Naguib Mahfouz - Khan Al-Khalili

“That’s right. We said hello many times, but never really got to know each other.”

“So now’s the opportunity.”

It was then that he remembered that the lady in question was the mother of the young boy Muhammad whom he’d seen at the café. It was only the mention of his mother’s name that had brought him to mind. He wondered to himself in amazement how he could have managed to forget all about him, whereas a mere twenty hours ago that had been all he could think about. However, his mother gave him no time to reflect.

“We had a long chat about women’s deceitful ways,” she said with a loud laugh. “One of the women has a father who’s a major expert on law; people feel blessed if they can kiss his hand. Another is the daughter of a very wealthy merchant. Still another is related to the director of accounting in the Ministry of the Interior. And a fourth has been ill and has spent dozens of pounds on a cure.”

They both laughed.

“And what lies did you have to tell?” he asked her with a laugh.

“Oh, nothing to cause me grief on Judgment Day. I told them that your father had only recently been pensioned off; he’d been an inspector in the Ministry of Religious Endowments. Your grandfather was a merchant, I told them. As for you, my dear sweet son, you’re a department head in the Ministry of Works. You’re thirty-two years old, and no more. Don’t forget!”

“What on earth?”

“There’s no point in complaining about it! Make sure you don’t say anything to call these little white lies into question. I’m thirteen years older than you. I’m forty-five.”

“You mean, you had me while you were still a child?”

“Girls can give birth at twelve!”

“That makes you more of a sister than a mother.”

“You’re right. The eldest child is always a brother to his own parents. Your brother’s a bank manager in Asyut.”

He shook his head in amazement. “How can you possibly make up such stories when they can’t possibly stay a secret for very long?” he asked. “One day, people are bound to find out.”

“Starting tomorrow, we’ll all get to know each other much better, and then we can all find out the truth bit by bit. Don’t worry, it won’t involve any blame-giving or mockery. If I hadn’t embellished the truth somewhat, they wouldn’t have believed me; in fact, they don’t believe me even now. But we’d have lost the principal as well as the interest.”

“What a load of unmitigated liars you all are!”

“What’s your problem? No one can object to a few white lies when a bit of social one-upmanship is involved. Women’s lies are a soothing balm for bloody wounds. May God grant you a wife who’ll treat you to the very best lies there are!”

Even though her mention of the word “wife” made him angry, he still managed to laugh. “What a load of unmitigated liars you are!” he repeated.

“And you men,” she said, giving him a wink, “you never lie, of course!”

For a moment he said nothing, not because he did not have a response ready, but rather because he was thinking about the various kinds of lies in his own life. “Oh yes,” he replied, “we lie as well, but about more significant things.”

“Maybe the things we find trivial are important to you men. But do you really regard life, prestige, and respect as trivialities?”

“Men’s lies are as noble as manhood itself. Where do all you women fit in the context of lies told by merchants, politicians, and men of religion? Men’s lies are the very pivot of the noble life whose effects you can all see on the battlefields of government, parliament, factories, and academic institutes. Indeed, they are the pivot for this dreadful war that has brought us to this strange quarter!”

He realized that she only understood part of what he was saying, and that made him even happier. Just then he remembered something.

“Did you have a visit from the wife of Boss Nunu?” he asked.

“ ‘God damn this world’ you mean? They all told me a lot about him, but he won’t allow his wives to go outside the house or look out of the windows. They may well have to spend year after year cooped up inside the house, happy and content!”

“It’s fair enough for someone who curses the world not to trust it.”

“By God, my son, women are just as wronged as the world is. But never mind. Have you heard of someone called Sulayman Ata?”

“The inspector?”

“Tawhida Hanem calls him ‘the monkey.’ ”

“That may well be the first true statement you’ve heard!”

“She told us with a great chuckle that he’s thinking of getting married.”

“Which girl would ever consider taking that monkey as a husband?”

“Untold numbers of women. Money makes up at least half the value of beauty. The girl in question will be the one who manages to track him down and go after him in earnest so she can marry him before he’s fifty-five.”

“So is it true,” he asked her with a laugh, “that men are finished at that age?”

“Good heavens, no! But she has no rights to his pension if she marries him after that.”

“So when she marries him, she’s gambling on the fact that he’s going to die! And who pray is this judicious woman?”

“Tawhida Hanem told me that it’s the daughter of Yusuf Bahla, the perfumer. Apparently, she’s a genuine beauty, and in two specific ways, natural and artificial!”

As Ahmad pictured the aged monkey he felt sick. He was shocked that such a man could manage to attract beautiful women whereas he was a total failure at it. After all, hadn’t a woman — who wasn’t even beautiful — rejected his hand with the words, “He’s too old!”? He wanted to picture the beautiful daughter of the perfumer, but instead what came to his mind right out of the blue was that beautiful brunette girl with the honey-colored eyes whom he’d met in the hallway.

“Does the perfumer live in our building?” he asked, his heart in his throat.

“No,” she replied. “He lives in Bayt al-Qadi.”

He gave an inner sigh of relief, then wondered to himself which family the lovely girl belonged to. He only just managed to stifle a groan. At that very moment he remembered the eyes of the young boy, Muhammad, and realized that the place where he had seen them before was in those honey-colored eyes in the hallway! That’s what he had been trying so hard to remember. So, the young boy was the girl’s little brother; there could be no doubt about it! His heart gave a flutter, but, now that he had found a release from all his doubt, confusion, and shyness, he also felt a profound sensation of pleasure and relief. So powerful was his joy at this discovery that he was no longer paying any attention to what his mother was saying. She kept on talking, but he was lost in his own dreams.

In the evening he made his way to the Zahra Café again. He did not do so without a certain hesitation; frequenting cafés was not something he was used to doing, it was entirely new. His long-standing desire for cultural seclusion now found itself matched by his favorable impression of the café and its denizens. But for his desire to joust with Ahmad Rashid and lord it over the others, he certainly would not have found it so easy to abandon his normal reclusive habits. When he reached the café, he did not find Ahmad Rashid; when he asked after him, he was told that the pressures of work often prevented him from coming. Even so, the assembled company was by no means dull; both Boss Nunu and Boss Zifta, the café owner, managed to enliven it in their own unique way.

Ahmad Akif talked a lot and laughed a lot. He started enjoying spending time with people, and especially the more refined types; for him at least, consorting with such folk was just like someone who is dead tired surrendering to sleep. He returned home at ten, and spent a couple of hours reading; all the while the images from his new life were dancing in front of his eyes as he perused every line on the page (something he had never done in any detail before). Then he went to bed and fell asleep. He had no idea how long he slept, but he woke up with a start to hear a hateful sound. At first he did not realize what it actually was, then he did, and his heart gave a terrified leap. He jumped out of bed like a madman, felt his way into his slippers, and rushed over to the door. There he bumped into his parents, with a young servant leading the way.