Naguib Mahfouz - Palace of Desire

"Zubayda?" al-Sayyid Ahmad asked himself. "I don't desire anything. The world of illness is a despicable one. If the worst had happened, I would have died drunk. Doesn't this mean I've got to turn over a new leaf?"

Ibrahim al-Far told him in a low voice, "We all vowed we wouldn't taste alcohol while you're stuck in bed."

"I free you from that oath, and ask forgiveness for what you've already missed."

Smiling, Ali Abd al-Rahim said enticingly, "If only it were possible to celebrate your recovery here this evening."

Addressing his appeal to all the men present, Mutawalli Abd al-Samad said, "I call you to repentance and pilgrimage."

Al-Humayuni retorted angrily, "You're acting like a soldier in an opium den."

At a prearranged signal from al-Far, the heads of Muhammad Iffat, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Ibrahim al-Far drew close to that of al-Sayyid Ahmad, and the three began to sing softly: "Since you 're not man enough for wine Why do you get drunk?"

For this, they appropriated the tune of

Since you're not man enough for passion Why do you fall in love?

Then Shaykh Abd al-Samad started reciting verses from the Qur'an sura called "Repentance" (Sura 9). Ahmad Abd al-Jawad laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes.

Time passed without anyone noticing, until Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad began to look alarmed. He said, "I want you to understand that I'm going to be the last to leave. I wish to speak privately with Abd al-Jawad's son."

Ahmad Abd al-Jawad was able to leave the house after two more weeks. The first thing he did was to take Yasin and Kamal on a visit to the tomb and mosque of al-Husayn to perform their prayers and give thanks to God.

At the time, news of the death of the politician Ali Fahmy Kamil was in the papers. After pondering this event at length, on the way out of the house al-Sayyid Ahmad told his sons, "He dropped dead after addressing a great gathering. I'm walking on my own two legs after a stay in bed when I almost saw death face to face. Who can know the mysteries the future holds? Truly our lives are in God's hands."

He had to wait patiently for days and even weeks to regain his lost weight, but despite that fact, his dignified appearance and good looks seemed not to have been affected. He walked ahead, followed by Yasin and Kamal. This weekly parade had been abandoned after Fahmy's death. On the way from Palace Walk to the mosque, the two young men observed the prestige their father enjoyed throughout the district. Every merchant with a shop on the street greeted him with open arms and shook hands while applauding his recovery.

Yasin and Kamal responded to these warm demonstrations of mutual affection with joyful pride and smiles that lasted the whole way. All the same, Yasin asked himself innocently why he did not enjoy the same standing as his father, since they were equal both in their dignified and handsome exterior and in their shortcomings. Kamal, although momentarily touched, reexamined his perceptions of his father's remarkable prestige in a new light. In the past, to his small eyes his father's status had seemed the epitome of distinction and greatness. Now he saw it as nothing special, at least not in comparison with his own high ideals. It was merely the prestige enjoyed by a good-hearted, affable, and chivalrous man. True greatness was something totally unlike that, for its thunder shook sluggish hearts and drove sleep from dozing eyes. It was capable of arousing hatred not love, anger rather than satisfaction, and enmity instead of affection. Before it rebuilt, it forced disclosure and destruction. But was it not happiness for a man to be blessed with such love and respect? Yes… and the proof was that at times the greatness of important figures was measured by the amount of love and tranquillity they sacrificed for lofty goals. In any case, his father was a happy man who was to be congratulated on that.

"See how handsome he is," Kamal told himself. "And how charming Yasin is too! What a strange sight I make between the two of them like a distorted, trick photograph at a carnival. Claim to your heart's content that good looks are the domain of women not men, but that will never erase from your memory that alarming scene at the gazebo. My father's recovered from his high blood pressure. When will I recover from love? Love's an illness, even though it resembles cancer in having kept its secrets from medical science. In his last letter Husayn Shaddad says, 'Paris is the capital of beauty and love.' Is it also the capital of suffering? My dear friend is growing as stingy with his letters as if they were drops of his precious blood. I want a world where hearts are not deceived and do not deceive others."

At the corner of Khan Ja'far, they could see the great mosque. He heard his father say, "O Husayn!" in a heartfelt way, which combined the charm of a greeting with the fervor of a plea for help. Then al-Sayyid Ahmad quickened his steps. Looking into the mosque with an enigmatic smile, Kamal trailed after him and Yasin. Did he suspect for a moment that Kamal was only accompanying, him on this blessed visit to please him or that his son no longer shared any of his religious beliefs? To Kamal, this mosque was now nothing more than one of the many symbols of the disappointment his heart had suffered. In the old days when he had stood beneath its minaret, his heart had pounded, tears had come to his eyes, and his breast had throbbed with ardor, belief, and hope. As He approached it today, all he saw was a vast collection of stone, steel, wood, and paint covering a great tract of land for no clear reason.

"Although forced by obedience to my father's authority, respect for the other people present, and fear of what they might do," Katnal reflected, "to play the role of a Believer until the visit to the shrine's concluded, I find my hypocritical conduct an affront to honor and truth. I want a world where men live free from fear and coercion."

They removed their shoes and entered one after the other. The father headed for the prayer niche and invited his sons to perform a prayer in front of it as a way of saluting the mosque. He raised his hands to his head to begin the prayer ritual, and they followed his example. As usual, the father lost himself in his prayers, and his eyelids drooped as he yielded his will to God's. Yasin too forgot everything except that he was in the presence of God the Merciful and Forgiving. Kamal began to move his lips without reciting anything. He bowed, straightened up, knelt, and prostrated himself as if performing insipid athletic exercises.

He told himself, "The most ancient remaining human structures, on the face of the earth or carved inside it, are temples. Even today, no area is free of them. When will man grow up and depend on himself? That loud voice coming from the far corner of the mosque reminds people of the end. When has there ever been an end to time? How beautiful it would be to see man wrestle with his illusions and vanquish them. But when will the struggle cease and the fighter announce that he's happy and that the world looks so different that it might have been created the day before? These two men are my father and brother. Why shouldn't all men be my fathers and brothers? How could thisheart I carry within me let itself torment me in so many different ways? How frequently throughout the day I'm confronted by people I don't like…. Why should the friend I love have departed to the ends of the earth?"

When they finished praying, the father said, "Let's rest here a little before circling the tomb."

They sat there silently, their legs folded beneath them, until the father said gently, "We haven't been here together since that day."

Yasin replied emotionally, "Let's recite the 'Fatiha' for Fahmy's spirit."

They recited the opening prayer of the Qur'an, and then the father asked Yasin somewhat suspiciously, "I wonder whether worldly affairs have not kept you from visiting al-Husayn."