Palace of Desire

77

They walked along, side by side, toward Qirmiz Alley, avoiding al-Nahhasin Street to keep from passing the store and their fathers. There was enough contrast between tall, skinny Kamal and short Fuad to attract attention.

Fuad asked in a calm voice, "Where are you going tonight?"

Kamal answered excitedly, "Ahmad Abduh's coffee shop."

It was customary for Kamal to pick their destination and for Fuad to acquiesce, even though Fuad was known for his clear, steady mind and Kamal for caprices that seemed ludicrous to his companion. For example, he had repeatedly asked Fuad to accompany him to the Muqattam Hills overlooking the city, to the Cairo Citadel, or to the Tentmakers Bazaar so that they might as he put it feast their eyes on the treasures of the past and wonders of the present. The relationship between the two friends was influenced by the difference in class between their families and by the fact that Kamal's father owned the shop where Fuad's father worked. This distinction was accentuated as Fuad grew accustomed to running errands for Kamal's family. In return, he benefited from Amina's generosity, for she did not begrudge him the finest food she had — he often showed up at mealtimes — and the most serviceable clothes Kamal no longer needed. From the beginning, their friendship had been marked by Kamal's dominance and Fuad's subservience. Although amity had supplanted these other feelings, their psychological impact had never been totally extirpated.

Circumstances decreed that Kamal found virtually no other companion but Fuad al-Hamzawi during the whole summer vacation. His former classmates in the area had not continued their studies. Some had begun careers once they finished their elementary or competency certificates. Others had been forced to take menial jobs, as a waiter in the coffeehouse on Palace Walk or as an apprentice at an ironing shop in Khan Ja'far, for example. Those two boys had been his classmates in religious primary school. The three of them still greeted each other as old friends whenever they chanced to meet. The words of the two apprentices would be filled with respect because of the distinction the pursuit of knowledge gave Kamal. His greeting would be full of the affection of a modest and unpretentious soul. Kamal's new friends who lived in al-Abbasiya, like Hasan Salim, Isma'il Latif, and Husayn Shaddad, spent their holidays in Alexandria or Ra's al-Barr. Thus Fuad was the only comrade he had left.

They reached the entry of Ahmad Abduh's coffeehouse after walking for a few minutes. They descended to its strange space in the belly of the earth beneath Khan al-Khalili bazaar and sought out an empty alcove. As they sat facing each other at the table Fuad muttered with some embarrassment, "I thought you would be going to the cinema tonight."

His words betrayed his own desire. Although he had almost certainly felt this way even before he stopped by Kamal's house, he had said nothing about his wishes then. He had known he would be unable to change Kamal's mind. Since it was Kamal who paid for their tickets when they saw a film, Fuad's courage was not up to mentioning what he would like until they were ensconced in the coffeehouse, where his words could be understood as an innocent and casual comment.

"Next Thursday we'll go to the Egyptian Club to see Charlie Chaplin. Now we'll play a game of dominoes."

They removed their fezzes and placed them on the third chair. Then Kamal summoned the waiter to order green tea and the dominoes. The subterranean coffeehouse could well have been the belly of an extinct beast buried by an ancient accumulation of rubble except for its huge head, which came up to the level of the earth. Its mouth, gaping wide open, had protruding fangs shaped like an entry with a long staircase. The interior consisted of a spacious square courtyard with large, cream-colored tiles from the village of al-Ma'asara. There was a fountain in the center surrounded by carnations in pots. On all four sides stood benches covered with cushions and decorative mats. The walls were interrupted at regular intervals by cell-like alcoves, without doors or windows. They resembled caves carved into the walls and were furnished with nothing more than a wooden table, four chairs, and a small lamp, which burned night and day and hung in a niche on the back wall. The bizarre setting of the coffeehouse contributed to its character, for there was a sleepy calm about it unusual among coffeehouses. The light was dim and the atmosphere damp. Each group of patrons was isolated in an alcove or on a bench. The men smoked water pipes, drank tea, and chatted idly and interminably. Their conversations had a pervasive, continuous, and languid melody of desire, broken at lengthy intervals by a cough, a laugh, or the gurgling sound of a water pipe.

In Kamal's opinion, Ahmad Abduh's coffeehouse was a treasure for the dreamer and provided much food for thought. Although initially Fuad had been intrigued by its curious attractions, now all he saw in it was a depressing place to sit and be enveloped by damp, putrid air. Yet he was forced to agree whenever Kamal invited him to go there.

"Do you remember the day we saw your brother, Mr. Yasin, when we were sitting here?"

Kamal smiled and replied, "Yes. Mr. Yasin is gracious and easy to get along with. He never makes me feel he's my older brother. I begged him not to tell anyone at home that we meet here, not from fes. r of my father, for none of us would dare disclose a matter like this to him, but from concern that it might upset my mother. Imagine how alarmed she would be if she learned we frequent this coffeehouse, or any other. She thinks most patrons of coffeehouses are drug addicts and people of ill repute."

"What about Mr. Yasin? Doesn't she know he's a regular?"

"If I told her, she'd say Yasin's an adult and not at risk, whereas I'm still young. It's clear that I'll be thought a child at home until my hair turns gray."

The waiter brought their dominoes and two glasses of tea on a bright yellow tray, which he placed on the table. Then he departed. Kamal took his glass at once and began to drink before the tea had cooled off. He blew on the liquid, took a sip, and then blew again. He sucked on his lip when he burned it, but that did not prevent him from stubbornly and impatiently resuming his attempt to drink, as though condemned to finish in a minute or two.

Fuad observed him silently or gazed at nothing in particular while leaning back in the chair with a dignity that far outstripped his years. His large handsome eyes had a calm and profound look. He did not reach for his glass until Kamal had finished struggling with his. Then Fuad began to sip the tea slowly as he savored its taste and enjoyed its fragrance. After each swallow he murmured, "My God… how good it is!"

Chafing at the bit, Kamal pressed him to finish so they could start playing. He warned his friend, "I'll beat you today. Luck won't always be on your side."

With a smile Fuad muttered, "We'll see," and began playing.

Kamal brought to the match a nervous intensity that suggested he was embarking on a contest in defense of his life or honor. Fuad calmly and skillfully placed his pieces. His smile never left his lips, whether he was lucky or not and whether Kamal was cheerful or glowering.

As usual Kamal became agitated and shouted, "A stupid move, but a lucky one". Fuad's only response was a polite laugh, calculated not to anger or challenge his friend.

Kamal frequently told himself when enraged, "He's always luckier than I am". Kamal did not display the kind of forbearance appropriate for games and recreation. In fact he manifested the same intensity and zeal in both his serious pursuits and his amusements.

Fuad's superiority over Kamal in dominoes was equaled by his success in school, where he was first in his class and Kamal merely in the top five. Did luck have a hand in that too? How could he explain the success of that young man to whom he felt superior, deep inside? He thought his superiority over Fuad should be evident in their respective intellectual gifts. His way of accounting for his friend's achievements was to observe that Fuad studied all the time. If he had really been as bright as they claimed, he would not have needed to study so much. Kamal also told himself that Fuad avoided sports, whereashe was excellent in more than one. He remarked finally that Fuad limited his reading to schoolbooks. If he thought of reading something other than a school text during the vacation, he chose one that would be helpful for his subsequent studies. Kamal did not limit his reading in any way and did not choose books for their utility. Thus there was nothing strange about the other boy being ranked ahead of him in school. All the same, his grudge against Fuad did not weaken their friendship. He loved him and found such delight and enjoyment in his company that he willingly admitted Fuad's strengths and virtues, at least to himself.

Play continued and the game ended, contrary to initial projections, with a victory by Kamal. He beamed and laughed out loud before asking his opponent, "Another game?"

But Fuad replied with a smile, "That's enough for today". Either he was tired of playing or apprehensive that the proposed match would end in disappointment for Kamal, whose happiness would turn to sorrow.

Kamal shook his head in amazement and commented, "You're a cold fish!" Rubbing the tip of his nose with his thumb and index finger, he added critically, "I'm amazed at you. When you're beaten, you're not interested in avenging your defeat. You love Sa'd Zaglilul but shunned the demonstration to salute him when he becam e Prime Minister. You seek the blessings of our master al-Husayn but are unruffled by the revelation that his remains may not repose in the nearby sepulcher. You astound me!"

Kamal was intensely annoyed by his friend's icy composure. He could not stand what they termed "being reasonable". He would prefer by far to be "crazy". He remembered the day they were told at school, "The tomb of al-Husayn is a symbol and nothing more."

They had walked home together afterwards. Fuad had repeated the words of the Islamic history teacher. Kamal had asked himself in alarm how his friend was able to deal with this news as though it did not concern him. Kamal did not brood about it, for he was totally un able to think. How did someone in total revolt against an idea think? He was staggered by the frightful blow, which he felt even in ttie innermost reaches of his heart. He was weeping for a vision that had faded away and a dream that had evaporated. Al-Husayn was no longer their neighbor. He had never been their neighbor. What had become of all those kisseshe had pressed against the door of the sepulcher so sincerely and warmly? What had happened to his exultation and pride in being a close neighbor of the Prophet's grandson? Nothing remained but a symbol in the mosque and desolate disappointment in his heart. He had wept that night until his pillow was soaked, but the revelation had stirred nothing in his reasonable friend save his tongue, which had reacted to the event by repeating their teacher's words. How dreadful it was to be reasonable!

"Does your father know you want to go to the Teachers College?"

When Kamal replied, the sharpness of his tone expressed displeasure with his friend's coldness as well as the pain left over from his interview with his father. "Yes!"

"What did he say?"

Kamal found some relief for his emotions by indirectly attacking his companion. "Alas, my father, like most other people, is crazy about sham forms of success like the civil service, the prosecutor's office, being a judge… that's all he cares about. I didn't know how to convince him of the grandeur of thought and the lofty values that truly deserve to be pursued in this life. But he left the decision up to me."

Fuad's fingers were toying with a domino when he asked compassionately, "No doubt these are lofty values, but where are they respected as they should be?"

"It's not possible for me to reject a heavenly creed simply because no one around me believes in it."

Fuad replied with a calmness intended to appease his friend: "You show admirable spirit, but wouldn't it be better to plan your future by the light of reality?"

"If our leader Sa'd Zaghlul had taken your advice," Kamal suggested scornfully, "do you suppose he would have thought seriously about going to the British Residency to demand independence for Egypt?"

Fuad smiled as though to say, "Although your argument's sound, it's not fit to serve as a general principle for life". He remarked aloud, "Study law so you'll be sure to have a respectable job. Afterwards you can pursue your cultural interests to your heart's content."

Defiantly Kamal retorted, "God didn't place 'two hearts in a man's breast' [Qur'an, 33:4]. And I must object to your association between legal studies and a respectable job. Isn't teaching a respectable profession?"

Fuad was quick to defend himself resolutely against this suspicion: "I didn't mean that at all. Who would ever say that gathering and distributing knowledge isn't respectable work? Perhaps I was unwittingly repeating what people say… people, as you suggested, who are dazzled by power and influence."

Kamal shrugged his shoulders in disgust and said with conviction, "A life dedicated to thought is certainly the most exalted type oflife."

Fuad nodded his head in agreement but said nothing. He took refuge in silence until Kamal asked him, "What was your reason for choosing Law School?"

He thought a little and then replied, "Unlike you, I'm not in love witli thought. I was able to select a branch of the University solely in terms of what it meant for my future. So I chose law."

Was this not the voice of reason? Of course it was, and that infuriated and revolted him. Was it not unfair for him to have to pass the entire summer vacation as a prisoner of this district with no companion besides this reasonable youth? There was another life totally unlike that of this ancient quarter. There were other companions who differed completely from Fuad. His soul yearned for that ether life and those other friends… for al-Abbasiya and its elegant young people. More than anything else he craved the refined elegance, Parisian accent, and exquisite dream of his beloved. Oh … he wanted to go home to be alone and bring out his diary. He would relive a moment, recall a memory, or record a flight of fancy. Was it not time for him to disband this party and leave?

"I mei: some people who asked about you."

Tearing himself away from the stream of his reflections, Kamal asked, "Who?"

Fuad replied with a laugh, "Qamar and Narjis!"

Qamar and Narjis were the daughters of Abu Sari', who roasted seeds and other snacks. Kamal remembered the vaulted section of Qirmiz jylley after sunset when the alleys were quite dark. They had fondled each other in a way that combined innocence with sexuality, as they feverishly approached puberty. He could remember all that, but why did his lips pucker up in disgust? That was all relatively ancient history, before the holy spirit had descended on him. He could not recall that flirtation without having his heart boil with anger, pain, and shame, since now it was filled with the wine of pure love.

"How did you come across them?"

"In the crowds at the commemoration of the birth of al-Husayn. I walked along beside them without any hesitation or embarrassment, as though we were all one family touring the sights of the festival."

"You have some nerve!"

"Occasionally...I greeted them and they replied. We talked for a long time. Then Qamar inquired about you."

Kamal blushed a little as he asked, "And then?"

"We agreed I'd tell you and that later we'd all get together."

Kamal shook his head to show his distaste for the idea and said tersely, "Certainly not."

Fuad was astonished. "Certainly not"? I thought you'd be happy to meet them in the vaulted alley or the courtyard of a deserted house. Their bodies have filled out. They'll soon be women in every sense of the word. By the way, Qamar was wearing a wrap but no veil. I laughingly told her that if she had been veiled I wouldn't have dared speak to her."

Kamal said emphatically, 'Of course not!"

"Why not?"

"I can no longer bear depravity". With a sharpness that betrayed his hidden pain: "I can't meet God in my prayers when my underclothes are soiled."

Fuad suggested innocently, "Then wash and cleanse yourself before you pray."

Shaking his head in exasperation at being taken so literally, Kamal replied, "Water can't wash away sin."

He had wrestled with this issue for a long time. Whenever he had gone to meet Qamar he had been agitated by lust and anxiety, only to return home with a tormented conscience and a grieving heart. At the end of his prayershe would spend a long time fervently requesting forgiveness. Yet he would set off again in spite of himself, to return in torment and beg for forgiveness once more. Those days had been filled with lust, bitterness, and torment, but then the light had burst forth. All at once he had been able to love and pray without any conflict. Why not? Love was a pure drop from the fountainhead of religion.

Fuad said somewhat plaintively, "My encounters with Narjis ended once she was forbidden to play outside."

Kamal asked him with interest, "Didn't that relationship trouble you, since you're a Believer?"

Lowering his eyes in embarrassment, Fuad answered, "Some things can't be helped". Then, as though to conceal his discomfort, he asked, "Will you really refuse to take advantage of this opportunity?"

"Absolutely!"

"Merely on religious grounds?"

"Isn't that enough?"

Fuad smiled broadly and commented, "You always try to bear intolerable burdens."

Kamal replied emphatically, "That's the way I am. There's no need for me to be any different."

They exchanged a long look, which expressed Kamal's determination and defiance and reflected both Fuad's desire not to quarrel and his smile, which was like the sun's fiery rays sparkling merrily on the water. Then Kamal continued: "In my opinion, lust is a base instinct. I hate the thought of surrendering to it. Perhaps it was implanted in us merely to inspire us to struggle against it and to seek to rise above it, so we'll be fit to ascend to the truly human rank. If I'm not a man, I'm a beast."

Fuad hesitated a little. Then he observed calmly, "I think it's not all bad, for it motivates us to get married and have children."

Kamal's heart pounded violently without Fuad being aware of it. Was this what marriage was all about? He knew it was a fact but felt perplexed that people could reconcile love and marriage. It was a problem he did not confront with his love, because marriage had always seemed, for more than one reason, beyond his highest hopes. /Jl the same, it was a problem requiring a solution. He could not imagine any felicitous link between himself and his beloved not based on her spiritual affection and on his ardent aspirations. It would resemble worship more than anything else. Indeed it would be worship on his part. What connection did marriage have to this?

"People who are really in love don't get married."

Fuad asked with astonishment, "What did you say?"

Even before Fuad's question, Kamal realized he had said something he did not intend to. For an awkward moment his confusion was apparent. He tried to remember Fuad's last words before this strange assertion had popped out. Although he had just heard them, it was with some effort that he recalled what Fuad had said about marriage and children. He decided to cover up his slip by adapting the meaning as best he could. So he said, "People who are really in love with ideals superior to life itself don't get married. That's what I meant to say."

Fuad smiled faintly — or perhapshe was trying not to laugh — but his eyes, like deep pools, betrayed none of his sentiments. He simply remarked, "These are serious matters. Talk about them now is premature. Everything in its own time."

Kamal shrugged his shoulders scornfully but confidently and said, "So let's postpone it and wait."

There was a mountain separating him from Fuad, but nonetheless they were friends. It was impossible to deny that the difference between them attracted him to Fuad, although it had repeatedly caused him anguish. Was it not time for him to go home? Solitude and communion with his soul called him. Thought of the diary slumbering in the drawer of his desk stirred the passions of his breast. A person exhausted from putting up with reality seeks relaxation deep inside himself.

"It's time to go home," he said.