Sugar Street

148

Kamal reached his sister's home on Sugar Street at about the time for afternoon prayers and found the whole family gathered in the sitting room. He shook hands with them and said to Ahmad, 'Congratulations on your degree!"

In a tone that was anything but jubilant, Khadija replied, 'Thank you very much. But come hear the latest. The bey doesn't want to enter the civil service."

Ibrahim Shawkat explained, "His cousin Ridwan is ready to find a position for him, if Ahmad will agree. But he insists on refusing the offer. Talk to him, Mr. Kamal. Perhaps your opinion will sway him."

Kamal removed his fez and, because of the heat, took off his white jacket, which he draped over the back of the chair. Although he had expected a fight, he smiled and said, "I thought today would be reserved for congratulations. But this house can never stop quarreling."

Khadija said self-pityingly, "That's my fate. We're just not like other people."

Ahmad told his uncle, "The matter's quite simple. The only Idnd of position I could get now would be a clerical one. Ridwan informed me that he could get me appointed to a vacant secretarial post in the records office where Uncle Yasin works. He suggested that I should wait three months until the new school year begins, when I might get a job as an instructor of French in one of the schools. But I don't want a civil service position of any kind."

Khad: ja cried out, "Tell him what you do want."

The young man answered with straightforward determination, "I'm going to work in journalism."

Ibrahim Shawkat snorted and exclaimed, "A journalist! We used to hear him say this but thought it a harmless joke. He refuses to become a teacher like you and strives to become a journalist."

Kamal said sarcastically, "May God spare him the evil of teaching."

Alarmed, Khadija said, "Would you like to see him employed as a journalist?"

To improve the mood, Abd al-Muni'm remarked, "Government service is no longer everyone's first choice."

His mother retorted sharply, "But you're a government employee, Mr. Abd al-Muni'm."

"In an elite unit. I wouldn't want him to accept a clerical position. And here's Uncle Kamal asking God to save my brother from becoming a teacher like him."

Turning toward Ahmad, Kamal asked, "What type of journalism do you have in mind?"

"Mr. Adli Karim has agreed to accept me provisionally on the staff of his magazine. At first I'll prepare translations. Later on I'll help with the editing."

"But The New Man is a cultural journal with limited resources and scope."

"It's a first step. I'll get experience that will make it easier for me to get a more important job. In any case, I won't go hungry even if I have to wait."

Looking at Khadija, Kamal suggested, "Let him do what he wants. He's an educated adult and knows better than anyone else what he should do."

But Khadija would not accept defeat so easily. She kept on trying to convince her son to accept a civil service position, and their voices grew loud and acrimonious. After Kamal intervened to separate them, a heavy silence reigned, and the party's atmosphere was spoiled. Laughing, Kamal said, "I came to drink some punch and celebrate, but instead I've found a somber gathering."

Ahmad was already putting on his coat to leave the house, and, excusing himself, Kamal left with his nephew. As they walked along al-Azhar Street, Ahmad informed his uncle that he was going to the offices of The New Man to start work, as he had promised Mr. Adli Karim.

Kamal told him, "Do whatever you want, but avoid offending your parents."

Ahmad laughed and commented, "I love them and revere them, but…"

"But what?"

"It's a mistake for a man to have parents."

Laughing, Kamal asked, "How can you say that so glibly?"

"I don't mean it literally, but insofar as parents represent bygone traditions. In general, fatherhood acts as a brake. What need do we have of brakes in Egypt when we're hobbling forward with fettered legs?" After reflecting for a moment he added, "A person like me will not know the bitter meaning of struggle as long as he has a home and a father with a private income. I don't deny that I enjoy it, but at the same time I feel embarrassed."

"When do you expect to start getting paid for your work?"

"The editor hasn't set a date…."

They parted at al-Ataba al-Khadra Square, and Ahmad continued on to The New Man. Mr. Adli Karim greeted him warmly and took him into the editorial offices to introduce him: "Your new colleague, Mr. Ahmad Ibrahim Shawkat."

Presenting the other members of the staff to Ahmad, he said, "Miss Sawsan Hammad, Mr. Ibrahim Rizq, and Mr. Yusuf al-Jamil."

They shook hands with Ahmad and welcomed him. Then, to be polite, Ibrahim Rizq said, "His name is well known here at the magazine."

Smiling, Mr. Adli Karim observed, "He was our first subscriber and has grown up with the magazine". Pointing to the desk of Yusuf al-Jamil, he added, "You will use this desk, for its occupant spends little time here."

When Adli Karim left the room, Yusuf al-Jamil invited Ahmad to sit down near his desk. He waited until the young man was seated and then said, "Miss Sawsan will allocate your work. You might as well have a cup of coffee now."

He pressed a buzzer, and Ahmad began to study their faces and the room. Ibrahim Rizq, a middle-aged man of decrepit appearance, looked ten years older than he actually was. Yusuf al-Jamil was a mature young man whose looks suggested an alert intelligence. Glancing at Sawsan Hammad, Ahmad wondered whether she remembered him. He had not seen her since that first encounter in 1936. Their eyes met. Wishing to escape from his silence, he mentioned with a smile, "I saw you here five years ago…". Detecting a look of recognition in her eyes, he continued: "I asked wtiat had happened to one of my articles that had not been published yet."

Smiling, she said, "I can almost remember that. In any case, we've published many of your articles since then."

Yusuf al-Jamil commented, "Articles that reveal a fine progressive spirit."

Ibrahim Rizq said, "People have a heightened awareness today. Out on the street wherever I look I see the phrase 'Bread and liberty.' This is the people's new slogan."

Sawsan Hammad remarked with interest, "It's a most beautiful one. Especially at this time when gloom encompasses the world."

Ahmad understood what her words implied, and with enthusiastic delight his soul responded to this new environment. He replied, "The world certainly is cloaked in darkness, but until Hitler attacks Britain, there's still hope of salvation."

Sawsan Hammad said, "I see the situation from another angle. Don't you suppose that if Hitler attacks Britain, it's probable that both giants will be destroyed or at least that the balance of power will shift to Russia?"

"What if the opposite happens? I mean, what if Hitler subdues the British Isles and achieves an uncontested supremacy?"

Yusuf al-Jamil said, "Napoleon, like Hitler, took on all of Europe, but Russia was his downfall."

In this pure atmosphere, with these liberated comrades and this enlightened and beautiful colleague, Ahmad felt more alive and vigorous than ever before. For some reason he thought of Alawiya Sabri and the tormented year during which he had wrestled with unrequited love until he had finally emerged the victor. From the depths of his heart he had cursed that love morning and evening until it had dispersed into thin air, leaving behind enduring traces of rebellious resentment. She was now home in al-Ma'adi, waiting for a husband with an income of at least fifty pounds a month. The girl here was calling for a Russian victory. What was she waiting for?

Then Sawsan waved a sheaf of papers in his direction as she said gently, "Would you mind?"

He rose and walked over to her desk to begin his new career.