Naguib Mahfouz - Voices from the Other World

So I continued to observe everything around me calmly and attentively, without apprehension. The air of the room was enveloped in pain and dejection, while my mother and wife persisted in working together over my body — my old companion — with its familiar features, lying motionless on the bed. Meanwhile, its color had gone white tinged with blue, its eyelids closed, and its limbs went limp. The children and the servants kept calling to it; they all wept and cried. Those in attendance poured copious tears over it, until heartache, sorrow, and gloom seemed to consume them. All the time I watched them with an odd indifference, as if never for a day had I been close to them. What is this dead body? Why are these humans howling about it so? What is this misfortune that has made their faces ugly and distorted? No, I am no longer one of the people of the world, and their tears and lamentations cannot restore me to it. I wished that all my ties with it would be cut so that I could hover about in my new domain, but, regrettably, my dear ones still held a part of my liberty captive to the temporal world, so I steeled myself with patience as I took up this burden. Then my mother came with a sheet to cover my cadaver, while the children and servants went out. She took my wife by the hand as they both left the room and locked the door behind them. Yet they remained in my sight, because the walls did nothing to impede my view. I saw them both as they removed their clothing and dressed in black for mourning. Next they headed toward the house’s courtyard, loosening their braids and strewing dust over their heads, throwing off their sandals as they hurried toward the door. They rushed out shouting and beating the sides of their faces, while my mother kept callling “My son!” and my wife called out, “O my husband!” Then they both cried out together, “Mercy upon you, O poor Taw-ty — Death has taken you without compassion for your youth!”

They left the house in this condition of moaning and weeping, continuing along until they passed the first home on the way. There the mistress of the house came out to them in fright. “O Sisters, what is upsetting you?” she asked. The two women answered, “Our house is ruined! Our children are orphaned! The mother is bereaved! The wife is widowed! Mercy upon you, O Taw-ty!” So the woman bawled out from deep in her breast, “O heart dismayed! O youth deprived! O hopes destroyed!” And she followed the two women, all the while scattering dust on her own head and striking her cheeks. Each time they passed a house its mistress came out to join them, until all the women had flocked to their throng. A woman experienced in mourning led them onward, continually reciting my name and my virtues. On they went, cutting across all the streets in the village, bringing grief and desolation to every location. But this name of mine that the mourners were chanting, why did it not affect me at all?

Yes, this name had become as strange to me as my laid-out body. I kept wondering when, oh when, would all this end? Then, in the evening, the men came. As the wailing went up around us, they carried my body into the House of Embalming, and placed it on the slab in the Sacred Chamber. The room was long and very wide, without a single window save for a skylight in the center of the ceiling. The slab was in the center of the room, and on either side of it were shelves stocked with jars full of chemicals. In the middle, under the skylight, was a huge trough flowing with the miraculous fluid. The men went out, leaving only two behind. These two were experts, as testified by the speed and dexterity with which they worked. One of them came with a basin, which he set down close to the slab. They collaborated in stripping the cadaver of its clothing until every part of it was completely exposed. They did this quietly and without concern. Then the one who had brought the basin said, while feeling the muscles of my chest and arms, “He was a tough man, look!” And the other said, “He was Taw-ty, one of the Prince’s men. In exchange for food and drink, he bravely undertook the hazards of war.” The one who had brought the basin muttered cautiously, “What if one could borrow these bodies?” The other replied, laughing, “You old geezer, what good is a corpse?” But the man just said, while shaking his head, “He was a strong man, he truly was. .”

And so the other man, still laughing, took a long, sharp knife from one of the shelves, and said, “Let’s see just how strong he is now!” He stabbed the left side of the breast with the blade, slicing his way down to the hip. Then he worked the insides with his hand, grabbing and pulling until he brought out the bowels and the stomach, and dropped them into the basin. Then he added the heart and the liver. In just a few moments, my entire internal organs were laid before me, as these men were embalmers of consummate skill. I inspected each organ with care, especially my stomach, which I knew to be strong and ever-active. Thanks to my magical powers of sight, I could view its contents clearly — the rice and figs and remains of the wine from the Prince’s banquet last night. I recalled his remark when he beckoned me to the table, “Eat and drink, Taw-ty — may you enjoy life, most trustworthy man!” I saw and I remembered, without any feeling or effect, without any impact on my amazing indifference. Then I looked at my heart and saw a world filled with wonders: the ruins of passionate love, of sorrow and rage, the images of lovers and friends. And of enemies, for I had left my romantic ardor and the glory of its depths to display my courage in the wars of Zahi and Nubia. In these lands I had beheld horrifying scenes of carnage on the battlefield, of bloody, hacked-off limbs — the traces of a struggle unencumbered by mercy — until I added to my dynasty’s land a plot which our neighbor had also coveted for a number of years. I saw in my heart the bulk of my life and the longings that had grieved me.

Meanwhile the man kept on working with coolness and precision. He produced a pointed hook, which he shoved up my nose with great concentration, until he reached his objective. Then rapidly, with familiarity and violence, he forced out my big brain, which oozed away in a slimy stream, sending particles out into the air of what once had been my dazzling ideas, my dearest hopes, and the smoke of my dreams. These were my own thoughts that were painted before my eyes, but when I considered them in the light of the truth that my spirit now saw, they seemed no more than grotesque trivialities. The state in which I now found refuge tried hard to keep them out. How my head reeled from the effort!

Here I am, declaiming the poem that I had composed depicting the battle of Qadesh. And here are the speeches that I made before the Prince at public occasions, and here are my views on literature and good conduct, and the rules of astronomy that I memorized from the books of Qaqimna. All of these the man removed with the bits of my brain. They settled between the stomach and the intestines in the tub full of blood — not counting those parts which fell upon the ground to be squashed underfoot. “Now the body has been well cleaned!” the expert handling the hook pronounced. “When you die, may you find a hand as practiced as your own!” his friend added, giggling. At this the two technicians carried what remained of my body to the great trough filled with the magic liquid, immersing it within. Then they washed their hands and left the chamber. Meanwhile, I understood that the room would not be opened again for a span of seventy days — the period of embalming. I was touched with unease. The thought struck me that my spirit should go out into the world to catch a glimpse of my final farewell.

Three

My soul was eager to go out into the world, and so I did. This did not entail actual movement as such, for it was enough that I simply direct my thoughts toward something and I would find it right in front of me. Yet the reality was even greater, for my sight became something truly extraordinary — nothing was beyond it. It turned into a penetrating power that passed through barriers and cut through veils, seeing into minds and hidden recesses. However, though our parting had been decreed, my thoughts were pulled toward my family, so I found myself back in my home. The children had gone into a deep sleep which the turbulence did not disturb. My mother and wife lay down on the floor, the misery and suffering plain on their faces from the force of their crying and sorrow. Tomorrow their woes would multiply even more when the sarcophagus would proceed to its perpetual place of burial. My spirit entered them and moved their heads and appeared before them in dreams, and I saw the two tortured hearts beating in agony and pain. What was all this worry? Something, however, attracted my vision. I saw in the dark oppression of each of their hearts a spot of white, and I knew it — for nothing was unknown to me — as the germ of forgetfulness. Oh! This germ would grow larger and spread wider until it covered the heart entire. Indeed, I saw all of this clearly, without being bothered, for nothing could trouble me now. Instead I wondered, intrigued by the taste of discovery, when might this happen? My supernatural eyes brought me a picture from the future: I saw my mother take a young boy by her right hand and make her way through thickly crowded streets, waving a lotus flower. And I learned that she had come out — or that she would come out — to take part in our village’s happiest festival, the feast of the goddess Isis. Her face was jubilant, and my son was hooting with laughter. I saw my wife prepare a banquet with food of the best kinds found in her world and invite a man that I knew to it. This was her maternal cousin Sa-wu — and what an excellent husband he was! If the dead could feel pleasure, then I would have been pleased for her. Sa-wu was a man of virtue, for he who makes happy my wife and tends well to my children is a good man indeed.