Naguib Mahfouz - Sugar Street

Before telling his father, Kamal had gone to see his old friend Fuad Jamil al-Hamzawi, thinking he might know one of the top men in the Ministry of Education. But the illustrious judge had told him, "I'm very sorry, Kamal. Since I'm a judge, I can't ask anyone for favors."

With enormous embarrassment, Kamal had finally contacted his nephew Ridwan, and that same day the transfer had been rescinded. What an illustrious young man he was! They were both employed by the same ministry at the same rank, but Kamal was thirty-five and Ridwan only twenty-two. But what could a teacher in an elementary school expect? It was no longer possible for him to find consolation from philosophy or from claiming to be a philosopher. A philosopher is not a parrot who merely repeats what other philosophers have said. Any current graduate of the Arts Faculty could write as well as or better than he did. He had once hoped a publis her would bring out a collection of his essays, but those didactic works were no longer of any particular value. How many books there were nowadays…. In that ocean of learning he was an invisible drop. He had grown so weary that boredom oozed from every pore. When would his carriage reach death's station? He looked at the glass in his aunt's hand and then at her face, which clearly revealed her considerable age.

He could not help marveling at her and asked, "What does drinking do for you, Auntie?"

Displaying her gold teeth, she answered, "Do you call what I'm doing now 'drinking'? That time has passed. Liquor no longer has any taste or effect. It's like coffee. Nothing more or less. Toward the beginning of my career I once got so drunk at a wedding party in Birguwan that the members of my troupe were forced to carry me to my carriage at the end of the evening. May our Lord spare you anything like that!"

"Liquor's still the best thing a bad world has to offer," he reflected. Then he asked, "Have you experienced total intoxication? I used to reach it in two glasses. Today it takes me eight. I don't know how many I'll need tomorrow. But it's an absolute necessity, Aunt. Once intoxicated, the wounded heart dances with joy."

"Nephew, you have a sensitive heart that responds joyfully to music, even without any alcohol."

His heart…joyful? What of his sorrow… that constant companion? What of the as hes left from the bonfire of his hopes? … As a bored man, he had no goal beyond filling himself with liquor, in either this parlor or that bedroom, once the woman tending her sick son arrived. He and his favorite prostitute had reached the same point in life that of a person whose life was not worth living.

"I'm afraid Atiya won't come."

"She'll come. When someone's ill, there's even more need for money."

"What a response!" he thought. But she did not give him a chance to brood about it, for, turning toward him, she examined him with interest for a time. Then she said in a low voice, "It's only a matter of days."

Without understanding what she actually meant, he replied, "May God grant you a long life and never deprive me of you."

Smiling, she said, "I'm going to give up this life."

Astonished, he sat up straight and cried out, "What did you say?"

She Laughed and then answered in a mildly sarcastic tone, "Never fear. Atiya will take you to another house as safe as this one.

"But what's happened?"

"I've grown old, nephew, and God has given me more riches than I need. Yesterday, the police raided a nearby brothel and took the macam to the station. I've had enough. I'm planning to repent. I must change my ways before I meet my Lord."

He fiuished his drink and refilled the glass. Then, as if he did not believe what he had heard, he remarked, "All that's left is for you to board the boat to Mecca and perform the pilgrimage."

"May our Lord give me the power to do what's right."

After wondering about this for a while, he roused himself from his stupor to ask, "Did all this happen suddenly?"

"Of course not. I don't reveal a secret until I'm ready to act on it. I've been thinking about this for a long time."

"You 're serious?"

"Absolutely. May our Lord be with us."

"I don't know what to say. But in any case may our Lord give you the strength to do the right thing."

"Amen". Then, laughing, she added, "Relax. I won't close this house until I've made provisions for your future."

He laughed out loud and asked, "Isn't it absurd to think that I could ever find a house where I would feel as much at home as here?"

"You can depend on me to pass you on to a new madam, even if I'm in Mecca."

"Everything seems ridiculous," Kamal thought. "But alcohol will always be the direction toward which sorrowful people turn their prayerful attentions. Circumstances have changed. Fuad Jamil al-Hamzawi's star has risen, and that of Kamal Ahmad Abd al-Jawad has declined. Yet alcohol will always bring a smile to the face of a grieving person. Kamal once amused Ridwan by carrying the young boy on his shoulder. Now the day has come for Ridwan to grasp Kamal in order to keep him from stumbling. Still, alcohol remains a lifeline for melancholy men."

Even Madam Jalila was planning to repent at the very time that he was searching for a new brothel. But liquor would continue to be his last resort.

"An invalid," he concluded, "finds everything boring, even boredom, but alcohol will always be the key to a happy release."

"Whenever I hear good things about you it makes me happy," he told her.

"May God guide you and bring you happiness."

"Perhaps I had better go? …"

She placed a finger in front of his mouth to silence him and exclaimed, "God forgive you! This is your house so long as it is mine. And whatever house I settle in will be yours, nephew."

Washe expiating some ancient curse of unknown origin? How could he escape from the anguish engulfing his life? Jalila herself was thinking seriously about transforming her life. Why should he not follow her example? A drowning man either finds a boulder to cling to or drowns. "If life has no meaning, why shouldn't we create a meaning for it?" he asked himself. "Perhaps it's a mistake for us to look for meaning in this world, precisely because our primary mission here is to create this meaning."

Jalila gave him a peculiar look, and he realized too late that he had unconsciously spoken these last words. Laughing, Jalila inquired, "Have you gotten drunk so fast?"

He masked his discomfort with a loud laugh and replied, "Wartime liquor's like poison. Forgive me. When do you suppose Atiya's coming?"

Kamal left Jalila's house at one-thirty in the morning. The world was veiled in a darkness tempered by silence as he slowly made his way to New Street and then turned toward al-Husayn. How long would he live in this sacred district that had lost all of its spiritual significance for him? He smiled wanly. The only remaining vestige of the liquor was a hangover. His blazing desires had died away, and he plodded along lethargically. Often at a time like this when lust had been satisfied, something not regret or a wish to repent would scream from his inner depths, imploring and urging him to cleanse and free himself from the grip of physical appetites once and for all, as if the receding waves of desire had laid bare sub merged boulders of asceticism. When he raised his head skyward to commune with the stars, an air-raid siren ripped through the stillness of the night. His heart raced fiercely, and his sleepy eyes opened wide. He headed instinctively for the nearest wall, to walk along beside it. Looking up at the sky once more, he saw that searchlights were sweeping across the heavens at great speed. They met at times, only to veer off wildly on separate paths. Still hugging the walls, he increased his pace. He had an oppressive sense of being alone, as though he were the only person left on the face of the earth.