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.'
167
Late one night the silence of the Shawkats' residence on Sugar Street was broken by a rap on the door. The knocking continued, waking everyone up. The moment a servant opened the door, heavy footsteps invaded the house, pounded through the courtyard and up the stairs, laying siege to all three apartments. Weak with age, his head still clouded by sleep, Ibrahim Shawkat went to the sitting room, where he found an officer surrounded by policemen and detectives.
The astonished man asked in alarm, 'God spare us evil, what's happening?'
The commanding officer asked gruffly, 'Are you not the father of Ahmad Ibrahim Shawkat and of Abd al- Muni'm Ibrahim Shawkat, who reside in this building?'
As his face lost its color, he replied, 'Yes.'
'We have orders to search the entire building.'
'Why, your honor?'
Paying no attention to him, the officer turned to command his men, 'Search the place!'
As the policemen fanned out into the adjoining rooms in response to this directive, Ibrahim Shawkat asked, 'Why are you searching my apartment?'
The officer ignored him. At this juncture Khadija was forced out of the bedroom by the detectives who stormed into it. Wrapping a black shawl around herself, she cried out furiously, 'Have you no respect for women? Are we thieves, Mr. Police Chief?'
Glaring angrily at his face, she suddenly sensed that she had seen the man before or, to be more precise, the original version of this countenance before time had marched across it. When and where had that been? 'Good Lord!' she thought. It was the same man, without any doubt. He had not changed much. What was his name? Not hesitating, she remarked, 'Sir, twenty years ago you were an officer in the police station for al-Gamaliya. No, it was thirty years I don't remember the year exactly.'
The officer looked up at her with curious eyes, as Ibrahim Shawkat gazed from one to the other just as inquisitively. Then she continued: 'Your name is Hasan Ibrahim. Isn't that right?'
'Do you know me, ma'am?'
She said imploringly, 'I'm the daughter of al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad and the sister of Fahmy Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, who was killed by the English during the revolution. Don't you remember him?'
The officer's astonishment was clearly visible in his eyes. Using a civil tone for the first time, he muttered, 'May God be most compassionate to him.'
She entreated him even more determinedly, 'I'm his sister! Do you enjoy abusing my house like this?'
The officer looked away and replied almost apologetically, 'We're just following orders, lady.'
'But why, Officer? We're good people!'
He answered gently, 'Yes, but I can't say as much for your two boys.'
Khadija cried out in dismay, 'They're the nephews of your old friend!'
Without looking at either of them, the officer responded, 'We're acting on orders from the Ministry of the Interior.'
'They haven't done anything wrong. They're good boys. I swear it.'
The policemen and the detectives returned to the sitting room without having discovered anything. The commanding officer ordered them to leave the apartment and then, turning toward the couple, said, 'We've been informed that suspicious gatherings are held in their apartments.'
'A lie, your honor!'
'I too hope this is the case. Even so, I have no choice but to arrest them now. They will be held until the inquiry has been concluded. It's possible that they'll be cleared.'
In a trembling voice embellished by sobs, Khadija wailed, 'Are you really taking them to the station? This defies the imagination! By the lives of your own children, I beg you to set them free.'
'I don't have the power to do that. I have clear orders to arrest them. Have a pleasant evening.'
The man left the apartment. Heedless of everything she passed, Khadija rushed down the steps after him,
