past and present, and he would consider himself a happy person, aware that his life had not been in vain. But wishful thinking like this was as false an awakening as that of death. He should content himself with forgetfulness. That would be a victory, even if tinged with defeat. He should let his consolation be the fact that he was not the only person to suffer failure in life.
He asked, 'When are they leaving for Iran?'
'They were to leave yesterday, or at least that's what she said during her visit.'
'How did she take her family's disaster?'
'I naturally avoided the subject, and she did not refer to it.'
Pointing straight ahead, Riyad Qaldas exclaimed, 'Look!' Glancing toward the left-hand side of the balcony, they observed a strange-looking woman in her seventh decade. Skinny and barefoot, she was attired in an ankle- length shirt like a man's and wore a skullcap from which no wisp of hair protruded. Her scalp was either bald or diseased, and her face was so coated with makeup that it appeared ridiculous and disgusting. Her front teeth were missing, and her eyes radiated beaming messages of affectionate ingratiation in all directions.
Riyad asked with interest, 'A beggar?'
Isma'il replied, 'A crazy woman, more likely.'
She stood looking at the empty chairs on the left. Then choosing one, she sat down. When she noticed that they were looking at her, she smiled broadly and said, 'Good evening, men.'
Riyad responded warmly to her greeting, 'Good evening, my good woman.'
She emitted a laugh that, as Isma'il said, reminded him of the Ezbekiya entertainment district in its days of glory. Then she answered, 'Good woman'! Yes, I am that, if you mean 'good' as in 'good times.''
The three men laughed. Encouraged by this reaction, she said enticingly, 'Treat me to tea and a pipe, and God will make it up to you.'
Riyad clapped his hands together energetically to place her order. Leaning toward Kamal's ear, he whispered, 'This is the way some stories begin.'
The old woman laughed delightedly and said, 'What old-fashioned generosity! Are you members of the wartime rich, my sons?'
Laughing, Kamal replied, 'We're members of the wartime poor, in other words civil servants, my good woman.'
Riyad asked her, 'What is your distinguished name?'
Raising her head with ludicrous pride, she responded, 'The celebrated Sultana Zubayda, in person.'
'The Sultana?'
'Yes,' she continued jovially. 'But my subjects have all died.'
'May God have mercy on them.'
'God have mercy on the living. It's enough for the dead that they're in the presence of God. Tell me who you are.'
A smiling waiter brought her a water pipe and tea. Then, approaching the three friends, he asked, 'Do you know her?'
'Who is she?'
'The entertainer Zubayda, the most famous vocalist of her time, but age and cocaine have reduced her to the state you see today.'
It see tried to Kamal that he had heard the name before. The interest of Riyad Qaldas intensified, and he urged his friends to introduce themselves as she had requested, in order to encourage her to talk.
Isma'il presented himself: 'Isma'il Latif.'
Gigghng and sipping her tea before it could grow cold, she remarked, 'Long live names! Even when a charming one like this doesn't lit the person They laughed, and Isma'il cursed her in a low voice she could not hear. But Riyad said, 'Riyad Qaldas.'
'An infidel? I had one of you for a lover. He was a merchant in the Muski, and his name was Yusuf Ghattas. He was a world-beater. I used to crucify him on the bed till dawn.'
She laughed along with them, her pleasure obvious from her face. Then she turned her eyes to Kamal, who said, 'Kamal Ahmad Abd al-Jawad.'
She w as bringing the glass of tea to her lips. Her hand stopped in midair as she experienced a fleeting moment of lucidity. Staring at his face, she asked, 'What did you say?'
Riyacl Qaldas answered for him, 'Kamal Ahmad Abd al-Jawad.'
She took a drag on the water pipe and said as if to herself, 'Ahmad Abd al-Jawad! But there are lots of people with the same name, as many as there once were piasters'. Then she asked Kamal, 'Is your father a merchant in al-Nahhasin?'
Kamal was astonished and replied, 'Yes.'
She stood up and walked toward them. Coming to a stop in front of him, she roared with a laughter that seemed to exceed by far the powers of her emaciated skeleton. Then she exclaimed, 'You're Abd al-Jawad's son! O son of my precious companion! But you don't resemble him! This really is his nose, but he was as handsome as the full moon shining by night. Just mention the Sultana Zubayda to him, and he'll tell you more than enough about me.'
Riyad and Isma'il burst into laughter. Kamal smiled as he tried to conquer his disquiet. Only then did he remember that long ago Yasin had told him the story — in fact the many stories — about his father and Zubayda the entertainer.
She asked Kamal, 'How is al-Sayyid Ahmad? It's been ages since I moved out of your neighborhood, which spurned me. Now I'm one of the people of Imam al-Shafi'i. But I get homesick for al-Husayn and visit on rare occasions. I was ill for so long that the neighbors got disgusted with me. If they had not been afraid of censure, they would have thrown me into the grave alive. How is my master?'
Kamal replied rather despondently, 'He passed away four months ago.'
She frowned a little and said, 'To God's mercy… what a pity! He was a man unlike any other.'
She returned to her seat and suddenly laughed loudly. Shortly thereafter the proprietor of the coffeehouse appeared at the entry to the balcony and warned her: 'That's enough laughter! 'When we did not scold him the first time, he brought in his jenny.' The gentlemen are to be praised for their generosity to you, but if you're rowdy again, I'll show you the door.'
She kept quiet until he left and then smiled at the men. 'Are you like your father or not?' she asked Kamal as she made a lewd gesture with her hand.
The friends laughed, and Isma'il said, 'He's not even married yet!'
In a bantering tone of disbelief, she said, 'It's clear that you're trying to make a sucker out of me.'
They laughed. Riyad rose and went to sit beside her. He remarked, 'We're honored by your company, Sultana. But I want to hear about the days of your reign.'
156
Twenty minutes before the lecture was to begin, Ewart Hall at the American University was almost full. According to Riyad Qaldas, Mr. Roger was a noted professor and especially memorable when discussing Shakespeare. There had been a suggestion that the lecture would contain political allusions, but that was hardly worth considering when the speaker was Mr. Roger and the topic William Shakespeare. Even so, Riyad was glum and despondent. Had he not invited Kamal, he would have stayed away. His distress was entirely natural for a man as preoccupied by politics as he was. With obvious passion, he whispered to Kamal, 'Makram Ubayd has been expelled from the Wafd! Why are all these outrageous things happening?'
Kamal, who also still felt stunned by the news, shook his head dejectedly without any comment.
'It's a national catastrophe, Kamal. Things should not have deteriorated this far.'
'Yes, but who was responsible?'
'Al-Nahhas! Makram Ubayd may be high-strung, but the corruption that has infiltrated the government is a fact that should not be hushed up.'
Smiling, Kamal replied, 'Let's not talk about corruption in government. Makram's revolt was less about
