time since anyone had been able to awaken a spiritual response like this in him… not Isma'il Latif, not Fuad al- Ham-zawi, not any one of the dozens of teachers. Had the time come for the place vacated by Husayn Shaddad's departure to be filled?
He put his glasses on again. Smiling, he said, 'Of course there's a story. Like most people, I began with religious belief, which was followed by belief in truth…'
'I remember that you discussed materialist philosophy with suspicious zeal.'
'My enthusiasm was sincere, but later I was troubled by skeptical doubts.'
'Perhaps rationalism was the answer.'
'I quickly felt skeptical about that too. Systems of philosophy are beautiful and tranquil castles but unfit to live in.'
Abd al-Aziz smiled and said, 'These are the words of one of their denizens.'
Kamal shrugged his shoulders to dismiss that remark, but Riyad continued questioning him: 'There's science. Perhaps it could save you from your doubts.'
'Science is a closed world to those of us who know only its most obvious findings. Besides, I've learned that there are distinguished scientists who question whether scientific truth matches our actual world. Some find the laws of probability perplexing. Others are averse to asserting that there is any absolute truth. So I became even more tormented by doubt.'
Riyad Qaldas smiled but made no comment. Then Kamal continued: 'I've even plunged into modern spiritualism and its attempts to contact the other world. That made my head revolve in a frightening emptiness, and it's still spinning. What is truth? What are values? What is anything? Occasionally when I do the right thing I feel the prickings of conscience that I normally experience on doing something wrong.'
Abd al-Aziz laughed out loud and said, 'Religion has taken its revenge on you. You fled it to pursue higher truths only to return empty-handed.'
Apparently more from politeness than conviction, Riyad Qaldas commented, 'This skeptical stance is rather delightful. You observe and ponder everything with total freedom, acting like a tourist.'
Addressing Kamal, Abd al-Aziz said, 'You're a bachelor in both your thought and your life.'
Kamal noted this chance phrase with interest. Was his single status a consequence of his philosophy or vice versa? Or were both a product of some third factor?
Rdyad Qaldas said, 'Being single's a temporary condition. Perhaps doubt is too.'
Abd al-Aziz replied, 'But it seemshe's averse to ever getting married.'
Amazed, Riyad asked, 'What's incompatible about love and doubt? What's to prevent a lover from getting married? A persistent refusal to marry cannot be justified by doubt, which admits no persistence in anything.'
Without believing it himself, Kamal asked, 'Doesn't love require a certain amount of faith?'
Riyad Qaldas answered laughingly, 'Of course not. Love is like an earthquake, rocking mosque, church, and brothel equally.'
'An earthquake?' Kamal asked himself. 'What an appropriate comparison! An earthquake destroys everything and then drowns the world in deathly silence.'
'What about you, Mr. Qaldas?' Kamal inquired. 'You have praised doubt. Are you a skeptic?'
Abd al-Aziz laughed and said, 'He's doubt incarnate.'
They roared with laughter. Then Riyad, as though to introduce himself, commented, 'I was a skeptic for a long time before renouncing it. I no longer have any doubts concerning religion, because I've abandoned it. But I believe in science and art. I always shall, God willing.'
Abd al-Aziz asked sarcastically, 'The God you don't believe in?'
Smiling, Riyad Qaldas answered, 'Religion is a human artifact. We know nothing about God. Who can really say he doesn't believe in God? Or that he does? The prophets are the only true Believers. That's because they see and hear Him or converse with messengers bringing His revelations.'
Kamal inquired, 'Yet you believe in science and art?'
'Yes.'
'There's some basis for belief in science. But art? I'd rather believe in spiritualism than in the short story, for example.'
Riyad stared at him critically but said calmly, 'Science is the language of the intellect. Art is the language of the entire human personality.'
'What a poetic statement!'
Riyad received Kamal's sarcasm with an indulgent smile and replied, 'Science brings people together with the light of its ideas. Art brings them together with lofty human emotions. Both help mankind develop and prod us toward a better future.'
'What conceit!' Kamal exclaimed to himself. 'He writes a two-page short story every month and imagines that he'shelping mankind progress. But I'm as nauseating as he is, for I summarize a chapter from Hoffdmg's History of Modern Philosophy and then deep inside claim to be the equal of Fuad Jamil al-Hamzawi, public prosecutor for al- Darb al-Ahmar. But how would life be bearable otherw: se? Are we insane, wise, or merely alive? To hell with everything!'
'What do you say about scientists who do not share your enthusiasm for science?'
'We should not interpret the modesty of science as weakness or despair. Science provides mankind with its magic, light, guidance, and miracles. It's the religion of the future.'
'And the short story?'
For the first time it became clear that Riyad was offended, even though he attempted not to let it show. Kamal corrected himself almost apologetically, 'I mean art in general.'
Riyad Qaldas asked emphatically, 'Can you live in absolute isolation? People need confidential advice, consolation, joy, guidance, light, and journeys to all regions of the inhabited world and of the soul. That's what art is.'
At this juncture Mr. Abd al-Aziz said, 'I have an idea. Let's get together with some of our colleagues once a month to talk about intellectual concerns. Then we can publish our discussion under the title 'Debate of the Month.''
Looking at Kamal affectionately, Riyad Qaldas said, 'Our debate will continue. Or that's what I hope. Shall we consider ourselves friends?'
Kamal replied with sincere enthusiasm, 'Most certainly! We must meet as often as possible.'
Pervaded by happiness because of this new friendship, Kamal sensed that an exalted side of his heart had been awakened after a profound slumber. He was more convinced than ever of the important role friendship played in his life. It was vital and indispensable for him. Without it, he was like a thirsty man perishing in the desert.
131
The new friends parted at al-Ataba, and Kamal returned by the Muski. Although it was nearly 8 p.m., the air he breathed in was hot enough to be stifling. He slowed down on reaching al-Gawhari Alley, which he entered. Then he stepped into the third house on the right, climbing the stairs to the second floor. After he rang the bell, a little window in the door opened, revealing the face of a woman over sixty. She welcomed him with a smile, which showed off her gold teeth, and admitted him.
'Welcome to my lover's son!' she exclaimed. 'Welcome to my brother's son!'
He followed her to a sitting room surrounded by bedrooms. The two sofas were placed opposite each other. Between them were a small carpet gleaming with gold and silver thread, a table, and a water pipe. The fragrance of incense permeated the room.
The woman was plump, but old enough to be fragile, and her head was wrapped in a spangled kerchief. Although decorated by kohl, her eyes had a heavy look indicative of drug abuse. The wrinkles of her face revealed traces of her former beauty and of an enduring wantonness. Sitting down cross-legged on the sofa near the water pipe, she gestured for him to sit beside her.
Obeying her, he smiled and asked, 'How is Mrs. Jalila?'
She protested, 'Call me 'Aunt.''
