along. The only traces of life or light were those com
ing
from the camp. None of the soldiers had ever interfered with him
as he came and went, but he felt anxious and apprehensive whenever
he approached the camp, especially when returning home late at
night exhausted but relaxed and in a daze that made it difficult for
him even to attempt to walk safely and steadily.
He went down to al-Nahhasin Street before turning to head back
toward his house, glancing stealthily at the sentry until he reached
the most dangerous section of the street, where it was illuminated by
light from the camp. There he was always seized by the feeling that
he was an easy mark for any predator. He quickened his steps t,
reach the dark area near the entrance to his house but had hardly
advanced a step when his ears rang as a rude, gruff voice yelled after
him in gibberish. He realized from the violent tone and concision of
the words, even though he could not understand them, that an order
not subject to debate was being tossed at him. He stopped walking
and turned, terrified, toward the voice.
He saw another soldier, not the sentry, heading toward him, armed
to the teeth. What new development had brought on this treatment
Was the man intoxicated? Perhaps he had been overcome by a sudden
urge to attack someone? Or was he out to' plunder and loot? With a
pounding heart and a dry throat, al-Sayyid Ahmad watched the sol.
diet approach. The lingering effects of his intoxication fled.
command"
Thts soldier stopped a few feet away from him and in a
d
ing voice addressed a few brisk words to him. AI-S.ayyid Ahrna,
naturally did not understand a single one. The soldier pointed towa,rt
u
rate
Palace Walk with his free hand. AI-Sayyid Ahmad looked despe
and ingratiatingly at him, suffering bitterly from his inability to cow
PALACE WALK
run!cate or to convince the man that he was innocent of his accusations.
He wished he could at least discover what the man wanted.
It occurred to him that the soldier had gestured down Palace Walk
to tell him to move away, thinking he did not live in this neighborhood.
He pointed in turn to his house, so the man would understand
that he was a resident returning home. The soldier ignored his gesture
and snarled at him, pointing persistently in the other direction. l-le motioned with his head, as though urging al-Sayyid Ahmad to
go in that direction. Apparently growing impatient, he seized him
by the shoulder, forcibly turned him around, and shoved him in
the back. A1-Sayyid Ahmad found himself moving toward Palace
Walk with the other man behind him. He surrendered to his fate,
but his joints felt like rubber. On his way to an unknown destination,
he passed the military camp and the cistern building. After
that, the last trace of light from the camp vanished.
He waded into the waves of gloomy darkness and profound silence,
seeing nothing but phantom houses and hearing only the heavy
footsteps that followed him with mechanical precision, as though
counting out the minutes or perhaps seconds left for him to live. Yes,
he expected at each moment to be dealt a blow that would finish him
off. He walked along, waiting for it, his eyes staring into the dark
hess, his mouth pursed from worry, his Adam's apple jerking up and
down as he tried to swallow to relieve his dry, burning throat. He
was startled by a gleam of light that made him look down. He almost
screamed from dismay, like a child, as his heart plummeted. He saw
a circle of light going back and forth and realized that it was caused
by rays of light from a battery-powered lantern that his warder had
turned on to see where he was going. He got his breath back after
his sudden alarm subsided, but this relief was short-lived. He was
once more seized by fear, fear of the death to which he was being
led. Once more he expected to die from moment to moment. He was
like a drowning man flailing about in the water who thinks he sees
a crocodile preparing to attack. When it becomes dear that the beast
is just SOme plants floating in the water, he enioys a momentary relief
attfing spared this danger, before choking again under the pressure
real danger presented by the ocean.- be"
ere was the man leading him? If he could only talk that gibnsh,
he would ask. It seemed he would be forced to go all the way
e
Cemetery at Bab al-Nasr There was no trace of any man or
0fa here was the night watchman? He was alone at the mercy
terciless person. When had he ever suffered like this? Could he
Naguib Mahfou
remember? In a nightmare... yes, it was a nightmare he had had
several times when he was sick. Even in a nightmare the gloom
occasionally brightened by a flash of hope, considerately lettin tl
sleeper feel that his dream is not real and he will be saved frn
sooner or later. It was farfetched to assume that destiny would grant
him any comparable hope. He was awake, not asleep. This soldier,
armed to the teeth, was a reality, not a phantom. The street witness.
ing his humiliation and captivity was frighteningly tangible, not
imaginary. His suffering was real, there was no doubt about that.
The least sign of resistance from him would probably result in the
loss of his head. There was no doubt of that.
Umm Maryam had told him when she said goodbye to him, "Until
tomorrow." Tomorrow? Would that day ever come?.
"Ask the heavy feet rocking the earth behind your back Ask
the rifle with its sharp-pointed bayonet."
She had also teased him: "The fragrance of wine coming from your
lips is about to intoxicate me." Now both the wine and his mind had
flown off. The time for passion was gone, although only a few minutes
before it had been all that mattered in life. Now suffering was
his whole life.... Only a few short minutes separated the two conditions.
A few minutes?
When he reached the corner of al-Khurunfush, his eyes were attracted by rays of light flashing in the darkness. He looked along the
street and saw a lantern carried by another soldier driving before him
an uncertain number of figures. He wondered whether the soldiers
had been given orders to capture all the men they came across at
night. Where were they leading them? What punishment would be
meted out? He wondered about these things for a long time with
astonishment and alarm, although the sight of these new victims provided
some consolation and relief for his heart. At least he was not
the only one, as he had thought. He had found some mates to share
his affliction. They would keep him from feeling so lonely and would
share his fate. He was a short distance ahead of them.
He bettan to listen to their footsteos with the relief a person!osjt
in a desert feels on hearin human voi'ces carried to him by the
His dearest wish was for them to catch up with him so that he couo
join their group, regardless of whether he knew them or not. Let
their hearts beat in unison as they marched briskly to an un,ko
destination. These men were innocent. He was innocent. So why
they been captured? What special reason could there be for taking
him captive? He was not one of the revolutionaries and was not
P AL.C E WALK
ivolved in politics. He was not even young. Were the English privy
to the secrets in men's hearts or capable of scrutinizing their emo
tionS?
Were they going to arrest members of the general public after
a-esting all the leaders? If only he knew English so he could ask his
captor Where was Fahmy to interpret for him?
I-Ic was stung by painful homesickness. Where were Fahmy,
si, Kamai, Khadiia, Aisha, and their mother? Could his family imagine
his disgraceful state? Their only image of him was one of
venerable and exalted power. Would they be able to imagine that a
soldier had shoved him in the hack almost hard enough to make him
fall on the ground and herded him along like livestock. When he remembered his family, he felt such painful homesickness that tears
almost came to his eyes.
On the way, he passed shadowy houses and stores whose owners
he knew and coffeehouses he had frequented, especially when he was
younger. It made him sad to walk past them as a prisoner with no one coming to his aid or even offering their condolences for his situation.
He really felt that the most distressing form of humiliation
was that suffered in his own district.
He looked up to the heavens to transmit his thoughts to God, who
could see into his heart. He sent his prayers to Him without saying
anything with his tongue, not even under his breath. He was ashamed
to mention God's name when his body had not been cleansed of the
vapors of wine and the sweat of lovemaking. His fear increased, because
his polluted state might interfere with his salvation. He might
meet a fate that suited his debauchery. Pessimism and deiection
gained control of his emotions. He was on the verge of despair when,
approaching the lemon market, he heard unintelligible sounds, inStead
of the silence broken only by footsteps. Staring into the dark
hess, he listened intently, alternating between fear and hope. He
could hear a clamor but did not know if it came from men or beasts.
lL%re long he could tell it was shouting. He could not keep from
exclaiming to himself, "Human voices!"
As the road turned, he saw lights moving. At first he thought they
Were more lanterns, but it became clear that they were flaming
.rc.hes. ly their light he saw one side of Bah al-Futuh. There were
nt.sh soldiers standinz under this ancient city gate. Then he caught
,mpse of Egyptianpolicemen. The sight of them quickened his
"Now I'll know what they want with me," he thought. "It's only
a few more steps. Why are the English soldiers and the Egyptian
Naguib Mfou
policemen crowded together at the gate? Why are they rounding -r
citizens from all areas of the district? I'll know everything shortly.
Everything? I'll seek God's protection and submit my destiny to
I'll remember this dreadful hour for the remainder of my life if there
is a remainder Bullets, the gallows, not to mention the brutal
injustice the English inflicted on the villagers at Dinshawai.... A
going to join the roster of martyrs? Will I become an item of news
about the revolution to be passed on by Muhammad Iffat, All
al-Pahim, and |brahim al-Ear the way we've been discussing
things at our evening sessions? Can you imagine one of our partie
with your place empty? God's mercy on you.... 'He's gone and dne
for.' How they'll weep for you. They'll remember you for a long
time. Then you'll be forgotten. How upset I am. Submit your fate to
your Creator. O God, encompass us, don't oppose us."
As he approached the British soldiers they looked at him in a stem,
cold, threatening manner. He had a sinking feeling along with intense
pain in his chest. Was it time for him to stop? He dragged his feet
and hesitated uncertainly.
"Enter," an Egyptian policeman shouted to him, pointing to the
area inside the great portal. AI-Sayyid Ahmad looked inside questioningly
but also ingratiatingly and pitifully. He passed between the
English soldiers, barely able to see what was in front of him, he was
so scared. He wished he could hide his head in his arms in response
to his instinctive fear. What he saw under the gateway explained,
without any need for questions, why he was wanted. He saw that
deep pit like a trench had been dug there to obstruct the road. He
likewise saw a swarm of citizens working nonstop to fill the hole
under the supervision of the police. They were carrying baskets of
dirt, which they emptied into the trench. Everyone was working zealously
and quickly while their eyes glanced stealthiby and fearfully at
the English soldiers stationed at the entrance to the gate.
A policeman came up to him and threw him a basket, telling him
in a gruff voice that sounded threatening, "Do what the others are
doing." Then he added in a whisper, "Be quick so you don't g
hurt."
This final sentence was the first humane expression he had
countered during his terrifying journey, and it felt like air in the
throat of a man close, to asphyxiation. AI-Sayyid Ahmad bent over
the basket to pick it up by the handle and asked the policeman in a
whisper, "Will I be set free when the work's completed?"
PALACE WALK
The policeman whispered, "God willing."
lie sighed profoundly and felt like crying. It seemed he had been
born anew. With his left hand he lifted the bottom of his cloak and
tucked it into the belt of his caftan so it would not impede his work.
l-le took the basket to the sidewalk where dirt was piled. Putting the
basket at his feet he filled his hands with dirt and emptied them into
the basket. When it was full, he carried it to the hole and threw the
dirt in before returning to the sidewalk. He kept on with this, surrounded
by groups of men, both old and young, some in modern
dress and others wearing traditional turbans. They all worked with a
high degree of energy stemming from their desire to live.
He was refilling his basket when an elbow nudged him. He turned
to see who it was and recognized a friend named Ghunaym Hamidu,
the owner of an olive-oil-pressing firm in al-Gamaliya and a guest at
some of al-Sayyid Ahmad's parties. They were delighted to see each
other and soon were whispering together.
"So you got caught too!"
"Before you. I arrived a little before midnight. I saw you getting
your basket, so as I went back and forth with my basket I began to
follow a path that would gradually bring me over to you."
"Welcome... welcome. Aren't any more of our friends here?"
"You're the only one I've found."
"The policeman told me they'll let us go when we finish the work."
"I was told that too. May our Lord hear us."
"They've ruined my knees, may God destroy their homes."
"So far as I can tell, I don't even have knees anymore."
They exchanged a quick smile. "How did this pit get here?"
"I was told that a bunch of the boys from al-Husayn dug it at the
her,inning
night to prevent
coming through
of
the
the
trucks
from
ere. They also say a truck fell in."
"If that's true, then you can say goodbye to us."
The second time they worked beside each other at the dirt pile
e.y
somewhat more resigned to their situation. Their spirits
Were
r'"d revived and they could not keeo themselves from smilin as the
raled th •
-
g
Y
er baskets with dirt like construction workers.
Ghunaym whispered, "May God and His blessings repay us for
theseA, Sons of bitches."
g0'Sayyid Abroad smiled and whispered back, "I hope they're
,,.g.to pay us the normal wage."
Where did they catch you?"
Naguil?¢lfou
"In front of my house."
"It figures."
"What about you?"
"I had taken some dope, but I got over it fast. The English
stronger than cocaine."
"They're even more effective than throwing up."
By the light of the torches the men went back and forth quiekl
between the sidewalk with the dirt and the ditch. They stirred up
dust until it spread throughout the vaulted area of the gate, filling th
air. They had trouble breathing. Sweat poured from their brows an
plastered their faces with mud. They were coughing from inhalin
the dust. They looked like ghosts brought to light when the
gaped open.
In any case, he was no longer alone. There was this friend and th
other men from his district. Even the Egyptian policemen were will
them in their hearts. The fact that they had been stripped of thei
weapons was evidence of that. They no longer had swords in meta
scabbards dangling from their belts.
"Be patient," he advised himself. "Be patient. Perhaps this suffer
ing
will pass. Did you think you'd work until morning or even almos
till noon? Buck up. You won't always be carrying dirt and exploited
to fill the hole The hole refuses to fill up There's nothing to
be gained from complaining. To whom would you complain. Your
body's powerful and strong and can take it, despite being impaired
by the evening's inebriation. What time is it? It wouldn't be prudent
to check now. If this had not happened to me, I'd be stretched out in
bed enjoying a sound sleep. I would be able to wash my head and
face and get a refreshing drink flavored with orange blossoms from
the water jug. Congratulations to us for this participation in the hell
of the revolution. Why not? The country is in revolt every day. Every
hour there are casualties and martyrs. Reading the papers and pass!ng
on news is one thing, but carrying dirt at gunpoint is something
Congratulations to all of you asleep in your beds. O God, preserve
us I'm not meant for this... not meant for this. God vanquish
those who doubt Your power. We are weak I'm not meant for
thi,s.
; 's reviewing
'Does Fahmy realize the dangers threatemng htm. He -- aid
his lessons now, unaware of what is happening to his father, lie
no to me for the first time in his life. He said it with tears in his eye,
but it means the same thing. I didn't tell his mother and I won t.
Should I reveal my lack of power to her? Should I seek help fror
PALACE WALK
her weakness after my power has failed? Certainly not.... Let her
ignorant of the whole affair. He says he's not exposing him
elf to any danger. Really? God, hear my prayer. If it had not been
for that, I wouldn't have been so easy on him. God preserve him.
C preserve all of us from the evil of these days. What time is it
now? Once it's morning, we'll be safe. They won't kill us in front of
people."
the'l spat on the ground to clear the dust from my throat," his friend
remarked, "and one of the policemen shot me a look that made my
hair stand on end."
"Don't spit. Do like me. I've swallowed enough dirt to fill this
hole."
"Perhaps Zubayda cursed you?"
"Perhaps."
"Wasn't filling her hole better than filling this one?"
"h was even more strenuous!"
They smiled quickly at each other. Then Ghunaym said with a
sigh, "God help me, my back's broken."
"Me too. Our only consolation is that we're sharing some of the
pains of the freedom fighters."
"What do you think? Should I throw my basket in the soldiers'
faces and cry out at the top of my lungs, 'Long live Sa'd'?"
"Has the dope started working again?"
"What a loss!... It was a piece the size of the pupil of your eye.
I stirred it in my tea three times. Afterward I went to al-Tambakshiya
to listen to Shaykh All Mahmud recite poetry in the home of al
Hamzawi. On my way back, shortly before midnight, I was telling
myself, 'Your old lady's waiting for you now. There's nothing to be
gained from disappointing her.' Then that monkey popped up and
drove me along in front of him."
"May our Lord compensate you."
"Amen."
Soldiers brought in more men, some from al-Husayn and others
from al-Nahhasin, who were quickly incorporated into the work
force. Al-Sayyid Ahmad looked around. The place was almost packed
full of people. They spread out around the trench in every direction,
going between the sidewalk and the hole without taking a break, their
panting faces illuminated by light from the torches. They looked thorOughly
exhausted, humiliated, and afraid. There was blessed safety in
numbers. "The
"They wouldn,Yt won't slaughter this swarm of people," he reflected.
take the innocent along with the guilty. Where do
4 o
Naguib Mahfou
you suppose the guilty ones are? Where are those brave young men?
Do they know their brothers have fallen in the hole they du, God
destroy them. Did they think that dlggang a hole would
Sa'd back or drive the English out of Egypt? I'll certainly abando
my nightlife if God grants me a new lease on life. Abandon my
nightlife? It's no longer safe to go out at night. Will life retain any
savor? Life loses its savor in the shadow of the revolution. Revola.
tion.., in other words, a soldier takes you captive, you carry dirt in
your hands, Fahmy says no to you. No[ When will the world return
to normal? A headache?... Yes, a headache and I want to throw up
too. A few minutes to rest. I don't want anything more than that.
Maryam's mother, Bahiia, is sound asleep. Amina's waiting for me
like Ghunaym's "old lady." There's no way you could imagine what's
happened to your father. O Lord, the dust's filling my nose and eyes.
O Master Husayn.... Fill, fill... isn't all this enough dirt for you.
O grandson of the Messenger of God, Husayn.... The Battle of the
Trench, that's what the revered preacher called it. The Prophet Muhammad,
God's peace and blessings on him, fought a Battle of the
Trench and worked alongside the other men, digging the dirt out
with his own hands. His enemies were pagans back then. Why are
the pagans winning today? It's a corrupt age.... The times are c0r
rupt. I'm corrupt. Will they remain camped in front of my house until
the revolution's over?"
"Did you hear the cock?"
AI-Sayyid Ahmad listened intently and mumbled, "The cock's
crowing! Is it dawn?"
"Yes, but the hole won't be filled up until morning.... The
portant thing is that I need to relieve myself, badly."
AI-Sayyid Ahmad's mind thought about the lower part of his body.
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