Naguib Mahfouz - Khan Al-Khalili

Rushdi’s response was not a little gruff. “The doctor’s already given a different interpretation of that dream,” he said. “He’s assured me that it’ll be at least a year before I can get out of bed.”

“Heaven forbid, Rushdi Effendi!” the women chided him. “You’re always so pessimistic.” She pointed at her daughter. “Here’s Nawal,” she went on. “She’s come to see you. She wouldn’t have stayed away if she weren’t so busy with her studies, and if she hadn’t gotten ill recently. She will be taking her exams at the end of this month.…”

“Exactly the same date that I’m due to lose my job,” Rushdi fired back.

Nawal turned pale as she realized how angry Rushdi was and why.

“That’s shocking,” Sitt Tawhida said, “absolutely shocking! Every calamity has to come to an end.…”

“Except this one,” said Rushdi clasping his chest. “The only end will be when my own life is ended.”

“My dear Rushdi,” she said, “your illness is not that severe. God willing, you’ll get better.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “What illness are you talking about?” Rushdi shot back, his hands still across his chest. “This one is called tuberculosis. Haven’t you heard of it? It’s tuberculosis; it’s eating away at my chest; it’s turning my saliva into blood. It is a very severe, dreadful disease. And it’s very contagious, so take care!”

The whole thing was too much for him and he was overcome. His mother begged him to stop talking, then begged her two guests to go into the lounge with her. She apologized for the fact that Rushdi’s illness was making him so intolerant. The two brothers were now left alone.

“It would have been better,” said Ahmad sadly, “if you hadn’t lost your temper.”

“My dear brother,” Rushdi replied emotionally, “she doesn’t deserve the slightest sympathy! Her lack of loyalty was disgusting. As you well know, that girl is to blame for the calamity that has brought me down. If it weren’t for her, I would have realized how dangerous this illness was and rid my life of it for ever. It was my fondness for her that forced me to keep it all hidden. Now you can see for yourself what it has done to me.”

He sat up in bed. “What on earth possessed Nawal’s mother to bring her over here?” he asked, still upset. “The crafty old woman’s thinking long-term. What’s more likely, a cure or death? She’s holding the options close to her chest. But, I can tell you, Ahmad, from now on I’m never going to even think of getting married. Should God will that I get better, I hereby pledge to do whatever’s necessary for my shattered body. Even if things work out for the best, all that lies ahead of me is genuine old age under medical supervision. Dear brother, I’ve a sum of money on deposit in the bank that I was saving up for marriage. I’m going to take it out and then go back to the sanitorium in Helwan. Once I’m there, I’m going to put myself at the mercy of the fates until God decides to execute His ordained decision. Take the money out tomorrow, and buy me some clothes and necessities. I’ll be at the sanitorium before the month is out. And let God’s will be done.…”

At noon the following day (a Friday), Ahmad did what his brother had asked. He took his money out of the bank, bought him some pajamas, household clothes, and a few other necessities, and then returned home. He was delighted that his brother had decided to go back to the sanitorium in Helwan.

When he got back to the apartment, he found his brother smoking a cigarette. He was utterly shocked. Rushdi had stopped smoking as soon as the disease had made its first appearance. He looked sheepish as his brother came in and gave him a bashful smile.

“Who on earth gave you that cigarette?” he shouted, forgetting all about the things he had just purchased. “What on earth are you trying to do to yourself?”

He gave his mother an inquisitorial look.

“Rushdi insisted,” she said by way of self-defense, “and I couldn’t resist. He wouldn’t keep quiet until he got what he wanted.”

“Don’t be hard on me, Ahmad,” Rushdi said without putting the cigarette away. “I had this sudden irresistible urge to smoke a cigarette.”

“This is absolute insanity!” Ahmad replied angrily.

“One cigarette’s not going to hurt,” Rushdi said by way of excuse. “It’s so good! Let me take a few puffs in peace.”

He finished smoking his cigarette with obvious relish. “Don’t get angry, Ahmad,” he said. “That’s my last cigarette. Now, what new clothes did you buy?”

Immediately after lunch he suddenly felt very weak, but did not feel like lying down. He sat on his bed, stretched his legs out, and rested his back against a folded pillow. His legs looked like two sticks, and his complexion was a pale yellow with a tinge of blue. There were dark circles around his eyes, and his eyes had an unfamiliar look to them, different from the normal sadness, as though gazing at some distant point invisible to the eye.

Late in the afternoon Ahmad came to chat with his brother before taking off for the Zahra Café.

“Are you going to the Zahra Café?” Rushdi asked him. “Say hello to all my friends there. How I wish I could spend the evening with my friends in al-Sakakini!”

Ahmad was much affected by his brother’s words. “God willing,” he replied, “you’ll get better, then you can go back to your friends and their Sakakini nights!”

“Am I ever going to get better?” Rushdi asked despondently. “Just look at my legs. Will they ever look like human legs again?”

“Do you think God cannot make that happen if He so wishes?”

Rushdi shook his head, spoke to his brother in a way he had never done before, as a kind of sage counselor. “Always keep a close watch on your health, Ahmad,” he said. “Never treat it lightly.”

For a second he stared at the floor. “Illness is like a woman,” he went on in a different tone of voice, “it sucks the youth out of you and destroys all hopes.”

Ahmad wondered to himself why Rushdi was talking like this and stared at him despondently.

“Microbes work unseen,” Rushdi went on. “Once they have grabbed their victim, they finish him off.”

“Rushdi, what are you saying?”

“I’m sharing a truth before parting. You may not see me any more after today.”

“What do you mean, Rushdi,” Ahmad asked in a panic, “I may not see you after today?”

Rushdi paused for a moment’s thought. “Isn’t it likely that you’ll lose patience?” he asked as though in his normal sarcastic tone. “You’ll either get fed up with the illness or else your studies will keep you preoccupied, so you’ll forget all about me in Helwan!”

“Heaven forbid, Rushdi, heaven forbid!”

Rushdi gave him a very odd look. “Why don’t they simply burn sick people?” he asked. “That would put them out of their misery and stop making them a burden on others!”

“Rushdi,” Ahmad protested, “why on earth are you talking this way?”

Again Rushdi paused for a moment. “God curse all illness,” he went on. “May God protect you from the evil of disease!”

Ahmad was totally stunned. His mother came back with a cup of coffee that he sipped in silence. He was worried in case Rushdi started talking the same way with his mother there, but he said nothing. Ahmad relaxed a bit and assumed that he was back to his normal behavior. He stole a glance in Rushdi’s direction and was struck by how weak and pale he looked and how skinny his legs were. “Can this really be you, Rushdi?” he asked himself sadly. “A pox on this disease!”

It was late when he got to the café. He always found that his time there helped calm his shattered nerves and grieving heart. He stayed there until nine-thirty, then came back to the apartment. As he walked past his brother’s room, he noticed that Rushdi had taken a sleeping pill to help him sleep but was not asleep as yet.