Naguib Mahfouz - Sugar Street

"You assumed she was above marriage," Kamal thought. "But she had to accept divorce and then the fate of being a second wife. A long time will pass before the agitation of your breast settles down not out of grief or pain, but from your shock and astonishment, from the disappearance of the world's splendid dreams, and from the eternal loss of that enchanting past. If there is any reason for regret in all this, it's that you didn't grieve as much as you should have."

"But what changed Hasan Salim?"

Husayn shook his head scornfully and said, "The scoundrel fell in love with an employee at the Belgian legation in Iran. My late sister was outraged at the damage to her honor and demanded a separation."

"In a situation like mine," Kamal mused, "a man's only consolation may be that even Euclid's self-evident axioms are no longer thought quite so self-evident."

"What about her children?"

"With their paternal grandmother."

"And where is Ai'da herself?" Kamal wondered. "What surprises has the year brought her? Is it possible that Fahmy, al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, or Na'ima has made her acquaintance?"

Then Husayn Shaddad rose, saying, "It's time for me to go. Let's see more of you. I usually have supper here at the Ritz."

Kamal stood up too, and murmured as they shook hands, "God willing…"

They parted this way. Kamal sensed that he would never see Husayn again and that neither of them would have anything to gain from a future encounter. As He left the establishment, he told himself, "I'm sad, Ai'da, that I didn't mourn enough for you."

Late one night the silence of the Shawkats' residence on Sugar Street was broken by a rap on the door. The knocking continued, waking everyone up. The moment a servant opened the door, heavy footsteps invaded the house, pounded through the courtyard and up the stairs, laying siege to all three apartments. Weak with age, his head still clouded by sleep, Ibrahim Shawkat went to the sitting room, where he found an officer surrounded by policemen and detectives.

The astonished man asked in alarm, "God spare us evil, what's happening?"

The commanding officer asked gruffly, "Are you not the father of Ahmad Ibrahim Shawkat and of Abd al-Muni'm Ibrahim Shawkat, who reside in this building?"

As his face lost its color, he replied, "Yes."

"We have orders to search the entire building."

"Why, your honor?"

Paying no attention to him, the officer turned to command his men, "Search the place!"

As the policemen fanned out into the adjoining rooms in response to this directive, Ibrahim Shawkat asked, "Why are you searching my apartment?"

The officer ignored him. At this juncture Khadija was forced out of the bedroom by the detectives who stormed into it. Wrapping a black shawl around herself, she cried out furiously, "Have you no respect for women? Are we thieves, Mr. Police Chief?"

Glaring angrily at his face, she suddenly sensed that she had seen the man before or, to be more precise, the original version of this countenance before time had marched across it. When and where had that been? "Good Lord!" she thought. It was the same man, without any doubt. He had not changed much. What was his name? Not hesitating, she remarked, "Sir, twenty years ago you were an officer in the police station for al-Gamaliya. No, it was thirty years I don't remember the year exactly."

The officer looked up at her with curious eyes, as Ibrahim Shawkat gazed from one to the other just as inquisitively. Then she continued: "Your name is Hasan Ibrahim. Isn't that right?"

"Do you know me, ma'am?"

She said imploringly, "I'm the daughter of al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad and the sister of Fahmy Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, who was killed by the English during the revolution. Don't you remember him?"

The officer's astonishment was clearly visible in his eyes. Using a civil tone for the first time, he muttered, "May God be most compassionate to him."

She entreated him even more determinedly, "I'm his sister! Do you enjoy abusing my house like this?"

The officer looked away and replied almost apologetically, "We're just following orders, lady."

"But why, Officer? We're good people!"

He answered gently, "Yes, but I can't say as much for your two boys."

Khadija cried out in dismay, "They're the nephews of your old friend!"

Without looking at either of them, the officer responded, 'We're acting on orders from the Ministry of the Interior."

"They haven't done anything wrong. They're good boys. I swear it."

The policemen and the detectives returned to the sitting room without having discovered anything. The commanding officer ordered them to leave the apartment and then, turning toward the couple, said, "We've been informed that suspicious gatherings are held in their apartments."

"A lie, your honor!"

"I too hope this is the case. Even so, I have no choice but to arrest them now. They will be held until the inquiry has been concluded. It's possible that they'll be cleared."

In a trembling voice embellished by sobs, Khadija wailed, "Are you really taking them to the station? This defies the imagination! By the lives of your own children, I beg you to set them free."

"I don't have the power to do that. I have clear orders to arrest them. Have a pleasant evening."

The man left the apartment. Heedless of everything she passed, Khadija rushed down the steps after him, trailed by her elderly husband. Karima, who was standing in front of her apartment in a terrified frenzy, saw them and shouted, "They've taken him, Auntie! They took him to prison!"

Khadija cast a stony glance her way and then sped down to the first-floor apartment, where she found Sawsan at the door as well, observing the courtyard with a gloomy face. Glancing in that direction, Khadija saw Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad surrounded by policemen, who were taking them out of the house. She could not keep herself from screaming her heart out. She started to rush off in pursuit of them, but Sawsan's hand grabbed hold of her. As she turned furiously on her daughter-in-law, Khadija heard the girl say in a sad but tranquil voice, "Calm down. They didn't find anything suspicious. The police won't be able to pin a charge on them. Don't run after them out of respect for your sons' honor."

Khadija yelled at her, "Your calm is enviable!"

Gently and patiently Sawsan replied, "They'll come home safe and sound. Don't be alarmed."

Her mother-in-law asked sharply, "What makes you so sure?"

"I'm confident of what I say."

Paying no attention to this remark, Khadija looked toward her husband, clapped her hands together, and said, "Loyalty is dead! I tell him they are Fahmy's nephews, and he says, 'We're just following orders.' My Lord, why do they seize good people and leave the rogues alone?"

Sawsan glanced at Ibrahim and said, "They'll search the family home on Palace Walk. I heard a detective tell the commanding officer he knew their grandfather's house on Palace Walk. The deputy suggested that it should be searched too, so they would be in full compliance with their orders and to make sure that the two boys had not hidden subversive tracts there."

Khadija shouted, "I'm going to my mother's. Perhaps Kamal can do something. Oh, my Lord, I'm on fire."

She got her coat and left Sugar Street with quick and agitated steps. It was cold and still quite dark, but roosters were defiantly crowing back and forth at each other. She shot down al-Ghuriya and traversed the Goldsmiths Bazaar on her way to al-Nahhasin. She found a detective at the door of the house and another in the courtyard. She climbed the stairs breathlessly.

The family had awakened uneasily to the ringing of the doorbell. Then Umm Hanafi had come up to say fearfully, "Police!"

Kamal had rushed down to the courtyard. There he found the commanding officer, whom he asked in alarm, "Can I help you?"