Sugar Street

118

The extended family returned to its roots every Friday, and the old house came alive with children and grandchildren. This happy tradition had never lapsed. Since Umm Hanafi now held pride of place in the kitchen, Amina was no longer the heroine of the day. Still, the mistress never tired of reminding her family that the servant was her pupil. Amina's desire for praise became more pronounced as she sensed increasingly that she did not deserve it. Although a guest, Khadija alwayshelped with the cooking too.

Shortly before al-Sayyid Ahmad's departure for the store, he was surrounded by family members: Ibrahim Shawkat and his two sons, Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad, along with Yasin and his children, Ridwan and Karima. They were all subject to a humility that transformed laughter to smiles and conversation to whispers. The older al-Sayyid Ahmad got, the more he delighted in their company. He was critical of Yasin for curtailing visits to the store in exchange for this Friday gathering. Did the mule not understand that his father longed to see him as often as possible?

Yasin's son, Ridwan, had a handsome face with memorable eyes and a rosy complexion. His good looks suggested many different sources, reminding al-Sayyid Ahmad of Yasin, of Yasin's mother, Haniya, and of Muhammad Iffat, a beloved friend and the young man's other grandfather. Ridwan was al-Sayyid Ahmad's favorite grandchild. The boy's sister, Karima, was a little lady of eight. She would surely grow up to be a marvel, if only because of her black eyes, so like those of her mother, Zanuba, that they stirred within the patriarch an embarrassed smile rich with memories.

The decisive feature in the appearance of both Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad was a lesser version of their grandfather's huge nose, but he could also recognize the small eyes of Khadija, their mother. They were bolder too than the others in addressing him. All these grandsons were pursuing their studies with a successhe was proud of, but they seemed too busy with their own affairs to pay much attention to him. While they consoled their grandfather by showing him that his life was being passed on through new generations, they reminded him as well that he was gradually having to relinquish the dominant position he had reserved for himself in the family. He was not as sad as he might have been about this, since age had brought him wisdom along with illness and infirmity. Yet it would have been absurd to imagine that his new insight could prevent a flood of memories from bursting forth. Back in 1890, when he had been their age, he had studied only a little and played a lot, dividing his time between the homes of musi cians in al-Gamaliya and the haunts of Ezbekiya. Even then his loyal companions had been Muhammad Iffat, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Ibrahim al-Far. His father, who had run the store, had scolded his only son a little and pampered him a lot. Life had been a tightly wound scroll crowded with hopes. Then he had married Haniya…. But not so fast… he should not allow memories to carry him away.

He rose to prepare for the afternoon prayers. This was a sign he would soon depart. After he had changed clothes and left for the store, they all assembled in a congenial chatty mood around the grandmother's brazier for the coffee hour.

Amina, Aisha, and Na'ima occupied the center sofa. The one on the right was taken by Yasin, Zanuba, and Karima. On the left-hand one were seated Ibrahim Shawkat, Khadija, and Kamal. Ridwati, Abd al-Muni'm, and Ahmad had chairs in the center of the room, beneath the electric light. Following his time-honored practice, Ibrahim Shawkat extolled the disheshe had most enjoyed. Even so, during the past few yearshe had changed the direction of his praise toward the excellent instruction Amina was providing her outstanding pupil, Umm Hanafi.

Zanuba always echoed his words, for she never overlooked an opportunity to ingratiate herself with a member of her husband's family. In fact, ever since her in-laws had opened their doors to her, permitting her to mingle with them, she had shown extraordinary skill in strengthening her ties to them. She considered their welcome an acknowledgment of her status, coming as it did after the years she had lived in isolation like an outcast. The death of a baby had been the pretext for the initial visit, when Yasin's family had come to his home to offer their condolences. Those calls had emboldened her to visit first Sugar Street and then at a time when al-Sayyid Ahmad was quite ill — Palace Walk. She had even ventured into his room, where they had met like strangers with no past history. Thus Zanuba had become part of al-Sayyid Ahmad's family, calling Amina "Auntie" and Khadija "Sister". She was always exceptionally modest. Unlike other women of the family, she dressed simply when she made her calls, so that she seemed older than she was. Neglected, her beauty began to fade prematurely, and Khadija would never believe she was only thirty-six.

Zanuba had succeeded in gaining everyone's respect, and Amina said of her one day, "No doubt she comes from a good family — even if one or two generations back. It doesn't matter, for she's a good girl and the only one who has been able to live with Yasin."

Khadija seemed to surpass even Yasin in the flabby abundance of flesh and saw no reason to claim she was anything but happy about that. She was delighted with her sons, Abd al-Muni'm and Ahmad, as well as with her generally successful marriage, but to ward off the evil eye of jealousy never let a day go by without some complaint. Her treatment of Aisha had undergone a total change. During the last eight years she had not addressed a single sarcastic or harsh word to her younger sister, not even in jest. In fact, she bent over backwards to be courteous, affectionate, and gracious to Aisha, since she was touched by the widow's misery, frightened that fate might deal her a comparable blow, and apprehensive that Aisha would compare their lots. She had generously insisted that her husband renounce his share of his brother's estate, so that it went in its entirety to Aisha and her daughter, Na'ima. Khadija had hoped her action would be remembered in time, but Aisha was in such a state that she forgot her sister's generosity. This oversight did not keep Khadija from lavishing enough affection, sympathy, and compassion on Aisha to seem a second mother for her younger sister. To feel secure about her own God-granted prosperity, Khadija desired nothing more than Aisha's complaisant affection.

Ibrahim Shawkat took out a pack of cigarettes, and Aisha accepted one gratefully. He helped himself, and they both started smoking. Aisha's excessive dependence on cigarettes and coffee had been the subject of many comments, but her normal response to them was a shrug of her shoulders. Amina limited herself to the prayerful remark: "May God grant her endurance."

Yasin offered the most outspoken advice of any member of the family, for he appeared to think that the death of one of his children gave him this right. Aisha considered his loss inferior to her own and begrudged him any standing in the realm of the afflicted, since his son had died during the first year — unlike Uthman and Muhammad. Discussion of disastrous losses often seemed to be her favorite pastime, and her distinguished rank in the world of suffering was a consolation to her.

Kamal listened attentively to the conversation Ridwan, Abd al-Muni'm, and Ahmad were having about their future. Yasin's son, Ridwan, said, "We're all in the arts, not science. So the only college worth choosing in the University is Law."

Shaking his huge head, which made him, of the three boys, most resemble Kamal, Abd al-Muni'm Ibrahim Shawkat replied confidently in his powerful voice, "That's easy to understand. But he refuses to!" He pointed at his brother, Ahmad, who smiled ironically.

Also gesturing toward Ahmad, Ibrahim Shawkat seized this opportunity to remark, "He can go into the College of Arts if he wants to, but first he has to convince me of its value. I understand the importance of Law School, but not of Arts."

Kamal looked down rather sadly, stirred by old memories of a debate about the relative merits of the Law School and the Teachers College. He still nourished many of his former hopes, but life kept dealing him cruel blows every day. A government attorney, for example, would need no introduction, but the author of articles in al-Fikr magazine might be in even greater need of one than his obscure articles. Ahmad Ibrahim Shawkat left him no time for anxious musings. Looking at him with small protruding eyes, the boy said, "I'll let Uncle Kamal answer for me."

Ibrahim Shawkat smiled to hide his embarrassment, and with little enthusiasm Kamal said, "Study what you feel is most appropriate for your talents."

Ahmad turned his slender head to look victoriously from his brother to his father, but Kamal added, "Still you ought to realize that Law School opens up a wider range of good career opportunities for you than Arts. If you choose the Arts Faculty, your future will lie in teaching, which is a difficult profession with little prestige."

"I'm planning a career in journalism."

"Journalism!" shouted Ibrahim Shawkat. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

Ahmad complained to Kamal, "In our family, they see no distinction between guiding thought and guiding a cart."

Smiling, Ridwan observed, "The great intellectual leaders in our country have been Law School graduates."

Ahmad replied proudly, "I'm thinking of quite a different type of intellectual leadership."

Scowling, Abd al-Muni'm Shawkat said, "Unfortunately I know what you have in mind. It's frightening and destructive."

Looking at the others as if to ask for their support, Ibrahim Shawkat told Ahmad, "Look before you leap. You're only in the fourth year. Your inheritance won't be more than a hundred pounds a year. Some of my friends complain bitterly that their universityeducated children are unfit for any kind of work or else employed as clerks at minuscule salaries. Once you've thought about all this carefully you're free to choose for yourself."

Yasin intervened to suggest, "Let'shear Khadija's opinion. She was Ahmad's first instructor. Who is better qualified to select between the selfish instruction in one's own rights provided by Law and the altruistic and humane influence of Arts?"

They all smiled, including Amina, who was busy with her coffeepot. Even Aisha smiled. Encouraged by her sister's good humor, Khadija retorted, "Let me tell you a cute story. Late yesterday afternoon you know it gets dark early in winter I was returning to Sugar Street from al-Darb al-Ahmar when I sensed that a man was following me. Then under the vault of the old city gate he passed me and asked, 'Where are you going, beautiful?' I turned and replied, Tm on my way home, Mr. Yasin.'"

The sitting room exploded with laughter. Zanuba directed a telling look at Yasin, one that blended criticism with despair. Motioning for them to be still, he asked, "You don't think I'm that blind, do you?"

Ibrahim Shawkat cautioned, "Watch your tongue!"

Although only eight, Karima grasped her father's hand and laughed as if she had understood the point of her aunt's story.

Zanuba's commentary on the situation was: "It's the worst things that make a person laugh."

Giving Khadija a furious look, Yasin said, "You've gotten me into hot water, girl…."

Khadija replied, "If anyone present is in need of the humane influences of Arts, it's you, not my crazy son Ahmad."

Zanuba agreed, but Ridwan defended his father, claiming he had been falsely accused. Ahmad kept his eyes fixed on Kamal, as though resting his hopes on his uncle.

Abd al-Muni'm glanced stealthily at Nai'ma, who looked like a white rose leaning against her mother. Her pale delicate face blushed whenever she sensed his small eyes looking at her.

Finally Ibrahim Shawkat spoke, changing the course of the conversation: "Ahmad, think how Law School has allowed al-Hamzawi's son to become an important government attorney". Kamal felt that this comment contained criticism directed against him.

Breaking her silence for the first time, Aisha said, "He would like to get engaged to Na'ima."

After the pause that greeted this news, Amina added, "His father mentioned it to her grandfather yesterday."

Yasin asked seriously, "Has Father agreed?"

"It's still early for such questions."

Glancing at Aisha, Ibrahim Shawkat inquired cautiously, "What does Mrs. Aisha think of this?"

Without looking at anyone, Aisha answered, "I don't know."

Studying her sister closely, Khadija remarked, "But it's all up to you."

Kamal wanted to put in a good word for his friend and said, "Fuad's really an excellent fellow."

Ibrahim Shawkat asked circumspectly, "Aren't his folks rather common?"

In his forceful voice, Abd al-Muni'm Shawkat replied, "Yes. One of his maternal uncles is a donkey driver and another's a baker. He has a paternal uncle who is an attorney's secretary". Then he added as a reluctant concession, "But none of this detracts from the man's worth. A person should be judged for what he is, not for his family."

Kamal realized that his nephew wanted to assert two truths no matter how contradictory: first the baseness of Fuad's origins and second the fact that a humble background does not diminish a person's value. He understood that Abd al-Muni'm was both attacking Fuad and repenting for this unfair attack, because of his strong religious convictions. Surprisingly, the assertion of these rival claims relieved Kamal, sparing him the embarrassment of expressing them himself. Like his nephew, he did not believe in the class system. Yet he was as inclined as Abd al-Muni'm to criticize Fuad and to belittle his friend's position, which he knew was far grander than his own.

Amina was clearly uncomfortable with this attack. She said, "His father's a fine man. He has served us honestly and sincerely his whole life."

Khadija found the courage to reply, "But if this marriage takes place, Na'ima may find herself mixing with people who are beneath her. Family origin is everything."

Her opinion was championed by the last person anyone would have expected when Zanuba said, "You're right! Family origin is everything."

Yasin was upset. He looked swiftly at Khadija, wondering how she would react to his wife's endorsement. What would she think of it? Would it remind her of the troupe and its female entertainers? He cursed Zanuba secretly for her empty braggadocio. Feeling obliged to say something to make up for his wife's remark, he observed, "Remember, you're talking about a government attorney…."

Emboldened by Aisha's silence, Khadija said, "It's my father who made him one. Our wealth has made him what he is."

With sarcasm sparkling in protruding eyes that were reminiscent of his late Uncle Khalil's, Ahmad Shawkat retorted, "We're more indebted to his father than he is to us."

Pointing a finger at him, Khadija said critically, "You're always subjecting us to these incomprehensible remarks."

Sounding as if he hoped to terminate this discussion, Yasin commented, "Don't wear yourselves out. Papa will have the final say."

Amina distributed the cups of coffee, and the eyes of the young men gravitated to Na'ima, who sat beside her mother. Ridwan told himself, "She's a sweet and lovely girl. I wish it were possible for us to be friends and companions. Ifwe could walk together in the street, people would have trouble saying which of us was better-looking."

Ahmad thought, "She's very beautiful but seems glued to her mother and has had little education."

Abd al-Muni'm reflected silently, "Pretty, a homemaker, and intensely religious her only defect is her frailty. But even that's attractive. She's too good for Fuad". Then, breaking out of his internal monologue, he said, "Na'ima, tell us what you think."

The pale face blushed, frowned, and then smiled. Thrust into this awkward situation, the girl pitted a smile against her frown to free herself of both. Then she said shyly, "I don't have an opinion about this. Leave me alone!"

Ahmad remarked sarcastically, "False bashfulness…."

Aisha interrupted him, "False?"

Correcting himself, he said, "This kind of modesty has gone out of style. If you don't speak up, Na'ima, you'll find that your life's over and that all the decisions have been made for you."

Aisha replied bitterly, "We're not used to talk like this."

Paying no attention to his mother's warning look, Ahmad complained, "I bet our family's four centuries behind the times."

Abd al-Muni'm asked scornfully, "Why precisely four?"

His brother answered nonchalantly, "I was being polite."

Khadija shifted the conversation to Kamal by asking, "And you! When are you getting married?"

Kamal was caught off guard by this inquiry, which he attempted to evade by saying, "That's an old story!"

"And a new one at the same time…. We won't abandon it until God unites you with a decent girl."

Amina followed this last part of the conversation with redoubled interest. Kamal's marriage was her dearest wish. She hoped fervently that he would turn her wish into a reality. Then she could rest her eyes on a grandchild fathered by her only living soq. She said, "His father has proposed brides to him from the best families, but he always finds some excuse or other."

"Flimsy arguments! How old are you, Mr. Kamal?" asked Ibrahim Shawkat with a laugh.

"Twenty-eight! It's too late now."

Amina listened to the figure incredulously, and Khadija said angrily, "You love to make yourself out older than you are."

Since he was her youngest brother, revelation of his age indirectly disclosed hers. Although her husband was sixty, she hated to be reminded that she was thirty-eight. Kamal did not know what to say. [n his opinion this was not a subject to be settled with a single word, but he always felt compelled to explain his position. So he said apologetically, "I work all day at school and every evening in my office."

Ahmad said enthusiastically, "What a fantastic life, Uncle… but even so, a man needs to marry."

Yasin, who knew more about Kamal than any of the others, said, "You shrug off commitments so that nothing will distract you from your search for the truth, but truth lies in these commitments. You won't learn about life in a library. Truth is to be found at home and in the street."

Doing his best to escape, Kamal said, "I've grown accustomed to spending my salary each month down to the last millieme. I don't have any savings. How can I get married?"

Khadija blocked his escape by retorting, "Make up your mind to get married, and then you'll figure out how to prepare for it."

Laughing, Yasin observed, "You spend every millieme so you won't be able to get married."

"As if the two were equivalent," Kamal thought. But why did he not marry? That was what people expected and what his parents wanted. When he had been in love with Ai'da, marriage had seemed absurdly out of reach. After that, love had been replaced by thought, which had greedily devoured his life. His greatest delight had come in finding a beautiful book or in getting an article published. He had told himself that a thinker does not and should not marry. He looked aloft and imagined that marriage would force him to lower his gaze. He had been — and still was — pleased to be a thoughtful observer who avoided, whenever possible, entry into the mechanics of life. He was as stingy with his liberty as a miser is with money. Besides, women no longer meant anything to him beyond a lust to be gratified. He was not exactly wasting his youth, since he did not let a week go by without indulging in intellectual delights and physical pleasures. If these reasons were not enough, he was apprehensive and skeptical about everything. Marriage seemed to be something a person should believe in.

Kamal said, "Relax. I'll get married when I feel like it."

Zanuba smiled in a way that made her look ten years younger and asked, "Why don't you want to marry now?"

Almost in exasperation, Kamal replied, "Marriage is an anthill. You're making a mountain out of it."

But deep inside he believed that marriage was a mountain, not an anthill. He was overcome by a strange feeling that one day he would give in to marriage and that his fate would then be sealed.

He was rescued by Ahmad's comment: "It's time for us to go up to your library."

Welcoming the suggestion, Kamal rose and headed for the door, trailed by Abd al-Muni'm, Ahmad, and Ridwan. As usual, they would borrow some books during this visit to the old house.

Kam al's desk in the center of the room under an electric light was flanked by bookcases. He sat down there to watch the young men read the titles of books on the shelves. Abd al-Muni'm selected a book of essays on Islamic history, and Ahmad took Principles of Philosophy. Then they stood around his desk as he looked silently at each of them in turn.

Finally Ahmad said irritably, "I'll never be able to read as much as I want until I master at least one foreign language."

Glancing at a random passage in his book, Abd al-Muni'm muttered, "No one knows Islam as it truly is."

Ahmad remarked sarcastically, "My brother discovers the truth of Islam in the Khan al-Khalili bazaar from a man of the people."

Abd al-Muni'm shouted at him, "Hush, atheist!"

Looking at Ridwan questioningly, Kamal asked, "Aren't you going to choose a book?"

Abd al-Muni'm answered for his cousin, "He's too busy reading the Wafd Party newspapers."

Gesturing toward Kamal, Ridwan said, "Our uncle has this in common with me."

His uncle believed in nothing but was a Wafdist all the same. Similarly, he doubted truth itself but worked pragmatically with other people. Looking from Abd al-Muni'm to Ahmad, he asked, "Since you support the Wafd Party too, what's strange about this? All Egyptian patriots are Wafdists. Isn't that so?"

In his confident voice, Abd al-Muni'm answered, "No doubt the Wafd is the best of the parties, but considered in the abstract it's not completely satisfying."

Laughing, Ahmad said, "I agree with my brother on this. To be more precise, it's the only thing we do agree on. And we may even disagree1 about the extent of our satisfaction with the Wafd Party. But the most important thing is to question nationalism itself. Yes, there is no argument about the need for independence, but afterward the understanding of nationalism must develop until it is absorbed into a loftier and more comprehensive concept. It's not unlikely that in the future we'll come to regard martyrs of the nationalist movement as we now do victims of foolish battles between tribes and clans."

"Foolish battles! You fool!" Kamal thought. "Fahmy did not die in a foolish battle. But how can you be certain?" Despite these reflectionshe said sharply, "Anyone slain for a cause greater than himself dies a martyr. The relative worth of causes may vary, but a man's relationship to a cause is a value that does not."

As they left the study, Ridwan told Abd al-Muni'm, "Politics is the most significant career open to a person in a society."

When they returned to the coffee hour, Ibrahim Shawkat was commenting to Yasin, "We rear our children, guide them, and advise them, but each child finds his way to a library, which is a world totally independent of us. There total strangers compete with us. So what can we do?"