Khan Al-Khalili

36

Rushdi set about confronting his dangerous illness with zeal. He regularly took the medicine and injections that the doctor had ordered for him and, in addition to the usual food he ate at home, he started eating other things that were especially nutritious: yogurt, eggs, honey, liver, and pigeon, all of which cost him quite a bit of money. He kept his brother fully informed about the steps he was taking so as to allay his fears.

January went by with its freezing cold wind, and everything seemed to be going well. Rushdi made do with one single hour of pleasure each day, the one he spent with his two pupils. No later than ten o’clock each night he would go to bed and fall fast asleep. The hoarseness in his voice disappeared, and his cough improved too, almost to the point of stopping completely. That thrilled him since it seemed to confirm that he was on the road to recovery. But he was still skinny, and his color did not come back. Every ten days he went to see the doctor who continued to give him advice and suggested that he maintain or even increase his self-care.

The early days of the illness were black indeed. He fell victim to all sorts of worries and delusions and felt such despair that it actually scared him. Life seemed almost at an end, and yet his joie de vivre was certainly no less than that of other people. Whenever he recalled that he was staying in Cairo, when the best thing for him was to stay at the sanitorium outside the city in Helwan, and that he was carrying on working when he should really have taken a leave. All of which made him feel even more afraid and anxious. However, emotional types like him never know how to pause for thought when it comes to pursuing their desires; their thought processes are just like those of a criminal who has a clever lawyer working for him. Thus, even when these worries were at their peak, he still managed to convince himself that he was on the right track. When his voice lost its hoarseness and his coughing stopped — or almost — he was delighted. His self-confidence, sense of security, and hope all came back. This new feeling of calmness afforded him a degree of tranquility and respite.

However, this situation did not last very long. His old brashness and ribald tendencies came back, bringing with them a deep-felt longing to indulge in life’s pleasures once again. His illness and the dangers it posed no longer bothered him much. He was full of admiration for his patience and willpower, as he recalled the month of January when he had trained himself to do exactly what he had promised his brother to do. It shocked and amazed him at the same time; it was almost as though he believed himself incapable of changing direction and living an upright existence for an entire month. Now, with hope smiling at him, he could hear life’s pleasures — his own life’s pleasures — summoning him with magic whispers, like the songs of the nightingale in the early morning.

In his current lonely state he remembered his friends, the Ghamra Casino, and the nights of revelry. Their happy, smiling faces appeared before him, and his ears rang with echoes of their pealing laughter; the way they called him “the Lionheart,” the nickname he loved, relished, and was afraid to forget. What wonderful friends they were! Life could be nothing without them — so much fun and such good company! How could he ever forget the way they had pestered him with phone calls at the bank when he had stayed away.

“Where are you, brother Rushdi? Why this long absence? When you were in Asyut, it seems, you were closer to us than you are now in Cairo! Is the Lionheart’s chair to remain empty? And we’re missing your cash too!”

How hard he had laughed with them, parried their protests, and then offered important business as his excuse for his prolonged absence. He longed to see his friends, to have a bit of fun. The life of pleasure kept beckoning him.

He started to wonder whether one night would be all that harmful. Could it really be fatal? Truth to tell, his relish for life had not diminished because of his illness; if anything, it had become that more acute and vigorous. Eventually, the temptation proved too much and he threw caution to the winds. The very thought of being released from the tortures of despair thrilled him, and he started humming to himself the tune, “I Can’t Forget You.” He hadn’t sung anything for a month and a half.

When evening came, he put on his coat, slung a scarf around his neck, and went to al-Sakakini. No sooner did he spot the garden of the Ghamra Casino than he yelled out from the very depths of his soul, “Hello, hello, how wonderful to see you!” His friends were overjoyed to see him again, and he simply surrendered himself to their unstoppable energy. They chatted in their usual crazy way, then went inside to smoke, drink, and gamble. He was afraid of not indulging himself in case they started getting suspicious. At the same time he was anxious to forget — such was his hope at the time — that his left lung was infected with that disease whose very name made people shudder in fright. He smoked and drank two glasses of cognac that warmed up his cold body. He gambled as well, although he hesitated a bit because the costs of the drugs he was taking were playing havoc with his budget. But fate smiled on him, and he won almost two pounds.

He left the casino feeling happy, although he could feel a certain hotness burning his tissues. It was very hard for him to walk in the freezing cold. When he reached home, he was utterly exhausted. No sooner had he closed the door than Ahmad’s door opened, and he came out. He invited Rushdi into his room. The younger brother followed him, feeling not a little ashamed and nervous.

“What on earth have you been doing?” Ahmad yelled. “Have you gone mad? Is this the agreement we made?”

Rushdi remained silent, although the semblance of a smile showed on his face, a mixture of contentment and worry.

“This is unbelievable,” Ahmad went on. “I only found out because your bed was empty. I was feeling anxious, so I was only sleeping lightly. Then I heard the front door. Is this what we agreed to?”

“As you know full well, brother,” Rushdi finally said in a low voice, “I’ve kept to the agreement for a whole month. Now my inner self urged me to break it, just a bit.…”

“Only someone who’s either completely ignorant or pretending to be could possibly say something so stupid. Don’t you realize that the kind of behavior you’ve shown tonight can negate a whole month’s precautions?”

“But I’m feeling a whole lot better!”

“You’re kidding yourself!” said Ahmad angrily. “Your crass stupidity is doing you harm. Allowing you so much freedom is obviously a huge mistake. If the doctor knew the kind of tomfoolery you’ve been up to tonight, he would immediately demand that you go to the sanitorium for a check-up.”

Rushdi looked defeated. The whole effort of coming home and facing this had completely worn him out.

“Don’t be unkind to me, Ahmad,” he chided his brother. “You don’t usually behave this way.…”

“Now you don’t seem to be able to tell the difference between caring and unkindness,” Ahmad responded. “You call me unkind, when I’ve stayed up in a complete panic wondering where you were. It’s yourself and me you’re being unkind to!”

Rushdi now felt even more tired and worn-out. Tears welled up in his eyes. That made Ahmad cool his temper and feel both sorry and unhappy for his brother. He put his hand on Rushdi’s shoulder.

“Enough of your exhaustion and my pain. You’ve never cried, so don’t start now. I won’t bother you any more. God alone can tell you what the right thing to do is. My heart is afraid for you and is begging you to do what’s right. Go to bed and trust in God to make you well again.”

As Ahmad went back to bed, he started wondering whether his brother would revert to his old ways despite his serious illness.