Naguib Mahfouz: Adrift on the Nile

Not a man was left on the road. The doors and windows were closed. And the dust flew up under the horses' hooves, and the Mameluke soldiery let loose yells of joy on the road to the hunt; any man abroad in the quarters of Margush or Gamaliya was made a target for their skill, and the victims' cries were drowned by the yells of mad joy, and the bereaved mother screamed: "Mercy, O kings!" and the hunter bore down on her on that day of sport; and the coffee grew cold and the taste of it changed, and the Mameluke still roared, grinning from ear to ear, and a headache came and the vision fled, and still the Mameluke laughed. And they hurled down curses and made the dust fly, reveling in splendor, reveling in torture…

A cheerful animation spread through the gloomy room. It was time to go home.

The houseboat lay still on the leaden waters of the Nile, as familiar to him as a face. To the right there was an empty space, once occupied by another houseboat before the current swept it away, and to the left, on a wide bank of the shore, a simple mosque surrounded by a mud-brick wall and spread with shabby matting. Anis approached the houseboat, passing through a white wooden gate in a hedge of violet and jasmine.

Amm Abduh, the night watchman, rose to greet him, his gigantic frame topping the slats and palm branches that composed the roof of his mud-brick hut. Anis made for the gangway of the houseboat, walking down a tiled path that was flanked on each side by a grassy space. To the right of the path, in the middle of the grass, there was a watercress bed, while far over to the left, a wilderness of hyacinth bean lay like a backdrop behind a towering guava tree. The sun's rays beat down, fierce and insistent, through an arbor of eucalyptus branches that spread from the roadside trees to shade the small garden.

He changed his clothes and went to sit, dressed in his long white tunic, in the doorway of the balcony overlooking the Nile. He welcomed the gentle breeze, letting it caress him tenderly, letting his eyes wander over the expanse of water, which could have been still and motionless, not a ripple, not a sparkle could he see. But it carried the voices clearly from the houseboats moored in a long line on the opposite bank, beneath the evergreens and acacia trees. He sighed, loud enough for Amm Abduh — who was setting the small table next to the right-hand wall, a couple of meters from the refrigerator — to ask him: "All's well, I hope?"

"A disgusting, rotten atmosphere today," Anis muttered, turning toward him, "drove away my good mood."

"But you always come back in the end to the good atmosphere here."

The old man never ceased to excite his admiration. He was like something great and ancient, rooted in time. Vitality leaped from his deeply lined eyes. Perhaps those deep furrows were what awed him; or perhaps it was the clump of thick white hair that sprang like date blossoms from the neck of his robe. And the robe itself, coarse calico, hanging like a drape over a statue, hanging straight down unhindered. No flesh, really, just skin and bone. But what bones! He was built like a giant, and his head grazed the ceiling of the houseboat. There was an attraction about his whole being that was irresistible. He was a true symbol of resistance in the face of death. That was why Anis liked talking to him so much, in spite of their acquaintance of barely a month.

Anis rose and took his place at the table. He began to eat a chop, holding it in his fingers. He gazed at the wooden partition, painted with sky-blue distemper. He followed the progress of a small gecko as it scuttled across the partition to secrete itself behind a light switch. The gecko reminded him of the Head of Department. Why was that? A sudden question plagued him. Did the Fatimid Caliph Mu'izz li-Din Illah have any living descendants who might one day rise to claim the throne of Cairo as their own? "How old are you, Amm Abduh?" he asked.

Amm Abduh was standing behind the folding screen that concealed the outer door, and looking down at him from above like a cypress tree towering among the clouds. He smiled, as if he had not taken the question seriously. "How old am I?"

Anis nodded, licking his lips.

The old man spoke again. "Who knows?"

I am no expert when it comes to guessing ages, but more than likely he was walking the earth before a single tree was planted along this street. He is still so strong, given his age, that one can hardly believe it. He looks after the big floats under the houseboat, and pulls the boat on a rope to a new berth whenever it is necessary, and it follows him obediently; he waters the plants, he leads the prayer, and he is a good cook.

"Have you always lived alone in that hut?" Anis continued.

"There's only just enough room for me on my own!"

"Where did you come from, Amm Abduh?" he asked next, but the old man merely said: "Ah!"

"Don't you have relatives in Cairo?"

"No one."

"We have that in common at least… You are an excellent cook, by the way."

"Thank you."

"And you eat more than is good for someone of your age."

"I eat what I can digest."

Anis contemplated the remains of the chop. One day, all that would be left of the Head of Department would be bones like those. How he would love to see him being called to account on Judgment Day! He began to peel a banana, and continued his inquiries. "When did you come to work on the houseboat?"

"When they brought it to this berth."

"When was that?"

"Oh…"

"And does it have the same owner now as it did then?"

"There has been one owner after another here."

"And do you like your job?"

"I _am_ the houseboat!" Amm Abduh replied proudly. "Because I am the ropes and floats, and if I forgot my duties for a minute it would sink or be carried away by the current!"

His simple pride was appealing. Anis chuckled, and gazed at him for a moment before asking: "What is the most important thing in the world?"

"To be hale and hearty."

There was something mysterious and magical about his reply that made Anis laugh for a long time. Then he asked: "When was the last time you loved a woman?"

"Well!"

"Have you found nothing else to make you happy, after love?"

"Prayer is my comfort now."

"Your voice is beautiful when you call them to prayer," Anis remarked, and then he added merrily: "Even so, you're not too holy to go and fetch the kif, or bring back one of the street girls for us!"

Amm Abduh guffawed, throwing back his head with its white skullcap. He did not reply.

"Isn't that so?"

Amm Abduh passed one big hand over his face. "I serve the gentlemen," he said simply.

But no. No, it was not just that. He was the houseboat, as he had said. The ropes and floats, the plants, the food, the women, the prayers.

Taking a towel, Anis went through a side door to wash his hands at the basin, and came back, saying to himself that it was due to excess alone that most of the Caliphs had not lived long. He saw Amm Abduh busily wiping the table, his back bent like a bowed palm tree. Playfully, he asked him: "Have you ever seen a ghost?"

"I've seen everything," Amm Abduh replied.

Anis winked. "So there has never been a good family living on this houseboat?" he asked.

"Hmm!"

"O guardian of our pleasures! If you did not like this life, you would have left it on the first day!"

"How could I, when I built the mosque with my own hands?"

Anis looked now at the books on the shelves, which covered the whole of the long wall to the left of the door. It was a library of history, from the dawn of time to the atomic age, domain of his imagination and storehouse of his dreams. At random, he took down a book on monasticism in the Coptic period in order to read, as he did every day, for an hour or two before his siesta. Amm Abduh finished his work, and came to ask if Anis wanted anything else before he left.