Naguib Mahfouz - The Mirage

Medhat fell silent, his eyes betraying signs of pain and distress. Then, in a kind of suppressed outburst, he continued, “What a sight! I don’t know how we recognized him! It was something else.”

His eyes welled up with tears. I’d never seen him without a smile on his face, so I became more distressed myself, and tears came to my eyes as well.

He remained silent until he’d regained his composure. Then he told me it had been decided to have the funeral at four o’clock.

“He’s in his room now, so you can go and look at him for the last time.”

My heart pounded violently at the thought, and I was gripped by a terrible fear. However, I couldn’t bear to look up at my brother, and so I had no choice but to pretend to welcome his idea. I headed toward the veranda, stumbling along in my fear and confusion, then ascended the staircase with a gulp. As I was on my way up, my sister and I caught sight of each other at the same moment. She seemed to have informed my mother of my arrival. In any case, she came forward hurriedly and met me on the veranda, asking me nervously where I was headed.

“I want to see my father,” I said.

“I wish you wouldn’t, Kamil,” she said imploringly. “Your heart is too weak to bear the sight of someone whose spirit has passed on.”

I heaved a sigh of relief and a heavy burden was lifted from my shoulders. The only thing I was feeling by now was fear. After all, will a heart that trembles at the sight of a mouse or a dung beetle be able to face death in its most hideous, fearsome manifestation? I went back outside and sat down between my uncle and my brother without saying a word. Then, half an hour before the funeral procession was to begin, those who’d come to offer their condolences began arriving. Some neighbors came, as did some employees at the warehousing section. Given the fact that my father hadn’t had any acquaintances and my uncle had no friends in Cairo, the number of those who came to pay their respects numbered no more than twenty. Visibly moved, my uncle said he would hold the wake in his house in Fayoum. We then came to the final moment, at which point my sister Radiya lifted up her voice in a lament that shattered the heavy silence, causing my heart to quake with emotion and my eyes to well up with tears.

Before long we’d assembled ourselves for the funeral procession. As it began, a heavy gloom descended upon me in response to the sight of the bier, the shadow of death hovering about us, and the memories that had been stirred of my grandfather and his passing. Then the cloud began to lift and I recovered some measure of equanimity. As I looked furtively at those around me, I saw some faces that were serene and others that were smiling for one reason or another, a fact that consoled me and caused me to come back to myself. Suddenly I remembered how I used to walk to the ministry in the morning without a thought for the events that lay in store for me. Yet here I was now, walking behind the bier, and I marveled at this strange life of ours. At that moment, I imagined life sticking out its tongue with mischievous derision and rolling on the floor with laughter, and I wondered to myself which of the two states was better: that of the morning, or that of the afternoon? As the comparison came to mind, I couldn’t resist a subtle wave of joy and relief. However, my profound religious sense objected vociferously, sending a wave of fear and anxiety through the depths of my being till I sought refuge in God from the accursed Satan. Trying now to ward off the feelings of joy and relief that kept pursuing me, I unwittingly furrowed my brow and put on a gloomy, sorrowful face. But it was no use, and it wasn’t long before my mind began mocking these childish antics and I started thinking instead of the anticipated fortune. I remembered the dream I’d had of selling the house and I wondered: Will the dream come true? Will I become the owner of a thousand plus pounds? Has my rival been slow to take the decisive step, or has the matter been settled so that there’s no more hope? And will the awaited fortune be my ticket to happiness, or a new tool in the hands of fate for making sport of weak, helpless creatures? It’s made sport of my poverty and my powerlessness, and it’s no doubtless capable of making sport of my wealth and power. In other words, it may show me that whichever way things go, I’m doomed to misery and affliction. My enthusiasm waned at the thought and I was gripped with worry and distress. Yet I beseeched God to grant me the good fortune of winning my sweetheart.

I wakened from my reverie to find that the funeral procession had come to a halt in front of the mosque. The bier was taken inside to be prayed over, and those who had kindly come to offer condolences went their way. Then the bier was placed in the hearse that took us and the deceased to Imam, and the occasion came to an end.

The family gathered that night in the large room where I’d met with my father for the last time. I sat with my uncle, my brother, and my brother-in-law on one side, with my mother, my sister, and my aunt and sister-in-law on the other. My uncle was a practical man whose appearance reminded me of my father, and he talked about the procedures that would have to be followed in order to demonstrate our respective rights to inherit. He offered to introduce us to a friend of his who worked in the Ministry of Religious Endowments and who could help facilitate matters for us in receiving our monthly allowances. My brother Medhat spoke as well, saying that since none of us wanted to live in the house, he thought it would be best for us to sell it. His proposal met with my approval, and I voiced my agreement with an enthusiasm that I forgot to conceal. As for Radiya, she had no objections to the idea.

Then my uncle said, “It’s a huge, old house that couldn’t be sold for less than four thousand pounds. Consequently, it would only be attractive to a wealthy buyer, who would tear it down and construct some big modern building in its place.”

Four thousand. Oh, how I hoped my rival had been delayed! It was hard for me to imagine God disappointing my hope after having fulfilled my dreams in this dazzling way. My trust in the omniscient God knew no bounds. I glanced over at my mother and found her silent and immersed in her thoughts. Her thin eyebrows were raised and her lips were parted, revealing her small, glistening teeth. What’s she dreaming of? I wondered. And what are her true feelings toward the deceased? Had this old house taken her back to the past eras of her life? I felt compassion and love for her. Then I remembered the thoughts that had taken hold of me not long before, and my feelings of compassion and affection gave way to anxiety and fear.

As the hour was approaching midnight, my brother suggested that we all spend the night in the house, but my mother preferred for us to go home and come back the next morning. Hence, we left the old house and walked side by side in the direction of the tram stop.

As we were on our way she said, “Wouldn’t it have been better for you all to keep the house?”

Startled, I said, “And what would we do with it? I’m in desperate need of my share of its price.”

“Your monthly salary is enough for you. As for this huge amount, what in the world would you need it for?”

A feeling of unease and indignation came over me. Was it possible that she was afraid? I stole a glance in her direction, but it was so dark I couldn’t make out the expression on her face.

Then, in a fearful-sounding tone of voice she continued, “Don’t you dare rejoice over anyone’s death! Whenever you remember your father from now on, you should say a prayer for God’s mercy on him. I don’t want you to find pleasure in anyone’s death no matter who he happens to be!”