Naguib Mahfouz - Khan Al-Khalili

“What about meat?” he asked.

“The government has allowed the purchase of meat throughout the holy month,” said his mother, mustering all her resources. “That’s because a piece of meat is something that the heart of an exhausted faster really comes to rely on.”

“But our budget’s too small,” protested Ahmad. “We can’t afford to buy a pound of meat every day along with all our other necessities!”

“You’re right,” said his father, but then used a certain amount of cunning as he went on to say, “so it’ll be better for us to eat no meat once every three days.”

In the few days left before Ramadan actually started, the mother busied herself getting the kitchen ready, cleaning pots and pans, and storing away almonds, sugar, onions, and spices. Even though she had only been observing the Ramadan fast for a few years, the advent of the fasting month was still a source of pleasure and delight for her since it was always a month devoted to the kitchen as much as to fasting itself — even though the latter was its primary purpose. What was best about the month were the long nights and enjoyable visits where conversation would be accompanied by the cracking of nuts and melon seeds. This particular year they were lucky because Ramadan was falling in the month of October when the weather was usually mild and the temperature would be reasonable. That would make it feasible to stay up until the initial crack of light announced the arrival of dawn.

The night of the moon-sighting arrived; after sunset everyone was waiting and wondering if today would be the day. At dinnertime the lights on the minaret of the al-Husayn Mosque were turned on to announce that the moon had indeed been sighted. Because of the war emergency, they had decided not to fire off cannons but to make the announcement by illuminating the minaret. The entire column had been decorated with lightbulbs that emitted a pearly light over the entire neighborhood. Groups of people with drums now toured the quarter, calling out “Time to fast! To the fast let us aspire, just as Islam’s judge requires!” Young men greeted the group with shouts, while the girls ululated. A feeling of joy spread throughout the quarter as though borne on a night breeze.

“I wonder how Ramadan is being celebrated this year in our old quarter?” Ahmad could not help asking.

“How much of our city have you even seen, my boy?” his father asked with a smile. “Did you ever see the beginning of Ramadan in this new quarter of ours before the war started? Everything filled with light and happiness; nights spent awake, nights replete with conversation, recitations, and innocent games. In the good old days when we were all young and healthy, a group of friends and I would walk for an hour before the dawn fast-breaking all the way from al-Sakakini to this quarter. Once here we would eat a breakfast of trotters and sheep’s head meat in the al-Husayn Café and smoke a shisha. We used to listen to Shaykh Ali Mahmud recite the call to prayer and then return home in the early morning.”

“When was that?” Ahmad asked.

“When you were ten,” his father replied without even having to think.

Ah, what a wonderful time those childhood days were, days of merriment, happiness and being spoiled! That was an era that both father and son could cry over.

That evening Ahmad indulged in his new habit, making his way to the Zahra Café. By so doing he was cutting his reading time in half, but he found that the company gave him quite as much pleasure as did reading and seclusion. There he met the group of friends whom he was getting to know much better, as they were him. The conversation revolved around Ramadan nights and how they were going to spend them.

“Don’t wear yourselves out thinking about it,” was the raucous advice offered by Abbas Shifa (the husband of the so-called “husband lover”). “We have our own past Ramadan nights to use as a model. After we’ve broken the fast, we come to the café and stay here until midnight. Then we make our way to ‘you-know-where’ and spend the rest of the night there until the dawn fast-breaking.”

Ahmad pricked up his ears when he heard the phrase “you-know-where” and wondered to himself if the group indulged themselves in sinful practices during the month of repentance. But he decided that his own plan was clear enough: he would stay with them in the café for as long as they did and then return home. Once there, he could read until dawn and keep doing that until the month came to an end.

On the first day of the fast Ahmad Akif felt really tired; he found it difficult not to drink his cup of coffee and have a cigarette whenever he felt like it. As he made his way to work, his head was throbbing and he kept yawning. He was feeling so completely exhausted that his eyes started tearing from all the yawning and his eyelids were drooping. At that point he remembered that Ahmad Rashid and his like would not be suffering the way he was, and the contempt and superiority that he felt gave him a small dose of pleasure.

When he returned home at noontime, he was totally wiped out. He threw himself on his bed and immediately fell fast asleep. An hour before the end of the fasting period he woke up again; heading for the bathroom he splashed some water on his face. On his way back to his room he noticed his father sitting cross-legged on his prayer rug reading the Qur’an and walked by in silence. He poked his head into the kitchen and saw his mother working there with her sleeves rolled up. The very thought of the kitchen led him to pause by the door for a moment. Looking round, he could sniff a big tray full of salad ingredients — parsley, watercress, carrots, onions, and tomatoes, and bright green and red peppers; all of which made him unconsciously lick his lips in anticipation. When he turned his attention to the tureen full of beans, he could not stand it any longer.

Abandoning his spot by the doorway he walked past the table in the big room and noticed that it was already laid: bread in one corner, cups of water placed in front of each chair, and a plateful of radishes in the center. He hurried back to his own room and shut the door. The last hour before people broke their fast was known to be by far the toughest to live through, so he had made it a hard and fast rule to divert himself during that period by doing some concentrated reading. When he had finished the task, he took a look at the clock and saw that he still had another half-hour to wait. That brought a frown to his brow, but he decided that the best thing to do as a way of killing time was to open the window and look outside.

There was Boss Nunu closing his store. His children, who were standing there waiting for him, almost blocked the entire street. Once he had finished, he went on his way, surrounded by young bodies, with the young ones grabbing on to his legs and the whole assemblage causing enough din to make a radio station envious. Apart from a few yogurt sellers, the street was now virtually empty. Ahmad watched as the last rays of the sun gradually faded from the walls on the buildings opposite his window behind the large square of stores. Open windows served to advertise tables heavily loaded with food inside. Pitchers had been put outside on balconies to cool, and plates of fruit compote garlanded with egg had been laid out. The evening breezes carried with them the smell of food being fried and the crackle of roasts. Ahmad allowed himself to wander off into a reverie inspired by the magic realm of food.

He left the window, went over to the other one that looked out on the old part of Khan al-Khalili, opened it, and leaned on the sill. That part of the quarter seemed quiet and still; the domes of the al-Mu’izz period loomed in the sky, almost as though doing obeisance to the setting sun. Immediately opposite this window was the left-hand side of the apartment building with its closed windows. Just at that moment he heard a slight movement from above. Looking up he could see his neighbor’s balcony, opposite his window but higher up. A young girl was sitting there embroidering a shawl, the end of which twirled into her lap. She was sitting there on a chair, legs crossed. He recognized her at once — almost before he looked up — and his heart jumped. He hadn’t realized that Kamal Khalil’s apartment was on the side of the building facing his room or that his daughter was this close. He was overjoyed. The girl looked up, gave him a quick glance, and then went rapidly back to her needles. He looked at those honey-colored eyes for a third time. At that fleeting moment when their eyes met, his emotions overcame him and he blushed deep red in sheer embarrassment. He did not know how to behave or what was the best way to get out of this predicament. He lowered his balding head, dearly wanting to move away from the window while he caught his breath. He wondered whether she was looking at him again. Could she see his bald patch? He could actually feel the part of his head where her gaze would be falling getting hot, just as leaves will burn up under the concentrated rays of the sun.