Khan Al-Khalili

35

Ahmad listened silently to his younger brother talking, his heart full of the most profound sadness. He completely forgot about the mixed feelings he had felt toward his brother, wavering between love and aversion. All he could feel now was just one irrepressible, instinctual emotion — a genuine love in which was combined extreme worry and overwhelming sadness. Memories from the recent past still impinged, but he squelched them immediately, feeling not a little ashamed. He was even annoyed with the girl who was the root cause of them.

When Rushdi finished the account of his visit to the doctor, the two brothers stared at each other, sadness and worry written all over their faces.

“This is God’s will,” said Ahmad, “but we’ll never despair of His mercy. We have to believe what the doctor says. It’s not like doctors to offer false hope to their patients. The lesion is a small one, he says. From now on, we’ll have to devote as much care and attention as we can to treating it. I must say that I’m shocked that you didn’t tell me as soon as you knew about it!”

“I only found out just before the feast,” Rushdi replied quickly, even though he knew it was not the truth. “I didn’t want to bother anyone. I was waiting for the right moment to tell you, and only you, about it.”

“It’s God’s will,” said Ahmad sadly. “So let’s endure His judgment until such time as He bestows a cure, He being far more merciful to us than we are to ourselves. Now, tell me what you’ve decided to do.”

The question made Rushdi panic, and he looked warily at his brother. “Needless to say, I’m going to follow the doctor’s instruction,” he said. “He’s told me to take things easy, eat good food, and have some injections.”

Ahmad’s expression made it clear that he was not entirely convinced by what he had just heard. “But people with this disease normally go to the sanitorium,” he said.

Once again Rushdi lied to his brother. “The doctor doesn’t think it’s necessary.”

Ahmad now looked more hopeful. “Well, Rushdi,” he said, “maybe it’s a minor attack after all!”

“For sure! That’s what the doctor told me.”

“Maybe you won’t need to take a lot of time off.”

Once again Rushdi felt awkward. “I’m not going to ask for time off,” he told his brother in a low voice.

That shocked Ahmad. “How on earth can you recover then?” he asked in disbelief. “You may have been told it’s a minor case, but don’t treat this illness lightly, Rushdi. We’ve had enough of that kind of behavior already!”

“Heaven forbid, Ahmad, that I should play fast and loose with my own life! From now on, you’ll see that, apart from going to work, I’m going to take things very easily. I’ll compensate for the effort I put into going to work by eating carefully and taking fortifying medicines. If I request sick leave, it’ll put my job and future at risk.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating?”

“No, Ahmad, certainly not! If the bank’s doctor finds out about my illness, I won’t be allowed back until I’m completely cured. That may require a long time, and I’ve no guarantee that I won’t be dismissed. Actually, it’s virtually certain in such cases, in view of the fact that I’ve taken sick leaves both here and in Asyut before.”

Ahmad frowned and looked even more anxious. “Good God,” he protested, “health’s far more important than a job. How can you possibly get better when you’re still working hard?”

“The doctor told me I can do it,” Rushdi replied optimistically. “He knows best. God willing, I can be cured without sacrificing my future or raising any kind of scandal.”

Now Ahmad was really annoyed. “Scandal?” he said in disbelief. “There’s no scandal involved. God is testing you. Everyone is liable to get sick unless God ordains that they be protected and saved. What I’m afraid of is that.…”

“Don’t be scared,” Rushdi interrupted. “Pray to your God for me. You’re going to be happy with the way I handle things.”

Ahmad felt overwhelmed and said nothing more. Rushdi sighed in relief and started telling his brother about the precautionary measures he was proposing to take. He would get some carbolic acid so he could sanitize the bath and sink every morning and would buy special cutlery and crockery for when he ate and drank. He would tell his parents that they were a present from a dear friend of his. His brother listened carefully. For the first time he started to worry about himself, thinking about the possibility of infection. He was a bit of a hypochondriac in any case.

At this point Rushdi made ready to broach another sensitive topic no less tricky than the first one, if not even more so. “There’s something else, Ahmad,” he said, “something that’s of extreme importance to me. I’d like to ask you to stick to it as carefully as I’m going to. I want this entire conversation we’ve had to remain between us only.”

Ahmad was utterly astonished. Then he remembered the way Rushdi had just talked about the crockery and cutlery being a present. “But what about our parents?” he asked.

“They don’t need to know anything about it,” Rushdi replied firmly. “There’s no point in getting them all worried. If my mother gets scared, that’ll be enough to publicize the whole thing.”

Ahmad felt distinctly uneasy, realizing that all this implied a peculiar and unhappy family life. “Have it your way, Rushdi,” he sighed. “If you start getting better, then maybe we can keep things a secret, but if not, then.…”

“Don’t worry! From now on recklessness is no longer an option.”

Ahmad realized full well what Rushdi’s motivations were in wanting to keep it all a secret from his parents. Rushdi was worried that the news would soon spread to the girl’s family; for that reason he was making light of the whole thing. This realization had a profound effect on Ahmad, and he was deeply saddened by it. Rushdi may have been staying at work because he was anxious for the girl and her family to think he was still fit and well, but in fact his longing for the girl was causing him real harm. At this point he plucked up his courage and turned to Rushdi again.

“Rushdi,” he whispered, “if you wanted to request a leave without revealing your secret, then I’m sure we could come up with some kind of pretext other than your illness to justify such a request.”

Rushdi shook his head angrily. “Oh Ahmad,” he replied wearily, “it’s all settled. Don’t go back to it again!”

Ahmad said no more. After a while he stood up. “Be strong then,” he told his brother, “and act like the kind of man I’ve always known you to be. You know that whether you get better or not is entirely in your own hands. May God protect you and care for you!”

Ahmad went back to his own room feeling sad and depressed. News of this dangerous illness had managed to arouse all his latent anxieties, and he felt a genuine sympathy for his beloved brother. At this moment he entirely forgot that his brother had been the instrument that fate had used to demolish his own hopes or that Rushdi had been the one to hurt his self-esteem and crush his pride. Now he could see Rushdi as he really was, a beloved younger brother, someone who had grown up in his embrace and given him a sense of fatherhood for twenty years.

He looked over at the closed window that he had once named Nawal’s, then looked away in anger. His heart was still unwilling to remember the girl; the mere act of doing so involved committing an unforgivable crime against his sick brother. This new disaster now required that all such memories be expunged.

“It’s all over and done with,” he told himself. “Any pangs of regret I may feel are a stinging blow to the deep love I have for my own brother.”

Just then he became aware of quite how furious he was as he talked to himself. In truth, the fury was self-directed. He could not forget the way he had wanted to see the whole of Cairo obliterated and the fearsome dream he had experienced when he had woken up to the sounds of his brother’s fever-induced moans. Good God, he asked himself, what kind of atrocious devil was residing inside him to spew forth such ideas?