For his life story to be made public would constitute a scandal. He could care less about this, but it meant he had to beware of untoward consequences — like anyone who lived surrounded by idiots and fools. He could not afford to feel overconfident or to dismiss too lightly the catastrophe that could befall him. It was amazing that although he and Ali Taha were exact opposites, it was entirely possible that society would throw both of them into a dungeon, making no distinction between the former who worshiped the status quo and the latter who rejected it. When they reached the square, they heard newspaper vendors hawking their wares and touting a meeting of the ruling party. Remembering something, Mr. Badir said, as he shook hands, “That reminds me. The prime minister has lost the palace’s confidence.”
Mahgub was disturbed, because he recalled that Qasim Bey Fahmi was a prominent figure in the current alliance. He asked, “How about the English?”
The young man grimaced and said, “The High Commissioner’s affections have shifted.” The two young men parted, and Mahgub headed for Sulaiman Pasha Street, frowning and depressed. This new concern, however, rescued him from the anxiety that had overwhelmed him since he received his salary. Faced by this looming danger, he no longer hesitated to decide about his parents. They were the first victims of the political crisis.
38
Had he struggled this hard only to meet such a sad fate? Was this the reward for his audacity, spirit of adventure, and contempt for everything? Filled with sorrow and grief he began to gaze at his wife with eyes that saw nothing. Ihsan was no less sad and glum than he. She also brooded about the future, imagining what she might expect. She was not much concerned about a deflation of long-term dreams but was oppressed by the jolt to her current security. Would she actually lose this luxurious, comfortable life? Would the spring that provided water for her thirsty family run dry? Would she find herself some day in one of those rural towns as a dingy home’s mistress whose life revolved around caring for it and tending to its master? These notions were more like nightmares. She did not know how she could face them on the morrow if they became real. It was clear, however, that this information was premature, for there was no echo of it in the newspapers, which they began to read carefully. Many of their friends declared that the time had not yet come. The days of August passed quietly, one after the other, till their feeling of confidence returned. Indeed Mahgub remembered his parents and wondered what he should do about them. This time with resolute determination he wrote his father a letter in which he expressed his sorrow at being unable to assist him. He stated that he was still looking for work and promised relief soon. He told himself, to clear his conscience, that the man could wait another month or two till he could assist him under more favorable circumstances. But his peace of mind did not last. The news that Ahmad Badir had announced resurfaced at the beginning of the next month. So many rumors were flying that the air was full of them. The horizons continued to presage impending disaster. The couple returned to their reflections as various fears gripped them.
Mahgub met with his boss Salim al-Ikhshidi in his office one day to ask what was happening. He found the man as calm and collected as ever. Mahgub was not unduly swayed by this calm and composure, because he knew for a fact that al-Ikhshidi would not relinquish these even in a crisis. When the man’s round eyes looked up at him inquisitively, the young man, who was still standing, asked, “What are the facts behind these rumors that are on every tongue?”
In a voice that had lost not an iota of its authority, al-Ikhshidi asked, “What rumors?”
“That the government will fall. What’s behind them?”
“Whatever is,” al-Ikhshidi replied with a smile.
“Is it really possible for this alliance to end?”
Swept up by a mischievous desire to torment him, al-Ikhshidi replied, “Everything is transitory.”
Mahgub, who was so infuriated and enraged by the man’s frigid demeanor that he was forced to hide his feelings behind a smile, said, “Your Excellency doubtless knows many things.”
Since his soul would not allow him to deny this, he smiled mysteriously and said confidently, “Just be patient. Perceptive people will not have long to wait.”
“How about a reassuring comment?”
As his desire to torment Mahgub returned, he asked, feigning ignorance, “What’s scaring you?”
The young man’s bulging eyes widened in astonishment and he raised his eyebrows. Then he retorted sarcastically, “Aswan’s beautiful in August!”
Al-Ikhshidi shrugged his shoulders dismissively and replied,
“So the rumors are well-founded then.”
Al-Ikhshidi was silent for a moment while he searched for an answer that would not make him look like a fool in the near future or thereafter. Then he said, “No one knows even now; beyond that, well, politics is crazy.”
Enraged and resentful, Mahgub returned to his office, telling himself: Mrs. Umm Salim’s son wants me to think he’s an astute politician. Damn him!
At noon, the ministry was filled with the rumor that the cabinet actually had resigned. Someone said he had telephoned Bulkeley and that the report had been confirmed. The office workers were agitated in a way seen only when cabinets fall. They congregated in the corridors speaking in raised voices about the new ministers. Mahgub was very upset and there was a glum look in his eyes. The messenger came to tell him that Qasim Bey had left the ministry. He contacted al-Ikhshidi by phone to ask which direction the bey had been heading when he left. He replied he didn’t know. Mahgub spoke with a bunch of friends in the different ministries — by telephone — and received these responses. “What news do you have, so-and-so?” “The situation is critical. What’s the latest news, sir?” “Shit. Anything new, so-and-so?” “They hit the one-eyed man’s good eye. Have you heard the strange rumors, my dear?” “About the cabinet? To hell, sir.” And so forth, until he felt certain that the cabinet was in its final throes.
His telephone rang, and it was his wife, Ihsan. He felt apprehensive. “Have you heard the news?”
“The cabinet?”
“Yes. It resigned.”
“How do you know?”
“A special edition of the newspapers.”
“So …”
“I’m calling to reassure you.”
“How? This doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it makes a lot of sense. I’ll give you the details when you come home. For now, you should know that the bey told me the new cabinet will be different but that the alliance remains intact.”
“You’re certain?”
“I have some other news that will delight you. You’ll hear it when you return.”
She hung up, and then the young man immediately rose and left the room. On the way home he heard newspaper vendors proclaiming as loudly as possible the fall of the government. Interest and excitement were in the air everywhere. Despotism was routed, the bloodshedder had been toppled, and the rope of tyranny had been removed from the necks of the Egyptians, or almost. No one felt the delight he did, and had it not been for the good word from his wife he would have burst into tears. He found Ihsan waiting for him. She received him with a sweet smile and proceeded to tell him her news. She repeated in person what she had said over the telephone and then asked him, “Do you know who your new minister is?”
He asked her in amazement, “Who?”
“Qasim Bey Fahmi.”
He stared at her dumbfounded, blushed, and then asked her, “Did he tell you that?”
