importunate lust pushes him into ignominious situations. He has had days of pain and distress when he was driven to defile himself with criminal types and the scum of society in order to pick out from among them a lover with whom to satisfy his need for just one night, never to be seen again. Again and again he has been subjected to theft, insult, and blackmail. Once they beat him horribly in a public bathhouse in the quarter of El Hussein and took his gold watch and wallet.
In the aftermath of such insane nights, Hatim Rasheed would hole up at home for a few days, seeing and speaking to no one, drinking a lot, passing his whole life in review, and remembering his father and mother with resentment and hatred. He would say to himself that if they had made a little time to look after him, he would never have sunk this low, but they were preoccupied with their professional ambitions and had devoted themselves to achieving wealth and glory so they left him and his body to the servants to play around with. He never blames Idris or doubts for one moment that he loved him truly, but he longs to see his father, Dr. Hassan Rasheed, rise from his grave just once so that he can tell him what he thinks of him. He would stand in front of him and face down his powerful glances, huge frame, and awe-inspiring pipe. He wouldn’t be afraid of him at all and he would say to him, “Great scholar, since you’d dedicated your life to civil law, why did you get married and have children? You may have been a genius at law but you certainly didn’t know how to be a real father. How many times in your life did you kiss me? How many times did you sit down with me so that I could tell you about my problems? You always treated me as though I were a rare art object or painting you’d acquired because it had taken your fancy; then you’d forgotten about it, and from time to time, when your crowded work schedule permitted, you’d remember it, look at it for a while, and then forget about it again.”
His mother, Jeanette, he would also confront with the truth. “You were just a barmaid at a small bar in le Quartier latin. You were poor and uneducated and your marriage to my father was a bigger social leap than you’d ever dreamed of. Despite this, you spent the next thirty years despising my father and blackmailing him because he was Egyptian and you were French. You played the role of the cultured European among the savages. You kept grumbling about Egypt and the Egyptians and treating everybody coldly and haughtily. Your neglect of me was part of your hatred for Egypt. I think you were unfaithful to my father more than once; in fact, I’m sure of it, at least with Monsieur Benard the embassy secretary, whom you used to spend hours talking to on the phone, lying on the couch, hugging the receiver, and whispering, your face contorted with desire, sending me off to play with the servants. You were just a whore like the ones anyone could catch by the dozen in the bars of Paris simply by sticking out his hand.” In these black moments, despair seizes Hatim, his sense of humiliation tears at him, and he surrenders himself to weeping like a child. Sometimes he thinks about suicide, but he lacks the courage to carry it out.
Right now, however, he is in the best of form: his relationship with Abd Rabbuh has kept going and settled down and he has succeeded in linking Abduh’s life to his own by means of the kiosk and the room he has rented for them on the roof. He has guaranteed his physical satisfaction and stopped going altogether to the Chez Nous and other homosexual meeting places. He is urging Abduh to complete his education so that he can become a respectable, educated person capable of appreciating his feelings and ideas and worthy of his permanent friendship.
“Abduh. You’re intelligent and sensitive and you can improve your circumstances through your own efforts. You’re earning money now, your family is taken care of, and your life is stable. But money isn’t everything. You have to get an education and become a respectable man.”
They’d finished the morning love session and Hatim got out of bed, naked, and took a dreamy, dancing step on the tips of his toes, his face full of contentment and animation as it usually was after he’d had his fill of lovemaking. He started to pour himself a drink while Abduh, stretched out on the bed, laughed and said jokingly, “Why do you want me to get an education?”
“So you can be respectable.”
“You mean I’m not respectable?”
“Of course you’re respectable. But you have to study and get a certificate to bear witness to that.”
“ ‘There is no god but God’ is the only witnessing I’ll ever do!”
Abduh laughed uproariously, but Hatim looked at him reproachfully and said, “I’m serious. You have to make an effort. Study, get the Intermediate and the Secondary, and go to a major faculty, like law, for instance.”
“ ‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,’ as the old saying goes.”
“No, Abduh. Don’t think that way. You’re twenty-four years old. Your whole life’s ahead of you.”
“Everything’s fate and destiny.”
“That backward stuff again? You can make your destiny in this world on your own. If there were any justice in this country, someone like you would get educated at state expense. Education, medical treatment, and work are the natural rights of every citizen in the world, but the regime in Egypt is determined to abandon the poor like you to ignorance so it can rob them. Have you noticed that the government selects the Central Security troops from the poorest and most ignorant recruits? If you were educated, Abduh, you’d never agree to work for Central Security, in the worst conditions and for pennies. And at the same time the big men steal millions from the people’s pockets.”
“You want me to stop the big men from stealing? I couldn’t stand up to the major who commanded the camp and now you want me to take on the big men?”
“Start with yourself, Abduh. Make an effort and teach yourself. It’s the first step toward getting your rights.”
Hatim looked at Abduh for a while, then said lovingly, “ And who knows? Maybe one day you’ll be Mr. Abd Rabbuh the lawyer.”
Abduh got off the bed, went up to him, took hold of his shoulders, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “And who’ll pay for my education? And who’ll open me an office when I graduate?”
Hatim’s feelings suddenly took fire and he put his face close to Abduh’s and said in a whisper, “I will, my darling. I’ll never leave you and I’ll never be stingy with you.”
Abduh hugged him and the two of them lost themselves in long, hot kisses. However, a distant sound reached them and gradually they became aware of repeated loud knocks on the door. Hatim looked at Abduh anxiously and they rushed to put on their clothes any old how. Hatim preceded him in the direction of the door, preparing his face with an annoyed and haughty expression for whomever he might find there. He peered through the peephole and said in surprise, “It’s your wife, Abduh.”
Abduh came forward quickly, opened the door, and shouted angrily, “What’s the matter, Hidiya? Why are you here at this hour? What do you want?”
Pointing to her child, who was sleeping in her arms, she said, “Help me, Abduh! The boy’s burning hot and he keeps throwing up. He’s been crying all night long. Hatim Bey, I beg you, get us a doctor or take us to the hospital!”
When Busayna opened the door of the bathroom, she found Zaki el Dessouki stretched out on the floor, his clothes covered with vomit, and unable to move. Bending down, she took his hand and found it was as cold as ice.
“Zaki Bey! Are you ill?”
He muttered some incomprehensible words and continued to stare into space. She brought a chair, took him in her arms, sat him down on it (discovering at the same time how very light his body was), removed his soiled clothes, and washed his face, hands, and chest with hot water. Soon he started to come round a little. He was able to stand and walk, leaning on her, and she put him to bed and went up to her room on the roof and quickly returned with a large glass of hot mint, which Zaki drank before surrendering to a deep sleep. She spent the night next to him on the couch and examined him several times. She checked the heat of his brow with her hand and put a finger under his nose to make sure that his breathing was regular. She stayed awake and determined to call a doctor if his condition got worse. As she contemplated his aged sleeping face, he appeared to her, for the first time, in simple reality, as just a good-hearted, drunk old man, frail, mild-tempered, and deserving of compassion, like a child.
In the morning, she made him a light breakfast with a glass of warm milk. Abaskharon had arrived and discovered what had happened and he stood before his sick master with his head bent in sorrow, saying over and over in an agonized voice, “A thousand wishes for your recovery, Excellency!”
