Naguib Mahfouz - Khan Al-Khalili

He pictured her face and had to admit that she was pretty and graceful. He was feeling all the inward happiness of someone who has acquired something precious. Where love was concerned, he had limitless self-confidence, based on one success after another. It was all founded on tremendous patience, an iron will that never gave up, and an innate suavity much assisted by artifice. He was patient for sure, and yet he never stopped insisting, urging, chasing, day after day, month after month, year after year — if need be — until he had achieved his goal. Among his well-known maxims on the topic of love was, “Anyone responding to love’s call cannot afford to shackle his quest by being shy, worried, or scared. If you’re chasing a woman, forget about honor. If she rejects you, don’t get angry; if she swears at you, don’t be sad. Rejection and curses are merely fuel for love’s fire. If a woman slaps you on the right cheek, offer here the left one as well. You’ll be the master in the end!”

There had once been an occasion when he took upon himself to chase after a determined young girl who was both well brought up and had a mind of her own. Things went on for quite a while with no sign of softening or change on her part. With that he simply spoke to her one day in a totally unaggressive way: “Listen,” he said, “I’m a disgusting, heartless, annoying rogue. Don’t even dream that you can send me away by throwing reproachful looks or rude words at me. That won’t help, nor will punching me or calling the police either. I’m going to force you to talk to me one way or another, whether it’s today, tomorrow, the day after, in a year’s time, or a century’s time. I really don’t care. But, since the ending is a foregone conclusion, then for heaven’s sake, make the process shorter!”

That’s the way he was. Now once again he was wondering to himself what kind of young beauty this particular girl might be. Was she bold and adventurous, in need of taming by her lover? Or was she experienced and sophisticated, making it impossible to fool around with her? Or could she be naive and yet lively, something that would require a degree of patience in her lover? At this point he realized that Khan al-Khalili was becoming that much more tolerable thanks to this young girl and others like her. He raised his hands to the side of his head, “In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful,” he said. “If love is the intention, then God Himself is the helper!”

He was actually planning to fall in love. But he had no way of knowing the kind of blow he was about to aim at the happiness of his elder brother whom he both loved and revered.

Rushdi had not slept very much the previous night on the train, so he now simply surrendered himself to his bed and slept soundly. He did not wake up until four the next afternoon. As he sat on his bed yawning and gradually opening his eyes, he was aware that, for the first time in a year, he was actually waking up to the laughing light of Cairo. He remembered the order to relocate from Asyut, and that made him feel happy and relaxed. His room was shrouded in darkness, so he went over and opened the window. Instantly, he thought of the pretty girl and looked up at her window, but it was closed. He left his room and went out into the hall. His father was asleep, and his mother was preparing a fish for frying. For a while he stood by the kitchen door chatting to her, then he went to his brother’s room. He found Ahmad standing by the window. When he was aware that Rushdi had come in, he quickly looked away — although Rushdi had no idea quite how much that had cost him. He gave his younger brother a gentle smile, and they both sat down, Ahmad on the mattress and Rushdi on the chair.

They started chatting, just the way you would expect with two affectionate brothers who had been separated for a while. Rushdi remembered the way his brother had always been fond of writing.

“Haven’t you started writing things yet?” he asked.

The question stung Ahmad a bit, but he didn’t dwell on it. “I’ve a head stuffed full of knowledge,” he replied, “but what should I select and what should I leave out? Truth to tell, if I really wanted to write, I could fill up an entire library! But what’s the point? Do the Egyptian people really deserve writing in the true sense of the word? Can they really digest such material? Or is it a question of one set of rabble reading another?”

Rushdi was always prepared to accept whatever his brother said. “It’s a shame that your valuable ideas should go to waste.”

Ahmad, too, believed in what he was saying, forgetting the arguments he had been having with Ahmad Rashid. “I’m ahead of my time,” he said, “so there’s no hope at all of my reaching some form of mutual understanding with these people. Everything in life has its faults, even absorbing oneself in research and knowledge.”

“But, my dear brother, how can you be happy if all the effort you’ve made comes to nothing and has no impact on people?”

That comment pleased Ahmad a lot; in fact, it made him happy enough to compensate for having had to look away from the window a short while ago. “Who knows, Rushdi? Maybe one day I’ll be able to change my mind about people and respect them more.”

They kept on talking until the cannon was fired to announce the breaking of the fast. With that, the family sat down to its final Ramadan meal. The traditional platters of fish were served, and they all ate and drank their fill. As soon as coffee had been served, Rushdi put on his coat and left the house without any further ado. He wanted to get to the Ghamra casino at the right time; in other words, he needed to get there before all his friends — who regularly gathered at the casino every evening to drink and play cards — took over the gaming table. For anyone who knew as much about such things as he did, there was wisdom in getting there early. It was not just a matter of getting a place at the gaming table, but the fact that once the players involved were engrossed in the game they would not bother to greet any late arrivals, even if they had been away for a full year! The best one could hope for was a terse greeting, while eyes would remain glued to the cards. If out of some reluctant sense of politeness they were forced to actually stop the game, it was no boon for the new arrival. Everyone would invoke all manner of mute curses under their breath. Furthermore, latecomers who interrupted the players in the middle of the game would be considered good luck for the winners and the opposite for the losers; as a result, one group of players would always be staring daggers at the new arrival.

Some of his companions had suffered a string of really bad luck and had acquired bad reputations. One of them was a young lawyer whose friends believed him to be a jinx — as long as he was anywhere close to the people playing, they were bound to lose; none of them had any hope of winning. Gamblers are very superstitious and prone to rumor mongering, believing in omens and worshiping the notion of chance.

As he got on the trolley to al-Azhar, his memory took him back to the days when he had first started indulging in gambling. It had been during his first year at the School of Commerce. He had been invited to join a game on the pretext that it was an innocent way to kill time. At the time they had bet milliemes — but with no thought of making a profit. After all, the millieme was such a small unit of currency, and the idea had been simply to lend a bit of excitement to the game and give the activity a serious aspect. Fairly soon, however, the amounts had gone up, until the entire contents of their pockets were involved. Gradually, their passion for the game became so overwhelming that it completely obliterated all thought of time, duty, and the future. After all, gambling is a fairly risky pastime; it’s a masochistic form of pleasure, a manic compulsion. You are playing with the unseen and jockeying with chance; pounding on the door of the unknown and crunching together the clashing instincts of fear, aggression, curiosity, recklessness, and greed. Beyond all that, it’s an echo of that feeling we all have, that aspect of our daily struggle, which derives from the energy and calculation we use in order to deal with life; the way we handle the powers of fate that control us, the requests we make of chance and the particular circumstances that envelop us, and the gains and losses we suffer as a consequence. How often had Rushdi devoutly wished that he would never have to leave the gaming table! What was remarkable about his behavior is that after an exhausting evening of playing he never once got up from the table without asking God’s forgiveness for his folly. And yet, no sooner did the appointed time approach on the next day than he was rushing off to the casino without bothering about anything else.