Naguib Mahfouz - Palace of Desire

"Soccer season starts soon."

"Last season belonged to the Ahli team. They were unrivaled."

"The Mukhtalat team was defeated, but it's got some outstanding players."

Kamal sprang to the defense of Mukhtalat much as he defended Sa'd Zaghlul to block the attacks of Hasan Salim. All four of them played soccer, but they differed in their skill and enthusiasm. Isma'il was by far the best and stood out among them like a professional playing with amateurs. Husayn Shaddad was the weakest player. Kamal and Hasan were in the middle. The exchange between Kamal and Hasan heated up. The former attributed Mukhtalat's defeat to bad luck, the latter thought it showed the superiority of Ahli's new players. The controversy continued, since neither of them would give in.

Kamal wondered why he always found himself on the other side from Hasan Salim, whether they were discussing the Wafd Party and the Liberals or the Mukhtalat team and Ahli. Among musicians Kamal preferred Hijazi, but Hasan liked Mukhtar. In cinema, the former enjoyed Charlie Chaplin, while the latter favored the dapper French comedian Max Linder.

Kamal left his friends shortly before sunset. As He walked along the path beside the house heading for the gate he heard a voice cry, "There he is."

Enchanted, he looked up and saw Ai'da at one of the first-floor windows. She was pointing him out as she held Budur, who sat on the window ledge. Kamal stopped below them, looking up with a smiling face at the child, who waved her small hand at him. He also glanced from time to time at the face in whose form and expressions his hopes for life and the afterlife were vested. His heart was colliding drunkenly with his ribs. Budur waved to him once more, and Ai'da asked her, "Are you going to him?"

The little girl nodded yes, and A'ida laughed at this wish that would not be realized. Encouraged by her laughter, Kamal examined her carefully, losing himself in the beautiful coloration of her eyes and in the exquisite meeting point of her eyebrows. He recalled the reverberation of her throaty laughter and the inflections of her warm voice until he was sighing with emotion and passion. Since the situation obliged him to speak, he asked his beloved, "Did she think of me at the beach?"

Mov; ng her head back a little, A'ida said, "Ask her yourself. What you two think of each other is none of my business". Then before lie could utter a word, she added, "Did you remember her?"

"Oh," he thought. "This is like Fahmy reviewing lessons with me on the roof while Maryam listened."

"She was never absent from my thoughts," he answered fervently.

A voice called to the girls from inside. A'ida straightened up and lifted Budur in her arms. As she was about to leave she made this final comment: "What an amazing love!" Then she disappeared from this window.

Amina and Kamal were the only remaining patrons of the coffee hour, and even he left the house before sunset. Then his mother stayed on there by herself or called Umm Hanafi to keep her company until it was time for bed. Yasin had left a void behind him. Although Amina tried not to mention him, Kamal felt isolated by his brother's departure, and the delightful enjoyment he had found in this gathering was spoiled. In the old days coffee had been an excuse for conversation. Now it was everything to the mother. She drank so much that, without her realizing it, preparation and consumption of the coffee became her sole entertainment. She would drink five, six, or even ten cups in succession.

Kamal anxiously kept track of her excesses and cautioned her about the consequences. She answered him with a smile as though to say, "What would I do if I weren't drinking coffee?" In a confident and assured tone she told him, "There's nothing harmful about coffee."

They sat facing each other, she on the sofa between the doors to the bedroom and the dining room, Kamal on one between the entries to his bedroom and his study. She was bent over the coffeepot, which was half buried in the brazier's coals. He was silent and staring vacantly into space. Suddenly she asked, "What are you thinking about, I wonder? You always look as though you're thinking about something important."

He sensed the criticism in her tone and replied, "The mind constantly finds things to occupy it."

She looked up questioningly at him with her small, honey-colored eyes. Then she said somewhat shyly, "It's been ages since we found time for a conversation."

"Really?" he wondered. That past was gone forever — the era of religious lessons and stories about prophets and demons, when he had been insanely devoted to her. That era had come to an end. What would they discuss today? Except for meaningless chatter there was absolutely nothing for them to say to each I other. He smiled, as though to apologize for both past and future silences.

Then he said, "We talk to each other whenever we have something to discuss."

She replied gently, "People who want to talk set no limits on their conversations, but you seem always to be absent or absent-minded..."

After reflecting a bit she added, "You read a lot. You read as much during your vacation as when you're in school. You never get enough rest. I'm afraid you've worn yourself out."

In a tone that indicated he did not welcome this interrogation, Kamal answered, "There are many hours in a day. Spending a few of them reading won't wear anyone out. It's nothing but a pastime, even if it's a beneficial one."

After some hesitation she observed, "I'm afraid reading's the reason you seem so quiet and preoccupied…."

"No," he thought. "It's not reading. If only you knew how it distracts me from my discomfort". Something else had been absorbing him, and he could not escape from it even when he was reading. His was a condition without a cure that she or anyone else could provide. He was sick with love, devoted but at his wits' end, not knowing what to wish for beyond his suffering.

Slyly tie said, "Reading's like coffee. There's nothing harmful about it. Don't you want me to become a scholar like my grandfather?"

Delight and pride shone in her pale, oval face. She answered, "Of course. I wish that wholeheartedly, but I want to see you in good spirits all the time."

Smiling, he said, "I'm in as good spirits as you could wish. So don't trouble your mind with idle speculation."

He had noticed that her concern for him had increased in recent years more than was necessary or desirable. Her devotion, solicitude, and apprehension about anything that might harm him or that she imagined might — had begun to engage her mind to a degree that made him uncomfortable, prompting him to defend his freedom and dignity. Yet he never lost sight of this development's causes, which included Fahmy's death and the misery she had endured. Thus Kamal never overstepped the bounds of affection and politeness in defense of his independence.

"I'm happy to hear that from you, if it's really true. All I desire is your happiness. I prayed for you today at the shrine of our master al-Husayn. I hope God may answer my prayer."

"Amen."

He watched her raise the coffeepot to fill her cup for the fourth time. The corners of his mouth spread open in a faint smile. He remembered how a visit to the mosque of al-Husayn had once seemed an impossible dream for her. Now she visited it whenever she went to the cemetery or to see her two daughters on Sugar Street. But what an oppressive price she had paid for this limited freedom. He too nourished impossible dreams. What price would be exacted from him if he was to fulfill them? Yet, any payment, no matter how great, would seem insignificant if he could.

Emitting a forced laugh, he observed, "The visit to al-Husayn is certainly linked to unforgettable memories…."

Smiling, she felt her collarbone, which she had broken during her first trip there, and said, "And to lasting results."