Naguib Mahfouz - Khan Al-Khalili

He called out to his mother to come and greet the two guests, then went on his own way. Nawal’s mother noticed how flustered he seemed and could not understand why a man of his age could be so awkward and act so bashfully simply because he had met two women. As Ahmad went down the staircase, he was ecstatic. He could recall very well — something he kept reminding himself to allay his doubts — that the young girl had given him a dazzling smile when he had greeted them at the door. It could have been the kind of smile a guest gives to her host at the door or even a shy, hesitant smile. On the other hand, it could also have been the kind of smile a woman bestows on a man as a way of rewarding him for his eagerness and persistence in looking at her every single day at sunset for a week or more. Whatever the case might have been, it was certainly a very sweet smile, the kind his heart had craved for twenty long years. He was loath to go to the café immediately; he wanted to give himself time to think.

He was one of those people who like to take a walk if they have something to ponder. With that in mind he headed for the New Road and walked along it for a while, feeling exultantly happy and relishing the joy of it for as long as he could. Needless to say, he was not as young as he once had been and life had not brought him much good luck — how could it be otherwise, bearing in mind the misfortunes and missteps in his earlier life? All he wanted at this point was to enjoy the happy feeling for an hour, even if it meant fooling himself and getting the entirely wrong idea. He had also decided to use this opportunity to reexamine his fortunes: where was he precisely with regards to his long suppressed hopes for the future; was it even possible for him to try all over again? For his part, he considered himself to be free, having now fulfilled all his obligations to the letter. Hadn’t he taken on all of his father’s burdens once his life had collapsed? Wasn’t he the one who had given his family support when at one point it had seemed threatened with imminent disaster? Hadn’t he looked after his brother until he had grown into a man? With all that in mind, he felt perfectly entitled to consider his own happiness and leave the family burdens to his younger brother. None of them could begrudge him that. But was there still enough time?

The rush of joy and triumph he was currently feeling forced him to think hard and use his imagination. His postal savings account had a fair amount of money in it, although it was paltry compared with the amount of time he had been working. As for the way he looked, there was no shame in being unattractive; and, in any case, he could really try, as he had done today, to make himself presentable, in spite of his gaunt appearance and baldness. He could even have a new suit made and buy a fez that was not as faded and crumpled as the one he now had. Now there was an idea! But he was middle-aged. He was over forty, and the girl was still in her teens. Only some kind of miracle could overcome such an age gap, but where would he ever find such a miracle? For the first time since he had opened the door to the two visitors, his heart sank. His doubts about his sexual attractiveness now came back to haunt him.

With a frown he finally woke up from his joyous dream. Walking along the street in the dark, he could picture the girl smiling at him. “She’s just a silly, inexperienced girl!” he muttered to himself. Even so, there was one thing that had not occurred to him: he could volunteer to proffer his hand to the life that was pulsing inside his own heart, albeit to throttle it in the serenity of death. Let it pulse and bloom then, and he would wait for that shelter that lies beyond the veil of the unknown. One thing was certain, he would never find himself in a situation any worse than the ones that fate had already thrown at him.

On his way back it occurred to him to ask himself whether this painful sensation he was feeling was actually love, the hidden passion that grows within the folds of the heart, the longing that coats one’s very breath with the soul’s essence, that heavenly ecstasy that brings delight to soul and world alike, the agony that fears any failure or return to loneliness and desolation. Wasn’t it love when that lovely, simple vision settled inside his heart and became the stuff of his dreams and the source of all his hopes and agonies? Yes indeed, this was love, and he knew it perfectly well.

He went back to the Zahra Café where he found his companions chatting and sipping tea. He noticed the young boy, Muhammad, sitting beside his father and looking around the assembled company with those same honey-colored eyes. Ahmad was delighted to see him again — the boy being the envoy of his hopes — and his heart went out to him. He took his usual spot alongside Ahmad Rashid and started listening to what Sayyid Arif was saying.

“The Germans will take advantage of the thick spring fog,” he said enthusiastically, “and attack the shores of England. Then the war will be over!”

“You mean, the same way Hesse fell?” Kamal Khalil asked jokingly, so as not to be too provocative.

Sayyid Arif chose to ignore his colleague’s sarcasm. “England with all its arrogance will be flattened before it even has a chance to recover from the attack.”

“But how can Germany invade England,” Ahmad Rashid asked, “when its troops are bogged down in the terrible fighting in Russia?”

“The Fuhrer has special forces ready for the invasion of England. It’s likely England will fall even before Russia, or at least they’ll both collapse at the same time.”

“It’s obvious you know nothing about Russia,” Ahmad Rashid replied. “Socialist Russia is not the same as Czarist Russia. People in the Soviet Union are now a solid front, united by common conviction and determination. They may have retreated a bit to recover their breath, but they’ll never lay down their arms or even contemplate surrender.”

“And what about Bunker 13?” asked Sayyid Arif.

Rubbing his hands together Boss Nunu chimed in, “That must be the place to get the pills you need.…”

“If what people say about Hitler is true,” Ahmad Akif asked, “then why wouldn’t he use the contents of Bunker 13?”

“As an act of mercy on humanity in general. The Fuhrer will never resort to using that dreadful warehouse unless he finally gives up all hope of winning by normal strategic methods — God forbid!”

At this point Boss Nunu clapped his hands, called the waiter over, and asked him to bring the domino board. “Curse the whole lot of them!” he yelled in exasperation. “The Germans aren’t our mother, and the English aren’t our father either. The devil take them all to hell!”

Boss Nunu’s intervention divided them into two groups — one to play games, the other to talk. Once again Ahmad Akif found himself sitting alone with the young lawyer. He did not feel like talking and told himself he should go home again, especially since Nawal and her mother were there. But what could he do once he arrived? He would have to stay in his room. He was still pondering these ideas when he heard the lawyer talking to the young boy, Muhammad.

“It’s time you went home, Muhammad, and did your homework.”

The boy stood up with a smile that suggested he was a bit embarrassed and immediately left. Ahmad Akif was surprised at the imperious way the lawyer had spoken to the boy and equally that the boy had responded. The tone he had used was neither one of gentle counseling nor of affection for the boy’s father.

The lawyer sensed Ahmad’s surprise. “It’s amazing how much better girls are than boys.” he said. “The boy’s sister is hardworking and obedient, but Muhammad treats his lessons like nasty medicine and finds every conceivable excuse for not studying.”