Naguib Mahfouz: Palace Walk

He would awake at this early hour, no matter how late he had been in getting to bed, in order to leave for his shop a little before eight. During his siesta he would have ample time to make up for his lost sleep and to restore his energy for another night on the town. Thus the moment he awoke was the worst of his whole day. He would leave his bed, swaying from exhaustion and dizziness. He encountered a life devoid of any sweet memories or warm feelings. They seemed to have changed into a pounding in his brain and eyelids.

The blows of the dough went on relentlessly. Fahmy was one of the earliest of those awakened on the first floor. He was easy to rouse, even though he stayed up late concentrating on his law books. The first image that came to him on waking was of a round face with black eyes at the center of its ivory surface. He whispered to himself, "Maryam". Had he yielded to the temptation, he would have remained under the covers for a long time to be alone with the phantom visitor who came to keep him company with the tenderest affection. He would gaze at her to his heart’s content, converse with her, and reveal one secret after another to her while drawing close to her with a daring not imaginable except in this warm repose early in the morning. As usual, however, he postponed this reverie until Friday morning and sat up in bed. He turned to look at his brother sleeping in the adjoining bed and shouted, "Yasin, Yasin! Wake up".

The youth’s snoring was cut short. He snorted in annoyance and muttered rather nasally, "I'm awake. I woke up before you".

Fahmy waited, smiling, till the other began snoring again. Then he yelled at him, "Wake up!"

Grumbling, Yasin rolled over in bed. The covers slipped off one side of his body, which resembled his father’s in size and bulk. He opened his bloodshot eyes, which gazed vacantly beneath a brow contracted in a disgruntled frown. "Phooey… how did it get to be morning so fast? Why can't we sleep till we've had enough? Discipline, always discipline. We might as well be in the army". He reared up, supporting himself on his hands and knees. He shook his head to expel its drowsiness. He happened to look over at the third bed, where Kamal lay sleeping. No one would wrench him out of his sleep for half an hour. Yasin said enviously, "The lucky kid!" As his head cleared a little, he sat up with his legs crossed under him on the bed. He rested his head in his hands. He wished it was filled with the sweet thoughts that brighten daydreams, but he, like his father, awoke with enough of a hangover to keep dreams at bay. He saw the musician Zanuba in his imagination, though not with his normal delight. All the same, his lips parted in a smile.

In the adjoining room, Khadija had gotten out of bed without having to use the dough alarm. She, of all the family, most resembled her mother in her energy and early rising. Aisha generally was awakened by the movement of the bed when her sister sat up and jumped to the floor. Khadija intentionally rocked the bed and thus started a quarrel and exchange of insults, which through repetition had become a coarse kind of joke. Although Aisha remained awake, she did not rise after she had stopped bickering but surrendered to one of her long happy daydreams.

Life stirred and activity spread throughout the first floor. Windows were opened and light poured in. Close behind came a draft of air, bringing with it the grinding of the wheels of the mule-drawn Suarès omnibus, the voices of workmen, and the cry of the hot-cereal vendor. Movement continued between the two bedrooms and the bath. Yasin appeared, his stocky body in a loose-fitting house shirt, along with Fahmy, who was tall and slim, resembling, except for this slenderness, his father. The two girls went down to the courtyard to join their mother in the oven room. Rarely will two such dissimilar people belong to one family. That Khadija was a brunette was not a flaw, but the features of her face were noticeably out of proportion with each other. Aisha, on the other hand, was a blonde who radiated a halo of beauty and good looks.

Although their father was alone on the top floor, Amina had arranged everything so he would need no assistance. On the table he found a cup filled with fenugreek tea, which he used to freshen his mouth. When he went to the bath he inhaled the fragrance of sweet incense and found clean clothes carefully arranged on the chair. He washed in cold water, as he did every morning, summer or winter. Then he returned to his room with renewed vitality and energy. He took the prayer rug, which had been folded and placed on the back of the sofa, and spread it out to perform the morning prayer. When he prayed, his face was humble, not the smiling, merry face his friends encountered or the stern, resolute one his family knew. This was a responsive face. Piety, love, and hope shone from its relaxed features, which were molded by a wish to ingratiate, cajole, and seek forgiveness. He did not pray in a mechanical way limited to recitation, standing, and prostration. His prayer was based on affection, emotion, and feelings. He performed it with the same enthusiasm he invested in every aspect of life, pouring himself into each. When he worked, he put his whole heart into it. If he befriended someone, he was exceptionally affectionate. When he fell in love, he was swept off his feet. He did not drink without getting drunk. He was earnest and sincere in everything. Thus for him the mandatory prayer became a spiritual pilgrimage in which he traversed the expansive realms of the Master. Even after he had finished praying he would sit cross-legged with palms outstretched and implore God to watch over him carefully, forgive him, and bless his offspring and business.

When the mother had finished preparing the food for breakfast, she allowed the girls to arrange it on the tray. She went to the brothers' room, where she discovered Kamal still sound asleep. Smiling, she approached him and placed the palm of her hand on his forehead to recite the opening prayer of the Qur'an. Then she began calling him, shaking him gently. She did not leave him until he was out of bed. Fahmy came in. Seeing her there, he smiled and wished her good morning. She responded, with a look of love sparkling in her eyes, "Light of my eyes, may your morning be bright".

She greeted her stepson Yasin with the same tenderness. He replied with the affection due a woman who was like a real mother to him.

When Khadija returned from the oven room, Fahmy and Yasin, particularly Yasin, greeted her with some of the taunts they often used against her. Their jests were aimed at her disagreeable appearance or her sharp tongue. Nevertheless, she exerted considerable influence over the two brothers, since she looked after their concerns with an outstanding skill seldom volunteered by Aisha, who shone in the family as the beautiful but useless personification of good looks and charm.

Yasin accosted Khadija: "We were talking about you. We were saying that if every woman looked like you, men would be spared all heartaches".

She shot back, "And if all men were like you, they would never get headaches from thinking".

At that their mother called out, "Breakfast is ready, gentlemen".

The dining room was on the top floor along with the parents' bedroom. On this story were also located a sitting room and a fourth chamber, which was empty except for a few toys Kamal played with when he had time.

The cloth had been spread on the low table and the cushions arranged around it. The head of the household came and sat down cross-legged in the principal place, The three brothers filed in. Yasin sat on his father’s right, Fahmy at his left, and Kamal opposite him. The brothers took their places politely and deferentially, with their heads bowed as though at Friday prayers. There was no distinction in this between the secretary from al-Nahhasin School, the law student, and the pupil from Khalil Agha. No one dared look directly at their father’s face. When they were in his presence they would not even look at each other, for fear of being overcome by a smile. The guilty party would expose himself to a dreadful scolding.