Palace of Desire

102

Objects, like words, take on new meanings as circumstances change. The mansion of the Shaddad family was hardly lacking in grandeur for Kamal, but on that evening in December it appeared in a splendid new form suitable for a rite of passage. Lights had been strung over the structure until every segment was brightly illuminated. Each corner and wall wore a necklace of brilliant pearls. Electric lights of different colors sparkled over the surface from rooftop to ground and along the garden wall with its massive entrance. The flowers and fruit of the trees seemed transformed into red, green, and white lamps, and light flowed from all the windows of the house. Everything jubilantly proclaimed a wedding.

When Kamal first saw this as he approached, he felt transported to the kingdom of light. The sidewalk opposite the house was jammed with boys, and the entryway was strewn with golden sand. The gate was wide open, as was the door of the men's reception room, which had been prepared to receive the guests, its big chandelier aglow. The large upper balcony was filled with a resplendent group of young ladies in magnificent evening gowns. Shaddad Bey and men of the family stood at the entrance to the reception hall welcoming the arrivals. The porch was graced by a marvelous orchestra, and the music could be heard as far away as the desert.

Kamal quickly cast an all-inclusive glance around him, wondering whether A'ida was on the upper balcony with the girls who were looking down. Had she seen him enter with the other guests, his large head and celebrated nose introducing his lanky frame, formal attire, and the overcoat on his arm? He felt ill at ease and, unlike the others, did not go to the reception hall. Instead, he took "his" path, which he had followed to the rear garden so often in the past. Husayn Shaddad had suggested this idea to allow their group as much time together as possible in the beloved gazebo. Kamal seemed to be wading into a sea of light, for he found the door of the rear reception room open too. It was all lit up and crowded with guests, and the upper balcony was swarming with beautiful ladies. The gazebo was deserted except for Isma'il Latif, who wore an elegant black suit that lent his pugnacious appearance a charm Kamal had never observed before.

Isma'il Latif glanced at him and said, "Superb! But why did you bring an overcoat?… Husayn only stayed a quarter hour with me, but he'll return when he's finished with the receiving line. Hasan spent a few minutes with me. I doubt he'll be able to sit with us, as we had hoped. This is his day, and he has a lot to do. Husayn thought of inviting some of our acquaintances to the gazebo, but I stopped him. It's enough that he's asked them to share our table. We'll ha ye a special room of our own. That's the most important news I have to give you tonight."

"There's more important news than that," Kamal told himself. " It will amaze me for a long time that I accepted this invitation. Why did you accept? To make it seem you didn't care? Or because you've fallen in love with terrifying adventures?"

"That's fine," Kamal said. "But why don't we go for at least a moment to the great hall to see the guests?"

Isma'il Latif replied scornfully, "You won't see what you want, even if we do. The pashas and beys have been given the front room for their exclusive use. If you go, you'll find yourself in the back room with young men from the family and their friends, and that's not what you want. I wish I could sneak us upstairs where the most glorious paragons of beauty are surging back and forth."

"Only one paragon interests me," Kamal thought. "The paragon for all others. I haven't laid eyes on her since I confessed my love. She discovered my secret and disappeared."

"I won't try to conceal my interest in seeing the important people. Husayn told me his father had invited many of the men I read about in the papers."

Isma'il laughed out loud and said, "Do you imagine you'll find some of them have four eyes or six feet? They're men like you and me., although older and not particularly good-looking. But I understand the secret behind your desire to see them. It's part and parcel of your excessive interest in politics."

"I really ought to drop all interests in the world," Kamal told himself. 'She's no longer mine and I'm not hers. But my curiosity about famous people is derived from my love for greatness. You'd like to be great. Don't deny it. You have a promising aptitude for looking like Socrates and suffering like Beethoven, but you owe this aspiration to the woman who deprived you of light when she departed. By tomorrow you'll find no trace of her in Egypt. Delirium of pain, there's something intoxicating about you."

Kamal said longingly, "Husayn told me the reception would bring together men from all the different political parties."

"That's true. Yesterday Sa'd Zaghlul invited the Liberals and the Nationalists to a widely publicized tea party. Today Shaddad Bey invites them to his daughter's wedding. Of the Wafd Party politicians you admire I've seen Fath Allah Barakat and Hamad al-Basil. Tharwat, Isma'il Sidqy, and Abd al-Aziz Fahmy are also here. Shaddad Bey has lofty ambitionshe's actively pursuing, and that's only right. The era of 'Our Effendi' the Khedive Abbas is over. People used to chant, 'God lives…. Abbas arrives.' The truth is that he's gone, never to return. So it's most judicious of Shaddad Bey to look to the future. To be on the safe side, all he has to do is to travel to Switzerland every few years to assure the Khedive formally but falsely of his loyalty. Then he returns to continue from success to success."

"Your heart abhors this type of judiciousness," Kamal thought. "Sa'd's recent tribulations demonstrate that the nation abounds with such judicious' men. Is Shaddad Bey really one of them? The beloved's father? Not so fast… the beloved herself has descended from the highest heavens to marry a human being. Let your heart crumble into so many scattered fragments you're unable to collect them."

"Do you think a celebration like this will be complete without singers?"

Isma'il replied sarcastically, "The Shaddad family's half Parisian. They have little respect for our wedding traditions. They wouldn't allow a woman entertainer to perform at one of their parties. And they don't recognize the worth of any of our male vocalists. Remember what Husayn said about this orchestra, which I'm seeing for the first time in my life? Every Sunday evening they play at Groppi's tearoom. After dinner they'll move into the hall to entertain the dignitaries. Forget about the music. You should realize that the high point of the evening's the dinner and the champagne."

"The musicians Jalila and Sabir… the weddings of Aisha and Khadija … what a different atmosphere!" Kamal thought. "How happy you were back then…. Tonight the orchestra will escort your dream to the grave. Remember what you saw through a hole in the door the night Aisha got married? I feel sorry for a goddess who grovels in the dirt…."

"That doesn't matter," Kamal said. "What I really miss is not being able to see the big men up close. I'll regret that for a long time. Th ere are two important things I'd be watching for. The first is to hear what they say about the political situation. After the coalitiorL between the political parties, is there really any hope of having the constitution reinstated and of reviving parliamentary government? The second is to listen to the ordinary small talk of such festive occasions coming from the mouths of men like Tharwat Pasha. Wouldn't it be extraordinary to hear him gossip and crack jokes?"

Affecting disdain, although his scornful gestures betrayed his pride, Isma'il Latif said, "I've had many chances to sit with friends of my father's like Salim Bey and Shaddad Bey. I can assure you nothing there justifies this interest."

"Where's the difference then between the son of a superior court judge and the merchant's son? Why is it the fate of one to worship the beloved while the other marriesher? Isn't this marriage a sign that these people are formed of a different clay than normal folks? But you don't know how your father talks to his friends and associates."

"In any case, Salim Bey isn't the kind of dignitary I had in mind."

Isma'il smiled at this last remark but did not comment on it.

The laughter from the men's reception hall was gleeful, that descending from the upper balcony fragrant with the enchanting perfume of femininity. The two types of laughter harmonized with each other like sounds from distant instrumentsheard at times in chords and then as a bouquet of different melodies. The tuneful laughter formed a rosy setting in which Kamal's sad and desolate heart stood out like a black funeral announcement in a floral arrangement.

Husayn Shaddad soon arrived, his tall, slender body sporting a frock coat. Beaming and radiant, he opened his arms wide, as did Kamal. Then they embraced each other warmly. He was followed by the handsome Hasan Salim, formally attired, his natural arrogance encased in a polite and refined exterior. Even so, he seemed short and insignificant standing next to Husayn. He shook handsheartily with Kamal, who congratulated him from the depths of his tongue if not his heart.

With his usual bluntness, which was often hard to distinguish from malicious wit, Isma'il said, "Kamal's really sad he's not getting to sit with Tharwat Pasha and his colleagues."

In an uncommonly jolly manner that brushed aside his customary reserve, Hasan Salim retorted, "He'll just have to wait until his 'forthcoming' books are published. Then he'll find he's one of them."

Husayn Shaddad protested, "Don't be stuffy. I'd like us to be completely at ease this evening and enjoy ourselves."

Even before Husayn sat down, Hasan excused himself and went off. That evening he flitted from place to place like a butterfly. Husayn stretched his legs out and said, "Tomorrow they leave for Brussels. They're getting to Europe before me, but I won't stay here long. Soon I'll be able to amuse myself by traveling between Paris and Brussels."

"You'll be traveling between al-Nahhasin and al-Ghuriya," Kamal told himself, "without a lover or a friend. This is what you get for gazing at the heavens. You can look everywhere in the city helplessly, but your eyes will never recover from love's anguish. Fill your lungs with this air perfumed by her breath. Tomorrow you'll be pitying yourself."

"I imagine I'll join you there one day."

Husayn and Isma'il both asked, "How?"

"Let your lie be as enormous as your pain," Kamal advised himself.

"My father agreed to let me go there in a student group at my own expense once I've finished my studies."

Husayn cried delightedly, "If only this dream will come true…."

Isma'il laughed and said, "I'm afraid I'll find myself alone in a few years."

The instruments of the orchestra joined together in a tumultuous movement that allowed each to demonstrate its agility and power. They seemed to be participating in a fierce race. The goal had come in sight of their eyes and ambitions. The music reached its climax, indicating that the end was near. Although Kamal was absorbed by his grief, his mind gravitated toward the fiery tunes, racing after them until his heart beat fast and he felt breathless. Soon he was overcome by tenderness and intoxicated by generosity. These sentiments turned his sorrow into tearful ecstasy. When the music ended, he sighed deeply, as its echoes reverberated melodiously in his spirit, making a powerful impression on him. He wondered whether inflamed emotions would not peak and then die away, like the music. If pieces of music — and everything else had an end, why should not love have one? He recalled listless stateshe had experienced on rare occasions when he had seemed to recollect nothing about Ai'da except her name.

"Do you remember those times?" he asked himself.

At such instantshe had shaken his head in bewilderment and wondered whether everything really was over. But he had always imagined or thought of some idea or scene that had awakened him from his slumbers and cast him, bound in fetters, to drown in the sea of passion.

"If you experience one of these moments," Kamal thought, "try to cling to it with all your might. Don't let it slip away. Then you can hope for a cure. Yes, attempt to destroy the immortality of love."

Smiling, Husayn Shaddad said, "For good luck the party began with the recitation of a Qur'an sura."

"The Qur'an!" Kamal exclaimed to himself. "How charming! Even the beautiful Parisian could not get married without an Islamic clerk and the Qur'an. Her marriage will be associated in your mind with both the Qur'an and champagne."

"Tell as the schedule for the party."

Pointing toward the house, Husayn said, "The formalities will be concluded shortly. Dinner will be served in an hour. After the banquet, the party ends. Ai'da will spend one last night in our house. Tomorrow morning she leaves for Alexandria, where she'll board the ship for Europe the following day."

"You'll be deprived of many sights that really ought to be recorded to provide sustenance for your insatiable pains," Kamal thought. "Like seeing her beautiful name inscribed on the certificate, her face waiting expectantly for the happy news, the smile with which she greets it, and then the couple meeting...Even your pain needs nourishment."

"Will the marriage contract be drawn up by a Muslim notary?"

"Naturally," Husayn answered.

But Isma'il laughed loudly. "No, a priest," he said.

"What a silly question!" Kamal scolded himself. "Ask also whether they plan to spend the night together. Isn't it sad that a man of no significance like this marriage clerk should impede the progress of your life? But a lowly worm eats the corpses of the most exalted individuals. What will your funeral be like when the time comes? Will it be an overwhelming spectacle that fills the streets or a small gathering that soon disbands?"

Then silence spread through the house. There was light but no music. Kamal felt fearful and uncomfortable. "Now, somewhere, in one room or another, the wedding's taking place," he told himself.

A long resounding shriek of joy rang out. It revived old memories for him, for it was a trill of joy like all the other oneshe had ever heard and totally un-Parisian. It was followed by a bunch of shrieking trills like sirens going off. At that time the mansion resembled any other home in Cairo. The shrieks made his heart race, and he felt out of breath. Hearing Isma'il congratulate the bride's brother, Kamal did so too. He wished he were alone but consoled himself with the thought that for days and nights to come he would be. He promised his pain limitless sustenance. The orchestra burst out playing a piece Kamal knew very well, "Your forgiveness, lordly beauty". He summoned his amazing powers of endurance and self-restraint, although every drop of his blood was tapping against the walls of his veins to announce it was all over. History itself had concluded. Life was at an end. Dreams worth more than life itself were terminated. He was faced with nothing less than a boulder studded with spikes.

Husayn Shaddad said reflectively, "A word and a trill, and one of us enters a whole new world. We'll all experience that someday."

Isma'il Latif said, "I'm going to postpone it as long as I can."

"All of us?" Kamal asked himself. "For me it's the sky or nothing."

"I'll never yield to that day," he said.

The other two did not appear interested in what he had said or at least seemed not to take it seriously. Isma'il continued: "I won't get married until I'm convinced that marriage is necessary and unavoidable."

A Nubian servant brought around glasses of fruit punch. He was trailed by another with a tray loaded with fancy containers of sweets. They were made of crystal and had four gilded legs. The dark blue glass was decorated with silver, and each box was tied with a green silk ribbon. On a crescent-shaped card attached to the knot were inscribed the initials of the couple's first names: A. H.

When Kamal received his box he felt relieved for perhaps the first time that day. The magnificent container guaranteed that his beloved was leaving behind her a memento that would be as long-lasting as his love. While he lived, this souvenir would remain a symbol of an unlikely past, a happy dream, a heavenly enchantment, and a spectacular disappointment. He was overcome by a sense of having been the victim of an atrocious assault. Conspiring against him had been fate, the law of heredity, the class system, Aida, Hasan Salim, and a mysterious, hidden force he was reluctant to name. To his eyeshe seemed a miserable wretch standing alone against these combined powers. His wound was bleeding and there was no one to bind it. The only response he could muster against this attack was a stifled rebellion he could not proclaim. In fact, circumstances obliged him to pretend to be delighted, as if congratulating those tyrannical forces for torturing him and eliminating him from the ranks of contented human beings. Por all of them he harbored an undying rancor, but he postponed the question of pinpointing and directing it. Indeed, he felt that after this decisive trill he would not be so indulgent with life. He would no longer be satisfied with what was at hand. Events would not be met with magnanimous tolerance. His way would be arduous, rough, twisting, and crammed with hardships and problems, but he did not think of backing down in face of this assault and refused to consider a truce. He issued advance warnings and threats but left it up to destiny to choose a foe for him to tackle and his weapons.

Swallowing to clear his throat of the fruit punch, Husayn Shaddad said, "Don't claim to shun marriage. I believe — if you're allowed to travel as you say that you'll find a wife who pleases you."

"As though you couldn't find anyone you'd like here," Kamal brooded. "Look for a new country, where the fair sex doesn't take offense at abnormally large heads and noses. Give me heaven or death."

Then, nodding his head as though in agreement, he said, "That's what I think."

Isma'il Latif asked sarcastically, "Do you know what it means to marry a European? In a word, you 'win' a woman from the lowest classes, one willing to submit to a man she secretly feels only fit for servitude."

"You've already experienced servitude," Kamal told himself, "in your own magnificent country, not in Europe, which you'll never see."

"You're exaggerating!" Husayn protested disapprovingly.

"See how the teachers from England treat us."

Husayn Shaddad responded with an enthusiasm that was almost pleading, "The Europeans in their countries don't act the way they do here."

Kamal asked himself, "Where can I find overwhelming power to annihilate oppression and oppressors? Lord of the universe, where's Your heavenly justice?"

Dinner was announced, and the three friends went to the reception hall and from there to a nearby room opening onto the rear parlor. A buffet dinner capable of serving at least ten was laid out there. They were joined by other young men, some relatives of the Shaddad family and others who were school friends. Even so, there were fewer than ten guests, a fact for which Kamal was deeply grateful to Husayn. They quickly set about eating with gusto and vigor, so the atmosphere became almost as lively as that of a race. They had to keep returning to the buffet to do justice to all the dishes spread out there, a small bouquet of roses separating one from another. Husayn signaled to the waiter to bring whiskey and bottles of soda.

Isma'il Latif called out, "I swear I expected only the best from this gesture even before I knew what it meant."

Husayn leaned over to entreat Kamal, "One glass, for my sake."

Kamal advised himself, "Drink," not from any desire, since he had no experience with it, but out of a wish to rebel. Yet his faith proved stronger than his grief or rebellion. He smilingly said, "As for that, no, thank you."

Raising a full glass, Isma'il said, "You've no excuse. Even a pious man permits himself to get drunk at weddings."

Kamal ate the tasty food calmly. He observed the eaters and drinkers from time to time or joined in their conversation and laughter.

"A man's happiness is proportionate to the number of wedding buffets lie's enjoyed," Kamal told himself. "But is the pashas' buffet just like ours? We investigate them while devouring their food. Champagne!.. This is an opportunity for you to taste champagne. The Shaddad family's champagne…. What did you say? 'Why doesn't Mr. Kamal touch alcohol?' Perhaps his belly's full and can't hold more. The truth is that I'm eating with unmatched appetite, uninfluenced by my sorrow or even encouraged by it. You ate like this at Fahmy's funeral. Keep Isma'il away from the food and drink or it will be exhausted. The deaths of the writer al-Manfaluti and of the musician Sayyid Darwish and Egypt's loss of the Sudan are events crowning our era with sorrow, but the coalition of political parties and this repast are happy news. We've eaten three turkeys, and one hasn't been touched yet. This fellow… O Lord, he's pointing at my nose. They're all convulsed with laughter. They're drunk. So don't get angry. Laugh along with them, merrily pretending you're not offended. But my heart is shaken by anger. If you're ever able to launch an attack on the world, do it. As for the effects of this splendid evening, it's preposterous to think you'll ever recover from them…. People are talking about Fuad al-Hamzawi, discussing his success and brilliance. Are you jealous? When you mention him, you'll gain their respect, even if only a little."

"He's been a diligent student since childhood," Kamal ventured.

"You know him?"

Husayn Shaddad answered for his friend, "Fuad's father's an employee in the store owned by Kamal's father."

"My heart feels comforted," Kamal reflected. "May God curse hearts."

Then he said, "His father's always been an honest and reliable man."

"What business is your father in?"

"The term 'merchant' was always surrounded by an aura of respect m my mind," Kamal reminded himself, "until the merchant's son was compared unfavorably with the son of the superior court judge."

"Wholesale groceries."

"Lying's a cheap dodge," Kamal told himself. "Watch them. Try to see what's going through their heads. But is there any man in this house as good-looking or vigorous as your father?"

After leaving the tables, most of the guests returned to their seats in the reception hall, although a good number went into the garden to stroll about. People felt relaxed but sluggish. When the guests started leaving, the family members went upstairs to congratulate the couple. The chamber orchestra soon joined them and played some ravishing selections in that happy setting. Kamal put on his overcoat and picked up his magnificent box of sweets. Then he left the Shaddad mansion arm in arm with Isma'il.

Casting his friend an inebriated glance, Isma'il said, "It's eleven. What do you think about walking down Palaces Street until I sober up a little?"

Kamal agreed willingly, because he felt this would provide a good opportunity for a scheme he had been plotting. They sauntered along together, over the same ground Kamal had previously covered with A'ida. Then he had confessed his love and revealed his pains. He would never forget the sight of this street with its elegant, silent mansions. It was lined by lofty trees that viewed the evening with the calm of a peaceful soul and the awe of a celestial imagination.

"Your heart will never stop pounding with desire, ardor, and pain," Kamal reflected, "no matter how often your feet tread on it or your imagination appeals to it. Your heart's like a tree that casts down its leaves and fruit when convulsed by a storm. Although your previous walk here was a failure, you'll always treasure the memory of a bygone dream, a disappointed hope, an illusory happiness, and a pulsing life filled with emotion. Even viewed in the most negative fashion, that was far better than the repose of nonexistence, the desolation of exile, or the extinction of emotion. What nourishment will you be able to find for your heart in the future unless it is places you observe with imagination's eye or names you listen for with passion's ears?"

He said, "I wonder what's happening upstairs now."

Isma'il answered, in a loud voice that disturbed the reigning silence, "The orchestra's playing Western music. The bride and groom are on the dais, smiling, and around them are the Shaddad and Salim families. I've seen a lot of gatherings like that."

"Aida in a wedding gown!" Kamal exclaimed to himself.

"What a sight! Have you seen anything like that even in a dream?"

"How long will the party last?" he inquired.

"An hour at the most, to let the couple get some sleep, since they're leaving tomorrow morning for Alexandria."

"Words like daggers!" Kamal told himself. "Plunge any of them into your heart."

Isma'il asked, "But who's ever slept on their wedding night?" He laughed raucously. Then he belched and emitted a puff of breath reeking of alcohol. He frowned and grumbled with complaint. Then, as his face relaxed, he said, "May our Lord not condemn you to the sleep of lovers. My dear, they don't get any sleep at all. Don't let Hasan's reserve mislead you. He'll be leaping and bouncing like a stallion until the break of day. That's predestined. There's no way to escape it."

"Savor this new form of distilled pain," Kamal told himself. "It's the essence of pain, the pain of pains. Your consolation is that your pain's unique. No man before you has ever experienced it. Hell will seem easy for you by comparison if you're destined to be carried there by demons who dance you over its tongues of fire. Pain! It';; not from losing your lover, because you never aspired to possessher. It's because she has descended from heaven and is wallowing in the mud, after living grandly over the clouds. It's because she's allowed her cheek to be kissed, her blood to be shed, and her body to be abused. How intense my regret and pain are…."

"Is what they say about the first night true?"

Isma'il yelled, "By God, don't you know about these things?"

"How can people consecrate something filthy?" Kamal asked himself.

"Naturally I know, but I didn't until recently. There are things I 'd like to hear about again."

Isma'il laughed. "At times you seem an idiot or a fool."

"Let me ask you if it would be easy for you to do that to a person you revere."

Isma'il belched again, bringing the accursed smell of liquor to Kamal's nostrils. He replied, "No one deserves to be revered."

"You: daughter, for example, if you had one."

"Not my daughter or my mother. Where did we come from? It's a law of nature."

"Us?" Kamal asked himself. "The truth's a dazzling light. So look away. Behind the curtain of sanctity, before which you've always prostrated yourself, they'll be cavorting like children. Why does everything seem so empty? Mother, Father, Ai'da, the tomb of the Prophet's grandson al-Husayn, the merchant's profession, the aristocratic airs of Shaddad Bey…. How intense my pain is!"

"How filthy the law of nature is," he observed.

Isma'il belched for the third time. In a merry tone but without audible laughter he said, "The fact is that your heart's in pain. It's singing the same words as the new vocalist Umm Kalthoum: Td give my life for her, whether she treasures my love or abandons it.'"

Alarmed, Kamal asked, "What do you mean?"

Trying to seem more intoxicated than he was, Isma'il replied, "I mean you love A'ida."

"My Lord!" How had his secret gotten out?

"You're drunk!"

"It's the truth, and everyone knows it."

Staring at his friend in the darkness, Kamal yelled, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that it's the truth and everyone knows it."

"Everyone? Who? Who spread this rumor about me?"

"Ai'da!"

"Ai'da?"

"Ai'da… she's the one who spilled your secret."

"Ai'da? I don't believe it. You're drunk."

"Yes, I'm drunk, but it's the truth too. One of the good qualities of a drunk is that he doesn't lie". Isma'il laughed gently before continuing: "Does this make you angry? As you know, A'ida's a charming girl. For a long time she's secretly directed attention to your loving gaze, without your being aware of it not to be sarcastic but because she's flirtatious and the attention of her admirers goes to her head. Hasan was the first to realize what was happening and pointed it out to me several times. Then he broke the secret to Husayn. In fact, I know that Madame Saniya, A'ida's mother, heard about the 'lovesick suitor,' as they called you. It's quite possible the servants overheard what was said about you by their employers, so that everyone learned the story of the lovesick suitor."

He felt weak. He imagined their feet were heartlessly trampling his honor. His lips were compressed with bitter grief. Were treasured secrets so easily squandered?

Isma'il continued: "Don't get upset. It was all an innocent joke on the part of people who like you. Even Ai'da told your secret solely to boast of it."

"Her imagination deceived her!"

"Denying your love's as futile as denying the sun in broad day-light."

Surrendering sadly, Kamal fell silent. Suddenly he asked, "What did Husayn say?"

In a louder voice Isma'il responded, "Husayn? He's your loyal friend. He frequently expressed his unhappiness with his sister's innocent wiles and stressed your good qualities to her."

Kamal sighed with relief. If his hopes had been disappointed in love, friendship still was unaffected. But how could he ever enter the Shaddad mansion again?

In an earnest voice, as though encouraging his friend to face the situation courageously, Isma'il said, "Ai'da was as good as engaged to Hasan for years before the engagement was announced. Besides, she's older than you are. You'll forget these feelings after a good sleep. Don't let it trouble or sadden you."

"You'll forget these feelings'!" Kamal exclaimed to himself. Then he asked with unconcealed interest, "Did she make fun of me when she mentioned this alleged infatuation?"

"Certainly not! I told you she enjoyed talking about her admirers."

"Your beloved was a cruel, mocking god," Kamal reflected. "It amused her to make fun of her devotees. Do you remember the day she joked about your head and nose? Like the laws of nature, she's cruel and powerful. After all that, how could she hurry jubilantly to her wedding night like any other girl? Your mother's natural modesty indicates that she at least is conscious of the offense involved in marriage."

They had gone a long way down the street. So they turned to retrace their steps silently, as though tired of their conversation and its sorrows. Soon Isma'il burst out singing poorly: "God's blessing on the girl who sells such treasures…."

Kamal did not break his silence, and did not even seem to notice that his friend was singing. How embarrassed he was to have been a topic of conversation…. It appeared that the family, his friends, and the servants had all been winking at each other behind his back without his noticing. That was rude of them, and he did not deserve it. Was this how love and devotion were rewarded? How cruel his beloved was and how atrocious the pain…. When Nero sang as Rome burned, perhapshe was avenging a similar wrong.

"Be an invading general handsomely mounted on a charger, a leader borne aloft by the crowd, a metal statue on a column, a wizard who can appear in any form he wishes, an angel flying over the clouds, a monk secluded in the desert, a dangerous criminal causing honest citizens to quake, a clown captivating his merry audience, or a suicide upsetting the onlookers."

If Fuad al-Hamzawi learned the story, disguising his irony with his usual courtesy he would tell Kamal, "It's your fault, because you left us for those people. You scorned girls like Qamar and Narcissus, so enjoy being abandoned by the gods."

"My answer's that I wanted heaven or nothing at all," Kamal thought. "Let her marry as she pleases and go to Brussels or Paris. Let her grow old until her beauty fades. She'll never find a love like mine. Don't forget this road, for here you were intoxicated by enchanting dreams and later swallowed enough despair to make you choke. I'm no longer a resident of this planet. I'm a foreigner and must live like an exile."

When they passed the Shaddad mansion on their way back, they found that workmen were busy removing the decorations and strings of lights from the walls and trees. The large house, stripped of its wedding finery, was enveloped in darkness, except for a few rooms that still had light streaming from their balconies and windows. The party was over, and the crowd had dispersed. The scene seemed to announce that everything has an end. Here he was, going home with a box of candy like a child bribed not to cry by a few pieces of chocolate. The two young men walked along slowly until they reached the beginning of al-Husayniya. Then they shook hands and went their separate ways.

Kamal had not gone more than a few meters down al-Husayniya Street before he stopped. Then he turned and went back to al-Abbasiya Street, which seemed deserted and sound asleep. He walked quickly toward the Shaddad mansion. When he got within sight of it, he turned right, into the desert that surrounded the house, and went far enough through it to reach a place behind the back wall of the garden where he could observe the mansion from a distance. The enveloping curtains of darkness were so thick that a spy had nothing to worry about. For the first time that night he felt cold in this exposed and desolate spot. He fastened the overcoat around his tall, slender body. The shadowy house behind its high wall looked like a huge citadel. His eyes scouted around for the precious target until they came to rest on a closed window with light peeping out between the slats of the shutters. It was at the far right on the second floor. That was the bridal chamber, the only room awake on this side of the mansion. Yesterday it had been the bedroom of Ai'da and Budur. Tonight it was decorated to host the strangest spectacle the fates provide. He stared ai: the window a long time, at first like a bird with clipped wings gazing at its nest atop a tree and then with deep sorrow, as though he could see with his own eyes the death lying in wait for him. What was going on behind that window? If only he could climb that tree in the garden and see. The rest of his life would be a small price he would willingly pay for a look through that window. Was it a trivial matter to see the beloved in the privacy of her bridal chamber? How were they situated? What happened when their eyes met? What were they chatting about? Where in the world had Aida's pride hidden itself now? He was burning with desire to see this and to record the occurrence of each word, gesture, or hint provided by a facial expression. Indeed, he would have liked to pry into every thought, imaginary notion, feeling, and instinctual urge, everything even if frightening, disgusting, or painfully sad. Afterwardshe would surrender his life without regret. He stayed put as time fled by. He did not budge, the light was not extinguished, and his imagination did not tire of its questions. WHiat would he have done if he had been in Hasan Salim's place? He was too perplexed to answer. Lacking selfish goals, devotion had no place on a night like this. He had never aspired to have Ai'da. Hasan Salim was obviously from a denomination in which devotion was not mandatory.

Kamal suffered torments in the desert while they exchanged kisses in the bridal chamber like any other human beings. There would be sweaty sighs and then swooning as blood trickled out. A nightgown would slip away to reveal a mortal body. Such was the world of human beings with its empty hopes and frivolous dreams.

"Weep to your heart's content over the abasement of the gods. Fill your soul with this tragedy. But what's to become of the astounding, dazzling feeling that's lit up your heart for the past four years? It wasn't imaginary or an echo of something imaginary, but life itself. Even if the force of circumstances can overwhelm the body, what power's capable of taking on the spirit?"

Thus the beloved would remain his. Love would be his torment and refuge, just as bewilderment would be his diversion, until he stood before the Creator and asked about these complicated matters that perplexed him. If he could only see what was behind that window and discover the secrets of his existence…. The cold stung him at times, reminding him of his situation and of the reckless passage of time. But why should he hurry home? Did he really hope sleep would visit him that night?