Naguib Mahfouz - Sugar Street

No matter how hard he tried to stay calm, Yasin seemed anxious. To both his colleagues and himself he had pretended for a long time that he did not care about anything not his rank, his salary, or even which party was in power. If promoted to the sixth level, he would only get two pounds more a month, and he spent so much…. They said that an increase in his rank would mean a promotion for him from review clerk to head of section. But when had Yasin ever shown any interest in administration? All the same, he felt worried, especially after Muhammad Effendi Hasan, head of the bureau and husband of Ridwan's mother, Zaynab, was summoned to a meeting with the deputy minister to give his opinion of his employees one final time before the list of promotions was signed. Muhammad Hasan? The man was vengeful by nature and would have treated Yasin badly from the beginning had it not been for Mr. Muhammad Iffat. Could such a man give Yasin a good report? Taking advantage of his supervisor's absence to hurry to the telephone, Yasin called the Law School for the third time that day and asked for Ridwan Yasin.

"Hello, Ridwan? It's your father."

"Hello. Everything's great". The boy's voice was confident. He had been working on his father's behalf.

"All that remains is for the promotions to be signed?"

"Have no fear. The minister himself recommended you. Some deputies and senators spoke to him, and he promised that everything would be fine."

"Doesn't the affair require one last recommendation?"

"Not at all. As I told you, the pasha already congratulated me on your promotion this morning. You have every reason to be confident."

"Thanks, son. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Papa. Congratulations in advance."

He put down the receiver, left the room, and ran into his colleague and competitor for this promotion, Ibrahim Effendi Fath Allah, who approached carrying some files. They greeted each other circumspectly. Then Yasin said, "Let's be good sports about this, Ibrahim Effendi. Whatever the result is, let's receive it with good grace."

The man said angrily, "On condition that you play fair."

"What do you mean?"

"The selection should be based on merit, not influence."

"What strange ideas you have! Isn't influence necessary to obtain any kind of position in this world? You do your best, and I'll do mine. Whoever is destined to receive the promotion will get it."

"I have more seniority than you do."

"We've both been in the civil service for a long time. One year more or less won't make any difference."

"In one year many people are born and many others die."

"Whether a person is born or dies is all a question of his destiny."

"What about qualifications?"

"Qualifications? Are we constructing bridges or building power plants? What qualifications are required for our clerical work? We both have the elementary certificate. In addition to that, I'm a man of culture."

Ibrahim Effendi laughed sarcastically and replied, "Culture? Greetings to the cultured gentleman! Do you think the poems you've memorized make you cultured? Or is it the style you use in drafting letters for the bureau … the kind a person would employ when retaking the elementary certificate examination. I'll leave my fate to God."

The two men parted on bad terms, and Yasin returned to his desk. The room was large. On both sides there were rows of desks that faced each other. The walls were lined with shelves crammed with files. Some of the clerks were busy with their papers, but others chatted or smoked. Meanwhile messengers carrying files came or left.

Yasin's neighbor told him, "My daughter will do the baccalaureate examination this year. I'll sign her up for the Teacher Training Institute, and then I'll be able to stop worrying about her. It doesn't cost anything, and there will be no difficulty finding her a job after she graduates."

Yasin said, "You've done the best thing."

The man asked him argumentatively, "What do you have planned for Karima? By the way, how old is she?"

Although irritated, Yasin relaxed his face into a smile and said, "Eleven. She'll take the elementary-school certificate examination next summer, God willing." After counting out the months on his ngers, he continued: "We're in November, so there are seven more months until it's over and done with."

"If she does well in elementary school, she'll succeed in secondary school too. Girls today are a safer bet in school than boys."

Secondary school?… That was what Zanuba wanted. Certainly not… he could not bear to have a daughter stroll off to school with bouncing breasts … and what about the fees?

"We don't send our girls to secondary school. Why not? Because they're not going to take jobs."

A third man asked, "Does talk like this make sense in 1938?"

"In our family, they'll be saying it in 2038."

A fourth clerk laughed as he said, "Admit you'd have to choose between spending money on her and on yourself. The coffeehouse in al-Ataba, the bar on Muhammad Ali Street, and 'Love for young women has sapped my strength.' That's the true story."

Yasin laughed and then said, "May our Lord protect her. But as [said, we don't educate girls beyond the elementary certificate."

A cough resounded from the corner of the room closest to the entrance. Yasin turned in that direction and then stood up, as if he had remembered something important. He went over to the cougher's desk. Sensing Yasin's presence, the man looked up, and Yasin leaned down to say, "You promised to tell me how to make the elixir."

The man moved his ear closer to Yasin, asking, "What?"

Since he was afraid to raise his voice, Yasin was distressed by the man's difficulty in hearing him. A loud voice from the middle of the room announced, "I bet he's asking you about the prescription for the aphrodisiac that's going to send all of us to the grave."

Yasin retreated to his desk in disgust. Paying no attention to his embarrassment, the man said in a voice everyone could hear, "I'll tell you how to make it. Get the peel of a mango, boil it rapidly until the mixture attains the consistency of honey, and take a spoonful of it before breakfast."

They all laughed, but Ibrahim Fath Allah remarked sarcastically, "That's swell, but wait till you're promoted to the sixth level. See if that doesn't perk you up."

Laughing, Yasin asked, "Does a man's rank help him in this area?"

His neighbor, who was laughing too, replied, "If this theory was correct, then Uncle Hasanayn, our office boy, should be the Minister of Education."

Ibrahim Fath Allah clapped his hands together and, pointing to Yasin, asked, "Brothers, this man is nice and pleasant, a good fellow, but doeshe do a millieme's worth of work? Give me your honest opinion."

Yasin said scornfully, "A minute of my work is equivalent to a day's work by you."

"The real story is that the director goes easy on you and that you rely on your son's intervention in this bleak era."

Determined to infuriate his rival, Yasin said, "By your life, I'll have an advocate in every era. Now it's my son. If the Wafd returns to power, you'll find I have my nephew and my father. Tell me what advocates you have."

Looking up toward the ceiling, the other man answered, "I have our Lord."

"Glory to Him, I have Him too. Isn't He everyone's Lord?"

"But He's not fond of patrons of drinking establishments on Muhammad Ali Street."

"Does that mean He likes dope addicts?"

"There's no more revolting creature than a drunkard."

"Cabinet ministers and ambassadors drink. Don't you see pictures in the papers of them drinking toasts? But have you ever seen a diplomat at an official party offer opium to someone in celebration of the signing of a treaty, for example?"

Trying to stop laughing, Yasin's neighbor said, "Hush, fellows, or the rest of your civil service will be performed in prison."