Cairo Modern

suggested, “The antiquities museum and the Pyramids are stale destinations. Have you visited the new excavations?”

Turning toward the speaker, Tahiya inquired, “New excavations?”

Pointing toward his chest as if personally responsible for the discoveries, he said, “The university’s excavations — a few minutes’ walk from the Pyramids — a strange world surrounded by barbed wire. All the people involved are my friends and colleagues. So when shall we go together to see them?”

Delighted, she replied, “I don’t know, but I’ll go some day. Isn’t that so, Fadil?”

Fadil, who was beginning to feel listless, replied automatically, “Of course, of course.”

Walking through the villa’s garden after his visit, Mahgub Abd al-Da’im sensed that it was possible that a type of what people call friendship might grow between him and his two cousins. He wondered what he could get out of this friendship if it did arise — or would he emerge from it as empty-handed as from his visit with the bey?

14

H

e found himself once again on al-Fustat Street, buffeted by an unruly, cold wind which caught him by surprise. It shook the branches, making the street hum with their rustling. It blew past walls with a deafening whistle. A shudder passed through his enervated body and pervaded his joints; the month of Amshir was too harsh for a starving weakling to endure. Although distracted from his surroundings by his reflections, half conscious of the weather, he darted along the road. He thought of Fadil, comparing himself with the adolescent who enjoyed health, good looks, and wealth whereas Mahgub was ill, ugly, and poor. Nonetheless they were cousins! Tahiya was an aristocrat — a vibrant representative of the world he yearned for. Do you suppose he would ever take her to the Pyramids? A girl like her really was a magic key that could unlock doors and perform miracles. He brooded about this for a long time. But, alas! How could he sink into such dreams and forget his current concerns? How would he find the money to buy the book for Latin? How could he withstand his starvation diet that threatened his body and mind? How amazing! What greater proof of man’s baseness was there than the need for food to sustain life? Could this food, which was extracted from clay and fertilized by garbage, constitute life’s essence and mainstay? Was it thought’s buttress? The true creator of ideals? Wasn’t this proof that man’s essence is vile rubbish? He quickened his steps. The winds kept on raging ferociously and the sky was overcast with dark clouds. The emerald waters of the Nile were roiled and turbulent. He cast an angry look at his surroundings and spat disdainfully on the ground as if to declare his enmity to the world. Shouldn’t he borrow the money? From whom? How could he repay the debt? The next month would be no better than the previous one — in fact, it might be worse. What could he do? If only he knew how to pick pockets. There was a magical art! Pickpockets owned everything in anyone’s pocket. The nation’s rulers had grasped the significance of this insight. But what could he do? Should he renew his attack on Hamdis Bey? Should he meet him at his ministry and ask him point-blank for money? Tahiya’s image disrupted this chain of thoughts — Tahiya with all her nobility and her aristocratic manners. Would he want her to learn he was a miserable beggar? This girl stirred his feelings, although he was not insane enough to rave the way Ali Taha did. This was a new passion. Like his passion for Ihsan, it was neither Platonic nor erotic. Amazingly, he felt enormously, incredibly self-confident, perhaps because of his native daring and audacity, not to mention the fact that — like the masses — he believed his sexual prowess outstripped that of the rich. He truly believed that Tahiya was not beyond his reach. The sky was not the limit for his dreams, which his hunger made even more fantastic, a hunger that turned studying into a bitter struggle and his nights into painful torture. The book for Latin? Damn it. How would he raise the money?

15

H

e felt calmer when he awoke the next day. The fantasies that his visit to the Hamdis family had aroused had died away. Thus he returned to his senses and decided that he should seek out Hamdis Bey at the ministry and present his request, even though this meant sacrificing his friendship with Tahiya and Fadil. He felt obliged to skip class and ate no breakfast so he would have enough money to ride the tram both ways. He set off at once, reaching the Ministry of Works at exactly ten a.m. He learned the way to his relative’s secretary, whom he found to be a man in his forties. He greeted him politely and told him, “I wish to see His Excellency the Bey.”

“Who are you?”

“One of the bey’s relatives — Mahgub Abd al-Da’im.”

The man asked him to wait a moment and disappeared. Mahgub brooded about what he might say to the bey and how he should phrase his statement in the most moving fashion. The man returned shortly, sat down at his desk, and said, “The bey is chairing the Advisory Council; so it would be best for you to return another day.”

This answer caught him off guard and upset him. He felt he had received a direct blow to the head. He implored the man, “But I want him for a very important matter.”

“No doubt about that, but, God willing, some other day.”

“I can wait an hour or two.”

Then the man said in a tone that made it clear he wanted to extricate himself and move to something else, “Come in the evening if you want.”

He left there enraged and infuriated. Should he let the tram gobble up his remaining money? No — to hell with the bey and his advisory council! He realized immediately that to save the cost of transportation he ought to wait down-town till afternoon if he wanted to see the bey. Since he could no longer resist the hunger that was wringing his stomach, he went to al-Azhar Square to search for a beanery. He took the food, on which he had subsisted for three weeks, and hurried to Qasr al-Nil Street to cool his heels in its gardens while he waited. The weather was cold and the sky overcast. He walked along with his head bowed, repeating resentfully and angrily, “The criminal humiliated me. The criminal humiliated me!” Nevertheless, he would need to chase after the man again. He was an enemy who must be befriended. The bey was simply another pain the world was using to test him. He passed his fingers over his fiery forehead and declared, “I won’t cry … I’ll keep a stiff upper lip. No matter how hungry I get, I won’t scream like the cowards who call out, ‘O Lord!’ ” His feet finally carried him to the garden where he began to split his time between sitting and walking in annoyed disgust. His limbs were cold and his stomach felt tired. In frightened alarm, he asked himself, “Isn’t it possible that these black days will leave permanent scars?” His pale face frowned while sorrowful anxiety showed in his eyes. After waiting for half an hour, while he was walking on the road beside the Nile, not knowing where he would find the patience to wait for the appointment, he saw near the back gate of the Andalusian Garden two smiling girls, who were heading his way while chatting. Glancing casually at them he recognized that one of them was none other than Tahiya Hamdis. She did not notice him since her attention was focused on her companion. Coming upon her unexpectedly, however, had an overwhelming impact on Mahgub. His former train of thought was interrupted. He forgot her father and the advisory council. He turned a blind eye to his pains and hunger, because his attention was focused on one thing: meeting her. He could care less about his appearance and the presence of the girl he did not know. He kept his eyes on Tahiya, whose gray overcoat was draped around her with aristocratic elegance. Perhaps she sensed his gaze, because she glanced toward him when a few meters away. He stood right in front of her, bowing to greet her. Her face showed her astonishment and then she blushed. She glanced quickly at him and then offered him her hand. She introduced her friend, and then the three stood there somewhat awkwardly. He had been so keen to carry out his plan that he could think of nothing to say now and fell back on conventions of conversation, asking, “How is your family?”

She replied with natural grace, “They’re fine, thanks.”

Then his mind rescued him from his quandary, reminding him of the excavations. Delighted to have hit upon a conversation topic, he said, “This happy occasion gives me a chance to remind you that a free person keeps his promises.”

Frowning in bewilderment, she said, “I don’t understand.”

In a censorious tone, he replied, “The excavations, the university’s excavations.”