Naguib Mahfouz - Cairo Modern

“Don’t say that. I beg God’s forgiveness.”

Al-Ikhshidi smiled and replied, “If you catch my drift, there are capable people who can help individuals like you.”

Al-Ikhshidi was silent for some moments before he continued, “There’s Abd al-Aziz Bey Radwan, for example. Haven’t you heard of him?”

“Of course. I think he’s a well-known businessman.”

“So he is, and currently his word carries a lot of weight. His sphere of influence is the Ministry of the Interior.”

The young man asked anxiously, “Why would he help me?”

“The way is easy, but you ought to know his cut from his nominees is a guarantee of half of the salary for a period of two years.”

This price alarmed the devastated young man. He looked at his companion fearfully. Then after some hesitation, he asked, “Isn’t there someone less demanding?”

Like a waiter reciting a menu, al-Ikhshidi immediately replied, “The well-known musician Miss Dawlat.”

Astonishment showed on the young man’s pale face. The other man ignored his reaction and continued, “Her area of influence is the railways, Ministry of Defense, and some of the larger agencies.”

Al-Ikhshidi drew heavily on his cigarette and then added, “The prices are as follows: eighth level: thirty pounds; seventh: forty; sixth: one hundred… payable in advance.”

Mahgub sighed in despair. Then after reflecting briefly, he said, “I suppose Abd al-Aziz Bey Radwan’s condition is more realistic, since I don’t have even a millieme of the sum requested by the musician. I could relinquish half of my salary if I had one. How do I contact him?”

“You can’t now — not for a month and a half, when he returns from performing the pilgrimage.”

Damn him! Mahgub would starve to death before the man returned. In a faint voice, as though afraid of vexing his companion, he observed, “Waiting means starvation, but what can I do?”

Laughing for the first time, al-Ikhshidi said, “You’re not a toy boy and your mother’s not a flirtatious coquette. So what can I do?”

They were silent, and al-Ikhshidi would certainly have ended the meeting had something not occurred to him. He considered quickly and then assured himself that while Mahgub would probably benefit from the experience, he himself certainly would — if his plan succeeded. So he said, “There’s Mrs. Ikram Nayruz.”

“Founder of the Society for Blind Women?”

“Yes.”

“But she’s very wealthy — her fortune’s proverbial.”

“Yes, yes. The lady doesn’t ask for money but is fond of fame and praise. I could introduce you to her some time. Then it would be up to you, relying on your pen and The Star. Should you succeed in pleasing her, your future will be guaranteed. She has vast influence in many ministries and political parties.”

He was hoping to exploit the young man to do publicity for her after introducing him as one of his flunkies. So he said, “Mrs. Nayruz is hosting a benefit next Sunday at the Society for Blind Women. Attend the party, and I’ll introduce you to the lady. Write about the benefit and its patron, and we’ll see … we’ll wait and see.”

“Will I achieve my objective this way?”

“That depends on your pen! You’ll have to purchase a ticket for fifty piasters, since you’re not a card-carrying journalist. Hopefully you’ll realize later that this trivial sum has been of more utility than sixty pounds paid to Miss Dawlat. So get with it. Don’t delay.”

Despite his daring, when it came to borrowing the price of admission from his coach, his courage failed him. So he stood up, shook the man’s hand gratefully, and left.

Fifty piasters! The sum truly was insignificant, but how was he going to get hold of it? He had actually earmarked his desk and books to sell to support him during the month before his first paycheck. Do you suppose he would ever receive this salary? Who would give him the price of the ticket? Ma’mun Radwan had gone to Tanta to say goodbye to his family before leaving for Europe. So that only left Ali Taha. What was inevitable was inevitable.

He went to the university library Saturday morning, and Ali Taha greeted him with his customary smile, but Mahgub saw at first glance that his friend was feeling sad. This was not the Ali Taha he knew; the brilliant light of his eyes had gone out. His vivacious, energetic spirit had died. All of this might have delighted Mahgub in other circumstances. Today, however, he was worried that this sorrow might prove a stumbling block for his visit’s objective. Pretending not to notice his friend’s expression, he asked, “How’s your study coming?”

Ali Taha swelled with vexation and replied with palpable despair, “I don’t know. I can’t do anything now.”

Mahgub frowned, pretending to sympathize. Secretly cursing his inescapable bad luck, he said, “May God suppress this evil. What are you talking about?”

Ali had a nervous temperament and could barely conceal his secret. So he said, “As you might guess, it concerns Ihsan!”

Cold water might as well have been splashed on Mahgub’s face. His interest aroused, he stammered inquisitively, “Your fiancée?”

“My fiancée,” Ali sighed with brokenhearted grief.

Mahgub’s astonishment increased. He commented as if wanting to know everything, “I don’t understand at all.”

Ali hesitated for a second. Should he reveal his secret? He was not secretive by nature and Mahgub was a friend with whom he had shared the story of his love. Moreover he badly needed to talk about it. So in a voice that clearly revealed his deep affliction and despair, he said, “I don’t either. I can’t tell you how dumbfounded and perplexed I’ve been. I keep asking myself: What happened? What wretched, furtive motives exuded their poisons in the dark? Life was proceeding beautifully. We were in love, and our love increased over time. We understood each other and grew closer as the days passed. We knew our past and appreciated it. We were conscious of our present and were satisfied with it. We had hopes for our future and looked forward to it. We met repeatedly and felt perfectly comfortable with each other. Our affection sank deep roots.”

He fell silent for a moment. His companion’s eyes never left his gloomy face. Then, enchanted by the fervor of the conversation, he burst out, “What spoiled our life? It’s incredible, but that’s the unvarnished truth. How did this occur? She began to change. At first the change was slight, but it didn’t escape my wakeful, vigilant heart. I detected an anxious, perplexed look in her eyes. She was absentminded at times, and her smiles grew lukewarm. She began to avoid talk about love. She was on guard against any mention of our hopes and promises. I privately vowed to be patient for a time, although I felt bitter anxiety and painful doubt. But this was to no avail, because nothing changed. I shared my suspicions with her, telling her that our love was worth nothing if she kept secrets from me. But she accused me of exaggerating and apologized for any change by referring to her indispositions. So my torment and pain doubled. How could I believe that a love like ours would suddenly die, without any warning? I longed for her but our meetings became a living hell. Finally she broke up with me. Can you believe that? I went crazy, stalking her. I sent her letters and persevered stubbornly, pursuing her. So she agreed to meet me. She arrived shattered by sorrow and shame. I shouted at her that her changes would drive me insane.”

The young man ceased speaking. Mahgub had been following him intently, hanging on his words with such interest that he nearly forgot why he had come. He pretended to be deeply moved in order to encourage his friend to continue speaking.