Naguib Mahfouz - Heart of the Night

“Was there any mention of your suspicions during the trial?” I asked.

“No, and I categorically refused that approach. The case was presented as a struggle between two communists that led to murder. In prison, I insisted on the status of a political criminal, but they considered me plainly and simply a killer. To this day I consider myself a political criminal. What do you think?”

“You are probably a semi-political criminal,” I said.

“But if it were not for politics, the crime would not have occurred.”

“Maybe. But what was your grandfather’s reaction?” I asked.

“A few days before the accident, Muhammad Shakroun informed me that my grandfather was very ill, and suggested I visit him together with Huda and my children. I discussed the matter with Huda and she welcomed the idea. We postponed the visit to Friday, but the crime occurred on Thursday evening, and I never received a word from him. I do not even know if he learned of my crime.

“Though I requested to be treated like a political criminal in prison, there is no difference between the treatment of the political criminal and of the regular criminal. My request made me the subject of ridicule and jokes, and I was punished with lashes for causing commotion. Huda visited me only once.”

“Why did she stop after that?”

“She passed away,” he said.

He continued telling me his story: “I was very sad and I worried about the children. But Muhammad Shakroun told me that the children’s maternal aunt had offered to care for them and had taken them to Minya to live with her. I have no doubt that they forgot me very quickly, as I had forgotten my mother. In a second visit, Shakroun told me that he was going on a tour in North Africa, and that was the last I heard from him. Jaafar al-Rawi died, and so did the world outside the walls of the prison.

“I promoted my new doctrine in prison, but was faced with ignorance, passivity, and sarcasm. I even extended an invitation to join my party to the prison warden, who was kind to me because of my family background, my profession, and my bad luck.

“My eyesight weakened in prison, and I contracted many illnesses. I left in the condition you see me in today.”

Iam in shambles, an old sick man, half blind, with a handful of memories that no one can believe, but I have not lost my clarity of mind or my strong determination, and the seduction of debates is still alive in my heart.

“I thought that if I found Muhammad Shakroun, I would be able to locate the link that would take me to the heart of matters. But there was no trace of him, and I did not meet anyone who knew him, as if he had not entertained a generation of Egyptians with his voice. At the Institute of Oriental Music I was told that Shakroun lived for some time in Morocco, but that since then no one had heard from him.

“I went to the Hilmiya Palace and found a huge building in its place, property of an insurance company. I had inherited a large sum of money from my wife, but spent most of it in prison on cigarettes and other matters, and I had hardly any money left. I went to Eshashal-Turguman but found no trace of the old place. It had become a modern suburb with a park and a gas station.

“I met many of my old colleagues, some retired, others still working in the field of law. I must tell you, though, that no one tried to avoid me. On the contrary, some received me very warmly. There were those who had kept their enthusiasm for their own doctrines, while others had been pulled away by life’s worries and its needs.

“I wondered where Marwana’s and Huda’s children were! But I decided that no good would come of finding them and that I had better leave them alone.

“I find pleasure sometimes in imagining their lives and those of their children — my grandchildren. There are certainly among them bandits and judges, and they are possibly more numerous than I think. I might meet them in my wanderings, but I wouldn’t recognize them and they wouldn’t recognize me.

“Once all those pressing matters were settled, I thought about resuming my struggle for my doctrine and establishing my party. But I faced insurmountable obstacles, among them my advanced age, my extreme frailty, and my appearance, which provoked pity and sometimes disgust. A leader, as you well know, must have a charismatic and appealing personality. Furthermore, the field of politics was filled with lively and influential people. I told myself that I had better write down my theory in a book. If I failed to do so, however — which was a distinct possibility — I would still preach my doctrine wherever I went. It might be picked up by someone more capable than I; someone who would make it work.

“I was convinced then that all I had left to do was face a forced short rest, before the eternal rest.”

Jaafar fell silent for quite a long time, then whispered calmly, “Al-Rawi’s face came back to me from my past memory.”

As I was about to speak, he continued. “I did not doubt that he had died, but I wondered about his money and his palace. I stood under the walls of the huge palace, as imposing as a mountain, then slipped toward the blind alley, toward the gate. To my surprise it was ajar.”

Jaafar stopped for a few seconds, then went on, “I pushed the gate and went in. I was surprised by what I saw. I had never expected or imagined it would happen. There was no garden and no salamlik. The flowers and their scent were gone, and so was the chirping of the birds. There was nothing left but a huge wasteland with piles of garbage and a group of beggars.”

I shouted in my surprise: “What happened? Was it demolished?”

“There was nothing but waste everywhere, surrounded by the high walls and the imposing front gate. The beggars looked at me with concern and fear, but I stomped my feet on the ground and went to see if any of my grandfather’s companions were still alive. I learned that al-Rawi had died one year after my imprisonment, and that he had spent all his wealth on charitable organizations and the needy, without leaving me or any of my descendants a single penny. As for the palace, it had been destroyed when a bomb fell on it during one of the aerial attacks on Cairo, and the rubble had been cleared out. This is the whole story from beginning to end. I soon realized that I wouldn’t get any peace during the short period of respite that precedes the eternal rest. I also decided to set up house in the ruins of my grandfather’s palace. There I sleep, usually between dawn and forenoon, like any beggar.”

He laughed a short laugh. I said with pity, “An unhappy old age.”

“No!” he shouted. “I refuse pity and compassion. Never forget that you are talking to a great man, and a proof of his greatness is his ability to adapt to the most difficult of conditions and situations, and face them with pride and a smile!”

I was convinced, and said, “Anyhow, the monthly financial support which—”

He interrupted me sharply. “I have made a decision regarding that!”

“I don’t think you are serious about your decision.”

“I am extremely serious,” he retorted.

“Do you mean that you won’t write the petition?”

“I certainly won’t!”

“This is pure madness,” I said.

“Call it whatever you like. Since al-Rawi deprived me of my inheritance, I refuse to beg for even one penny of it!”

“Jaafar, you are old, weak, and poor, and the little money you have left will soon be spent.”

“I know all that very, very well, but I am more stubborn than al-Rawi himself.”

“Let me write the petition.”

“I refuse,” he said.