Palace Walk

64

Kamal’s association with the British developed into a mutual friendship. Citing Yasin’s misadventure in the mosque of al-Husayn, the family attempted to persuade the boy to sever his relations with these friends, but he protested that he was young, too young to be accused of spying. To keep them from stopping him, he went directly to the encampment when he got back from school, leaving his book bag with Umm Hanafi. There was no way to prevent him except by force, which they did not think appropriate, especially since he was having such a good time in the camp, directly under their eyes, and was welcomed and treated generously wherever he went. Even Fahmy showed forbearance and amused himself by watching Kamal move among the soldiers like a "monkey playing in the jungle".

"Tell al-Sayyid Ahmad," Umm Hanafi suggested once when complaining that the soldiers were fresh with her because of the accursed friendship and that some of them had mimicked the way she walked. For that reason, they deserved "to have their heads cut off". No one took her suggestion seriously, not merely out of consideration for the boy but to spare themselves too, fearing an investigation would reveal that they had concealed this friendship for a long time. They let the boy and his concerns alone. They may also have hoped that the reciprocal good feelings between the boy and the soldiers would protect the rest of them from interference or injury they might otherwise expect from the soldiers when members of the family came and went.

The happiest times of Kamal’s day were those inside the encampment. Not all the soldiers were his friends in the ordinary sense of the word, but they all knew him. He would shake hands with his special friends, pressing their hands warmly, but limit himself to a salute for the others. When his arrival coincided with the sentry duty of one of his friends, the boy ran up to him cheerfully and happily, putting out his hand, only to be shocked to find that the soldier remained curiously and disturbingly rigid, as though snubbing Kamal or as though he had turned into a statue. The boy only realized this was not the case when the others burst out laughing.

It was not unusual for the alarm siren to sound suddenly when he was with his friends. They would rush to their tents, returning shortly in their uniforms and helmets and carrying their rifles. A truck would be brought out from behind the cistern building. The soldiers would quickly jump into it, until it was packed full. He would realize from the scene in front of him that a demonstration had broken out somewhere and that the soldiers were going to break it up. Fighting would certainly flare up between them and the demonstrators. The only thing that concerned him at these times was to keep sight of his friends until he saw them packed into the truck. He would gaze at them, as though bidding them farewell. When they headed off for al-Nahhasin, he would spread out his hands to pray for their safety and to recite the opening sura of the Qur'an.

He only spent half an hour each afternoon at the camp. That was the longest he could absent himself from home when he got back from school. During that half hour, all his senses were on the alert every minute. He prowled around the tents and trucks, which he inspected piece by piece. Standing in front of the pyramids of rifles, he examined them in detail, especially the barrel muzzles where death lurked. He was not permitted to get too close to them and suffered terribly because he wanted to play with them or at least touch them.

If his visit coincided with teatime, he went with his friends to the field kitchen set up at the entrance to Qirmiz Alley and took his place at the end of the "tea queue," as they called it. Then he would return behind them with a cup of tea and milk and a piece of chocolate. They would sit on the wall of the fountain to drink their tea. The soldiers all sang while he listened with interest, waiting for his turn to perform.

The life of the camp made a deep impression on him, giving an all-encompassing vividness to his flights of imagination and dreams that were engraved in his heart alongside Amina’s legends and accounts of the world of mysteries and Yasin’s stories and their magical universe, to which Kamal added the phantoms and visions of his daydreams about the lives of ants, sparrows, and chickens, which occupied his mind when he was on the roof surrounded by sprigs of jasmine, hyacinth beans, and pots of flowers. From this inspiration, he created a military encampment, completely equipped and staffed, next to the wall separating their roof from Maryam's. He erected tents of handkerchiefs and pencils. The weapons were twigs, the vehicles wooden clogs, and the soldiers date pits. Near the army camp he had demonstrators, represented by pebbles. He usually began the performance by distributing the pits in groups, some in the tents or by the entrances, others around the rifles. To one side there were four pits surrounding a pebble that stood for himself.

First he imitated the English style of singing. Then it was time for the pebble to sing "Visit me once each year" or "O Darling". He would move over to the pebbles and arrange them in rows as he shouted, "Long live the Nation… Down with the Protectorate… Long live Sa'd". Returning to the camp and giving a warning whistle, he organized the pits in columns, putting a date at the head of each one. He moved a clog as he huffed to imitate the truck’s drone. After putting pits on the clog he shoved it toward the pebbles. The battle would break out, and many victims would fall on both sides. He did not allow his personal feelings to influence the course of the battle, at least not at the beginning or even midway through it. His single dominant desire was to make the battle authentic and thrilling. Both sides would struggle, pushing and pulling to try to maintain an equal number of casualties. The outcome would remain in doubt as the advantage passed back and forth, but eventually the battle would have to end. Then Kamal would find himself in an awkward position. Which side should win? His four friends, headed by Julian, were on one side, but on the other side were the Egyptian demonstrators with whom Fahmy was deeply involved emotionally. In the final moment the victory would be accorded to the demonstrators. The truck would withdraw with the few remaining soldiers, including his four friends. One time the battle ended with an honorable armistice, which warriors from both sides celebrated in song at a table set with teacups and different types of sweets.

Julian was his favorite, distinguished from the others by his good looks, gentle temperament, and greater skill in speaking Arabic. He was the one who had issued Kamal a standing invitation to tea. He was also the soldier most touched by Kamal’s singing. Almost every day he would ask to hear "O Darling". He would follow the words with interest. Then he would murmur with heartfelt homesickness, "I'm going home to my country… I'm going home".

Kamal appreciated the man’s sensitivity and it made him like the soldier all the more. He felt comfortable enough to tell him once quite seriously that the way to escape from his distress was to "return Sa'd Pasha and go back to your country".

Julian did not receive this suggestion with the good humor Kamal had anticipated. To the contrary, he asked the boy, as he had before in comparable circumstances, not to mention Sa'd Pasha. In English he said, "Sa'd Pasha… no!" Thus failed the "first Egyptian negotiator," as Yasin dubbed Kamal.

The boy was surprised one day to have one of his friends present him with a caricature he had drawn of him. Kamal looked at it in astonishment and alarm, observing to himself, "My picture?… This isn't my picture". Deep inside, he felt it did look like him and no one else. He looked up at the men standing around him and found they were laughing. He realized it was a joke and that he should accept it with pleasure. He laughed along with them to hide his embarrassment.

When Fahmy looked at it, he studied the portrait of Kamal with amazement. Then he said, "O Lord, this picture omits none of your defects and exaggerates them… the small, skinny body, the long, scrawny neck, the large nose, the huge head, and the tiny eyes". Laughing, he continued: "The only thing your 'friend' seems to admire is your neat, elegant suit, and that’s no fault of yours. All the credit belongs to Mother, who takes such superb care of everything in the house".

With a gloating look, Fahmy told his little brother, "It’s clear what the secret of their fondness for you is… They like to laugh at your appearance and foppishness. To put it plainly, you're nothing but a comic puppet to them. What have you gained from your treachery?"

Fahmy’s rebuke had no impact on the boy, because he understood how hostile Fahmy was to the English. He thought his brother was plotting to separate him from them.

One day he arrived at the encampment as usual and saw Julian at the far wall of the cistern building looking with interest at the alley where the residence of the late Mr. Muhammad Ridwan was situated. Kamal went toward him and noticed that Julian was waving his hand with a gesture the boy did not understand. Kamal stopped, obeying an instinctive feeling he could not explain. His curiosity tempted him to detour around the tents erected in front of the cistern. He crept up behind Julian and looked in the same direction. There he saw a small window in a wing of the Ridwan family residence which blocked off the short alley. Maryam’s smiling and responsive face could be plainly seen there. Stunned, Kamal stood looking back and forth between the soldier and the girl, almost refusing to believe his eyes.

How could Maryam have dared to appear at the window? How could she show herself to Julian in this shameless way? He was waving and she was smiling… Yes, the smile was still evident on her lips… Her eyes were so busy looking at the soldier that she was not aware of Kamal’s presence. He accidentally moved and attracted Julian’s attention. The soldier burst into laughter when he saw the boy standing behind him and made some remarks that sounded like gibberish to Kamal. Maryam, clearly terrified, retreated at breakneck speed. Kamal stared in a daze at the soldier. The way Maryam had fled only increased his suspicions, although the whole affair seemed extremely mysterious to him.

Julian asked him affectionately, "Do you know her?"

Kamal nodded his head in the affirmative and said nothing. Julian went off for a few minutes, returning with a large parcel, which he presented to Kamal, telling him as he pointed toward Maryam’s house, "Take it to her".

Kamal jumped back with alarm. He shook his head from side to side stubbornly. That incident lingered in his mind, and although he sensed from the beginning that it was serious, he did not realize just how serious it was until he told the story at the evening coffee hour. Amina sat up straight, drawing away from him, with the coffee cup still in her hand, not bringing it to her lips or putting it back on the tray. Fahmy and Yasin raced over from their sofa to the one shared by the mother and Kamal and began to stare at him with unexpected interest, astonishment, and alarm.

Swallowing, Amina said, "Did you really see that?… Didn't your eyes deceive you?"

Fahmy grumbled, "Maryam?… Maryam!.. Do you know for certain who it was?"

Yasin asked, "Was he gesturing to her and was she smiling back at him?… Did you really see her smile?"

Replacing her cup on the tray and leaning her head on her hand, Amina said in a threatening voice, "Kamal! Lying about a matter like this is a crime God will not forgive. Think carefully, son… Didn't you exaggerate something?"

Kamal swore his weightiest oaths. Fahmy commented with bitter despair, "He’s not lying. No sensible person would accuse him of lying about this. Don't you see that a person his age wouldn't be able to invent such a story?"

The mother asked in a sad voice, "But how is it possible for me to believe him?"

As though to himself, Fahmy observed, "Yes, how is it possible to believe him?…" Then in a serious voice he added, "But it happened… happened… happened".

The word sank into him like a dagger. When he repeated it, he seemed to be deliberately stabbing himself. It was true that events had distracted him from Maryam and that her memory appeared only at the edges of his daydreams, but this blow to her reputation struck deep into his heart. He was dazed, dazed, dazed, not knowing whether he had forgotten her or not, whether he loved or hated her, was angry out of a sense of honor or jealousy… He was a dry leaf caught up in a howling storm.

"How can I believe him?… My trust in Maryam has been like mine for Khadija or Aisha for such a long time. Her mother is a virtuous woman. Her father, may God let him rest in peace, was a fine man… neighbors for a lifetime, excellent neighbors…"

Yasin, who had seemed lost in thought all the while, replied in a tone not innocent of sarcasm, "Why are you surprised?… Since ancient times, God has created evil people from the loins of pious ones".

Amina, as though refusing to believe that she had been taken in for such a long time, protested, "With God as my witness, I've never observed anything discreditable about her".

Yasin agreed cautiously: "Nor has any of us, not even Khadija, the supreme faultfinder. People far more clever than either of us have been deceived about her".

Fahmy cried out in anguish, "How can I penetrate the world of mysteries? It’s a matter that defies the imagination". He was boiling with anger at Yasin. Then it seemed to him that everyone was hateful: the English and the Egyptians in equal measure… men and women, but especially women. He was choking. He longed to disappear and be alone to inhale a breath of relief, but he stayed where he was, as though tied down with heavy ropes.

Yasin directed a question to Kamal: "When did she see you?"

"When Julian turned toward me".

"And then she fled from the window?"

"Yes".

"Did she notice that you saw her?"

"Our eyes met for a moment".

Yasin said sarcastically, "The poor dear!.. No doubt she’s imagining our gathering now and our distressing conversation".

"An Englishman!" Pounding his hands together, Fahmy shouted, "The daughter of al-Sayyid Muhammad Ridwan…"

Shaking her head in amazement and sighing, Amina mumbled something to herself.

Yasin observed thoughtfully, "For a girl to flirt with an Englishman is no easy matter. This degree of corruption could not have appeared in a single leap".

"What do you mean?" asked Fahmy.

"I mean that her corruption must have proceeded a step at a time".

Amina implored them, "I ask you to swear by God to give up this conversation".

As though he had not heard her entreaty, Yasin kept on with his observations: "Maryam’s the daughter of a lady whose art in adorning herself has been witnessed by the women of our family…"

Amina cried out in a voice filled with censure and rebuke, "Yasin!"

Backing down, Yasin said, "I want to say that we as a family live according to such strict standards that we know little of what goes on around us. No matter how hard we try to guess, we imagine that other people live the way we do. We've associated with Maryam for years without knowing what she’s really like, until the truth about her was discovered by the last person one would have expected to uncover the facts". He laughed and patted Kamal on the head.

Amina once again implored them fervently, "I beg you to change the topic of this conversation".

Yasin smiled and said nothing. Silence reigned. Fahmy could not bear to stay with them any longer. He responded to the inner voice that was anxiously calling for help and encouraging him to flee far from other eyes and ears, so that he could be all alone and repeat the conversation to himself from start to finish, word by word, phrase by phrase, sentence by sentence, in order to understand and fathom it. Then he could see where he stood.