Sugar Street

166

In front of the Ritz Cafe at the intersection of Sharif and Qasr al-Nil streets, Kamal found himself face to face with Husayn Shaddad. They both stopped and stared at each other. Then Kamal cried out, "Husayn!"

Husayn exclaimed in turn, "Kamal!"

Laughing with gleeful delight, they shook hands warmly.

"What a happy surprise after such a long time!"

"A very happy surprise! You've changed a lot, Kamal. But not so fast…. Perhaps I'm exaggerating…. The same build and general appearance. But what's this dignified mustache? These 'classic' spectacles and this walking stick? And this fez that no one else wears anymore? …"

"You've changed a great deal too. You're heavier than I would have imagined. Is this the Parisian fashion? Where's the Husayn I once knew?"

"Where's the Paris I once knew? Where are Hitler and Mussolini? Well, let's not worry about it. I was on my way to the Ritz to have some tea. Do you have any objection to joining me?"

"Of course not."

They went into the Ritz and took a table by the window overlooking the street. After Husayn ordered tea and Kamal coffee, they resumed their smiling examination of one another. Husayn had become huge, expanding vertically and horizontally. But what had he done with his life? Had he toured the earth and the heavens as he had once hoped? Despite their friendly expression, his eyes had a coarse look, as if they had undergone a transformation following childhood. A year had passed since Kamal's encounter with Budur on Fuad I Street. During that time he had recovered from his relapse into love, and the Shaddad family had retreated into a forgotten corner of his mind. Now the sight of Husayn awakened Kamal's soul from its slumbers, and, stretching sleepily, the past reappeared to spread its joys and torments before him.

"When did you return from abroad?"

"It's been about a year."

He had made absolutely no attempt to contact Kamal…. But why blame Husayn when he himself had forgotten his former friend and written off their friendship?

"If I had known you were back in Egypt, I certainly would have looked you up."

Showing no confusion or embarrassment, Husayn answered quite simply, "When I came back, I found many problems awaiting me. Haven't you heard about us?"

Kamal frowned as he replied briefly and sadly, "Yes, of course … from our friend Isma'il Latif."

"My mother tells me he left for Iraq two years ago…. As I was saying, I found a lot of problems waiting for me. And then I had to start working. I've had to work night and day."

This was the 1944 edition of Husayn Shaddad, who had once considered work a crime against humanity. Had that past really existed? Perhaps the only clue to its existence was the pounding of Kamal'sheart.

"Do you remember the last time we saw each other?"

"Oh!.."

The waiter arrived with their tea and coffee before Husayn could complete his response. But he hardly seemed eager to relive those memories.

"Let me remind you. It was in 1926."

"What a fantastic memory!" Then he said absentmindedly, "Seventeen years in Europe!"

"Tell me about your life there."

Shaking his head, which had gray hair only at the temples, Husayn replied, "Leave that for another time. Content yourself now with these headlines: dreamlike years of travel and happiness, love followed by marriage to a Parisian girl from a good family, the war and exodus to the South, my father's bankruptcy, work in my father-in-law's business, a return to Egypt without my wife in preparation for settling here what more do you want to know?"

"Do you have any children?"

"No."

Husayn seemed reticent. But what remained of their old friendship to make Kamal regret this? All the same, feeling a powerful urge to knock on the doors of the past, he asked, "What about your former philosophy of life?"

Husayn reflected for a time and then, laughing sarcastically, replied, "For years and years my life has been devoted to work. I'm not/ring but a businessman."

Where was Husayn Shaddad's spirit, which Kamal had once employed to put himself into contact with the comforting repose of spiritual bliss? It no longer resided in this bulky person. Perhaps it had come to rest in Riyad Qaldas. Kamal did not know the man sitting across from him. The sole tie linking them was an unknowable past, which he would have liked to recapture at that moment in a living image, not in a dead photograph.

"What line of work are you in now?"

"One of my father's friends got me a position in the press censorship office, working from midnight till dawn. Besides that, I translate for some European newspapers."

"When don't you work?"

"Almost never. What makes all the effort less objectionable is my determination to provide my wife with a style of life appropriate to her before I invite her to join me in Egypt. She's from a good family, and when I married her I was considered wealthy". Saying that, he laughed as if to poke fun at himself.

Kamal smiled to encourage Husayn and told himself, "It's lucky I stopped thinking about you a long time ago. Otherwise, I would be weeping now from the depths of my heart."

"And you, Kamal — what are you doing?" Then he added, "I remember that you were wild about culture."

Husayn was certainly to be thanked for this recollection, since Kamal was as dead to him as he was to Kamal. "We die and return to life several times a day," Kamal reflected. "I teach English," he replied.

"A teacher! Yes… yes. I'm starting to remember now. You wanted to be a writer."

"What aborted hopes!" Kamal exclaimed to himself.

"I publish essays in al-Fikr magazine. In the near future I may collect some of them into a book."

Husayn smiled despondently and remarked, "You're lucky. You've seen your youthful dreams come true. I haven't". And he laughed again.

Kamal felt that the sentence "You're lucky" had a strange ring to it. The only thing stranger was the envious tone in which it was spoken. He was envied and considered fortunate. By whom?… By the leading member of the Shaddad family. All the same, to be polite, Kamal responded, "Your career is more distinguished."

The smiling Husayn said, "I've had no choice. My one hope is to be able to regain some of my former status."

They were silent for a long time as Kamal's eager scrutiny of Husayn triggered images of the past. Finally he found himself asking, "How's your family?"

Husayn replied noncommittally, "Fine."

Kamal hesitated a little and then said, "You had a young sister, whose name I can't recall. What's become of her?"

"Budur! She got married last year."

"God's will be done! Our children are getting married."

"Haven't you married?"

Wondering whether Husayn had forgotten everything, Kamal said, "No."

"Hurry up. Otherwise you'll miss the train."

Laughing, Kamal replied, "It's already miles ahead of me."

"You may end up getting married without actually intending to. Believe me. Marriage wasn't part of my plan, but I've been a husband for more than ten years."

Shrugging his shoulders, Kamal suggested, "Tell me how you find life here after your long stay in France."

"Following the German occupation, life in France was not much fun. Compared to that, life here is easy". Then he added nostalgically, "But Paris where, where is Paris now?"

"Why didn't you stay in France?"

Husayn answered disapprovingly, "And live entirely at my father-in-law's expense? No…. When wartime conditions made it impossible to travel there was an excuse for staying. After that I felt obliged to leave."

Did this smack of the old arrogance? Feeling driven to embark on a painful and dangerous adventure, Kamal asked slyly, "What news do you have of our friend Hasan Salim?"

After staring uneasily at Kamal for a moment, Husayn replied coldly, "None."

"How so?"

Looking out at the street through the window, Husayn said,"We haven't had any contact with him for about two years."

Unable to hide his astonishment, Kamal started to ask, "You mean …?" But he did not finish the question. The shock was too much for him. Had Aida returned again to al-Abbasiya as a divorcee? He would have to postpone consideration of all this to some other time. He remarked calmly, "His trip to Iran was the last thing Isma'il Latif mentioned."

Husayn said morosely, "My sister spent only a month with him there. Then she returned alone". In a hushed voice he added, "God rest her soul."

"What?" This word escaped from Kamal in a verbal outburst audible at nearby tables.

Husayn looked at him in amazement and said, "You didn't know! She died a year ago."

"Aida?"

The other man nodded his head, and Kamal felt embarrassed about blurting out her name in such a familiar manner. But his thoughts immediately raced beyond this moment of embarrassment. Words no longer seemed to mean anything. He felt a maelstrom of oblivion whirling around in his head. He was afflicted by astonishment and dismay, not by sorrow and pain. When lie could speak again, he exclaimed, "What distressing news! May you have a long life."

Husayn recounted: "She came home from Iran alone and stayed with my mother for a month. Then she married Anwar Bey Zaki, the chief inspector for English-language instruction. But she lived with him for only two months before falling ill. She died in the Coptic Hospital."

How could his head keep up with revelations that came at such breakneck speed? Husayn had said, "Anwar Bey Zaki". He was the chief supervisor of Kamal's own instructional division. Kamal had perhaps met the man several times during his marriage to Aida. "Oh Lord…". He remembered then that during the past year he had walked in the funeral procession of the supervisor's wife. Had that been Aida? But how could he have missed seeing Husayn?

"Were you here when she passed away?"

"No. She died before I returned to Egypt."

Shaking his head in amazement, Kamal said, "I was at her funeral but didn't know that the deceased woman was your sister."

"How could that be?"

"I heard at school that the wife of one of the chief inspectors had passed away and that the funeral reception would be in al-Isma'iliya Square the same day. I went with some of my fellow teachers without ever seeing the announcement in the papers. We walked with the other mourners as far as the Sharkas mosque. That was a year ago."

Husayn smiled sadly as he said, "We thank you for taking the trouble."

Had this death occurred in 1926, Kamal would have gone insane or killed himself. Today it seemed like any other piece of news to him. That he should have walked in her funeral procession without knowing it was in her honor was bizarre. At the time, he had still been subject to the bitterness aroused by Budur's marriage and might actually have thought of the deceased when images of Budur and her family passed through his mind. He remembered the day of the funeral. He had offered his condolences to Anwar Bey Zaki and then had taken a seat with the other mourners. When they had called out, "All rise, the coffin's here," he had looked that way, glimpsing a beautiful casket covered in white silk. Some of his colleagues had whispered that she was the inspector's second wife, that they had only recently married, and that she had died of pneumonia. He had paid his final respects to the coffin without knowing he was bidding farewell to his past. A married man over fifty with children… how could the angel of that bygone age have consented to this?

"You assumed she was above marriage," Kamal thought. "But she had to accept divorce and then the fate of being a second wife. A long time will pass before the agitation of your breast settles down not out of grief or pain, but from your shock and astonishment, from the disappearance of the world's splendid dreams, and from the eternal loss of that enchanting past. If there is any reason for regret in all this, it's that you didn't grieve as much as you should have."

"But what changed Hasan Salim?"

Husayn shook his head scornfully and said, "The scoundrel fell in love with an employee at the Belgian legation in Iran. My late sister was outraged at the damage to her honor and demanded a separation."

"In a situation like mine," Kamal mused, "a man's only consolation may be that even Euclid's self-evident axioms are no longer thought quite so self-evident."

"What about her children?"

"With their paternal grandmother."

"And where is Ai'da herself?" Kamal wondered. "What surprises has the year brought her? Is it possible that Fahmy, al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, or Na'ima has made her acquaintance?"

Then Husayn Shaddad rose, saying, "It's time for me to go. Let's see more of you. I usually have supper here at the Ritz."

Kamal stood up too, and murmured as they shook hands, "God willing…"

They parted this way. Kamal sensed that he would never see Husayn again and that neither of them would have anything to gain from a future encounter. As He left the establishment, he told himself, "I'm sad, Ai'da, that I didn't mourn enough for you."