Naguib Mahfouz - Khan Al-Khalili

“Good morning,” he said gently.

She tilted her head in his direction and glanced hesitantly at him. “Good morning,” she replied in a soft voice.

As usual she was carrying her school bag under her arm.

“Would you let me carry that bag for you?” he asked with a smile.

“Oh no,” she replied. “There’s no need for that. It looks big, but it’s not heavy. It’s no problem for me to carry it myself.”

“But, for two lovely delicate hands like yours,” he said, “it must be a bit heavy!”

“No, it’s not,” she replied. “I can handle it quite well. Please don’t spoil me!”

That made him laugh. “But surely it’s wrong for me to have my hands empty while you’re carrying that big bag.”

She began to feel a bit flustered, but she decided to humor him. “What’s wrong about it?” she asked. “I carry it myself every morning and evening.”

“You’re obviously scared I’m going to steal it.”

“Oh, if only you really could! It contains all my nasty homework. Arithmetic is not even the worst.”

That made him laugh again. “God curse the knowledge that gives you grief!”

She gave him an encouraging smile. “Are you really cursing knowledge just for my sake,” she asked, “or does the hatred go back a while?”

“No, it’s entirely for your sake,” he replied, “although I have to admit that there’s a certain amount of enmity from the past as well. What are your favorite subjects?”

“History and languages.”

He was the complete opposite: his favorites were sciences and math. Even so he pretended to be delighted. “So we think the same way!” he exclaimed.

She was amazed at how happy he seemed. “Why should you be so overjoyed?” she asked.

“How can you possibly not know the answer to that question, my dear?” he replied with his habitual smoothness. “The fact that we share the same intellectual preferences can surely serve as a firm basis for a more spiritual agreement of the kind we’re experiencing now!”

She blushed and turned away, something she usually did when her shyness got the better of her. She didn’t respond.

“Don’t you agree with me?” he asked her.

She remained silent, or, more accurately, silence retained its hold on her.

“So, am I to read into your silence the answer I’m hoping to hear?” he asked gently.

He looked at her and thought he saw the glimpse of a smile. Now his enthusiasm took over. “I knew the answer from your very first glance,” he commented softly.

“The very first glance?” she could not avoid asking, with a clear sparkle in her eyes.

“Yes indeed!”

“Unbelievable!”

“Don’t you believe in love at first sight?”

“Aren’t you exaggerating? Are the things people say about love at first sight really true?”

His lovely honey-colored eyes sparkled as he replied, “No doubt about it!”

Now she changed her tone. “But we don’t even know each other yet!” she said.

He realized that she was trying to find a way to escape from the gold collar he had put around her neck, but he was not about to let her get away.

“Don’t change the subject. We’re bound to know each other better before long; either that, or else it’ll all come to an end, and my name will become a mere memory! But the one thing I want to tell you is that, if it’s not love at first sight,” (and he deliberately used the word “love” as though it was something spontaneous), “then it’s not love at all.”

Once again she remained silent.

“I don’t mean,” he went on, still smiling at her, “that love has to occur at first sight. What I’m saying is that the very first glance is enough to reveal that there are people with whom we share spiritual ties that may turn into real love. Don’t they say that souls can talk to each other without invoking the senses at all? Through a single glance the soul can transcend all expectations. As for love, that is engendered by time and fostered by intimacy, it has to be regarded, more often than not, as a product of either habit, benefit, or other values that involve careful deliberation. What do you think?”

She hesitated for a moment, looking somewhat puzzled. “Are you saying,” she asked, “that there can’t be …,” (she didn’t mention the word “love”) “unless it’s at first sight?”

That made him realize that he had been prattling on for too long. He was afraid of what might happen if he had to explain what he meant. “No, no,” he replied anxiously, “that’s not it. What I meant was that the first glance may well be a good indicator of the goal toward which one’s emotions may lead.”

She gave a gentle laugh. “Your philosophy is tricky,” she said. “It doesn’t involve either history or languages!”

With that he dissolved into laughter. He was utterly delighted by her response and dearly wished that he could kiss that tiny mouth with its delectable nectar.

“Actually it’s much simpler than either history or languages, because it’s based on innate instincts. The clearest proof is that the two of us have met under its inspiration. God willing, we will never be parted.”

By now they had gone about half way, and the City of the Dead was looming ahead to their left, shrouded in its eternal gloom and all-pervasive silence. She stared at the tombs with her honey-colored eyes.

“It’s my lot,” she said to hide the awkwardness she felt listening to his sweet talk, “to have to look at those tombs every morning. What a gloomy scene!”

The young man wondered why it was that she had to take such a long route in order to get to Abbasiya and then back again in the afternoon. Why didn’t she take the trolley along Khalig Street? Then the truth hit him; he realized that she justified the exhaustion involved — or rather her father justified it for her — as a means of cutting down on expenses. Kamal Khalil Effendi was considered to be a minor civil servant, one of those people who strive with genuine determination — and in difficult circumstances — to lift their families up to a higher social level. Rushdi recalled that his own family had had to go through similarly hard times, especially his beloved brother who had steadfastly and patiently kept misfortune at bay. His whole heart blossomed with affection, love, and admiration.

“You won’t have to look at the tombs after today,” he said.

“How can that be?” she asked with a frown. “Am I supposed to walk blindfolded or something?”

“No. Our conversation will be enough to distract your attention!”

She gave a gentle laugh as a way of showing that she understood.

“It’s a long walk,” she said. “You won’t be able to stand it for long, particularly since winter’s on the way.”

“We’ll see about that.”

They carried on walking, with only desert on the right and tombs on the left. They proceeded through the tombs toward the west. Rushdi pointed out a wooden tomb with a small courtyard, lying to the right, the third one in.

“That’s our family tomb,” he said.

The girl looked to where he was pointing and noticed the small tomb. “Then let’s recite the Fatiha,” she said.

They did so together.

“Here’s where my ancestors lie,” he said. “The most recent are my grandmother and grandfather on my father’s side and my youngest brother.”

“When did your brother die?” she asked.

“A while ago when we were still young.”

With that they left the tombs and talk about them behind and returned to happier topics without even thinking about the glaring contrast between talk of love and tombs. For example, they did not spoil the mood by asking themselves how much remained of their lives on this earth or what would transpire in their lives before they too would be laid to rest in this tomb or another like it. None of that concerned them.