the songs ofthat age, no matter how trite the lyrics or the tunes. What did this mean?
'But not so fast. A memory of love, not love itself, was at work. We're in love with love, regardless of our circumstances, and love it most when we are deprived of it. At the moment, I feel adrift in a sea of passion. A latent illness may release its poison when we're temporarily indisposed. What can we do about it? Even doubt, which puts all truths into question, stops cautiously before love, not because love is beyond doubt, but out of respect for my sorrow and from a desire that the past should be true.'
Isma'il returned to this tragedy, narrating many of its details. Finally he seemed to tire of it. In a tone that indicated he wished to end the saga he said, 'Only God is permanent. It's really distressing, but that's enough misfortune for us now.'
Feeling a need for silent reflection, Kamal did not attempt to draw him out. What Isma'il had said was quite sufficient. To his own astonishment, Kamal wept silently with invisible tears shed by his heart. Although once afflicted by love's malady, he had recovered completely. He told himself in amazement, 'Nine or ten years! What a long time and yet how short…. I wonder what Ai'da looks like now.'
He wished terribly that he could gaze at her long enough to discover the secret ofthat magical past and even the secret of his own personality. He saw her now only as a fleeting image in a familiai: old song, a picture in a soap advertisement, or when in his sleep he whispered with surprise, 'There she is!' But what he actually observed was nothing more than glimpses of a film star or an intrusive memory. He would wake up. What reality was there to it then?
He did not feel like sitting here any longer. His soul yearned for an adventuresome journey through the unseen spiritual realm. So he asked Isma'il, 'Will you accept my invitation to have a couple of drinks in a nice place where we won't be seen?'
Isma'il chortled and replied, 'My wife's waiting for me to take her to visit her aunt.'
Kamal was not concerned about this rejection. For a long time he had been his own drinking companion. The two men continued chatting about one thing and another as they left the coffeehouse. In the middle ofthat conversation, Kamal remarked to himself, 'When we're in love, we may resent it, but we certainly miss love once it's gone.'
122
'It's pleasant sitting here … although my resources are limited. From this warm spot you can see people coming and going … back and forth from Faruq Street, the Muski, and al-Ataba.'
But for the stinging cold of January, this Casanova would not have taken shelter behind the coffeehouse window, reluctantly abandoning the excellent outdoor vantage point the establishment claimed on the opposite sidewalk.
'But spring will come…. Yes, it will, even though our resources are limited. Sixteen years or more stuck at the seventh grade of the civil service…. The store in al-Hamzawi was sold for a minuscule sum. Even though the rental unit in al-Ghuriya is large, it brings in only a few pounds. The house in Palace of Desire Alley is my residence and refuge. Ridwan has a rich grandfather, but Karima's totally dependent on me … the head of a household with a lover'sheart. Unfortunately my resources are limited.'
His roving eyes suddenly came to rest on a lanky young man with a compact mustache and gold-rimmed glasses. Wearing a black overcoat, the fellow was on his way from the Muski to al-Ataba. Yasin straightened up as though preparing to rise but did not stir from his seat. If the young man had not seemed in a such a hurry, Yasin would have stepped out to invite his brother to sit with him. Kamal was an excellent person to talk to when one was feeling low. Although almost thirty, he had never thought of getting married.
'Why was I in such a hurry to marry? Why did I jump right back in before recovering from the first bout? But who doesn't have something to complain of, whether married or single? Ezbe-kiya was a delightful place for fun, but it's been ruined. Today it's a meeting place for the dregs of society. All you have left from the world of pleasures is the diversion of observing this intersection and then of pursuing some easy quarry, at best an Egyptian maid who works for a foreign family. Usually she'll be clean, with a refined appearance. Yet her dominant characteristic will undeniably be her questionable morals. She's often found at the vegetable market in al-Azhar Square.'
His coffee finished, he sat by the closed window, gazing out at the street. His eyes followed all the good- looking women, recording their images, whether they wore the traditional black wrap or a modem overcoat. He observed their individual attractions and their overall appearance with unflagging diligence. Some eveningshe sat there until ten. At other timeshe stayed only long enough to drink his coffee before rising to hurry off in pursuit of prey he sensed would be responsive and cheap — as if he were a dealer in secondhand goods. Most of the time he was content just to watch. He might trail after a beauty without harboring any serious ambitions. Only occasionally washe overwhelmed enough by desire at the sight of a dissolute maid or of a widow over forty to pursue her in earrest. He was no longer the man he had once been, not merely because of the heavy burdens on his income but also because his fortieth year had arrived, an uninvited and unwelcome guest.
'What an alarming fact! White hairs at my temples! I've told the baiber repeatedly to deal with it. He says one white hair is nothing to be concerned about, but they keep popping up. Down with both of them — the barber and white hair! He prescribed a reliable dye, but I'll never resort to that. When my father turned fifty, he didn't have a single white hair. What am I compared to my father? And not only with regard to white hair…. He was a young man at forty, a young man at fifty. But I… My Lord, I've not been more intemperate than my father…. Give your head a rest and exercise your heart. Do you suppose the life of Harun al-Rashid was really as filled with sensual pleasures as reports would have it'… Where does Zanuba fit into all this? Considered in the abstract, marriage is a bitch of a deception, but it's a powerful enough force to make you cherish the deception as long as you live. Nations will be overthrown, and eras will pass away. Yet the fates will always produce a woman going about her business and a man seriously pursuing her. Youth is a curse, but maturity's a string of curses. Where can a heart find any relaxation? … Where? … The most wretched thing that could happen in this world would be having to ask in a stupor one day, 'Where am I?''
He]eft the coffeehouse at nine-thirty and proceeded slowly across al-Ataba to Muhammad Ali Street. Then, entering the Star Tavern, he greeted Khalo, who stood behind the bar in his traditional stance. The bartender returned Yasin's greeting with a broad smile, which revealed yellow front teeth with gaps between them. He gestured with his chin toward the interior, as if to inform this customer that friends were waiting for him there. The hall running beside the bar ended in a suite of three connected rooms that resounded with raucous laughter. Yasin went to the last of the three. It had but one window, which offered through its iron bars a view of al-Mawardi Alley. Three tables were dispersed in the corners. Two were empty, and the third was surrounded by Yasin's friends, who greeted him jubilantly, as they did every evening. Despite his complaints, Yasin was the youngest of the group. The oldest was an unmarried pensioner, who sat next to a head clerk in the Ministry of Waqfs, or mortmain trusts. Present also were a personnel director from the University and an attorney whose rental income spared him from having to practice law. The excessive reliance of these men on alcohol was apparent in their bleary gaze and in their complexions, which were either flushed or exceedingly pale. They made their way to the tavern between eight and nine and did not leave it until the wee hours of the morning, after imbibing the nastiest, cheapest, and most intoxicating drinks available. Yasin did not keep them company the whole time or did so only rarely. He normally spent two or three hours with them.
As usual the elderly bachelor greeted him with the salutation 'Welcome, Hajji Yasin'. The old man persisted in calling him a hajji, or pilgrim, not because Yasin had been to Mecca, but because of his Qur'anic name.
The attorney, the most alcoholic, observed, 'You're so late, hero, that we said you must have stumbled upon a woman who would deprive us of your company all night long.'
The bachelor commented philosophically, 'There's nothing like a woman to come between one man and another.'
Yasin, who had taken a seat next to him and the head clerk from trusts, jested, 'There's no need to worry about that with you.'
Lifting his glass to his mouth, the old man said, 'Except for a few devilish moments when a girl of fourteen may tempt me.'
The head clerk retorted, 'Talking about it in January is one thing, but doing it in February is another.'
