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

“Though she hasn’t been to university, she is well-educated. Her father had his own policy. After completing her secondary education, the girl was prepared by him for being a housewife, in view of her being sufficiently well provided for.”

“That’s very convenient,” I had said.

He had invited us both to dinner at Santa Lucia, and afterward we had met in the Pelican Garden. The days of courtship, of dreams and impeccable behavior. I hear a beautiful, rapturous tune, though all the strings on which it was played have been broken. What a crushing blow! What is happening in the flat now? Why isn’t life made up of perpetual days of courtship? Oh, the masks of lies we hide behind! A salutary method of knowing oneself is indispensable.

“Mr. Mustafa Ibrahim?”

I looked at the man who was calling my name and found him to be an inspector at the firm, no doubt on his way to work. “Hullo, Amr Bey.”

“On holiday?”

“Slightly unwell.”

“It’s only too clear. Would you like me to give you a lift somewhere?”

“No thanks.”

He was perhaps the first witness. No, my neighbor the doctor had already seen me as I left the flat. Had he noticed anything unusual? The concierge had seen me too. That was of no importance. I had never thought of making my escape. I would be waiting until the end. Had it not been for my final eagerness to say goodbye, I would have gone by myself.

It was not possible to discard life of my own accord. It had been wrenched from me by force. I had never sought this ending. I had still five years to go before I was fifty. Despite the suffering, life was sweet. Seham had not been able to make it hateful to me. Should I visit Samira and Gamal at the College of Science? They had left without my seeing them, and I had not foreseen what had occurred. I would not find the courage to look them in the eye. It pained me to leave them to their fate. I could imagine them knocking at the door and their mother not hastening to open it. The day would leave its mark until the end of life. And if they cursed me, they would be entitled to do so.

When would I put my grief behind me and dedicate myself to saying goodbye? Look and enjoy, and move from place to place. The market. The day we walked in the market to make our purchases. A man with a bride feels that he is about to take possession of the world itself, feels that happiness may be anything in the world — but not like methylated spirit that just evaporates. With love I say, “To San Giovanni.” And she says joyfully, “I’ll phone Mummy.”

Graciousness, sweetness, and angelic gentleness during our first days together. When and how had the new Seham made her appearance? After becoming a mother, but not at any precisely definable time. How had the sensation of dashed hopes taken control of me? Samira once said, “How quickly and violently you become angry, Father.” And I once admitted to Seham, “I may forget myself when I get angry, but it’s always for a good reason.”

“And for no reason. It’s a misunderstanding.”

“You squander our life on trivialities.”

“Trivialities? You don’t understand life.”

“You’re autocratic. You set no store by reason. What you have in your head must come about regardless of anything.”

“Had I respected your opinions we would have been in a real mess.”

Look and enjoy, and move from place to place. Abu Qir is the ideal summer resort. Let’s have a fish lunch. Fill your stomach and stimulate it with some white wine. We sat together at this place, and here we taught Samira and Gamal to swim when they were young. It is said that despair is one of the two states of rest. Would it not have been better to divorce her?

“Divorce me and set me free.”

“I’d like nothing better, if it weren’t for my concern for Samira and Gamal.”

“You should rather have some concern for yourself and realize that you’re an unbearable person.”

The truth is that I often wished for your death. However, the fates are not in my hand. Any hardships are easy to bear alongside the hellfire of my hatred. We exchange hatred without making a secret of it. After exchanging the most awful and cruel words, how is it that I am able to partake of my food with appetite? Truly, despair possesses a happiness that is not to be underrated. From the radio issued the song “I, the torment, and your love,” and my heart trembled. It was a song I came to love greatly during that fraudulent month of honeymoon. How is it that happiness vanishes after being stronger than existence itself? It is dispersed from the heart and attaches itself to the atmosphere of places after its starting point has been erased. Then, like a bird, it alights on dry ground, adorning it with the embroidery of its wings for several seconds. I, the torment, and your love —and this crushing blow.

Perhaps it was the day that, in your madness, you hurled yourself at Samira. In fear I pushed you from her, and you fell and hit your head. There gleamed in your eyes an inhuman look that spat out poison. “I hate you.”

“So what?”

“I hate you until death.”

“Go to hell.”

“Once my heart is disturbed how impossible for it to become cloudless!”

It is, unfortunately, the truth. O you with the black heart that found no way to apologize or make up or be amiable. After that no conversation took place between us other than about necessities and the household budget. Vengeance became mingled with the cost of living. The spring of compassion ran dry. As with a prisoner, my dreams revolved around escape. The desires of my heart dried up, and desolation closed over it. And all the while she behaved like a free woman, going and coming without permission or even letting me know. Silence enveloped her, and she uttered no word unless she had to. Pride encompassed her secret, and she complained of me to no one but my sister Siddiqa. When Siddiqa did not do what Seham expected, but sought to make peace between us, she hated her in turn. She said that it was not the madness of one man but a madness running in the family.

Seizing the opportunity of being alone with Samira and Gamal, I asked their opinion of what they had seen of our situation. “Your situation is not a happy one, Father,” Gamal had said. “It’s like the situation of our country, or even worse, and I’m planning to emigrate at the first opportunity.”

I know his recalcitrance well, but as for Samira, she is a sensible girl, religious and modern at one and the same time, and yet she said, “I’m sorry, Father, but neither on your side nor on hers is there any tolerance.”

“I was defending you, Samira.”

“I wish you hadn’t done so. She would have made it up with me after an hour, but you get angry so quickly, Father.”

“But she’s unreasonable.”

“Our whole home is unreasonable.”

“I chose you to be a judge.”

“No, I’m in no way entitled to be that.”

“I have found no comfort from either of you.”

To which Gamal said, “We have no comfort for you or for ourselves.”

If these two have not loved me as I have loved them, then what good do I wish for in this existence? Ah, look and enjoy, and move from place to place. As for the life that is being lost, live the moment that you are in and forget the past completely. Take your fill, for you will not see again that which you are leaving. Every moment is the last. From a world with which I am not satiated and whose pleasures I have not renounced, a world that has been snatched from me in a hasty outburst of anger. Which of these streets has not seen us together? Or has not seen our whole family, with Samira and Gamal going ahead of us? Was there no way of repairing the discord?

The cruelest punishment is having to bid farewell to Alexandria in the splendor of its white autumn — and in the prime of mature manhood. And here is the silent sea on the other side of Abu Qir, and together we sing, “O for the bliss you are in, my heart.” In a dialogue of song between two watchful hearts. With Samira and Gamal breathlessly counting the number of fishing boats at anchor above the moon’s sparkling reflections. Is a single day sufficient for making a tour of the landmarks of a quarter of a century? Why do we not record the sweet avowals at the time so that they may be of benefit to us in the hour of dryness? Memories are as numerous as the leaves of the trees, and the period of time remaining is as short as happiness. Happiness, when it presents itself, dispels awareness, and double-crosses us when it vanishes.