Naguib Mahfouz - Khan Al-Khalili

“Are you scared?” she asked playfully.

“I’m scared that someone from your household might see us,” was his gentle reply.

“Who cares?” she retorted with a shrug of her shoulders. Seeing how shocked he looked, she went on, “Are you still scared?”

“Yes,” he replied after a little hesitation, “I’m scared someone from my own family might spot us.”

She burst into laughter. With that she took him to a garden. “Now,” she whispered, “we’re out of range of all those spies!”

They walked around in silence as the sun continued its descent and sunset shadows grew longer, erecting a pavilion to welcome the onset of night.

“I had an amazing dream,” this brazen girl now said, trying to work her way round his shyness.

“A nice one, I hope,” he said, beginning to warm to her conversation.

“I dreamed that I met you somewhere. You told me that you wanted.… Then you said a word that I’m not going to tell you. You have to say it. Can you guess?”

That made him feel even more flustered. “I d-d-d-don’t know,” he stuttered.

“Yes, you do,” she replied sweetly, “you’re just pretending! Go on, say it.…”

He swore to her that he really didn’t know.

“There’s no point in lying to me,” she said. “You’d better remember. It’s a word whose first letter is K.…”

He remained silent, heart pounding.

“The second letter is I.…”

He still said nothing and turned away.

“The third letter is S,” she went on. “So what’s the last one?”

He gave her an embarrassed smile, but still had no idea of what to say.

“If you don’t say something,” she said, squeezing his arm, “I’m never going to talk to you again!”

That threat had the desired effect, since he drew another S in the air.

“So now at last you’ve told me what it is you want,” she laughed in delight, “and I’m not going to stop you.” She leaned toward him, totally frustrated by his incredible bashfulness.

He stole a quick kiss that seemed to last for whole decades. How he longed for more of the same! But that is the way he was: intense passions but along with them desperate shyness. This pretty Jewish girl liked to poke fun at his face. He took her seriously and started hating his own face to an unnecessary degree. Now he had yet another excuse for his innate shyness, which only intensified. Had it been possible for a man to wear a veil over his face, he would have been the one to do so. It was one of the key factors in the excessive attention he paid to his personal appearance, something that transformed itself into utter neglect when despair got the better of him.

The pretty Jewess suddenly disappeared from his life. No sooner did a young man from her own community become engaged to her than she abandoned her playful ways and adopted a more serious lifestyle, entirely oblivious to the bloody wound she was leaving behind in a tender heart. But then tender hearts can salve their wounds very quickly. So it happened that in the final phase of his time at secondary school the proximity of neighbors brought him into contact with the pretty and youngest daughter of a widow who was one of his mother’s friends. An affection developed between the two young people, duly encouraged by their two mothers who were soon referring to them as the “bride and groom.” This second relationship was not like the earlier one that had served as a wake-up call to a heart that was now ready for sentimental education. However, this girl by contrast possessed strength of character and determination. As a result, when she fell through his fingers, he regretted it bitterly. Afterward he would often tell himself that if he had followed his and her mother’s advice and married that girl, he would have enjoyed a married life of unparalleled happiness. However, no sooner had he obtained his high school diploma than his family was struck by disaster. His father was pensioned off, and it was now up to him — Ahmad — to face the dire consequences. Cruelly snatched from the gentle havens of hope, he found himself instead cast into the sheer hell of despair. If this girl was willing to stay with him, she would have to wait for at least ten years until his younger brother had completed his education. It became obvious that her mother was not going to encourage such a sacrifice since it would involve a long wait. In fact, it was the girl herself who made the decision to ignore her feelings; she cut off the relationship, and all their dreams came to nought. From then on Ahmad lost all faith in love and women, just as he had already done with the world as a whole. The love that in the presence of the Jewish girl had filled his heart was nothing but a false illusion, a teenage disease just like teething in babies. Harsh reality had imposed its own severe sentence on someone who had decided to rely on a woman’s word; it didn’t matter whether she was like his fiancée when it came to both intelligence and virtue, or whether she was like the Jewish girl who had flirted with him to her heart’s content and then left him, like a guest at a hotel on Station Square leaving his room.

Now twenty years had gone by and his heart was still a void. He continued to endure a life of poverty filled with a variety of concerns that augured little hope for the future. If only he had managed to control his rage, he might have been able to be successful at something. In fact he still nourished a hope — after all, life cannot be without any hope at all, can it? — that one day he might find some happiness. Even though he had eventually despaired of ever gaining any prestige or authority, he could still aspire to be happy.

He tried getting engaged to the daughter of a merchant who lived in Ghamra, but her father rejected his offer in the nicest possible way. The middle-aged Ahmad learned that the girl’s mother had noted that he was of a certain age and yet his salary was small. This blow to his pride left him reeling, and he went into a towering rage. It was more than he could tolerate to be rejected by some woman or other, when he was the genius against whom the entire world was conspiring. What’s more, she had rejected him because he was insignificant! How could anyone say he was insignificant? So who exactly was supposed to be significant? With sparks flashing from his eyes he clenched his fist and vowed dire vengeance on the world. Only yesterday his beloved had rejected him because he was still young and had few prospects, where today another girl was rejecting him because he was too old and still had no prospects! So when exactly was he supposed to have prospects? Had his life been wasted? All glory was past, happiness was lost, everything was finished; was that it?

Thereafter he developed a habit of criticizing women and accusing them of every kind of shortcoming. They were cunning creatures, using ambition, lies, and sheer stupidity to work their wiles. Soulless bodies, sources of pain for man, and grief for humanity in general. Their superficial interest in science and art was merely a sham they could hide behind whenever victims fell into their clutches. But for the wicked lust implanted in our instincts they would win neither hope nor love. They … they.…

“I’ve made myself a solemn vow, thank God,” he would often tell his friends, “that I’m never going to get married however many chances I may have to do so. I totally refuse to be taken over by some dirty creature with neither mind nor soul!”

If his complete failure to achieve anything turned him into an enemy of the entire world, then his failure with women made him their enemy too. Even so, deep inside him there still lurked rapacious illicit desires and emotions.

The way that a passing girl affected him, as had happened today, stirred up some of those latent feelings and immediately brought to mind his previous experiences with women. It annoyed him, and provoked that profound and familiar sensation that combined love, fear, and hate. In the sheer relish he felt for his self-sacrifice and doing what was necessary he found a certain consolation for all his failed hopes, but this time his anger stubbornly refused to soften. He still felt angry, peevish, and full of hate. After all, anyone who has become used to having sacrificial offerings come to him to be slaughtered is never going to be willing to be the sacrificial lamb himself. He decided to wallow in his own misery and the life of a recluse; as though, after allowing his heartstrings to play sweet melodies, he was now throwing it all down a fetid well where it would languish. He now lived his life without hope, without anyone to love, without a heart, refusing to stay in touch with life or enjoy the pleasures it could offer.