Naguib Mahfouz - Sugar Street

He no longer feared insomnia. In the past he had faced it alone. Today he had countless ways of diverting his mind and heart. He would go to Atiya in her new house on Muhammad Ali Street. They would continue their endless conversation.

Last time he had told her with a diction slurred by drink, "We're perfect f}r each other."

With resigned irony she had answered, "You're very sweet when you're drunk."

He had continued: "What a happy couple we'll make if we ever get married."

Frowning, she had said, "Don't make fun of me. I've been a lady in every sense of the word."

"Yes. Yes. You're more delectable than ripe fruit."

She had pinched him mischievously, observing, "That's what you say, but if I asked you for an extra twenty piasters, you'd flee."

"What we have goes way beyond money."

Giving him a look of protest, she had remarked, "But I have two children who prefer money to talk about a loving relationship."

His sorrow and intoxication having reached their climax, he had said sarcastically, "I'm thinking of following Madam Jalila's example and repenting. When I become a Sufi, I'll leave you my entire fortune."

Giggling, she had said, "If repentance catches up with you, that will be the end of us."

He had laughed loudly and answered, "If repentance would harm women like you, I'll certainly forget about it."

This was his refuge from insomnia. Realizing that he had tarried by the toy display long enough, he turned and walked away.

Khalo, the proprietor of the Star Tavern, asked, "Is it true, my dear, that they're going to close all the bars?"

With confident self-assurance, Yasin replied, "Inconceivable, Khalo! The deputies say all sorts of things when the budget is being debated, and the government complacently promises to investigate the deputies' requests at the earliest opportunity. But this has a way of never arriving."

The members of Yasin's group in the bar on Muhammad Ali Street vied with each other to offer their comments.

The personnel director said, "For as long as anyone can remember they've been promising to throw the British out of Egypt, to open a new university, and to widen al-Khalig Street. Have any of these pledges been kept, Khalo?"

The honorary dean of pensioners observed, "Perhaps the deputy proposing that had drunk some of the lethal wartime liquor and was attempting to get even."

The attorney said, "No matter what, bars on streets visited by foreigners won't be touched. So, Khalo, if the worst happens, just buy into some saloon or other. Like buildings that stand cheek by jowl, dramshop owners support each other."

The head clerk from mortmain trusts remarked, "If the English advanced on the Abdin Palace with their tanks over a trivial question like returning al-Nahhas to power, do you think they'd stand for having the bars closed?"

In addition to Yasin's group, some local merchants were in the room. All the same, the head clerk suggested blending song with drink: "Let's sing 'Prisoner of love.'"

Khalo scurried back to his place behind the counter, and the friends began to sing, "What humiliations the prisoner of love experiences". Inebriation's tune rang out more clearly than any other one, and the grimaces of the merchants showed their disdain for this performance. But the singing did not last long. Yasin was the first to drop out, and the others followed suit, leaving only the head clerk to finish the piece. The ensuing silence was interrupted only by slurping and smacking noises or by the handclap of a patron ordering a drink or a snack.

Then Yasin asked, "Is there some proven way to induce pregnancy?'"

The aged civil servant protested, "You keep harping on that question and repeating it. By God, have patience, brother."

The head clerk observed, "There's no cause for alarm, Yasin Effendi. Your daughter's going to get pregnant."

Smiling fatuously, Yasin said, "She's a blooming bride and the belle of Sugar Street. But she's the first girl in our family not to get pregnant during the first year of marriage. That's why her mother is concerned."

"And her father too, it seems."

Laughing, Yasin responded, "When a wife is upset, her husband is too."

"If a man recalled how nasty children are, he'd detest pregnancy."

"So what! People usually get married to have children."

"That's right! If it weren't for children, no one would ever tolerate married life."

Yasin finished his drink and said, "I'm afraid my nephew may hold this opinion."

"Some men want children so they can regain a bit of their lost freedom while their wives are busy with the kids."

Yasin exclaimed, "How absurd! A woman may be nursing one child and rocking another, but she'll still glare at her husband and ask, 'Where were you? Why did you stay out so late?' All the same, even the best minds have been unable to improve on this universal system."

"Whit's stopping them?"

"Their wives, who don't let them have time to think about this issue…."

"Have no fear, Yasin Effendi. Your daughter's husband can't forget your son's favor in getting him a government job."

"Anything can be forgotten". The alcohol had begun to addle his brain. Laughing, he continued: "Besides, my darling son's out of power right now."

"Oh! This time it seems that the Wafd has settled in for a long stay."

The attorney said grandiloquently, "If things follow their natural course in Egypt, the Wafd will stay in power forever."

"This idea would be more palatable," Yasin replied cheerfully, "if my son had not left the Wafd."

"Don't forget the traffic accident at al-Qassasin. Had the king lost his life, the enemies of the Wafd would have been finished."

"The king's fine."

"But Prince Muhammad Ali has his ceremonial uniform ready, just in case. He's always been sympathetic to the Wafd."

"Whoever is on the throne no matter what his name is will be an enemy of the Wafd by virtue of his position, just as surely as whiskey and sweets don't go together."

Laughing drunkenly, Yasin said, "Perhaps you're right. They say that a man even a day older than you is a year wiser, and some of you have reached your dotage while others are almost there."

"God protect you! You're forty-seven!"

"At any rate I'm the youngest."

Swaying back and forth drunkenly but proudly, he snapped his fingers and added, "One's real age shouldn't be measured by years but by the level of intoxication you attain. During the war years, alcoholic beverages have deteriorated in quality and in taste, but the effect is still the same. Waking up the next morning you have a pounding headache, you need pincers to pry open your eyes, and your breath reeks of alcohol when you belch. But I tell you that any side effects of inebriation are trivial compared to its pleasures. Often a brother will ask, 'What of its impact on your health?' Yes, my health isn't what it was. A man of forty-seven today would be no match for one that age back in the old days. This is a sign that everything has become more valuable during the war except age…. In these trying times, a man of forty asks experts for prescriptions to fortify him and a bridegroom on his honeymoon is barely strong enough to stay afloat."

"The good old days! The whole world is nostalgic for them."

With the melodies of intoxication reverberating in his voice, Yasin continued: "The good old days God have mercy on my father! He frequently beat me to keep me from joining the violent demonstrations of the revolution. But a fellow who can't be frightened off by English bombs is not going to be scared away by a scolding. We met at the coffeehouse of Ahmad Abduh, where we plan tied the demonstrations and the bombings."

"This same old recording! Tell me, Yasin Effendi: Were you as heavy then as you are today?"