al- Makabbati…' He shrugged his shoulders as though to shake away the past and then said, 'We all remember Sa'd from the enormous row he stirred up when he was appointed Minister of Education and then Minister of Justice. I still remember that the nationalist newspaper 'al-Liwa' welcomed him when he was nominated to the cabinet, although I can't forget its attacks on him afterward. I won't deny that I was influenced by his critics because of my devotion to the late Mustafa Kamil, but Sa'd has always shown that he merits admiration. His most recent move entitles him to the highest regard'.
'You're right. It’s a blessed undertaking. Let’s pray to God it meets with success'. Then he asked with concern, 'Do you think they'll be allowed to make the trip?… What do you think they'll do if they go there?'
Mr. Muhammad Iffat rolled up the petition. Then as he rose he said, 'Tomorrow’s not far off…'
On their way to the door, the proprietor’s playful spirit got the better of him and he whispered into his friend’s ear, 'I'm so happy about this petition that I could be a drunkard lifting his eighth glass between Zubayda’s thighs'.
Muhammad Iffat waggled his head enthusiastically, as though intoxicated by the picture his imagination had conjured up at the mention of a glass of wine and Zubayda. He murmured, 'Oh, what we'll soon be hearing…'
Then he left the store and his smiling friend called after him, 'And what we'll see after that…'
Al-Sayyid Ahmad returned to his desk. His face showed the happy impact of the jest, even though his patriotic enthusiasm had not subsided in his heart. He was like this in all concerns of life, so long as they had no connection to his home. He could be totally serious when that was called for but would not hesitate to lighten the atmosphere with humor and mirth whenever he felt like it, motivated by an irresistible urge. He had an unusual ability to reconcile seriousness and mirth, without either one suppressing or spoiling the other. His jesting was not a luxury of marginal importance to his life but was as much a necessity as seriousness. He had never been able to achieve total seriousness or to concentrate his energies on it. Consequently, he had been content to limit his patriotism to an emotional and psychic participation, not taking any action that might have altered the life he enjoyed so much that he would not have exchanged it for any other. For this reason he had never thought of joining one of the committees of the National Party, even though he was deeply attached to its principles. He had never even taken the trouble to go to one of their rallies. Would that not have been a waste of his precious time? The nation did not need his time, and he was eager to have every minute of it to spend on his family, on his business, and especially on his amusements with his friends and chums. Thus his time was reserved for his own life, and the nation was welcome to a share of his heart and emotions. It was easier to part with money than time. He was not stingy about contributing to the cause. He did not feel he was neglecting his duty in any way. On the contrary, he was known among his comrades for his patriotism, both because none had a heart as liberal with its emotions as his and because even those with liberal hearts were not as generous with their financial contributions. His patriotism set him apart so that he was known for it. It was added to the rest of the fine qualities on which he secretly prided himself. He could not imagine that the nationalist cause could ask any more of him after he had given so generously. Although his heart was filled with romance, music, and humor, he still found room for patriotism. Even if his nationalist fervor was confined to his heart, it was strong and deep, preoccupying and engrossing his soul.
His patriotism had not come to him accidentally. It had matured with him since childhood, when he had heard the previous generation recount tales of the heroism of the Egyptian revolutionary Urabi. It had been enflamed by articles and speeches printed in the nationalist newspaper 'al-Liwa''. And what a unique sight it had been, arousing both laughter and concern, the day he was seen crying like a baby over the death of Mustafa Kamil. His companions were touched because none of them had been indisposed at all by their sorrow. At their party that evening they had roared with laughter when they recalled the improbable sight of the 'Lord of Laughter' sobbing with tears.
Today, after years of the war, now waning, after the death of the youthful leader of the National Party and the banishment of his successor, after all hope for the return of 'Our Effendi' Khedive Abbas II had been lost, after the defeat of Turkey and the victory of the English, after all of this or in spite of all of this, there came amazing news, the facts of which seemed like legends: presenting to the Englishman, the High Commissioner, demands for independence, signing nationalist petitions, and wondering about the next step. Hearts were shaking off the dust to separate out what was vital to them. Souls were radiant with their hopes. What was behind all of this? His pacific soul, accustomed to passivity, wondered about this turn of events to no avail. He could hardly wait for nightfall so he could rush to his musical gathering, where political talk had become the appetizer before the drinks and music. It fit in with the other attractions that made him long for his evening’s entertainment, like Zubayda, his love for his comrades, the drinking and the music. In that enticing atmosphere, it appeared pleasantly refreshing and induced emotions like enthusiasm and love without asking more of the heart than it could bear.
Al-Sayyid Ahmad was thinking about all of this when Jamil al-Hamzawi came over to him and asked, 'Have you heard about the new name that’s being given to the home of Sa'd Pasha?… They're calling it 'the House of the Nation.'' He leaned toward his employer to tell him how this news had reached him.
50
While the nation was preoccupied by its demand for freedom, Yasin was likewise resolutely and determinedly striving to take charge of his own destiny. He was struggling for the right to go on his nightly outings, which he had virtuously given up for several weeks following his marriage. An excuse he frequently repeated to himself was that he could not have imagined while intoxicated by the dream of marriage that he would ever return to the life of idling his time away at the coffee shop and Costaki’s bar. He had sincerely believed he had set that aside for good, since he harbored only the best of intentions for his married life. When the hopeless and total disappointment of marriage overwhelmed him, his nerves were agitated by enduring the boredom or 'the emptiness of life,' as he put it. With all the strength of his pampered and sensitive soul, he sought escape through relaxation, entertainment, and distraction at the coffee shop and the bar. This was no longer the temporary life of amusement he had thought it to be when he treasured the hope of getting married. It was all that life had left for him to enjoy after marriage had become a bitter disappointment. He was like a person whose hopes forced him away from his native land but whose failure brought him back repentant.
Zaynab had once experienced his warm affection and greedy flattery. She had even been so cherished by him that he had taken her to the theater to see Kishkish Bey in defiance of the bulwark of stern conventions his father had constructed around the family. Now this same Zaynab had to endure his staying out until midnight evening after evening and coming home staggering drunk. It was a blow she found painful to bear.
She could not keep herself from expressing her sorrows to him. He had known instinctively that a sudden transformation in his married life could not be accomplished peacefully. From the beginning he had expected some form of resistance, whether criticism or a quarrel. He had taken precautions to secure his position with the same forcefulness his father had employed on intercepting him the night he returned from Kishkish Bey, when he had told Yasin, 'Only men can ruin women, and not every man is capable of being a guardian for them'.
As soon as she voiced her complaints, he told her, 'There’s no reason to be sad, darling. Since antiquity, houses have been for women and the outside world for men. Men are all like this. A sincere husband is as faithful to his wife when he’s away from her as when he’s with her. Moreover, the refreshment and delight I derive from my outings will make our life together thoroughly enjoyable'.
When she mentioned his drinking and protested that she was afraid for his health, he laughed and observed in a tone that blended tenderness with resolve, 'All men drink. Getting drunk is good for my health'. Then he laughed some more and suggested, 'Ask my father or yours'.
Even so, she tried to drag out the discussion, guided by false hopes. He was resolute, drawing courage from his boredom, which made it easier than before to feel indifferent about angering her. He proceeded to emphasize that men have an absolute right to do anything they want and women a duty to obey and abide by the rules. 'Look at my father’s wife. Have you ever seen her object to his conduct?… In spite of that, they are a happy couple and a stable family. There will be no need to talk about this subject again'.
Perhaps if he had left it up to his feelings, he would not have spoken to her so diplomatically, for his disappointment with marriage made him feel something like a desire for revenge. At other times, he felt a kind of intermittent loathing for her, although neither of these sentiments kept him from wanting her. He was considerate of her feelings out of fear or respect for his father, who was very fond of Mr. Muhammad Iffat. Nothing disturbed
