voice that was in no way exultant, “I learned this by accident. I saw the winner at the foot of the Great Pyramid two days ago with the journalists who are on the panel of judges. Does it astonish you?”
Mahgub Abd al-Da’im hated to be truly astonished. So he reined himself in and commented sullenly, “Of course not; nothing astonishes me. The appointment of government officials is rigged, the award of contracts is rigged, and elections themselves are rigged; so why shouldn’t the choice of a beauty queen also be rigged?”
The party was almost over when Mahgub remembered why he had come. He saw Mr. Salim al-Ikhshidi heading toward one of the doors. So he said goodbye to his friend and chased after al-Ikhshidi. The gentleman had forgotten all about him. They shook hands and walked together into the next room, which was large and magnificently furnished. Mrs. Nayruz was presiding over a small group of friends. Mahgub summoned his daring to keep from feeling awkward. Together with his patron he approached the distinguished lady. Al-Ikhshidi bent humbly over her hand and introduced him to her in his calm, resolute voice: “Mr. Mahgub Abd al-Da’im, representing
Mahgub bowed to her, and she extended her hand, saying, “I’m proud of the new generation.” Then she concluded in French, “The vase is full of dirty water and must be cleansed and refilled.”
Mahgub replied in French, “That’s true, my lady.”
Al-Ikhshidi provided publicity for her in some newspapers, either personally or through the resources of friends. He hoped to add whatever Mahgub might produce to his previous credits. The lady directed some questions to the young man to gauge his cultural acuity, specialization, and aspirations. Mahgub answered suavely. When the conversation veered in a different direction, al-Ikhshidi excused himself and his protégé. As he left the premises, when saying goodbye to Mahgub, he told him, “It’s all up to your pen.”
Really? Did the realization of his hopes depend on his article about the charity event today? He returned to Giza, lost in thought and under the sway of his dreams. He passed a sleepless night like those back when hunger had kept him awake nights in February. He wandered through a valley of dreams and hopes. Then he recalled at length the soirée where he had spent half of his evening — how lovely luxury was: the spectacular affluence, beauty’s manifestations, the splendor of passion, and the insanity of licentiousness. This was the dazzling life for which his spirit pined.
22
1. Ikram Nayruz is the daughter of a man who profited from the British occupation of Egypt.
2. She loves young men.
3. She is proficient in French but weak in Arabic.
4. The Society for Blind Women is a saloon.
5. Her guests are just like her.
6. These guests are interested in everything except blind women.
1. Ikram Nayruz’s family has a long, patriotic history.
2. She is a loyal wife and a devoted mother.
3. At home in Arab and French cultures.
4. Her philanthropic projects.
5. Her guests are just like her.
6. Her benevolence.
In this way he educed the key points for this important topic. Then he sat at his desk, preparing to write. He had scarcely picked up his pen, though, when he heard a knock on the door, for the first time since he had moved there from the hostel. Upset and angry, he rose and opened the door. A huge body was blocking the doorway. Then he recognized the man and his heart pounded with terror. It was Salim al-Ikhshidi’s messenger — in the flesh. He looked up at the man inquisitively and eagerly. The smiling man told him — albeit in a gruff voice, “His Excellency the Bey wants to see you now.”
“Salim Bey?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In his office at the ministry.” Then the man told him how he had gone as ordered by his boss to the hostel and how the doorman there had described the location of Mahgub’s new dwelling. But Mahgub heard none of this. He was dressing quickly and asking himself, “What is it? Is it possible? But so quickly? This is flat-out magic! The woman is an empress. No, a she-devil. Say, instead, a goddess. Oh, how I fear the summons is for something else and that this insane delight will be in vain. But why would he summon me if not for this?”
They set off for the ministry, reaching it around 12:30. He went to the office of al-Ikhshidi, who welcomed him with unprecedented graciousness. He then ordered the messenger to admit no one to the office until he said so. Mahgub sat down near him and the other man turned his calm, triangular face toward Mahgub, but this time the calmness was a mask concealing violent emotions. Smiling, he said, “I’ve summoned you about an issue relating to your future.”
That was what he wanted to hear! His delight would not be stillborn. Emotion got the best of him as he replied in a quavering voice, “I haven’t finished the article yet.”
“Drop that article and forget about Ikram Nayruz. A much more beneficial opportunity has presented itself like a nearby fruit that needs someone to pluck it.”
His staring eyes were full of questions as he replied, swallowing, “With your help, I will.”
Al-Ikhshidi took his time, scrutinizing the young man’s face with a cunning Mahgub did not notice, because he was observing nothing. Then he volunteered, “I’ve found a position.”
Mahgub’s pale faced turned red during the ensuing silence. Then al-Ikhshidi proclaimed, “Level six!”
“Six!”
“A secretary.”
Panting, unable to believe his ears, he asked, “Whose secretary?”
Al-Ikhshidi lit a cigarette, showing no mercy toward his fretful companion. Ignoring Mahgub’s question, he said, “This beautiful opportunity is a treasure for the person who will seize it but an occasion for regret for anyone who hesitates. Do you remember how the flooding of the Mississippi River some years ago proved a blessing for the cotton crop of our nation, where land was being left fallow?”
The young man was burning with eagerness and declared with firm determination, “It’s inconceivable, Your Excellency, that I would hesitate.”
Al-Ikhshidi was delighted by Mahgub’s eagerness, and his own anxiety was somewhat calmed. Then he continued, “I’ve previously hinted that to receive you must be ready to give.”
What could he give? What did he own that he could give away? He felt choked by this unexpected disappointment, and the gleam in his eyes went out. In a devastated, inquisitive tone he protested, “But … how could I give anything?”
“Money’s not the only hot commodity on the opportunities market.” Mahgub sighed audibly. “Man has some characteristics that are not dependent on wealth. The question boils down to this: Are you daring, cunning, and deserving of good things or are you tossed by your fantasies on life’s beach, where they are trod underfoot like
