Naguib Mahfouz - Palace Walk

Her head, which was covered with a white scarf, nodded prayerfully as if to say, "May our Lord hear you". She gestured to him to sit down. When he sat on the bed, she started talking with renewed strength derived from his presence: "At first I felt strange shivers. I thought it was something that would go away, that it was caused by nerves. People advised me to make a pilgrimage to the shrines and to burn incense. So I went to the mosques of al-Husayn and his sister al-Sayyida Zaynab and burned various different types of incense-Indian, Sudanese, and Arab-but my condition only got worse. Sometimes I was overcome by a constant shaking that wouldn't leave me until I was almost dead. At times my body would feel as cold as ice. On other occasions, fire would go through my body until I screamed, it was so hot. Finally we decided, I and Mi…" She stopped herself from mentioning the man’s name, realizing at the last moment the error she was about to commit. "Finally I sent for the doctor, but his treatment did not make me any better and may even have set me back some. Now there’s no hope".

Gently squeezing her hand, Yasin said, "Don't despair of God’s mercy. His compassion is universal".

Her pale lips smiled and she said, "It pleases me to hear that. It pleases me to hear it from you more than from anyone else. You're dearer to me than the world and all its inhabitants. You're right. God’s mercy is universal. I've had bad luck for so long. I don't deny that I've slipped up and made mistakes. Only God is infallible".

He noticed, uneasily, that her conversation was verging on confession. He was upset and alarmed that things he could not bear would be repeated in his hearing, even if only with reflective regret. He became tense and jumpy. He implored her, "Don't tire yourself out with talking".

She raised her eyes with a smile and answered, "Your visit has given me back my spirit. I want to tell you that never in my life did I want to harm anyone. Like everyone else, I was seeking peace of mind, but my luck tripped me up. I didn't harm anyone, but many people have harmed me".

Yasin felt that his prayer for the hour to pass peacefully would not be answered and that his pure emotion would suffer a crisis that would spoil it. In the same tone of entreaty he said, "Forget these people, both the good and the bad ones. Your health is more important now than anything else".

She patted his hand, as if asking for his affection and tenderness. She whispered, "There are things I should have done. I haven't done all that I should have for God. I wish I could live longer to make up for some of the things I've neglected. But my heart has always been full of faith, with God as my witness".

As though defending both her and himself, he remarked, "The heart’s everything. It’s more important to God than fasting and prayer".

She pressed his hand gratefully. Then she changed the direction of the conversation. She told him welcomingly, "You've finally returned to me. I didn't dare ask you to come till the illness brought me to the state you see. I felt I was saying goodbye to life, and I couldn't bear to leave it without seeing you. When I sent for you I was more afraid of your refusal than of death itself. But you've had mercy on your mother and come to bid her farewell. So accept my thanks and my prayers, which I hope God will heed".

He was deeply touched but did not know how to express his feelings. Either because of his shyness or lack of practice, loving words felt awkward and clumsy in his mouth whenever he tried to address them to this woman, whom he had grown accustomed to spurning and treating roughly. He discovered he could most effectively and sensitively express himself with his hand. He gently pressed hers and mumbled, "May our Lord make your destiny a safe one".

She kept referring back to the idea expressed in her previous statement, repeating the same words or finding other ways to put it. She paced her conversation by swallowing with noticeable difficulty or by falling silent for short periods while she caught her breath. For this reason, he repeatedly implored her to refrain from talking, but she would smile to cut him off and then continue her conversation. She stopped as her face showed she had just thought of something significant. She asked, "Have you gotten married?"

He raised his eyebrows in embarrassment and blushed, but she misinterpreted his reaction and hastened to apologize: "I'm not upset… Of course, I would have liked to see your wife and children, but it’s enough for me to know you're happy".

He could not keep himself from responding tersely, "I'm not married anymore. I got divorced about a month ago".

For the first time he noticed an interested look in her eyes. If they had still been able to sparkle they would have, but a dreamy light emanated from them as though coming through a thick curtain. She murmured, "You're divorced, son… How sorry I am".

He quickly replied, "Don't be sorry. I'm not sorry or sad". He smiled and continued: "She left. Good riddance".

But she asked sadly, "Who chose her for you… him or her?"

In a manner that suggested he wished to close the door on this subject, he answered, "God chose her. Everything’s fated and destined".

"I know that, but who chose her for you? Was it your stepmother?"

"Oh no. My father chose her. There was nothing wrong with his choice. She was from a good family. It was just a question of fate and destiny, as I said".

"Fate, destiny, and your father’s choice," she observed coldly. "That’s what it was!"

After a short pause she asked, "Pregnant?"

"Yes…"

She sighed and commented: "May God make your father’s life difficult!"

He deliberately allowed her remark to go unchallenged, as though it were a sore that might not itch anymore if he did not scratch it. They were both silent. The woman closed her eyes from fatigue but soon opened them and smiled at him. She asked him in a tender voice, with no edge of emotion to it, "Do you think you can forget the past?"

He lowered his eyes and shuddered, feeling an almost irresistible urge to flee. He implored her, "Don't go back over the past. Let it depart, never to return".

Perhaps his heart did not mean it, but his tongue had found the right thing to say. The statement may even have accurately expressed his feeling at the moment, when he was totally absorbed by the current situation. His phrase, "Let it depart, never to return," may have sounded odd to his ears and heart, leaving anxiety in its wake, but he refused to ponder it. He fled from that subject and clung to his sincere emotion, which he had been determined not to relinquish from the beginning.

His mother asked again, "Do you love your mother the way you did in the happy days?"

Patting her hand, he replied, "I love her and pray for her safety".

He soon found himself richly repaid for his anxiety and inner struggle by the look of peace and deep contentment that spread over her withered face. He felt her hand squeeze his, as though to tell him of the gratitude she felt. They exchanged a long, dreamy, calm, smiling look that radiated an ambiance of reassurance, affection, and sorrow throughout the room. She no longer seemed to want to talk or perhaps it was too much effort for her. Her eyelids slowly drooped until they closed. He looked at her questioningly but did not move. Then her lips opened a little and a delicate, recurrent snoring could be heard.

He sat up straight and scrutinized her face. Then he closed his eyes for a bit while he conjured up the image of her other face with which she had looked at him the year before. He felt depressed, and the fear that had dogged him on his way over returned. Would he ever be permitted to see this face again? With what emotions would he encounter her if he returned? He did not know. He did not want to try to picture what lay in the world of the unknown, the future. He wanted his mind to stop and to follow events, not to try to anticipate them. He was afflicted by fear and anxiety. It was strange… he had wanted to flee when he was listening to her talk, so much that he had thought he would be relieved if she fell asleep, but now that he was alone he felt afraid. He did not know why. He wished she would wake up from her nap and start talking again. How long should he wait?… Suppose she stayed sound asleep until morning? He could not spend that much time at the mercy of fear and anxiety. He had to set a limit to his pains… The next day or the day after that congratulations or condolences would be in order. Congratulations or condolences?… Which would he prefer? The uncertainty had to end. "Whether it’s congratulations," he thought, "or condolences, I mustn't anticipate events. The most that can be said is that if we are fated to part now, we've parted friends. It will be a good ending to a bad life. But if God prolongs her life…"