Naguib Mahfouz - The Dreams

The quarters of Gamaliya and Abbasiya passed before me, yet I seemed to be walking in only one place.

I imagined that someone was tailing me. I turned to look behind me, but the rain poured down more intensely than it had in years — so I scurried back to my home. I wanted to take off my clothes, but then had the uncanny feeling that a strange man was hiding in my house. His audacity infuriated me — so I screamed at him to give himself up. The door to the foyer opened and there appeared a man whose equal in size and strength I had never before seen. “Give yourself up,” he said, in a quietly sarcastic voice.

A sense of feebleness and fear gripped me: I was certain that one blow from his elephant-sized hand would flatten me completely. Then he ordered me to give up my wallet and my overcoat. The overcoat was more important to me — yet I hesitated but a little before handing him both items. He shoved me, and I hit the ground. When I regained my feet, he had disappeared — and I wondered if I should call out to raise an alarm.

But what had happened was contemptible and shameful, and would make me an object of jokes and ridicule — so I did nothing.

I thought about going to the police station, but one of my friends was an officer from the detective bureau. Hence the scandal would spread one way or another.

I decided upon silence, but this didn’t save me from worry.

I dreaded that I would run into the thief somewhere while he was walking happily about in my coat, and with my money.

We sat on both sides of the launch. Each man appeared singly, with no relation to the others — then the pilot came and started up the boat’s motor.

The pilot was a beautiful young girl. My heart quivered at the sight of her. She looked out of the window as I stood beneath the tree: the time was somewhere between childhood and the first stirrings of early manhood. I fixed my eye on her noble head as she speedily steered us along the river, my heart pounding in harmony with the gusts of the breeze. I thought of going up to her to see how she would receive me.

But then I found myself on a street in one of the poorer quarters — it might have been the Ghuriya — as it was jammed with humanity on the birth-feast of Husayn. I caught sight of her making her way with difficulty down one of the winding lanes, and resolved to catch up with her — while the group of chanting celebrants fêted the martyred saint.

Just as quickly I returned to my seat on the boat, which had covered a great stretch of the river. I glanced at the bridge, and saw that the pilot was an elderly woman with a brooding face. I looked around and wondered about the absent young beauty — and saw nothing but empty seats.

So I began to query the old hag about the missing, lovely girl.

I was dazzled by the new apartment after it was turned over to me. I inspected every corner — and it filled my soul with joy. “Now you need a regular job,” I told myself. “You’d better get cracking without delay.”

I went to the market. Covering a vast area, it was surrounded by a formidable wall. I presented my deed of ownership for the flat, and they let me come inside.

The place was packed with people. I saw a great many women I had loved in the past, but all were walking arm-in-arm with their men. I proceeded to the intended window and offered my papers, the first being my proof of possession for the new apartment. The man looked them over and told me, “We don’t have any vacant positions right now. We’ll get in touch with you at the appropriate time.”

I felt my hopes frustrated — I would have to wait a long while. I returned to cutting my way through the crowd, contemplating the rush of gorgeous faces that I had loved before. I lingered alone in the flat, while on the street I heard a man say in a booming voice, “It’s nonsense for a man to own an apartment without holding down a job. He should give it up for someone else fortunate enough to be employed.”

I was upset by what he said — and the longer I thought about it, the truer it seemed.

Assailed by doubt and worry, I watched for what lay hidden behind the morrow with a troubled and sleepless eye.

We went out looking for a good place to pass the time. We gazed at the crescent moon, exchanging glances — and saw by the lamplight a giant whose like was never before seen by the human eye.

He threw a rod which had no equal in length toward the crescent, striking it squarely. With a brilliant movement it began to unroll its folds of light until it ripened into a full moon. We heard voices shout, “There is no god but God!” and we shouted it with them. I said that nothing like this had ever happened before, and she agreed. The light flowing over creation lifted me over the surface of the water. She called out, “A moonlit night!” and I said, “The boat is inviting us!” as we rode along with the utmost pleasure.

Then the pilot sang, “ I crave you, by the Prophet, I crave you .” We grew drunk with ecstasy, and I suggested that we swim around the skiff. We stripped off our clothes and leapt into the water, splashing about with absolute delight. But then the moon suddenly turned back into a crescent — and the crescent, too, disappeared. We grew alarmed as we never had before, and I felt that this required a serious reappraisal of our situation. With the two of us drowning in the dark, I said, “Let’s head for the boat.”

“And if we get lost?” she replied.

“We can make for the shore,” I answered.

“We’ll be naked on the bank,” she fretted.

“Let’s worry about that later,” I told her.

On this little street there was no want of pedestrians out and about, or people sitting on their balconies. The lady walked slowly, sometimes stopping in front of the fashion displays.

Four young men, not yet twenty years old, made their way toward her. She frowned in their faces and turned away from their path. But they swooped down upon her, harassing her. She resisted them as the neighborhood watched without intervening. The youths tore her robe, exposing parts of her body, as the woman cried out in alarm. I observed what was happening and stopped in my tracks, paralyzed by shock and disgust. I wanted to do something — or wanted someone else to do something — but nothing occurred.

After the tragedy had finished and the criminals had fled, the police arrived, the place changed — and I found myself with a group of others in front of the officer’s desk. Our testimony was all in accord. When asked what we did, we answered, “Nothing.” I was embarrassed and disturbed, my hand trembling as I affixed my name to the official report.

We were working in the office when he looked me in the face and said, “Your mind is preoccupied.”

I answered tersely, powerless with fatigue, “The cost of the medicines is beyond my means.”

“I understand and appreciate that,” he said, “and I praise God who saved me from its claws.”