Naguib Mahfouz: Palace of Desire

Casting him an eloquent look, Khadija remarked, "Scarcely a year goes by without Satan tempting you into a new disaster. You're just a toy in his hands."

The glance he directed at her seemed to plead for mercy from her tongue. Then Aisha said in his defense, "That's all ancient history."

Khadija asked sarcastically, "Why didn't you bring madame your wife to 'entertain' us on this blessed occasion?"

Attempting to sound proud, Yasin answered, "My wife no longer entertains at parties. Today she's a lady in every sense of the word."

In an earnest voice without a trace of sarcasm, Khadija asked, "How can you do such things, Yasin? May our Lord grant you repentance and guide you."

As though to apologize for his wife's bluntness, Ibrahim Shaw-kat said, "Don't be offended, Mr. Yasin… but what am I to do? She's your sister."

Smiling, Yasin replied, "May God assist you, Mr. Ibrahim."

Aisha sighed and said, "Now that God has come to Papa's aid, I'll tell you frankly that I'll never forget, as long as I live, the way he looked m bed the first time I saw him there. May our Lord not condemn anyone to ill health."

Khadija commented sincerely and ardently, "This life wouldn't be worth a fingernail clipping without him."

Yasin responded passionately, "He's our shelter in every adversity, a man like no other "And what about me?" Kamal asked himself. "Do you remember how you stood in the corner of the room overwhelmed by despair? My heart was shattered by the sight of my mother beside herself with grief. We're familiar with the concept of death, but when its shadow looms on the horizon, the earth spins under us. There will be new attacks of pain each time, no matter how many loved ones you lose. You'll die too, leaving your hopes behind you. But life's desirable, even if you suffer from love."

The ringing of a carriage bell could be heard from the street. Aisha ran to the window to look out the peephole. She turned back to say proudly, "Important visitors!"

There was a steady stream of visitors representing the many friends with whom the father's life was filled civil servants, attorneys, dignitaries, and merchants. All but a few had been to the house before, although some had come only as guests at the banquets al-Sayyid Ahmad hosted on special occasions. There were also some faces frequently seen in the Goldsmiths Bazaar and on New Street. These men were his friends too, but not in the same class as Muhammad Iffat and his cronies.

The visitors did not stay long, as was appropriate for a sick call, but al-Sayyid Ahmad's children found plenty to satisfy their vanity and pride in the distinguished appearance of these guests and in all the carriages with their beautiful horses.

Aisha, who was still watching the street, said, "Here are his pals."

They could hear the voices of Muhammad Iffat, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Ibrahim al-Far as the men laughed and raised their voices with thanks and praise for God. Yasin said, "There are no other friends left in the world like these."

Ibrahim and Khalil Shawkat agreed with him. Then Kamal observed with a sorrow that passed unnoticed, "It's rare for life to allow friends to stay together for as long as these men."

Yasin marveled, "A day hasn't gone by without their visiting the house. During his crisis, there were tears in their eyes whenever they left."

Ibrahim Shawkat said, "Don't be amazed by that, for they've spent more time with him than you have."

At this point Khadija went to the kitchen to offer her assistance, since the flow of visitors was continuing unabated. Jamil al-Ham-zawi came after closing the store. He was followed by Ghunaym Hamidu, who owned an oil press in al-Gamaliya, and Muhammad Ajami, who sold couscous in al-Salihiya. Then, pointing to the street from the window, Aisha cried out, "Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad! I wonder if he'll be able to climb to the top floor."

Leaning on his stick, the shaykh began to cross the courtyard, clearing, his throat from time to time to warn anyone in his way that he was corning. Yasin responded, "He can climb to the top of a minaret". Then, seeing Khalil Shawkat try to figure up the shaykh'5 age with his fingers, Yasin continued: "Between eighty and ninety! But don't inquire about his health."

Kamal asked, "Did he never marry during this long life?"

Yasirj answered, "It's said that he was a husband and a father but that his wife and children passed on to the mercy of God."

Aisha cried out again, not having budged from her post at the window, "Look! This foreigner! I wonder who he could be."

The man crossed the courtyard, casting a cautious, inquisitive glance around. He wore a round straw hat, and visible beneath the rim was a pockmarked, curved nose and a bushy mustache. Ibrahim said, "Perhapshe's a goldsmith from the Goldsmiths Bazaar."

Yasir muttered anxiously, "But he looks Greek. Where do you suppose I've seen that face before?"

A blind youth arrived wearing dark glasses. He was being dragged along by a man in traditional attire with a shawl wrapped around his head, sporting a long black overcoat beneath which could be seen the tail of a striped gown. Yasin recognized them immediately and was utterly astonished. The blind youth was Abduh, who played the zitherlike qanun in Zubayda's troupe. The ottier man, called al-Humayuni, was the proprietor of a famous coffeehouse in Wajh al-Birka and a gangster, ruffian, pimp, and so on.

KhaLl was heard to say, "The blind man's a qanun player for the vocalist Zubayda."

With feigned astonishment Yasin asked, "How doeshe know Papa?"

Ibrahim Shawkat smiled as he replied, "Your father's a music lover from way back. It's hardly strange that all the musicians know him."

Aisha kept her head turned toward the street to hide her smile. Yasin and Kamal observed Ibrahim's smile and understood what it implied. Finally Suwaydan, the Shawkat family's ancient maid, tottered into view. Pointing to her, Khalil murmured, "Our mother's emissary has come to ask after al-Sayyid Ahmad's health."

The widow of the late Mr. Shawkat had visited al-Sayyid Ahmad once but was unable to repeat that effort because of the pains of rheumatism that had recently been conspiring with old age to cripple her.

Khadija soon returned from the kitchen with a complaint that was actually a boast: "We need a man from the coffeehouse just to serve all the coffee."

Al-Sayyid Ahmad was sitting up in bed, leaning against a pillow that had been folded back, with the covers drawn up to his neck. His visitors sat on the sofa or the chairs arranged in a circle around the bed. He seemed cheerful, in spite of his weakness, for nothing could make him as happy as having his friends gather around him and compete in flattering him and assuring him of their affection. Although the ailment had harmed him, he could not deny the favor it had done him by allowing him to see his brothers' alarm at his suffering and their grief at his absence from their parties, which had seemed desolate during his seclusion. He appeared to want to elicit all the affection he could from them, for he began to recount the painshe had endured as well as the tedium. He allowed himself considerable license to exaggerate and embellish.

Sighing, he said, "During the first days of my illness I was convinced that I was finished. I started reciting our Muslim credo and the Qur'an sura about God's absoluteness [Sura 112], but when I wasn't occupied with those I thought of you a lot, and the idea of leaving you troubled me greatly."

More than one voice was raised to say, "The world wouldn't be the same without you, al-Sayyid Ahmad."

Ali Abd al-Rahim said emotionally, "This illness of yours has made an impression on me that will never be erased."

Muhammad Iffat ventured in a faint voice, "Do you remember that night? My Lord, our hair turned white then."