Naguib Mahfouz - Palace of Desire

"When will the ceremony take place?" Isma'il asked the question thai: was running through Kamal's mind, as though he had been delegated to represent Kamal's thoughts.

But Kamal would have to speak too. He commented, "Yes, it's very important for us to know, so we won't be taken by surprise again. When's the wedding?"

Husayn laughingly asked, "Why are you two in such a hurry? Let's give the bridegroom a chance to enjoy what's left of his bacheloi days."

With his customary composure Hasan said, "First of all, I need to learn whether I'm to stay in Egypt or not."

Husayn Shaddad explained, "He's going to be appointed either to the attorney general's staff or to the diplomatic corps."

"Husayn seems delighted with this engagement," Kamal reflected. "I can assert that I hated him, if only momentarily, for having betrayed me. Has anyone double-crossed me?

Everything seems such a confusion. But this evening I'll be alone…."

"Which would you prefer, Mr. Hasan?"

"Let him choose whatever he wants…judicial service, diplomatic corps, the Sudan… Syria if possible."

"Working as a prosecutor somewhere would be an insult. I'd prefer to be a diplomat."

"It would be good if your father understood that clearly, so he can concentrate on getting you into it". This sentence too jumped out of Kamal's mouth. No doubt it was on target. He would have to get control of his nerves. Otherwise he would find himself embroiled in a public dispute with Hasan. He would also have to keep Husayn Shaddad's feelings in mind, for these two now formed a single family. How cruel this stabbing pain was!

Isma'il shook his head sorrowfully and said, "These are your last days with us, Hasan. After a lifelong relationship, this comes as a sad end."

How stupid it was of Isma'il to think that sorrow could influence a heart grazing in the beloved's oasis.

"It really is a sad ending, Isma'il."

"Lie upon lie …" Kamal thought, "like your congratulations to him. In this respect the merchant's son and the son of the superior court judge are equal."

He asked, "Does this mean you'll spend your whole life outside the country?"

"That's what I expect. We'll only see Egypt on rare occasions."

Isma'il marveled: "What a strange life! Have you thought about the difficulties it will pose for your children?"

"Alas, my heart! Is it right to toss around ideas like that? Does this wretch imagine that the beloved will get pregnant and endure cravings, that her belly will become distended and round, that she'll suffer through labor and give birth? Remember Aisha and Khadija in the final months of their pregnancies? This is blasphemy. Why don't you join an underground assassination society like the Black Hand? Murder's better than blasphemy and more beneficial. Then you'd find yourself in the defendant's dock one day. Presiding over the court would be Salim Bey Sabry, father of your friend the diplomat and father-in-law of your beloved, just as he presided this week over the trial of those accused of killing the supreme commander, Sir Lee Stack. The traitor!"

Husayn Shaddad laughingly asked, "Should nations cut off diplomatic relations so the children of diplomats may be raised in their own countries?"

"No, cut off their heads! Abd al-Hamid Inayat, al-Kharrat, Mahmud Rashid, Ali Ibrahim, Raghib Hasan, Shafiq Mansur, and Mahmud Isma'il sentenced to die on the gallows along with Kamal Ahmad Abd al-Jawad… by the Egyptian judge Salim Bey Sabry and the English judge Mr. Kershaw. Assassination is the answer. Do you want to kill or be killed?"

Isma'il cautioned Husayn, "Your sister's departure will reinforce your father's determination to refuse your request to travel abroad."

Husayn Shaddad replied confidently, "My case is making steady progress toward a satisfactory solution."

Ai'da and Husayn in Europe at the same time … he was going to lose his true love and his best friend. "Your spirit will search for your beloved and not find her. Your intellect will search for your companion without finding him either. You'll live alone, exiled to the ancient district, like the echo of a yearning on the loose for generations. Ponder the pains lying in wait for you. It's time for you to harvest the fruit of the dreams planted in your gullible heart. Beseech God to make tears a cure for sorrows. If you can, string your body up with a hangman's ropes or put it at the front of a destructive force unleashed on the enemy. Tomorrow you'll find your spirit's empty — as empty as you once discovered al-Husayn's tomb to be. What a disappointment! Sincere patriots are hanged, while sons of traitors are made ambassadors."

As though to himself, Isma'il Latif remarked, "There'll be no one in Egypt except me and Kamal, and Kamal's not reliable, because his best friend before, after, or besides Husayn is the book."

Husayn said with confident conviction, "Travel won't end our friendship."

Despite his lethargy, Kamal's heart pounded. He commented, "My heart tells me that you won't be able to endure a permanent separation from your homeland."

"That's most likely. But you'll profit from my trip by the books I send you. We'll continue our conversations with letters and books."

Husayn was talking as though his voyage had become an established fact. Visits with this friend had been a captivating happiness for Kamal. When he was with Husayn, even silence was enjoyable. But there was some consolation. The departure of his beloved would teach him to minimize other calamities, no matter how great. Thus the death of his adored grandmother had seemed insignificant to his soul when it was scorched by the fire of his grief for Fahmy. But he had to keep in mind at all times that this was the farewell session. He had to fill his eyes with the roses and the other flowers that were tipsy with blooms and heedless of sorrow. There was a problem he had to solve: How could a mortal ascend high enough to live with the beloved or the beloved fall so far that she could coexist with a human being? If he could not find an answer, he would struggle ahead with shackled feet and a lump in his throat. Love was a load with two widely separated handles. It was designed to be carried by two people. How could he bear it alone?

The conversation raced along and branched off in different directions while Kamal followed it with his eyes, nods of his head, and words designed to demonstrate that the calamity had not polished him off yet. He had his hopes pinned on the fact that life's train keeps moving down the tracks, even though death's station certainly lies ahead somewhere.

"It's dusk. A time of dark stillness. You love it as you love the dawn. 'A'ida,' and 'pain' are two words with a single meaning. So you must love pain, even if from now on your rapture comes from defeat. The conversation keeps moving forward, and the friends laugh together and argue with each other as though none of them had ever experienced love. Husayn's laughter is full of healthy good spirits, Isma'il's of mischief and contention, and Hasan's of reserve and superiority. Husayn refuses to talk about anything but Ra's al-Barr. I promise to make a pilgrimage there one day. I'll ask what sand was trod by the beloved's feet, so I can prostrate myself to kiss it. The other two are singing the praises of San Stefano beach in Alexandria and talking about waves like mountains. Really? Imagine a body the waves cast onto the shore after the dreadful sea has sucked out its beauty and nobility. After all this, let us admit that weary vexation encompasses all living creatures. Possibly happiness lies beyond the gates of death."

The talk continued until it was time for them to go home. They shook hands with each other warmly. Kamal squeezed Husayn's hand, and Husayn squeezed his in return. Then, saying, "See you … in October," Kamal set off.