Naguib Mahfouz - The Time and the Place - And Other Stories

“But what’s the purpose of your objecting to our leaving?” asked the middle-aged man.

The stranger shook his head with grim scorn. “Don’t try to fool me,” he said. “You have heard everything….”

“I can assure you we have heard nothing,” said the middle-aged man in astonishment.

“Don’t try to fool me,” he shouted angrily. “You’ve learned what it’s all about.”

“We heard nothing and we know nothing.”

“Deceiving liars!”

“You must believe us.”

“Believe riotous drunkards?”

“You are insulting innocent people and sullying their honor.”

“Let him who has no care for his life advance!”

It became plain to them that the situation could only be handled by force, and this was something they could not muster. Under the spell of his fearsome gaze, they were obliged to return to their seats with suppressed anger and an unprecedented sense of degradation.

“And how long shall we remain here?” asked the old man.

“Until the appropriate time comes.”

“And when will the appropriate time come?”

“Shut up and wait.”

The time passed in painful tension. As they sat subdued by distress and worry, the wine flew from their heads. Even the black cat was conscious of a hostile odor in the atmosphere, so it jumped up onto the ledge of the sole window, then lay down, folded its front paws beneath its head, and closed its eyes, allowing its tail to hang out between the bars.

Certain questions about the man demanded to be answered: Was he drunk? Was he mad? What was the story he was accusing them of having heard? During all this time the Greek owner persisted in his lifeless silence, while the waiter, as though he were seeing and hearing nothing, went on serving the stranger.

The stranger began to look at them with scornful malice, then he said menacingly, “If any one of you has the idea of playing me false, I’ll punish the lot of you mercilessly.”

They took heart when he resumed talking, so the middle-aged man said with evident sincerity, “I swear to you, we all swear to you…”

“If I asked you for an oath, by what would you swear?”

A tiny hope invaded them, and the middle-aged man said eagerly, “By what you want — by our children, by the Almighty!”

“Nothing has any value with patrons of such a vulgar tavern!”

“We’re not as you think, we’re decent fathers and faithful believers. That may be just why we so need to refresh our burdened spirits….”

“Depraved scoundrels, you are dreaming of building castles not by hard work but by the contemptible exploitation of the story!”

“We swear by God Almighty that we do not know of the story and have no idea what it’s about.”

“Who of you is without a story, you cowards?”

“You did not speak. Your lips were moving, but no sound came from them,” said the old man.

“Do not try to deceive me, you old dodderer!”

“You must believe us and let us be.”

“Woe to you if you make a move! Woe to you if you act treacherously! If it comes to it, I’ll smash your heads and I’ll use them to block up the passageway.”

The man was truly fearsome, maybe also fearful, which would in itself increase the possibility of things ending badly. Despair crept into their hearts like a wave of deadly cold. He did not stop drinking, though he did not get drunk or become listless or torpid. And here he was, barring the sole way out of the place, powerful, violent, and as steely as the bars at the window.

They went on hopelessly exchanging glances. Whenever they glimpsed a shadow behind the bars, hope sprang to their hearts, though they were unable to make the slightest movement. Even the black cat seemed to have deserted them completely, and continued to enjoy its slumbers. One of them, finding the restraint too hard to bear, asked apprehensively, “Can I go to the toilet?”

“Who told you I was a wet nurse!”

The old man sighed and said, “Are we fated to remain like this till morning?”

“You’ll be lucky to see the morning!”

To argue was futile: the man was mad or on the run or both. There might be some story behind him or there might be nothing at all. Despite their number they were prisoners. He was strong and powerful, and they possessed neither strength nor determination. Was there, though, no way of resisting? No possibility of resistance of any kind?

Once again they exchanged glances. Concern was to be seen in their eyes, and whisperings, just discreet enough for the stranger not to hear, were passed between them.

“What a disaster!”

“What a humiliation!”

“What ignominy!”

And suddenly a glance was embellished with something that resembled a smile, was in fact an actual smile. Was it really a smile?

“Why not? It’s a funny situation.”

“Funny?”

“Look at it with passing objectivity and you’ll find it’s enough to make you die laughing!”

“Really?”

“I’m frightened I’ll explode with laughter.”

“Remember,” said the middle-aged man in a voice that was only just audible, “that the time we normally leave is still a long way off.”

“But there’s no longer any real evening gathering.”

“Because we’ve discontinued it without reason.”

“Without reason?”

“I mean without a reason to prevent us continuing as of now.”

“And in what sort of humor would we go on with it after what has happened?”

“Let’s forget the door for a while and see what’s what.”

No one welcomed the suggestion and no one rejected it. The glasses of infernal wine were produced. Though this was in front of the stranger’s eyes, he paid the men no attention. They drank too much, heads became dizzy, and they were carried away in their intoxication. Magically their worries were lifted and their laughter rang out. They danced on the chairs, capped each other’s jokes, and sang “Good news is here of friendship’s feast.”

And all the time they ignored the door. They completely forgot its existence. The black cat awoke and began moving from table to table, from leg to leg. They drank to excess, they enjoyed themselves to excess, they became boisterous to excess, as though savoring the last of their nights at the tavern.

A miracle occurred, for the present retreated and melted away in a rising flood of forgetfulness; memory dissolved, and everything that it had stored away in its cells was demolished. No one knew his companion. The wine was truly infernal, and yet, yes and yet…

“But where are we?”

“Tell me who we are and I’ll tell you where we are.”

“There was some singing.”

“Or was it, as I remember, weeping?”

“There was some story. I wonder what story it was?”

“And this black cat, it is without doubt something tangible.”

“Yes, it is the thread that will bring us to the truth.”

“Here we are, getting close to the truth.”

“This cat was a god at the time of our forefathers.”

“And one day it seated itself at the door of a prison cell and made known the secret of the story.”

“And it threatened woe.”

“But what’s the story?”

“Originally there was a god, then it was changed into a cat.”

“But what’s the story?”

“How can a cat talk?”

“Did it not divulge to us the story?”

“Indeed, but we wasted the time in singing and weeping.”

“And so the threads came together and the way was cleared for grasping the truth.”

The voice of the old waiter was raised as he scolded someone, threatening and shouting, “Wake up, you idle wretch, or I’ll smash your head in.”

A huge man, his head bent in dejection, came along. He began taking up the glasses and dishes, cleaning the tables, and collecting the refuse from the floor. Immersed in a deep sadness, with his eyes bathed in tears, he worked without uttering a word or looking at anyone. With mournful compassion they followed him with their eyes. One of them asked him, “What’s the story?”