Naguib Mahfouz - Sugar Street

Turning from her to Umm Hanafi, he inquired, "Have you told the others?"

"Yes, master. Mrs. Khadija and Mr. Yasin will be here at once. What's wrong with her, master? This morning she was hale and hearty."

She had been! He could attest to that. As always each morning, he had passed by the sitting room before rushing off to al-Silahdar School. Taking the cup of coffee she had handed him, he had said, "Don't go out today. It's very cold."

Showing him her gentle smile, she had replied, "How can I have a good day if I don't visit your master al-Husayn?"

He had protested, "Do as you like. You're stubborn, Mother."

She had murmured, "Your Lord preserves us". When he was leaving, she had said, "May our Lord make all your days happy ones."

That was the last time he would see her conscious. The news of her illness had reached him at school this noon, and he had returned home, accompanied by the doctor who had just predicted her death. Only three days were left. How many more did he have?

Going over to Aisha, he asked, "When and how did this happen?"

Umm Hanafi answered for her: "We were in the sitting room. She rose and started toward her room to put on her coat prior to going out. She told me, 'When I finish my visit to al-Husayn, I'll call on Khadija.' She went to the bedroom, and the moment she entered I heard something fall. Rushing inside, I found her stretched out on the floor between the bed and the wardrobe. I ran to her, calling for Mrs. Aisha."

Aisha said, "I came as fast as I could and discovered her here. We carried her to the bed, and I started asking her what was the matter. But she didn't respond. She didn't say anything. When is she going to speak, brother?"

He answered uneasily, "When God wills."

Retreating to the sofa, he sat down and began to look sorrowfully at the pale, silent face. Yes, he should gaze at it for a long time. Soon he would be unable to. This very room would no longer be the same, and the characteristics of the whole house would change as well. There would be no one in the building to call "Mother". He had not imagined that her death would cause his heart such pain. Washe not already well acquainted with death? Of course he was. He was old enough and experienced enough not to be frightened by death, but the sting of an eternal separation was agonizing. Perhaps his heart could be criticized for suffering like a novice's despite all the pain it had experienced. How much she had loved him! How much she had loved all of them! How much she had loved everything in existence!

"But your soul only pays attention to such fine qualities when losing someone," Kamal thought. "At this critical moment your memory is crowded with images of places, times, and events having a profound impact on you. Light overlaps darkness as the blue of early morning blends with the roof garden, the glowing brazier of the coffee hour mingles with religious legends, and the dove's cooing mixes with sweet songs. Heart of an infidel, this was a magnificent love. Tomorrow you may truly declare that death has claimed the person you loved most. Perhaps your eyes will fill with tears until old age reproves you. The tragic vision of life is not free of an infantile Romanticism. It would be far worthier of you to view life courageously as a drama with a happy ending called 'death.' But ask yourself how much longer you will continue wasting your life. Your mother dies after concluding a lifetime of achievements. What have you done?"

He was roused by footsteps as Khadija entered the room in a state of shock. She made straight for the bed, calling to her mother and asking what had happened. His pain was compounded by this scene, and fearing that his sangfroid would desert him, he fled to the sitting room. Yasin, Zanuba, and Ridwan arrived almost immediately. After shaking hands with them, Kamal told them about his mother's condition without going into details. They went into the bedroom, leaving him alone until Yasin emerged to ask, "What did the doctor tell you?"

Kamal answered despondently, "Paralysis and pneumonia. Everything will be over in three days."

Yasin bit his lip and said mournfully, "There is not any power or might save God's". Taking a seat, he muttered, "The poor woman the whole thing comes so suddenly. Hadn't she complained of feeling poorly of late?"

"Not at all. As you know, she never complained. But she did seem tired at times."

"Shouldn't you have called the doctor earlier?"

"She detested nothing so much as consulting a physician."

Ridwan joined them after a while and told Kamal, "I think she should be moved to the hospital, Uncle."

Shaking his head sadly, Kamal answered, "It wouldn't do any good. The pharmacist will send a nurse he knows to administer the injection."

They fell silent, their concern evident on their faces. At this moment Kamal remembered a matter that courtesy required he should not neglect. So he asked Yasin, "How is Karima?"

"She'll have her baby this week, or that's what the woman physician says."

Kamal murmured, "May our Lord take her by the hand…."

Yasm lamented, "The baby will come into the world while the father is in detention."

The doorbell rang. It was Riyad Qaldas. After greeting his friend, Kamal escorted him to the study. On the way up, Riyad explained, "I asked for you at the school, and the secretary gave me the news. How is your mother?"

"She's paralyzed, and the doctor says it will all be over in three days."

Riyad looked glum and inquired, "Can't anything be done?"

Kamal shook his head disconsolately and remarked, "Perhaps it's lucky that she's unconscious and knows nothing of the destiny awaiting her". When they were seated, he added in an ironic tone, "But who among us knows what destiny awaits us?"

Riyad smiled without replying. Then Kamal continued: "Many think it wise to make of death an occasion for reflection on death, when in truth we ought to use it to reflect on life."

Smiling, Riyad answered, "I think that is better. So let's ask ourselves when anyone dies what we are doing with our lives."

"As for me, I'm not doing anything with my life. This is what I was thinking about."

"But you're only halfway down the road…."

"Perhaps yes, perhaps no," Kamal thought. "Although it's always good for a person to ponder the dreams that tempt him. Mysticism is an evasion of responsibility and so is a passive faith in science. There is no alternative to action, and that requires faith. The issue is how we are to mold for ourselves a belief system that is worthy of life."

He asked, "Do you think I've done my duty to life by sincerely pursuing my vocation as a teacher and by writing my philosophical essays?"

Riyad answered affectionately, "There's no doubt that you have."

"But like any other traitor, I live with a guilty conscience."

"Traitor?"

Sighing, Kamal said, "Let me share with you what my nephew Ahmad told me when I visited him at the jail before his transfer to the prison camp."

"By the way — any new developments concerning them?"

"They've gone with many others to the prison camp at al-Tur in Sinai.'"

Riyad inquired jovially, "The one who worships God and the one who doesn't?"

"You must worship the government first and foremost if you wish your life to be free of problems."

" [n any case, being detained without trial is, I think, a lesser evil than being sentenced to prison."

"That's one way of looking at it. But when will this affliction be removed? When will martial law be lifted? When will the rule of natural law and the constitution be restored? When will the Egyptians be treated like human beings again?"

Riyad started to fiddle with the wedding ring on his left hand. Pie remarked sadly, "Yes, when! Well, never mind…. What did Ahmad say in jail?"