Naguib Mahfouz - Palace of Desire

For the first time in years he thought regretfully of his life before love, as if he were a prisoner harking back to memories of lost freedom. Yes, he could think of no condition more like his than the prisoner's. Yet prison bars seemed easier to break and less confining than love's invisible shackles, which take total control over the heart's emotions, the mind's thoughts, and the body's nerves and then refuse to let go.

One day he wondered whether Fahmy had experienced this kind of rorment. Memories of his late brother haunted him like a mournful song sighing in the hidden recesses of his soul. Kamal remembered how once in Fahmy's presence he had recounted Maryam's flirtation with the British soldier Julian. Kamal had plunged a poisoned dagger into his brother's heart, recklessly and carelessly. He summoned Fahmy's face into his conscious memory, recalling his brother's deceptive composure at the time. Then he re-created the contractions of pain on that handsome face when Fahmy had gone off by himself. He invented the plaintive monologues Fahmy had no doubt indulged in, like Kamal now, with moans and groans. Kamal felt the pain in his own heart and concluded: "Fahmy felt something worse than a bullet in his heart, even before the lead ripped into his chest."

Strangely enough, Kamal found that the political activities of the day presented an enlarged version of his life. When he read about developments in the newspapershe could have been reading about the events at Palace Walk or on Palaces Street. Like Kamal, Sa'd Zaghlul was as good as imprisoned and the victim of outrageous attacks, unjust charges, and the treacherous betrayal of friends. They had suffered because of contacts with people distinguished both by the loftiness of their aristocratic backgrounds and by the baseness of their deeds. The personal distress of the great nationalist leader also resembled the vanquished state of the nation. Kamal felt the same emotion and passion about the political situation as he did about his personal condition. He might just as well have been referring to himself when he asked of Sa'd Zaghlul, "Is this unjust treatment appropriate for such a sincere man?" He might easily have meant Hasan Salim when he said of Ahmad Ziwar Pasha, who replaced Sa'd Zaghlul as Prime Minister, "He has betrayed our trust and resorted to unfair tactics to gain control". A'ida could have been on his mind when he said of Egypt, "Has she dismissed the one man she could trust at a time when he was busy defending her rights?"

The Shawkat residence on Sugar Street did not enjoy the blessings of peace and quiet, not merely because the three floors were crowded with members of the Shawkat family but because of Khadija most of all. The elderly matriarch resided on the bottom Qoor, an d Khalil, Aisha, and their children Na'ima, Uthman, and Muhammad were on the top one. But the uproar for which they were responsible was nothing compared with that raised by Khadija, whether it came from her directly or was provoked by her. Various changes in the management of the household had been made with an eye to confining the reasons for disputes to the narrowest possible limits. Khadija, who had been given her own living quarters and kitchen, had also ousted her mother-in-law's chickens from the roof so that she could raise chickens there herself and establish a modest garden patterned after the one on the roof of her childhood home. All these steps should have lessened domestic turmoil a great deal, but it had not decreased, or only to an imperceptible degree.

On this particular day Khadija's normally contentious spirit was afflicted by a certain listlessness. There seemed to be no secret about the reason, for Aisha and Khalil had come to help relieve the crisis. Yes, it was a crisis one Khadija had precipitated. The two brothers sat on a sofa in the living room and the two sisters, their wives, were on the opposite one. They all looked serious, and Khadija was frowning. They exchanged eloquent glances, but no one wished to address the subject that had brought them together.

Finally, in a tone both plaintive and resentful, Khadija said, "Every household has quarrels like these. That's the way the world has been since our Lord created it. But there's no reason to broadcast our troubles to everyone and especially not to people who ought to be spared idle gossip. But she wasn't satisfied until she transformed our private affairs into public scandals. I can only trust in God and His blessings."

Ibrahim shifted around inside his overcoat as though trying to get comfortable on the sofa. Then he laughed briefly in a manner that left the others in doubt as to the exact import. Khadija looked at him suspiciously and asked, "What do you mean, 'ha-ha'? Is there nothing in the world that can make an impression on your heart?"

She turned away as though despairing of any assistance from him. Then, addressing Khalil and Aisha, she continued: "Are you happy that she went to see my father at the shop to complain about me? Is it right to drag men especially ones like my father into women's disputes? No doubt he was annoyed by her visit and complaint. If he wasn't so polite, he would have told her that frankly. But she kept at him until he promised to come. What disgusting conduct! My father wasn't made for petty matters like these. Do you approve of this behavior, Mr. Khalil?"

Khalil frowned disapprovingly and said, "My mother made a mistake. I told her so frankly, and she poured out her anger on me. But she's an old lady. You know people her age need to be treated with flattery and discretion, almost like children. Fine Ibrahim interrupted him irritably: " 'Fine, fine'!.. How many times are you going to repeat 'Fine'? I'm sick of it. As you observed, Mother's an old lady, but her blow has landed on a person who refuses to show any mercy."

Khadija glared at him with a scowling face and flaring nostrils. She exclaimed, "God! God! All that's left is for you to repeat these outrageous comments in front of Papa."

Expressing his regret with a wave of his hand, Ibrahim answered, "Papa isn't here yet. And if he does come, it won't be to listen to me. I'm just stating the truth, which everyone acknowledges and even you can't deny. You can't bear my mother and can't stand the sight of her. I take refuge in God. Why is all this necessary, reverend lady? With a little discretion and cleverness you would be able to hold her in the palm of your hand. But the moon would be easier to obtain than your moderation. Can you deny a word I've said?"

She looked back and forth from Khalil to Aisha in order to draw their attention to this screaming injustice. They seemed to be wavering between truth and personal safety. At last Aisha, although she was apprehensive about the result, muttered, "Mr. Ibrahim means that you might show a little forbearance with her foibles."

Khalil nodded his head in agreement, with all the relief of a man who has reached a fire escape in the nick of time. Then he said, "That's right. My mother has a quick temper but should be shown the same respect as yours. If you'll be a little more understanding, you'll spare your nerves the discomfort of feuding with her."

Khadija huffed and said, "It would be much more accurate to say that she can't bear me or stand the sight of me. She's made me a nervous wreck. We never meet without her volunteering something, either directly or by insinuation, that makes my blood boil and poisons my nerves. Then I'm asked to be forbearing, as though I'm made of ice …. Isn't it enough that Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad try my patience to the breaking point? Hear my prayer: Where can I find someone who will treat me fairly?"

With, a smile Ibrahim said sarcastically, "Perhaps you'll find this equitable person in your father."

She shot back, "You're enjoying my bad luck. I understand everything. But our Lord is present."