Palace of Desire tct-2 Page 11

  She emitted a laugh that reminded them of the old days, 1918 or before. She retorted, "Ask your maternal uncles about that, love child."

  Glancing at Ahmad Abd al-Jawad slyly, Zubayda said, "I've thought of another reason for his long absence…."

  More than one person inquired what it was, while al-Sayyid Ahmad murmured pleadingly, "O God who veils our shortcomings, protect me."

  "I suspect he's impotent like other men his age and has used his grief as a convenient excuse."

  Shaking her head with all the affectation of a performer, Jalila protested, "He'll be the last to grow old."

  Mr. Muhammad Iffat asked al-Sayyid Ahmad, "Which of these two opinions is right?"

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad replied suggestively, "The first expresses fear and the second hope."

  Jalila said with victorious relief, "You're not a man who disappoints a lady's hopes."

  He thought about saying, "It's only when he's tested that a man is honored or despised," but was afraid he would be put to the test or that his statement would be understood as an invitation. Yet whenever he looked closely at them, he was overcome by a wish to hold back and to skip this opportunity. Before coming he would never have thought it possible. Yes, it was undeniable that a change had taken place. Yesterday was gone. Today was different. Zubayda was no longer the same, nor Jalila. There was nothing to justify the risk. He would be satisfied with the brotherly relationship Jalila had acclaimed and expand it to include Zubayda too. He said delicately, "How could a man grow senile when surrounded by such beautiful women?"

  Looking at each of the men in succession, Zubayda asked, "Which of you is the oldest?"

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad answered inaccurately but with apparent innocence, "I am. I was born just after Urabi's rebellion of 1882."

  Muhammad Iffat protested, "Say anything but this. I've heard you were one of Urabi's soldiers."

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad replied, "I was a soldier in their bellies, so to speak just as people now call a child at home a pupil, even before he's started school."

  Ali Abd al-Rahim pretended to be astonished and asked, "What was your late mother doing while you were inside a soldier going off to battle?"

  After emptying her glass, Zubayda shouted, "Don't evade the question with your jokes. I'm asking you how old you are."

  Ibrahim al-Far said challengingly, "Three of us are between fifty and fifty-five. Will you disclose your ages to us?"

  Zubayda shrugged her shoulders scornfully and said, "I was born…"

  She narrowed her kohl-enhanced eyes and looked up at the lamp as though trying to remember, but al-Sayyid Ahmad completed her statement before she could: "After the revolution of Sa'd Zaghlul Pasha in 1919."

  They laughed for a long time until finally she waggled her middle ringer at them. But it appeared that Jalila did not like the topic of conversation. She yelled, "Let's abandon this smear campaign. What difference does it make how old we are? Let the One who's in charge of the matter worry about it in Hisheavens. For us, a woman is young so long as she finds a man who desires her and one of you men is a boy so long as he can find a woman who wants him."

  Suddenly Ali Abd al-Rahim shouted, "Congratulate me!"

  When asked why, he shouted, "Because I'm drunk."

  Ahmad Abd al-Jawad said that they ought to catch up before their friend was lost in the land of inebriation, whereas Jalila urged them to let him go on alone as punishment for his haste. Ali Abd al-Rahim retreated to a corner with a full glass in his hand, telling them, "Find another bartender."

  Zubayda stood up to look for her wraps and check her handbag to make sure that her container of cocaine was still where she had left it. Ibrahim al-Far seized the opportunity provided by her absence to take the seat beside Jalila. He leaned his head on her shoulder, sighing audibly. Muhammad Iffat went to the windows overlooking the Nile channel and thrust the shutters aside. The surface of the water appeared to consist of a flowing pattern of darkness, except for still streaks of light traced on the undulating river by rays coming from the lamps of other boats where people were staying up late. Zanuba plucked the strings of her lute, and a rollicking tune sprang forth. Al-Sayyid Ahmad gazed in her direction for a long time. Then he rose to refill his glass. When Zubayda returned she sat down between Muhammad Iffat and Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, whose back she thumped.

  Jalila's voice was raised in song: "One day you took a bite out of me..."

  Now it was Ibrahim al-Far's turn to shout, "Congratulate me!"

  Muhammad Iffat and Zubayda started singing along with Jalila once she reached the words: "They brought me an antidote". When Zanuba joined the song, al-Sayyid Ahmad began looking at her again. Before he knew what was happening he was one of the singers too, and Ali Abd al-Rahim's voice lent its support from his corner.

  His head still on Jalila's shoulder, Ibrahim al-Far called out, "Six performers and an audience of one: me."

  Without stopping his singing al-Sayyid Ahmad told himself, "In the end, she'll comply with my wishes most willingly". Then he mused, "Is tonight to be a passing affair or the beginning of a lengthy relationship?"

  Ibrahim al-Far rose unexpectedly and began dancing. The others all started to clap in unison. Then they sang together: So take me in your pocket, Between your belt and sash.

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad wondered whether Zubayda would allow the tryst to take place in her house. When the song and dance were concluded, they vied with each other in trading jests and insults in rapid succession. Ahmad Abd al-Jawad began observing Zanuba's face stealthily whenever he came out with a joke, to judge its impact on her. The merry turmoil intensified, and minutes flew by.

  "It's time for me to go," said Ali Abd al-Rahim as he rose to get the rest of his clothes.

  Muhammad Iffat shouted at him angrily, "I told you to bring her with you, so the evening wouldn't be cut short."

  Raising her eyebrows, Zubayda asked, "Who is this woman you're guarding so carefully?"

  Ibrahim al-Far said, "A new girlfriend. A whale of a woman. The madam of an establishment in the Wajh al-Birka entertainment district…."

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad asked him with interest, "Who is she?"

  Ali Abd al-Rahim answered laughingly as he drew his cloak tightly around him, "Your old friend Saniya al-Qulali."

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad's blue eyes grew large and a dreamy look was visible in them. With a smile he said, "Remember me to her and convey my greetings to her."

  As he twisted his mustache and prepared to depart, Ali Abd al-Rahim answered, "She asked about you and suggested I invite you to spend an evening at her house, after the time set aside for assignations. I told her, 'His eldest son, may the Prophet's name protect him, has reached an age at which it's considered a duty in their family to frequent Wajh al-Birka and other centers of depravity. Thus if his father came here, he would be in danger of bumping into his son.'" He grinned from ear to ear, said goodbye, and exited to the vestibule.

  Muhammad Iffat and Ahmad Abd al-Jawad followed to see him out. They kept on chatting and laughing together until Mr. Ali left the houseboat. Then Muhammad Iffat touched his friend's arm and asked, "Zubayda or Jalila?"

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad answered simply, "Neither one."

  "Why? May God spare us evil."

  He replied as though convinced, "A step at a time. I'll be c ontent to pass the remainder of this evening in drinking and listening to the lute."

  Muhammad Iffat urged him to take another step but did not press him once al-Sayyid Ahmad excused himself. They returned to the disordered room and resumed their seats. Ibrahim al-Far became the bartender. Signs of intoxication were clearly apparent in their flaming eyes, flowing conversations, and animated gestures. Following Zubayda's lead, they sang together: "Why is the sea laughing?…"

  It was remarked that Ahmad Abd al-Jawad's voice rose until it almost drowned out Zubayda's. Then Jalila narrated some snatches of her romantic adventures.

  "Since my eyes fell on you," al-Sayyid Ahmad reflected, "I've had the feeling that tonight will
not pass without an adventure. How pretty the young girl is. Young? Yes, since she's a quarter century younger than you."

  Ibrahim al-Far lamented the passing of the copper trade's golden age, during the war. With a thick tongue he told them, 'Back then you would kiss my hand to get a pound of copper."

  Al-Sayyid Ahmad commented, "When you need something from a dog, call him 'mister.'"

  Zubayda complained about how drunk she was and rose to try to walk it off, going back and forth. They began to clap to keep time with her staggering steps. They called out in unison the words used to encourage children to walk: "A step at a time. Cross over the doorstep…. A step at a time. Cross over the doorstep". Wine paralyzes the organ that registers sorrow.

  Jalila murmured, "That's enough for now". She rose and left the room. She went down the hall to the two cabins, which were opposite each other. She made for the cabin on the Nile side and entered it. Soon they could hear the creaking of her bed as it received her enormous body. What Jalila had done appealed to Zubayda. She followed her lead and headed for the other cabin. The creaking that her bed emitted was even louder.

  Ibrahim al-Far said, "The bed has spoken."

  From the first cabin a voice made its way to them, singing in imitation of the husky quality of the renowned singer Munira al-Mahdiya: "Darling, come."

  Muhammad Iffat got up and answered in song as well: "I'm coming."

  Ibrahim al-Far looked questioningly at Ahmad Abd al-Jawad. Quoting a saying of the Prophet, al-Sayyid Ahmad told him, "Unless you're embarrassed, do whatever you want."

  The man rose and replied, "There's no need for bashfulness on a houseboat."

  The coast was clear. This was the moment for which he had been waiting so long. The young girl put the lute aside. She sat cross-legged with the end of her dress draped over her legs. They silently exchanged a glance. Then she stared off into space. The silence was so charged with electricity that it was unbearable. When she stood up suddenly, he asked, "Where are you going?"

  Hurrying through the door, she replied, "The bathroom."

  He stood up too and took a seat next to hers. Picking up the lute, he began to strum on it while he wondered whether there was a third cabin.

  "Your heart shouldn't pound that way, as though the English soldier were herding you ahead of him in the dark like that night after you'd been with Maryam's mother. Do you remember? Don't dwell on that, for it's a painful memory. She's returning from the bathroom. How fresh she looks!"

  "Do you play the lute?"

  "Teach me," he answered with a smile.

  "You should stick with the tambourine, for you're expert at that."

  He sighed and said, "Those days have vanished. How delightful they were. You were just a child! Why don't you sit down."

  "She's almost touching you," he noticed. "How sweet the beginning of the chase is."

  "Take the lute and play something for me."

  "We've had enough singing, performing, and laughing. Tonighl: I've understood more than ever before why they missed you so much."

  He smiled in a pleased way and asked craftily, "But you haven't had enough to drink?"

  She agreed and laughed. He sprang like a charger to the table to fetch a half-filled bottle and two glasses. As He sat down he said, "Let's drink together."

  "The delightful glutton — her eyes shine with deviltry and magic. &sk her about the third room…. Ask yourself whether it's to be just for one night or an affair. Don't wonder about the consequences. Ahmad Abd al-Jawad, no matter how exalted his stature, opens his arms to the lute player Zanuba. She used to serve you platters of fruit…. But you have a right to be happy as a reward for your fresh beauty. Conceit has never been one of my failings."

  He saw that her palm grasping the glass was near his knee. He reached his hand out to caress it. She silently drew it back to her lap without looking at him. He asked himself whether flirting was in order at this late hour, especially when the host was a man like himself and the guest a girl like her. But he did not abandon his amiable tenderness.

  He asked her suggestively, "Is there a third bedroom on the houseboat?"

  She gestured toward the vestibule. Ignoring his suggestion, she merely answered, "On the other side."

  Smiling and twisting his mustache, he asked, "Wouldn't it be big enough for both of us?"

  Politely but without flirtatiousness, she answered, "If you feel sleepy, you'll find it quite large enough for you."

  As though astonished, he asked her, "What about you?"

  In the same tone she said, "I'm comfortable just the way I am."

  He inched closer to her, but she got up and placed her glass on the table. Then she went to the sofa opposite him. She sat there with a serious look of silent protest sketched on her face. The man was amazed at her attitude. His enthusiasm waned, and he felt that his prids was under attack. He looked at her with a forced smile and then asked, "Why are you angry?"

  She kept silent for a long time, her only response being to fold her arms across her chest.

  "I'm asking why you're angry."

  She answered tersely, "Don't ask questions to which you already know the answer."

  He guffawed abruptly to proclaim his disdain and disbelief Then he rose, filled both glasses, and handed one to her, telling her, "Lighten your spirits."

  She took the glass courteously but set it on the table. "Thank you," she murmured.

  After retreating to his place he sat back down, raised his glass to his lips, and drained it in one gulp. Then he laughed uproariously.

  "Could you have anticipated this surprise? If it were possible to backtrack a quarter of an hour… Zanuba, Zanuba, just plain Zanuba… can you believe it? Don't let yourself be flustered by the blow. Who knows? Perhaps this is the fashion in coquetry now in 1924, you provincial has-been. How have I changed? … Not in any way. It's Zanuba. Isn't that her name? Clearly every man meets at least one woman who resists his advances. Since Zubayda, Jalila, and Maryam's mother are all wild about you, who is there but Zanuba, this dung beetle, to resist you? Endure it to overcome it. In any case the matter's not a catastrophe. Oh, look. See how pretty and firm her leg is. What a solid base she has. You don't think she's really rejected you, do you?"

  "Have a drink, sweetheart."

  In a voice both polite and determined she replied, "I will when I feel like it."

  He fixed his eyes on her. Then he asked suggestively, "When do you think you'll feel like it?"

  She frowned in a way that showed she understood his allusion but did not respond.

  With a sinking feeling al-Sayyid Ahmad asked, "Doesn't my affection meet with any acceptance?"

  Bowing her head to hide her face from his eyes, she begged him, "Won't you stop that?"

  He was overcome by a surge of anger, which came in reaction to his sense of being rejected. In astonishment he asked her, "Why did you come here?"

  Pointing to the lute lying on the sofa not far from him, she protested, "Because of this."

  "Only? … There's no conflict between that and what I'm proposing."

  Vexed, she asked him, "Against my will?"

  Prey to the disquieting feelings of disappointment and annoyance, he said, "Of course not, but I don't see any reason for you to refuse."

  She said coldly, "Perhaps I have some reasons."

  He laughed loudly and dryly. Then, exasperated, he said sarcastically, "Maybe you're afraid of losing your virginity."

  She glared at him for a long time and then said furiously and vengefully, "I only accept a man I love."

  He would have laughed again but restrained himself. He was tired of these sad, mechanical laughs. He stretched his hand out to the bottle and impulsively poured himself half a glass. But he left it on the table. He began to look anxiously at the woman, not knowing how to extricate himself from the fix he had created himself "That viper and daughter of a viper only accepts a man she loves," be reflected. "Does that mean anything more than that she falls in love
with a different man every night? It will be hard for you to save face after this disaster tonight. The gentlemen are inside, and you're at the mercy of this pampered musician…. Flay her with your tongue…. Kick her…. Shove her into the cabin against her will…. The best thing would be to turn your back on her and leave this place immediately. Our eyes have looks fierce enough to humble proud necks…. How charming hers is. Don't try to dispute her beauty. When a person loses his head, he will surely suffer."

  "I didn't expect such harshness," he said.

  He frowned and came to a decision. His face was scowling as he rose. Shrugging his shoulders disdainfully, he said, "I thought you would be gracious and charming like your aunt, but I was wrong. I have only myself to blame."

  He heard the gentle smack of her lips as she cleared her throat in protest, but he went to get his cloak, which he put on rapidly. He was fully dressed in less than half the time he usually required to satisfy his taste for elegance. He had made his decision and was angry, but his despair was not yet total. Part of him still rebelliously refused to believe what had happened or at least found it easy to doubt. He picked up his walking stick but watched from one moment to the next for something to occur that would prove him wrong and satisfy the hopes of his wounded pride. She might suddenly laugh and thus slip back the veil of her bogus objection. She would rush to him, deploring his anger. She could leap in front of him to prevent him from leaving. When a woman cleared her throat in protest like that it was frequently a maneuver to be followed by her surrender. But none of these possibilities came to pass.

  She remained sitting there, staring off into space, ignoring him as though she did not see him. So he quit the room for the vestibule and went from there to the entrance and on to the road, sighing with regret, sorrow, and rage. The fresh autumn air gently flowing through his garments, he walked along the dark road until he reached the Zamalek Bridge. There he got in a taxi and sped away. His intoxication and brooding thoughts made him oblivious to the world around him. When he began to pay attention he was already in Opera Square. As the vehicle circled around it on the way to al-Ataba al-Khadra Square, by the light of the lampshe chanced to see the wall of the Ezbekiya Garden. He fixed his eyes on it until a turn hid it from view. Then he closed his eyes, for he felt a stinging pain deep within his breast. He was conscious of a voice like a moan inside him, crying out in his silent world. It was praying God's mercy for his darling lost son. He did not dare express the prayer with his tongue, lest God's name be mentioned by one soaked in wine.