Naguib Mahfouz - Palace of Desire

Yasin, who had once personified culture for him, now seemed almost totally lacking in it. In the old days Kamal had considered him a scholar with magical powers over the arts of poetry and storytelling. What little knowledge Yasin had was based on superficial reading confined to the coffee hour, or a portion of it, as he went back and forth, without subjecting himself to effort and strain, between al-Hamasa, which was a medieval anthology of poetry, and some story or other, before he rushed off to Ahmad Abduh's coffeehouse. His life lacked the radiance of love and any yearnings for genuine knowledge. Yet Kamal's fraternal affection for his brother was in no way diminished by such realizations.

Fahmy had not been like that. He was Kamal's ideal, both romantically and intellectually, but eventually Kamal's aspirations had reached beyond Fahmy's. He was afflicted by a compelling doubt that a girl like Maryam could inspire genuine love of the sort illuminating his own soul. He was also skeptical that the legal training his late brother had chosen was really equivalent to the humanitieshe was so eager to study.

Kamal uninhibitedly considered those around him with an attentive and critical eye but stopped short when it came to his father. The man appeared to him to be above any criticism, a formidable figure mounted on a throne.

"You're like a bridegroom today. We're going to celebrate your academic achievements. Isn't that so? If you weren't so skinny, I could find nothing to criticize."

Smiling, Kamal replied, "I'm content to be thin."

Yasin cast a last glance at himself in the mirror. Then he placed the fez on his head and carefully tilted it to the right, so it almost touched his eyebrow. He belched and commented, "You're a big donkey with a baccalaureate. Relax and take time to enjoy your food. This is your vacation. How can you feel tempted to read twice as much during your school holiday as you do during the academic year? My God, I'm not guilty of slenderness or of association with it". As He left the room with his ivory fly whisk in his hand, he added, "Don't forget to pick out a good story for me. Something easy like 'Pardaillan' or 'Fausta' by Michel Zevaco. Okay? In the old days you'd beg me for a chapter from a novel. Now I'm asking you to provide me with stories."

Kamal rejoiced at being left to his own devices. He rose, muttering to himself, "How can I put on weight when my heart never slumbers?"

He did not like to pray except when he was alone. Prayer for him was a sacred struggle in which heart, intellect, and spirit all participated. It was the battle of a person who would spare no effort to achieve a clear conscience, even if he had to chastise himself time and again for a minor slip or a thought. His supplications after the prescribed prayer ritual were devoted entirely to his beloved.

Abd al-Muni'm: "The courtyard's bigger than the roof. We've got to take the cover off the well to see what's in it."

Na'iina: "You'll make Mama, Auntie, and Grandma angry."

Uthman: "No one will see us."

Ahmad: "The well's disgusting. Anyone who looks in it will die."

Abd al-Mun'im: "We'll get the cover off, but look at it from a distance". Then he continued in a loud voice, "Come on. Let's go."

Blocking the door to the stairway, Umm Hanafi protested, "I don't have any strength left to keep going up and down. You said, 'Let's go up on the roof,' so we did. You said, 'Let's go down to the courtyard,' and we did. 'Let's go up to the roof So we came up another time. What do you want with the courtyard? … The air's hot down there. Up here we have a breeze, and soon the sun will set."

Na'ima: "They're going to take the cover off the well to look ink."

Umm Hanafi: "I'll call Mrs. Khadija and Mrs. Aisha."

Abd al-Muni'm: "Na'ima's a liar. We won't raise the lid. We won't go anywhere near it. We'll play in the courtyard a little and then come back. You stay here till we return."

Umm Hanafi: "Stay here!.. I have to follow your every step, may God guide you. There's no place in the whole house more beautiful than the roof terrace. Look at this garden!"

Muhammad: "Lie down so I can ride on you."

Umm Hanafi: "There's been enough riding. Pick some other game, by God. God… look at the jasmine and the hyacinth vines. Look at the pigeons."

Uthman: "You're as ugly as a water buffalo, and you stink."

Umm Hanafi: "May God forgive you. I've gotten sweaty chasing after you."

Uthman: "Let us see the well, if only for a moment."

Umiri Hanafi: "The well is full of jinn. That's why we closed it."

Abd al-Muni'm: "You're a liar. Mama and Auntie didn't say that."

Umiri Hanafi: "I'm the one who's right, me and the lady of the house. We've seen them with our own eyes. We waited until they entered it. Then we threw a wooden cover over the opening of the well and weighted it down with stones. Don't talk about the well. Repeat with me: 'In the name of God the Compassionate, the Merciful.'"

Muhammad: "Lie down so I can ride on you."

Umm Hanafi: "Look at the hyacinth beans and the jasmine! Don't you wish you had something like that? All you've got on your roof are chickens and the two sheep you're fattening up for the Feast of the Sacrifice."

Ahmad: "Baa… baa… baa."

Abd al-Muni'm: "Fetch a ladder so we can climb up it."

Umm Hanafi: "May God preserve us. The boy takes after his uncle. Play on the ground, not in the sky."

Ridvvan: "At our house we have pots of carnations and of red and white roses on the balcony and in the men's reception room."

Uthman: "We have two sheep and some chickens."

Ahmad: "Baa… baa… baa."

Abd al-Muni'm: "I'm going to religious kindergarten. What about all of you?"

Ridwan: "I've memorized 'Praise to God

Abd al-Muni'm: "Praise to God for lamps and meatballs."

Ridwan: "For shame! You're a heathen."

Abd al-Muni'm: "That's what the teacher's assistant chants when he's walking in the street."

Na'ima: "We've told you a thousand times not to repeat it."

Turning to Ridwan, Abd al-Muni'm asked, "Why don't you live with Uncle Yasin, your father?"

Ridwan: "I'm with Mama."

Ahmad: "Where's Mama?"

Ridwan: "With my other grandfather."

Uthman: "Where's your other grandfather?"

Ridwan: "In al-Gamaliya… in a big house with a special reception room for men only."

Abd al-Muni'm: "Why does your mother live in one house and your father in another?"

Ridwan: "Mama's with my grandfather there and Papa's with my grandfather here."

Uthman: "Why aren't they in one house like my papa and mama?"

Ridwan: "Fate and destiny. That's what my other grandmother says."

Umm Hanafi: "You've pestered him until he's confessed. There's no power or might save God's. Have mercy on him and go play."

Ahmad: "The water buffalo knows how to talk."

Muhammad: "Get down so I can ride on you."

Ridwan: "Look at the sparrow on the hyacinth vine."

Abd al-Muni'm: "Fetch a ladder so I can grab it."

Ahmad: "Don't raise your voice. It's looking at us and hears every word you say."

Na'ima: "How beautiful she is! I know her! She's the sparrow I saw yesterday on our clothesline."

Ahmad: "The other one was on Sugar Street. How could it find its way to my grandfather's house?"

Abd al-Muni'm: "You donkey. The sparrow can fly here from Sugar Street and return before nightfall."

Uthman: "Her family is there, but she has relativeshere."

Muhammad: "Get down so I can ride you. Otherwise I'll cry till Mama hears me."

Na'ima: "Why don't we play hopscotch?"

Abd al-Muni'm: "No, let's have a race."

Umm Hanafi: "Without any quarreling between the winner and the loser."

Abd al-Muni'm: "Shut up, water buffalo."

Uthman: "Moo … moo."