Naguib Mahfouz - The Mirage

I noticed the waiter hovering around me, so I ordered a third glass and sent it down to join the first and the second. Then I went back to the image of my beloved, my body nothing but hearts and no brain.

As though I were preaching to an unseen companion, I whispered, “If you love someone, declare your affection to her, then let the chips fall where they may!” I remembered my mother, but without fear this time. I was certain that she’d love my sweetheart if she saw her, and that my old fears would be gone forever. As for my grandfather, he was sure to laugh out loud for joy when he heard the happy news. At this point I laughed out loud myself, which caused people to look my way. I cast a glance around me and noticed that the garden was packed with newcomers. Those near me laughed, but I didn’t get flustered. On the contrary, I smiled at them and said with a strange sort of audacity, “Laugh!”

So they laughed, and one of them asked with a smile, “Anything else?”

Thoroughly inebriated by this time, I replied with a slur, “Bring me my sweetheart!”

“Where is she?” the young man asked. “Tell me, and I’ll bring her!”

“In the house in front of the tram stop,” I replied.

“Which tram stop?” he asked with a grin.

I pondered the matter for a little while until I’d thought of a landmark, then said, “The tram stop in front of the public lavatory!”

They all hooted again, then barraged me with jokes and wisecracks, and I laughed with them nonchalantly. Then I thought it best to take my leave, so I called the waiter, paid him, and bade farewell to my drinking companions. As I left, they were still teasing me mercilessly. Staggering, I headed for a carriage in the parking lot. Then, sitting down self-importantly in the middle of the seat, I said to the driver in a loud slur, “To the seat of corruption!”

The carriage took off, and before long I was enjoying its sluggish movement. I began looking at the street in such merriment and delight, I wished the ride would never end. I realized I was embarking on a new experience that was no less dangerous than the one before it, and I was beset by anxiety. However, enthusiasm got the better of me again. The carriage stopped on a noisy street and the driver gestured with his whip, saying with a laugh, “Here’s the original seat of corruption!”

After some hesitation I asked him, “Do you have any idea about the prices?”

“The most expensive time would be a riyal!” he said with a chuckle.

Pained by the expression despite my drunkenness, I got out of the carriage and found myself in a world ablaze with bright lights and swarming with drunks and revelers. The sounds of laughter mingled with curses and shouts, and I could hear the beating of tambourines and stale tunes coming from a worn-out fiddle or a tinny-sounding piano. Meanwhile, my nose was bombarded by the aroma of sweet-smelling incense. I couldn’t bring myself to mix with the crowds of merrymakers, so I made my way to the nearest door and went in. Once inside, I found myself at the entrance to a spacious, circular courtyard onto which numerous doors opened. Around its periphery were couches and chairs occupied by men and women, and its floor was carpeted with bright yellow sand on which a half-naked woman was dancing. My liquor-induced daring seemed to have dissipated by this time, however, and I froze in place, not knowing what to do. I was mesmerized by the dancer, since I was seeing dancing for the first time, and I gaped with revulsion and fear at the writhing, semi-naked body. I was equally disturbed by the state of her face, which was coated with a heavy layer of garish paint. Her lips parted to reveal gold teeth that looked like holiday candies wrapped in shiny paper.

Then suddenly there appeared before me a man wearing a striped, brightly colored tunic whose features bespoke malice and depravity. He invited me to have a seat, but I retreated from him and, as I did so, collided with someone behind me. As I turned to get away from the man, I saw a woman who was undoubtedly of the same type as the dancer, and who blocked the door with her arm. She had an offensive smile on her face and was chewing a bit of hashish, which she popped with her teeth. My limbs went cold and my heart shrank in alarm. Seeing the uncertainty and fear in my face, she let out a shrill laugh. Then in a flash, she reached out and snatched my fez, placed it on her head, and headed with swift steps toward a nearby door.

Still standing in his place, the man said to me, “Follow her and don’t be afraid. This is Merry Zouzou, and there’s no one like her!”

Not willing to stand there a second longer, I left the place without looking back and without giving a second thought to my lost fez. Getting in the first carriage I came to, I said to the driver, “To Manyal.”

I arrived home before midnight, broken-winged and smarting with defeat, failure, and disappointment. I’d never imagined that such a bright dream could end on such a hideous note. The magical intoxication had evaporated, leaving in its wake a thick pall that drained the life out of my spirit. I don’t know how, but I wakened my mother as I was undressing. She sat up in bed and looked at the alarm clock.

“You’re awfully late,” she mumbled with a yawn.

Making no reply, I continued undressing until my legs gave out on me and I flung myself onto the chair. I gathered my strength and got up again, but I was still unsteady on my feet, and if I hadn’t grabbed hold of the bedpost, I would have fallen to the floor. My mother slipped out of bed and came toward me, her eyes wide with amazement and alarm. She looked searchingly into my face for a short while without saying a word. Then she sat me down on the chair and began undressing me herself. She lay me down to sleep on my bed, and no sooner had I hit the mattress than I fell fast asleep. And it seemed to me — or perhaps I dreamed — that my mother was sobbing.

The next morning I woke up unexpectedly early, and within seconds I’d remembered all the events of the day before. I looked fearfully in the direction of the other bed, and as I did so, I happened to see my mother praying. My face ablaze with chagrin, I got hurriedly out of bed and headed for the bathroom feeling altogether disoriented. When I got back to the room, I found my mother waiting and trying to appear calm. However, those limpid eyes of hers couldn’t lie. Avoiding her glance, I said, “Good morning” in a near whisper.

She sighed audibly, then came up to me and, placing her hand on my shoulder, said gently but imploringly, “After my devotions, I said a long prayer specially for you, and God is the One who hears and answers. We don’t have much time, so listen to me, Kamil. Listen with your heart, and not just with your ears. What’s past is past. Never in my life had I imagined that you would do such a thing. However, government employees aren’t the best company to keep, and they could corrupt you and lead you astray. This was a mistake that Satan lured you into, so repent of it to God. Do I need to remind you of your father’s tragedy when you yourself have been a witness to it, and your mother one of its victims? Even so, my heart is at peace in spite of what happened. After all, you’re a believer who fears God, and you’re your mother’s son, not your father’s. Someone like you who comes before God in prayer five times a day is sure to do all he can to come into His presence in a state of reverence and purity. Don’t forget that yesterday’s error was a great evil and that it will go on being like a knife that cuts me to the quick. Alas, I’m no longer able to keep you by my side. So when you go out into the world, meet it with the heart of a person of faith who’s conscious of God at all times. You’ll go to Lady Umm Hashim’s shrine today to offer God your repentance with her help.”