Naguib Mahfouz - Khan Al-Khalili

“But we all come here to get away from problems and difficulties, not to ponder them!”

“Bad idea! Running away from problems doesn’t make them go away. All that happens is that you forget how bad they are. When they return, they’re worse than before. The wisdom provided by hashish gives us a confidence that can confront all those difficulties with a will strong enough to treat them as mere trivialities. That way, they are swilled down memory’s drain and erased from existence.”

“This isn’t a hashish session we’re involved in,” commented Sayyid Arif with a laugh, “it’s a confession!”

Boss Zifta agreed. “True enough,” he said, “this is priestly hashish talk! Whoever said, ‘Goha, count your sheep!’ spoke the truth.”

Boss Nunu was not happy with the way the conversation was going. He looked over at Sulayman Bey. “How can anyone with no worries stay silent?” he asked.

“How can anyone have no worries, unless they’re an animal?”

“How can you be sure they don’t?!”

At this point, Sayyid Arif chimed in with, “Maybe he’s a heron!”

Abbas Shifa, his hair all bedraggled and looking like the devil himself, stood up and started the water pipe on its second round. The sound of the bubbles drowned out the conversation. This time Ahmad took deeper puffs, relying on a devil-may-care attitude he had never felt before and a deep-seated desire to forget his troubles. Even though he hated Sulayman Bey Ata, in this particular case he admired his philosophy. He dearly wanted to be rid of his own profound sorrow; that was what had brought him to this stifling assembly — the hope of finding release. Now the drugs were taking control; his eyelids drooped, his eyes turned bloodshot, and his neck slumped a little. Just then he had a terrible thought and leaned over to Boss Nunu.

“Shouldn’t we be worried about the police?” he asked. “What happens if one of them comes to the door and yells, ‘God damn the world’?”

Boss Nunu laughed. “We reply, ‘And God damn your own father!’ ”

Once the second round was over, Abbas Shifa sat down beside his stunning wife. Tongues started wagging again.

Boss Zifta the café owner kept at it. “I’ve good news for you all,” he said. “Once Hitler has managed to conquer Egypt, God willing, he’s going to annul the ban on hashish. Instead he’ll ban drinking English whisky!”

“Hitler’s a wise man,” said Boss Nunu. “I’ve not the slightest doubt that hashish is the reason why his strategy is so clever to begin with!”

“How can we put him in touch with Abbas Shifa?” asked Kamal Khalil Effendi.

“He has no need of Abbas von Shifa,” Boss Nunu replied in a serious tone. “Bunker 13 is chock full of the purest hashish.”

The Boss shook his head sadly. “Haven’t you all heard,” he asked, “that the Japanese are distributing drugs to the peoples they conquer?”

Boss Zifta reacted in the same tone. “If only the English were hashish addicts!”

“Fifty years of British occupation wasted!”

At this point Sayyid Arif stood up suddenly, signs of extreme worry written all over his face. He put on his fez as though making ready to leave. Everyone was astonished.

“Where are you off to, brother?” Aliyat inquired.

He hurried around the edge of the group and sped toward the door. “The pills have worked,” he said as he made his exit.

In a flash he was gone. Everyone burst out laughing.

“Can that be true?” Kamal Khalil asked through a hacking cough.

“False propaganda,” Sulayman Ata interjected sarcastically, “just like that of his German friends.”

“We’ll know the answer in nine months!” said Boss Nunu.

“All in good time!” Aliyat chimed in.

They kept up their banter until Abbas Shifa stood up yet again, holding the water pipe. This was the cue for everyone to stop talking. This time round, Ahmad was in a drugged stupor. He said not a word, feeling unwilling or even unable to talk. He had the feeling that he had lost all control of his limbs. He tried to move his arms to convince himself that he was still in control, but a strange, yet powerful feeling persuaded him not to bother and suggested strongly that there really was nothing in the world that warranted any effort or movement. Slumber, submission, and contentment, they were the best things life had to offer. Through the clouds of smoke he could make out the other people; they all looked like specters from some strange world or inhabitants of another planet. He had no idea where this strange sensation was coming from, but he decided to laugh — a long, elongated chortle whose opening measures sounded like a sigh, while the coda resembled the bubbling of a water pipe. The others could not help laughing too. Even though he was completely stoned, he was aware that they were laughing and sat up in his seat so he could claim to be still awake — to the extent possible.

Now something remarkable happened. Aliyat stood up, and her incredible, sleek body extended itself upward and outward, offering an eyeful to all those present. Her dress was extremely tight fitting and clearly revealed her gorgeous figure. Her magnificent procession now moved off, with her holding on to the edge of her shawl and thus revealing her arm shrouded in gold bracelets. As she passed by in front of Ahmad, he was shaken awake and saw a robe that parted at the hips to envelop a pair of buttocks the like of which he had never seen before: plump, fleshy, and quivering, placed atop thighs that were as finely crafted as the very best woodwork. He could hardly believe his eyes. Boss Nunu noticed how amazed he was.

“Watch out!” he said. “She’s letting you in on a secret that has been the downfall of the quarter’s husbands. That’s not just a pair of buttocks. That’s a treasure!”

“It’s almost inconceivable!” Ahmad commented almost inaudibly.

“And, as if that were not enough, they manage to combine two entirely separate qualities: from one point of view, they’re as firm as an inflated ball; from another, they’re so soft that your fingers can glide over them!”

“That’s one of life’s great mysteries!”

“We ask God to keep us safe!”

“Amen,” replied Ahmad without even thinking.

Abbas Shifa was looking at them. “So what are you two talking about?” he asked Boss Nunu, faking annoyance.

“We’ve plans for the most expensive furniture in the house!” replied the Boss with his usual raucous laugh.

They stopped talking so they could listen to Boss Zifta who was chatting on the other side of the circle and apparently offering advice to some of the newcomers.

“There are three things you should do your best to acquire in quantity: gold, copper, and Persian rugs. They retain their value, so you can sell them when things get rough and make full use of them when it comes to preparing for your daughters’ weddings.…”

A man in a turban named Boss Shimbaki reacted negatively. “Oh, a curse on all daughters, wives, and mothers!”

Abbas Shifa pointed at the speaker. “Are you all aware,” he asked, “that Boss Shimbaki’s wife left him in a huff?”

Everyone voiced their regrets. At this point Aliyat came back, just in time to hear the last comment.

“Why did that happen, Boss?” she asked. “I do hope it wasn’t my fault.…”

“Oh no,” Shimbaki replied. “It’s my son Sinqur’s marriage that’s the trouble. I wanted a quiet, modest affair to be in line with the times, but she’s insisting on singing girls and the whole routine. ‘How come,’ she asked me insolently, ‘your money’s forbidden for me and my children here but is permitted to you over there?’ ”

“And ‘over there’ means my place!” Aliyat commented with a guffaw.