Palace Walk

49

The street in front of al-Sayyid Ahmad’s store did not look any different, for it was crowded with pedestrians, vehicles, and customers of the shops crammed along either side. Overhead there was a decorative, misty quality to the light. It was a pleasant November day and the sun was obscured by thin clouds. There were pure white billows resembling pools of light over the Qala'un and Barquq minarets. Nothing in the sky or on the ground seemed to differ from what al-Sayyid Ahmad saw every day, but the man’s soul, those of the people connected to him, and perhaps those of everyone else too, had been exposed to a powerful wave of excitement almost making them lose control of themselves. Al-Sayyid Ahmad went so far as to say he had never experienced times like these when people were so united by a single piece of news, their hearts all beating with the same emotion.

Fahmy, usually silent in his father’s presence, had initiated a conversation to tell him in great detail what he had learned about Sa'd’s meeting with the High Commissioner. That same evening at al-Sayyid Ahmad’s musical soiree, some of his friends had confirmed the truth of the information.

In his shop, customers who did not know each other had, on more than one occasion, plunged into a discussion of this meeting. That very morning, to his surprise, Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad had burst into the store after a long absence. He had not been satisfied to recite some verses from the Qur'an and receive the customary gift of sugar and soap but had insisted on recounting news of the visit as though making the first announcement.

When al-Sayyid Ahmad had asked him playfully what he thought the outcome of the visit would be, the shaykh had replied, "It’s impossible!.. It’s impossible that the English will leave Egypt. Do you think they're crazy enough to leave the country without a fight?… There certainly would be fighting, and we would lose. So there’s no way to expel them. Perhaps our men could succeed in getting the Australians sent away. Then order could be restored. Things would revert to the way they used to be. There'd be peace".

In these days of news and overflowing feelings al-Sayyid Ahmad was intensely receptive to infectious nationalist political aspirations. He was in such an expectant and attentive mood that he read with passionate enthusiasm the newspapers, which for the most part seemed as if they had been published in some other country where there was no passion or awakening. He greeted his friends with an inquisitive look that yearned to discover anything new they had learned.

It was in this fashion that he greeted Mr. Muhammad Iffat when he hurried into the store. The penetrating look and energetic motions of the man indicated that he was not just a casual visitor stopping by the store to drink some coffee or tell an amusing anecdote. The proprietor found that his friend’s appearance matched his own anxious feelings, which were full of nationalist aspirations. While his friend was still making his way through the customers being served by Jamil al-Hamzawi, al-Sayyid Ahmad welcomed him: "It’s a damp morning. What do you know, you lion?"

Mr. Muhammad Iffat sat down next to the desk. He smiled proudly, as though the proprietor’s question, "What do you know?" — the same question he repeated whenever he met one of his friends-was a recognition of Mr. Iffat’s importance during these especially significant days, because of his ties of kinship to some influential Egyptian personalities. Mr. Iffat was also a link between the original group of merchants and those distinguished civil servants and attorneys who had joined them later. Of all these men, al-Sayyid Ahmad held the most cherished spot in his friend’s affection because of his personality and disposition. Although the value of Mr. Iffat’s connections had never been lost on his old friends who looked up to the civil servants and people with titles, it had increased now that fresh information was more important than water or food.

Mr. Iffat spread out a sheet of paper he had been holding in his right hand. Then he said, "Here’s a new step. I'm no longer simply reporting news. I've become a messenger to bring you and other noble people this joyous authorization petition…" Murmuring, "Read it," he offered the paper to him with a smile.

Al-Sayyid Ahmad took it and read aloud: "We, the signatories of this document, authorize Messrs. Sa'd Zaghlul Pasha, Ali Sha'rawi Pasha, Abd al-Aziz Fahmy Bey, Muhammad Ali Alluba Bey, Abd al-Latif al-Makabbati, Muhammad Mahmud Pasha, and Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid Bey, and those persons they choose to include in their number, to strive by all legal and peaceful means available to them to achieve the total independence of Egypt".

The proprietor’s face was radiant when he read the names of the Egyptian delegation, for he had heard them mentioned when nationalism was discussed. He asked, "What does this paper mean?"

The man replied enthusiastically, "Don't you see these signatures? Put yours below them and get Jamil al-Hamzawi to sign too. This is one of the authorization petitions the delegation has had printed up for citizens to sign. They'll use them to show that they represent the Egyptian nation".

Al-Sayyid Ahmad took a pen and signed with a delighted gleam in his blue eyes. He smiled in a sensitive way that revealed his happiness and pride at having Sa'd and his colleagues represent him. Although those men had not been famous long, they had been welcomed into everyone’s heart, arousing deep, suppressed desires. Their encouraging impact was like that of a new cure on a patient with an old malady that has resisted treatment, even though he is trying the medicine for the first time. The proprietor summoned al-Hamzawi, who also signed. Then he turned to his friend and remarked with intense interest, "It seems the matter is serious".

The man pounded on the edge of the desk with his fist and said, "Extremely serious. It’s all progressing with forceful determination. Do you know what motivated the printing of these petitions? It’s said that 'the man,' the British High Commissioner, asked in what capacity Sa'd and his colleagues had spoken with him on the morning of November the thirteenth. So the delegation has had to rely on these petitions to prove that they speak in the name of the nation".

The proprietor commented emotionally, "If only Muhammad Farid were here with us too".

"Some of the men of the National Party have joined the delegation: Muhammad Ali Alluba Bey and Abd al-Latif al- Makabbati…" He shrugged his shoulders as though to shake away the past and then said, "We all remember Sa'd from the enormous row he stirred up when he was appointed Minister of Education and then Minister of Justice. I still remember that the nationalist newspaper "al-Liwa" welcomed him when he was nominated to the cabinet, although I can't forget its attacks on him afterward. I won't deny that I was influenced by his critics because of my devotion to the late Mustafa Kamil, but Sa'd has always shown that he merits admiration. His most recent move entitles him to the highest regard".

"You're right. It’s a blessed undertaking. Let’s pray to God it meets with success". Then he asked with concern, "Do you think they'll be allowed to make the trip?… What do you think they'll do if they go there?"

Mr. Muhammad Iffat rolled up the petition. Then as he rose he said, "Tomorrow’s not far off…"

On their way to the door, the proprietor’s playful spirit got the better of him and he whispered into his friend’s ear, "I'm so happy about this petition that I could be a drunkard lifting his eighth glass between Zubayda’s thighs".

Muhammad Iffat waggled his head enthusiastically, as though intoxicated by the picture his imagination had conjured up at the mention of a glass of wine and Zubayda. He murmured, "Oh, what we'll soon be hearing…"

Then he left the store and his smiling friend called after him, "And what we'll see after that…"

Al-Sayyid Ahmad returned to his desk. His face showed the happy impact of the jest, even though his patriotic enthusiasm had not subsided in his heart. He was like this in all concerns of life, so long as they had no connection to his home. He could be totally serious when that was called for but would not hesitate to lighten the atmosphere with humor and mirth whenever he felt like it, motivated by an irresistible urge. He had an unusual ability to reconcile seriousness and mirth, without either one suppressing or spoiling the other. His jesting was not a luxury of marginal importance to his life but was as much a necessity as seriousness. He had never been able to achieve total seriousness or to concentrate his energies on it. Consequently, he had been content to limit his patriotism to an emotional and psychic participation, not taking any action that might have altered the life he enjoyed so much that he would not have exchanged it for any other. For this reason he had never thought of joining one of the committees of the National Party, even though he was deeply attached to its principles. He had never even taken the trouble to go to one of their rallies. Would that not have been a waste of his precious time? The nation did not need his time, and he was eager to have every minute of it to spend on his family, on his business, and especially on his amusements with his friends and chums. Thus his time was reserved for his own life, and the nation was welcome to a share of his heart and emotions. It was easier to part with money than time. He was not stingy about contributing to the cause. He did not feel he was neglecting his duty in any way. On the contrary, he was known among his comrades for his patriotism, both because none had a heart as liberal with its emotions as his and because even those with liberal hearts were not as generous with their financial contributions. His patriotism set him apart so that he was known for it. It was added to the rest of the fine qualities on which he secretly prided himself. He could not imagine that the nationalist cause could ask any more of him after he had given so generously. Although his heart was filled with romance, music, and humor, he still found room for patriotism. Even if his nationalist fervor was confined to his heart, it was strong and deep, preoccupying and engrossing his soul.

His patriotism had not come to him accidentally. It had matured with him since childhood, when he had heard the previous generation recount tales of the heroism of the Egyptian revolutionary Urabi. It had been enflamed by articles and speeches printed in the nationalist newspaper "al-Liwa'". And what a unique sight it had been, arousing both laughter and concern, the day he was seen crying like a baby over the death of Mustafa Kamil. His companions were touched because none of them had been indisposed at all by their sorrow. At their party that evening they had roared with laughter when they recalled the improbable sight of the "Lord of Laughter" sobbing with tears.

Today, after years of the war, now waning, after the death of the youthful leader of the National Party and the banishment of his successor, after all hope for the return of "Our Effendi" Khedive Abbas II had been lost, after the defeat of Turkey and the victory of the English, after all of this or in spite of all of this, there came amazing news, the facts of which seemed like legends: presenting to the Englishman, the High Commissioner, demands for independence, signing nationalist petitions, and wondering about the next step. Hearts were shaking off the dust to separate out what was vital to them. Souls were radiant with their hopes. What was behind all of this? His pacific soul, accustomed to passivity, wondered about this turn of events to no avail. He could hardly wait for nightfall so he could rush to his musical gathering, where political talk had become the appetizer before the drinks and music. It fit in with the other attractions that made him long for his evening’s entertainment, like Zubayda, his love for his comrades, the drinking and the music. In that enticing atmosphere, it appeared pleasantly refreshing and induced emotions like enthusiasm and love without asking more of the heart than it could bear.

Al-Sayyid Ahmad was thinking about all of this when Jamil al-Hamzawi came over to him and asked, "Have you heard about the new name that’s being given to the home of Sa'd Pasha?… They're calling it 'the House of the Nation.'" He leaned toward his employer to tell him how this news had reached him.