Naguib Mahfouz - The Mirage

“You think and worry a lot,” he said.

He’s right, I said to myself, and proceeded to listen intently.

“And you have a cunning enemy.”

At that, my heart started to pound! Wouldn’t that be the person who’d written the letter?

The man went on, saying, “He’s planning a cunning deceit, but God will bring his artful plot down on his own head.”

Didn’t this mean that Rabab was innocent?

“And you’ll receive a piece of paper that will bring you long-lasting satisfaction.”

“Do you mean a letter?”

“Possibly. What I see before me is a piece of paper.”

What did this mean? Things were getting more and more mysterious.

“Will it come from the enemy?”

“No! No! It will come from some other party, and it will cause your worries to be dispelled.”

“From what other party?”

“Blessing will come to you whence you know not.”

Feeling bewildered, I wished he would explain more.

However, he said, “If new difficulties arise, this amulet will overcome them, God willing.”

As he spoke, he gave me a tiny paper envelope with a thin string tied around it.

“Put it over your heart,” he said, “and trust in God.”

* * *

As I was on my way home, I remembered the pain I’d been having since the previous afternoon, and I could see clearly that a year’s happiness wouldn’t offset even a single day’s misery. I couldn’t settle down to anything, and I just grew more uncertain and confused. The tranquility that would hover over me at times was nothing but a summer cloud, and I knew I wouldn’t be at peace until I’d confronted the truth face to face. I hadn’t wanted my soul to be polluted with suspicion toward this one with the comely, pristine face. However, the seed of doubt had been sown, and it was bound to keep growing and bearing its infernal thorns. Driven by despair, I’d clung with all my might to the hope of finding serenity, but it had fallen to pieces in my hand. I couldn’t bear to go on living my life being tossed back and forth between moments of illusory peace and long hours of agony. Hence, I had no choice but to try to see beyond the veils. I knew that it might mean my own destruction, but there are times when life requires that we run after our own destruction as though it were our most cherished desire.

I love you, sweetheart, I thought. But perhaps fate has cast this love into my heart in order, through this very love, to destroy me. And what power do I have to resist its decree?

I think I now realized why, even in my most untainted moments of happiness, I’d never been free of a certain sense of angst. Had my heart been catching glimpses of what fate had in store for me beyond the curtain of the unknown? At the same time, I didn’t want to go to excess in my pessimism, since I knew that what was concealed from me might be other than what I’d expected, and that I might find the peace and assurance I longed for in what was yet unseen.

What was I to do, then? The right thing to do, I decided, was to ask for a vacation from the ministry, then devote myself entirely to surveillance from a vantage point no one else would know about. Would it be a trivial or easy thing for me to spy on Rabab? On the contrary, it would be agony for me! But nothing can compare to the agony of suspicion.

I set to work with an ache in my heart that only God knew. We went out together as was our custom every morning and got on the tram together. Then I got off at the ministry stop, hailed a taxi, and instructed the driver to take me to Abbasiya. I got to her place of work before she did in order to set myself up in a spot that would be well suited for surveillance. The kindergarten was located on Kamal Street, which branches off the main road to the left. Once one turned onto Kamal Street, one passed two houses, and the school was the third building on the right. As I stood at the tram stop scrutinizing my surroundings, I saw a side street that branched off the main road in the opposite direction to Kamal Street. At the intersection between this street and the main road there was a small coffee shop. If I sat there, I thought, I’d have a good view of the school from a distance and be able to watch my wife as she came and went. So I made my way to the coffee shop, whose entrance opened onto the side street, and chose a seat next to the entrance from which I could see what I wanted to see. At the same time, I’d be able to disappear from view if need be by moving my chair back a bit. It only took one glance to see how lowly the place was. Its tables were old and its chairs were faded and decrepit, while its patrons were all Nubians. However, none of this bothered me. On the contrary, I found it reassuring. I sat down, not taking my eyes off Kamal Street for a moment. Whenever a tram came by from the city, I snapped to attention. I wasn’t kept waiting long, since I soon saw my wife crossing the street, looking right and left to avoid the vehicles that filled the roadway. After reaching the sidewalk on Kamal Street, she walked along in her pin-striped, lead-gray coat with her tall, svelte frame, her charming, refined gait, and her usual modesty and endearing poise. And as she turned to go into the school, the gatekeeper rose respectfully.

I was pained and ashamed to be in the position I was in, and my feverish, cynical heart was softened with sympathy and affection as I thought back on how I’d been dazzled by this same regal beauty the first time I saw her. O God, I prayed, If my beloved is an angel, then consume me with Your vengeance, and if she’s a demon, then consume us all. And consume the world along with us, since in such an eventuality, there wouldn’t be anything on earth worthy of Your mercy. Lifting my eyes heavenward, I murmured, “O Lord! If You’ve willed to allow the poison of treachery to penetrate the depths of this beauty, then forgive me my madness!”

I examined the street before me, wondering in dread: In a few hours, will I be seeing someone standing and waiting somewhere along this street? Will I see the two of them exchanging a signal or a smile, or see one of them following the other? And if this thunderbolt were to strike my head, what on earth would I do? I imagined the catastrophe as though it had actually taken place, and my body trembled with rage and terror. I kept imagining it until it had taken on flesh before my very eyes. Then again I asked myself what I would do. There’s nothing easier than heroism, victory, and displays of strength in one’s daydreams. Even so, my imagination didn’t provide me with even a glimpse of any of them. It may have felt up against a wall, since the danger that threatened it wasn’t far enough away to be enjoyed as a mere dream. On the contrary, it was near enough actually to materialize. Consequently, it stifled dreams, and the hideous situation presented itself before me as though it were actually happening. I visualized it with a timorous heart and a soul on the verge of collapse. The enemy appeared to me as a real person on a street teeming with passersby, but my imagination didn’t enable me to stand up to him openly, announce my scandal to the world, or embroil myself in a battle I was certain to lose. Imagine a betrayed husband lying flat on his back after being punched in the nose by his betrayer! Damn me! How I loathed my weakness at that moment! I felt the rage of someone who’d like to level a mountain, and I sighed the sigh of someone who’s too weak to lift so much as a pebble. Yet I had no choice but to act. After all, could I see Rabab with the one who’d penned the letter and then just stand there with my hands tied? Impossible! Rather, let me assail my rival, come what may. Either that, or content myself with witnessing the crime, then wait till she comes home and say to her with calm disdain, “I saw everything with my own eyes. Now back with you to your parents’ house!” Why on earth had I done this crazy thing? Why had I gotten married? People like me shouldn’t marry.