Naguib Mahfouz - Cairo Modern

Mahgub laughed so loudly it was clear that sobriety had fled. He asked, “Was I really talking out loud?”

“Yes, you were furious … even spiteful.”

He was forced to speak because he had been invited to converse and because he felt like getting some things off his chest. He saw no harm in this, for his condition and his friend’s allowed for rash and impudent talk that was uncensored. He asked, “When does a man talk to himself?”

“On rare occasions.”

“Give me some examples.”

“In the flush of delight, during extraordinary grief, or in other conditions unrelated to either of these.”

“What does that leave?”

“Occasions when a man debates with another person.”

Clutching his glass, Mahgub observed anxiously, “I can hardly tell heads from tails.”

“Me too! In a social congress, as in a political one, it does not matter whether you understand what is said. The important thing is to say something.”

“Anything at all?”

“Whatever you feel like.”

This suggestion pleased him. So he cast thought aside and — his protruding eyes red from drink — began, “I’m in this room while the ram’s in the field.”

“Muhammad wrote down the lesson.”

“Work in your world as though you would die tomorrow and prepare for the next world as though you would live forever.”

“But you won’t live forever; you may not make it to tomorrow morning ‘cause you’re drinking too much.”

“Then let’s order another round.”

“What does the fact that bars are full of patrons suggest?”

“That the 1923 Constitution was better than the 1930 one.”

“Do you think the 1923 Constitution will return?”

“Where is it now?”

“In Saad Zaghlul’s tomb with the pharaohs’ corpses.”

“They should keep it there till we deserve it.”

“Are you a member of the Wafd Party?”

“No, I’m a Hanbali.”

“What’s the difference between the two?”

“A Hanbali becomes ritually impure just by thinking of a dog.”

“How about the Wafdist?”

“He becomes ritually impure just by thinking of patronage.”

“Then you’re a liberal constitutionalist!”

“Me? I’m in the field.”

“Then you’re a ram with two horns!”

Mahgub was stunned and upset as if he had been roused from his stupor by a hammer. He shot a fiery look at his friend but found he was smiling lightheartedly, preparing to respond to anything Mahgub flung at him. Forcing himself to be positive, he asked the young stranger, “Tell me: Does a pimp have a good life?”

The young man laughed along with him, seeing that Mahgub was throwing more wood on the fire. Wishing to be of assistance, he replied, “You should know!”

Mahgub laughed so loud the room shook. Then he said, “Tell me what you know about the different forms of infidelity.”

“There’s blind infidelity when the victim is in the dark — like my lover’s husband.”

“That’s one.”

“Then there’s a type when the husband knows about the infidelity but pretends he doesn’t — to avoid causing trouble. This variety is widespread in some circles.”

“Two.”

“Infidelity the husband chooses either for his own pleasure or for some other boon. Are you married?”

He laughed again and continued laughing to mask his nervous tension. Then he said with disguised resentment, “There’s a fourth type that combines the characteristics of the other three. This is how it happens to you. First of all you don’t realize you have a problem. Then you catch on but pretend not to know, to avoid a fight. Finally you adjust and learn to enjoy it.”

They burst out laughing again. Then the young stranger said in a mock-serious manner, “The fact is that infidelity is one of the knottiest problems for marriage in modern times.”

“The truth is that marriage is one of the knottiest problems for infidelity.”

“You’re right. Otherwise, why do you suppose young people are avoiding marriage? They continue to live at home instead.”

“Living with relatives is more fun when you don’t have to pay.”

They spoke deliriously for a long time, without feeling bored or tired, until almost midnight.

He felt like roaming the streets before returning home. He chanted as though moaning, “I’m in the room and the ram’s in the field.” Then he began to say, “I’m in the bar and the bey’s in the room.” But he was at the apogee of intoxication and delight, and his rapture had reached such heights that all his sorrows had melted away. It seemed to him that nothing in the world equaled an atom of despair. He found the power that would enable him to implement his philosophy should he so choose, without any hesitation, reflection, or emotion. He realized then that his philosophy and liquor were essentially identical. Returning home, he entered the bedroom, where everything was calm and still. She was sound asleep. He stood at the center of the room, staring at her face with dull red eyes and remained there until it seemed the earth was starting to revolve. He thought of something that cheered him, although he did not pause to think it through. Instead he implemented the idea in less time than it had taken him to think it up. He went over to the bed and threw himself on top of her as though preparing to do Swedish calisthenics. Ihsan awoke. A scream sprang from her mouth. She stared at him with terrified eyes. Then she pushed him off after realizing what was afoot. She shoved him away furiously and resentfully and yelled at him, “You’re drunk! You almost killed me! Get away!”

He began to stare at her in bewilderment, filling his eyes with her indignant, angry face. Then he smiled. His smirk was either meaningless or a smile of delight at the pain and rage he had caused her. She became even more resentful and said sharply, “You’ve broken my ribs with your insanity. Get away from me. You’re drunk. Don’t sleep in this room.”

The smile stayed plastered on his lips. Then a light laugh escaped from his mouth. When her anger intensified, he lapsed into laughter so profound it shook his very being.

The next morning he awoke late and rose with a headache, feeling tired. He had slept on the chaise longue. He looked at the bed with fearful eyes but found it empty. He remembered the previous night, and the memory horrified him. Then he shrugged his shoulders dismissively and left the room. He found her in the sitting room. She looked at him with a frowning face and he felt uneasy for a time. With eyes downcast he smiled and asked her in a gentle voice, “Not still angry?”

She replied sharply, “When you’re drunk you turn into a crazy beast. Don’t ever get drunk again. Drink a glass or two the way we do: that’s okay. But for you to return after midnight staggering drunk and acting in this disgraceful way: that’s not acceptable.”

They moved to the dining room, where they ate breakfast, silently at first. Then they exchanged a few words, and left the room on good terms. He went to the ministry shortly before noon to find that the bey had journeyed to Alexandria to spend a few days in Bulkeley. He sat in his office glancing at the newspapers. A short time later he received an unexpected visitor. The door opened and he looked up from the paper to see Ma’mun Radwan heading toward him. A look of astonishment appeared on his face and then he rose gaily. The two friends shook hands warmly. Ma’mun took a seat and said, “Congratulations. Congratulations.”

Mahgub realized that he was congratulating him on the position. That delighted him immensely and he replied, “Thank you. I thought you were in Tanta.”

“I returned two days ago for personal reasons, and the night I got back I ran into Mr. Ahmad Badir at the university club. He told me about your appointment, and I was tremendously delighted by that.”