Naguib Mahfouz - Morning and Evening Talk

Surur was dazzled by his wife’s beauty, calm nature, and gentle disposition. With her he found love and gratification and, over the course of a prosperous marriage, she gave birth to Labib, Gamila, Bahiga, Zayna, Amir, and Hazim. Surur’s government job, excellent wife, and beautiful children paved the way for equanimity. However, he always dwelled on what he lacked so was often corrupted by fantasies, and envy united his heart and tongue. He and Zaynab were united by something that she hid with her calm nature and gentle disposition and he revealed with his careless mannishness. He knew — it was impossible not to — what his grandfather Ata al-Murakibi had been and how he had become who he was, how destiny had smiled on him, just as he knew where his uncle Dawud’s “Pasha” title came from. He objected to his grandfather’s wealth and his mother’s poverty, accusing him of depravity and cruelty, and he burned with jealousy of his beloved brother, Amr, because everyone showered affection and gifts on him while he, Surur, was ignored as though he were not Amr’s brother, forgetting that it was his own vicious tongue that deterred people. His aggravation was compounded when Amr passed over his two daughters and married his two sons into the families of Dawud and al-Murakibi. Yet any resentment between the two brothers and their two families remained beneath the surface and love always conquered, even if deep down conflicting frustrations often surged. Even Radia and Zaynab’s differences were concealed by ongoing peace and good relations. Surur wept passionately the day Amr died, and Zaynab passed away beneath an awning of Radia’s recitation and tears.

In the same way that Surur was less pious than his brother, so he was less patriotic. However, the 1919 Revolution lodged in his insubordinate heart a warmth that would remain with him to his dying breath. He persistently boasted about his part in the civil servants’ strike, as though he had been the only person to strike, and memories of the demonstrations lived on in his imagination as one of the delights he most savored from his life. The violent wave clamoring with anthems of glory swept with it father and son and burst into the hearts of the women behind the mashrabiya. He thus found in the Murakibi and Dawud families’ renunciation of its hallowed leaders a target upon which he could unreservedly unleash his tongue. “We have an uncle who worships nothing in the world but his self-interest,” he would say to his brother. Or, “The great house of Dawud has joined Adli under the illusion that they are really part of the aristocracy!”

In middle age another revolution exploded in Surur, which entailed a revolt against his wife’s love. His eyes and impulses burst out in pursuit of adolescent fantasies and a rift developed between him and the meek, loving, sorrowful Zaynab.

“What will we do if one of our neighbors complains about you to her husband?” she would reprimand him in a whisper.

“There is nothing to complain about,” he would retort.

When she complained to Amr, Surur poured anger on her and threatened he could marry again whenever he liked, though a second marriage was really an impossible dream. In fact he only betrayed his wife twice — once in a brothel, and then in a short fling that lasted no more than a week. He increasingly resented his poverty and his boorish grandfather even more. He tirelessly bought lottery tickets, but gained nothing from it other than the silent reproach glimmering in the eyes of his eldest son, Labib, and daughters, especially after Zaynab’s health deteriorated. When Amr died, loneliness and depression descended on him, and when the war, the darkness, and the air raids came, he declared life a raw deal. His only consolation was his son Labib‘s success, but his constant boasting about it made him a heavier weight on the family’s hearts. In later life, he stopped going to see the Murakibi and Dawud families but would often visit Amr’s sons and daughters, just as he would his sister’s house, and joined in their joys and sorrows. They had been fond of him since they were young, and became even more so when their own father died. One autumn evening in his final year of government service, as he sat behind the mashrabiya gazing out at the dark cowering above the houses and minarets, expecting the usual air raid siren to come at any minute, he had a heart attack. His life was over in less than a minute.

Salim Hussein Qabil

The last child of Samira Amr and Hussein Qabil, he was born and grew up on Ibn Khaldun Street. His father died when he was only a year old so he was brought up in a disciplined climate, nothing like the comfortable lifestyle his family had enjoyed when he was just a glimmer on the horizon. He was good looking like his mother and tall like his father, and had a large head and intellect like his brother Hakim. His obstinacy and stubbornness, as well as his talent in school, came to light in childhood. His sister Hanuma watched over him closely with her piety and strict morality, and for a long time he believed he was learning the truth about the Unknown from the lips of his grandmother Radia. He loved football and was good at it, enjoyed mixing with girls in al-Zahir Baybars Garden, and hated the English. Dreams of reform and the perfect city toyed constantly with his imagination. He did not incline to any one party, deterred by his brother Hakim, who rejected everything outright. He once heard Hakim say, “We need something new,” and replied automatically, “Like Caliph Omar ibn al-Khattab.”

His own temperament and Hanuma’s influence prompted him to turn to the religious books in his brother’s library. His dream of the perfect city vanquished football and girls. He was in secondary school for the July Revolution and welcomed it eagerly, like deliverance from annihilation. The role his brother Hakim played in it strengthened his commitment and, for the first time, it seemed to him the perfect city was being built, brick by brick. He thought that by joining the Muslim Brotherhood he could immerse himself further in the revolution, but when the revolution and the Brothers came into conflict his heart remained with the latter. Disagreement emerged between him and his brother. “Be careful,” Hakim said.

“Caution can’t save us from fate,” Salim replied.

He entered law school and his political — or rather religious — activities increased. But none of his family imagined he would be among the accused in the great case against the Muslim Brothers. Hakim was dismayed. “It’s out of our hands!” he said to his anxious mother. Salim was sentenced to ten years in jail. Samira reeled at the force of the blow; Hakim’s shining star could not console her for his brother’s incarceration. She secretly despised the revolution, and Radia invoked evil on it and its men.

Salim was released from prison a year before June 5, completed the remainder of his studies, earned a degree, and started work in the office of an important Muslim Brotherhood attorney. He saw the great defeat as divine punishment for an infidel government. He did not sever links with his accomplices but conducted his business with extreme secrecy and caution. He found relief in writing and devoted years of his life to it. His labors bore fruit in his book, The Golden Age of Islam , which he followed with a work on the steadfast and pious. At the same time, he achieved considerable success as a lawyer and, with the sales of his two books, his finances improved, especially after Saudi Arabia purchased a large number of them. When the revolution’s leader died, he recovered a certain repose. Samira said to him, “It’s time you thought of marrying.” He responded eagerly, so she said, “You must see Hadiya, your aunt Matariya’s granddaughter through Amana.”