He asked with astonishment: “What is 'the cultivation of thought'?”
Kamal was overwhelmed by confusion. He swallowed and said in a low voice, “Perhaps I don't really know”. Then, smiling ingratiatingly, he continued: “If I knew, I wouldn't need to study it.”
His father asked incredulously, “If you don't know what it is, what grounds do you have for choosing it?… Huh? Are you simply infatuated with a life of humiliation, for no reason at all?”
Kamal mastered his anxiety with great effort and driven by desperation defended his pursuit of happiness: “Cultivated though: is something too great to be easily comprehended. Among other things, it searches for the origin of life and its destiny.”
His father studied him for a long time in bewilderment before saying, “For this you want to sacrifice your future? The origin of life and its destiny? The origin of life was Adam, and our destiny is paradise or hellfire. Or has there been some new discovery concerning this?” “Of course not. I know that. What I meant to say was…”
His father quickly interrupted: “Have you gone mad? I ask you about your future and you reply that you want to know the origin of life and its destiny. What will you do with that? Open a booth as a fortune-teller?”
Kamal was afraid that if he became baffled and fell silent, he would lose and be forced to accept his father's point of view. Drawing on every ounce of courage he possessed, he said, “Forgive me, Papa. I haven't expressed myself well. I would like to continue my study of literature, begun after I passed the preparatory exam. I want to study history, languages, ethics, and poetry. The future is in God's hands.”
As though filling in gaps that Kamal had left in his list, al-Sayyid Ahmad shouted with angry sarcasm, “And to study as well the arts of snake charming, puppetry, crystal gazing, and soothsaying. Why not? O God, have pity on me. Have you really been storing up this surprise for me?… There is no might or power save God's.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad became convinced that the situation was far more serious than he had thought. He was at a loss. He began to ask himself whether he had been wrong to allow his son to speak and think freely on this subject. Whenever he had patiently and tolerantly given his son some rope, the boy had dug hisheels in and argued in an even more extreme fashion. The father found himself torn between his tyrannical tendencies and his recognition of a son's right to choose a school for himself. He was solicitous for Kamal's future and reluctant to admit defeat, but in an uncharacteristic way - or, more precisely, one that would have been out of character in the old dayshe finally let reason have the upper hand.
Thushe returned to the debate and said, “Don't be naive. There's something the matter with your mind that's beyond my understanding. I ask God to deliver you from it. The future is not an amusing game. It's your life and the only one you'll ever have. Think about the question for a long time. Law School is best for you. I understand the world better than you do. I have friends from all walks of life, and they all agree about Law School. You're a stupid child and don't know what it means to be a prosecutor or a judge. These are the professions that shake the world. It's within your power to attain one of them. How can you reject all this so cavalierly and choose to be … a teacher?”
KamaL was distressed and angry, not merely at the insult to the honor of teachers but first and foremost for the sake of learning itself, fo]* what he felt was true learning. He did not think well of occupations that shook the earth. He had often found that the writers who inspired him applied derogatory epithets to them, referring, for example, to their counterfeit grandeur and ephemeral glory. Basing his opinion on what they had said, he believed that the only true greatness lay in the life of learning and truth. Thus all manifestations of majesty and pomp seemed spurious and trivial to him. He refrained from expressing this belief for fear of increasing his father's wrath. He said in a sweet and endearing way, “In any case, the Teachers College is a form of higher education.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad reflected for a time. Then despondently and disgustedly he said, “If you don't feel inclined toward the law for some people even enjoy being miserable - choose a respectable school like the Military or Police academies. Something's better than nothing!”
Alarmed, Kamal asked, “Should I go to the Military or Police academies after getting my baccalaureate?”
“What other alternative is there, since you don't have the background for medicine?”
At that moment al-Sayyid Ahmad noticed that light reflected from the mirror was dazzling his left eye. He turned to look at the wardrobe and saw rays of afternoon sunshine slipping into the room via the window, which overlooked the courtyard. They had advanced from the wall opposite the bed to fill a portion of the mirror, showing that it would soon be time to leave for his store. He moved a little to get away from the light. Then he exhaled in a manner revealing how uneasy he was and bringing the bad news or was it good? - that the conversation was about to conclude. He asked glumly, “Isn't there any other school besides these?”
Lowering his eyes in dismay at being unable to satisfy his father, Kamal said, “There's only Commerce left, and I've no interest in it.”
Although al-Sayyid Ahmad was annoyed by his son's speedy rejection ofthat school, he himself felt at best indifferent toward it. He assumed that it only graduated merchants and did not want his son to be a merchant. He had known all along that an establishment like his, although it supplied him with a good living, would not; be able to support as comfortably a son who succeeded him, for the income would have to be shared with his other beneficiaries. Therefore he had not attempted to groom one of his sons to take his place.
But this was not the main reason for his lack of interest in the School of Commerce. The fact was that he looked up to the civil service and bureaucrats. He perceived their significance and importance in public life. He had observed this personally with his friends who were civil servants and through contacts with the government relating to his business. He wanted his sons to be civil servants and had prepared them for that career. It was no secret to him that businessmen received only a fraction of the respect that government employees did, even if bureaucrats earned less. He shared this bias, although he would not have admitted it out loud. He was pleased by the deference civil servants showed him and fancied himself to have the mind of a bureaucrat or at least one as good. Who else would be capable of being a merchant and also the equal of a bureaucrat? Why did his sons not have a personality like his? Oh, what a disappointment it was! How he had wished in former times to see one of them become a doctor. He had focused his hopes on Fahmy, until he had been told that the arts baccalaureate did not prepare for the School of Medicine. Then he had contented himself with Law School and had looked forward happily to what would follow. Subsequently he had attached his aspirations to Kamal, selecting the arts section for him and dreaming once more of the successful career to follow Law School. He had never imagined that a struggle between his hopes and fate would result in the death of the genius of the family and in Kamal's insistence on being a teacher. How disappointed he felt!
Al-Sayyid Ahmad seemed genuinely sad when he said, “I've given you the best advice I can. You're free to choose for yourself, but you must always remember that I did not agree with you. Think the matter over at length. Don't be hasty. You still have plenty of time. Otherwise you'll regret your bad choice for the rest of your life. I take refuge with God from stupidity, ignorance, and folly”. The man dropped his foot to the ground with a motion that indicated he was preparing to rise and get ready to leave the house.
Kamal stood up politely and modestly and then departed. Returning to the sitting room, he found his mother and Yasin conversing there. He was distraught and dejected after having resisted his father so vigorously, even though the man had been forbearing and lenient. He was also disturbed by the anxiety and sorrow his father showed toward the end of their discussion. He summaiized for Yasin the conversation that had taken place in the bedroom. As the older brother listened
, his expression was disapproving and his smile sardonic. He wasted no time in advising the teenager that he agreed with their father and was amazed at both the boy's ignorance about the values important in life and his fixation on others that were fanciful or ridiculous.
“You want to dedicate your life to learning? What does that mean? As an insight or maxim in works by al-Manfaluti like his Reflections that's brilliant, but in real life it's nonsense that doesn't get you anywhere. You live here and now, not in al-Manfaluti's books, isn't that so? Books document strange and supernatural matters. For example, you read at times in them a line like Ahmad Shawqi's: ‘The teacher is almost like a prophet,’ but have you ever encountered a teacher of whom that was true? Come with me to al-Nahhasin School or recall any of your teachers you please. Show rne one of them deserving the title ‘human being,’ let alone that of'prophet.' What is this learning you desire? Ethics, history, and poetry? All those are beautiful pastimes but worthless in the workaday world. Be careful that an opportunity for a distinguished life does not slip through your fingers. I frequently regret that adverse circumstances prevented me from continuing my education.”
Once Yasin followed his father out of the house and Kamal was left alone with his mother, he asked her opinion. She was not normally consulted on a matter like this, but she had followed his conversation with Yasin and knew of al-Sayyid Ahmad's desire for him to go to Law School. She had begun to consider that idea ill-omened, and it made her uncomfortable.
In any case, Kamal knew exactly how to win her approval for his position in the shortest possible time. He told her, “The science I want to study is closely linked to religion. Among its branches are wisdom, ethics, consideration of the attributes of God, and the essence of His revelatory signs and creations.”
Amina's face shone as she said enthusiastically, “This is true science, like my father's and your grandfather's. Religious science is the most noble one of all.”
She thought for a time as he watched her with a twinkle in his eyes. Then with the same enthusiasm she continued: “Who would ever disparage a teacher? Don't they say, become the slave of anyone who teaches me even a single syllable'?”
Repeating the argument his father had used to attack his choice, as though to elicit her support, Kamal observed, “But they say a teacher has no chance at getting a good position.”
She waved her hand disdainfully and replied, “A teacher makes a decent living, doesn't he? What more can you wish for? I ask God that you may have good health, a long life, and sound learning. Your grandfather used to say, 'Learning is more valuable than money.'”
Amazingly, his mother's advice was better than his father's. It was not based on opinion but on sound feelings, which, unlike his father's, had never been corrupted by contact with the realities of worldly life. Her ignorance of the affairs of the world had protected her feelings from corruption. But what value did feelings have, no matter how noble, if they were rooted in ignorance? Was this same ignorance at least partially responsible for his own ideas? He revolted against this kind of logic and to refute it told himself that he knew the good and bad of the world from books. His choice of the good was based on both his beliefs and his thought. Innate and naive feelings might agree with wise opinions without discrediting the latter in any way. “Absolutely!” he exclaimed to himself.
He did not doubt for a moment that his opinion was correct and noble, but did he know what he wanted? It was not the teaching profession that attracted him. The truth was that he dreamed of writing a book. What book? It would not be poetry. There was poetry in his diary, but it originated with Ai'da, who changed prose into poetry, not with any poetic gift of his. Thus the book would be prose. It would be a large, bound volume about the size and shape of the Holy Qur'an, and, like the Qur'an, its pages would have margins filled with notes and commentaries. But what would he write about? The Qur'an embraced everything, did it not? There was no cause for him to despair. He would find his subject one day. It was enough for him to know the size, shape, and style of annotation for the book. Surely a book that would shake the world was better than a civil service position, even if the latter shook the world too. Every educated person knew about Socrates. Who remembered the judges who had presided at his trial?
76
“GOOD EVENING!”
“She's not going to answer,” he thought. “That's what I expected. At the beginning, it's always like that… has been and ever will be. So she turns her back on you, moving away from the wall beside you to go to the line and check the clothespins. Hasn't she already done that? Of course, but, Maryam, you're trying to be discreet. I understand perfectly. After ten years of chasing women I've become something of an expert. Delight your eyes with her before it gets dark and she's reduced to a shadow. She's put on weight and gotten firmer. She's even more beautiful than when she was a girl. She was pretty as a gazelle back then but did not possess such full hips. Not so fast… she still has a maidenlike figure. How old are you, sweetheart? Your family used to claim you were the same age as Khadija, but according to Khadija you're years and years older. My stepmother declares nowadays that you're in your thirties, on the basis of old memories of the type: ‘When I was pregnant with Khadija, Mar-yam was a girl of five,’ and so on. What difference does age make? Do you plan to spend your whole life with her? In a few short days, she'll ripen into all the woman you could want - beautiful, alluring, satisfying, and plump. Oh, she looked toward the street and noticed you. Did you see her eyes look at you like a chicken's? [won't budge from here, you beauty. Isn't a young man whose looks, strength, and financial status you know better than that Englishman you once admired?”
“Doesn't your family think a greeting deserves some reply?” he asked.
“She's turned away from you again,” he observed. “But wait… didn't she smile? Yes, and whatever force allotted beauty to her gave her an enchanting smile. She smiled. You prepared carefully for this final step. No doubt she's been aware of all my previous motions and maneuvers. My time has come … and yours too, since luckily you're not a woman afflicted with modesty. That Englishman…Julian! Here's a noble stallion standing before you, and his body's ready to carry you away. Don't you hear him neighing?”
“Does your family have no respect for neighbors?” he inquired. “I beg you for a word of greeting. I certainly deserve that.”
A faint, delicate voice, which seemed to come from far away, since her face was turned in the other direction, said, “You don't deserve it… not like this.”
The man knocking at the door had received a reply. The door latch had been lifted. “You won't be charmed by sweet nothings until you've swallowed her scoldings,” he counseled himself. “Be steady and firm… steady.”
Borrowing a phrase from seminary students, Yasin said, “If I have done anything to offend you, I shall never forgive myself as long as I live.”
She replied critically, “The roof terrace of Umm Ali the midwife's house is the same height as ours. What would someone think if he saw you standing there while I'm hanging out the laundry?” Then she added sarcastically, “Or do you want to cause a scandal for me?”
“May nothing evil happen to you,” he thought. “Were you so cautious when you gazed at Julian in the old days? But not so fast… the beauty of your eyes and rump make up for any former or future misconduct.”
“May God not spare my life a moment longer,” he protested, “if I intended to harm you. I hid under the jasmine arbor until the sun set and did not approach the wall separating our houses until I was certain Umm All's roof was vacant.”
Then, sighing audibly, he continued: “I have the added excuse that I've gotten in the habit of coming here to enjoy the solitude. When I found just now that no one else was present I was transported by joy. In any case our Lord will shield us…”
“Amazing!… Why all this effort?”
“That's hardly a naive question,” he thought. “Their questions reflect their experience. She has condescended to
converse with you. Congratulations on this conversation.”
Out loud he said, “I told myself, 'Nothing could be sweeter than greeting her and hearing her answer.'”
The way she turned her head to look at him revealed even in the semidarkness that she was trying not to laugh. She replied, “Your words are more inflated than your body. I wonder what's behind all this talk of yours?”
“Behind it? Why not come closer to the wall? I have a lot to say. For some time now when I chance to look at the ground on leaving the house I've noticed the shadow of a moving hand. If I look up, I see you glancing down from the wall of the roof terrace. That sight is so beautiful it's unforgettable.”
She turned to face him but did not move a step closer. Then she said accusingly, “How dare you look up! If you truly were a good neighbor, as you claim, you wouldn't harm a woman this way. Your evil intentions have become clear from your confession and couduc: here.”
His intentions really were evil. Was fornication the result of good ones? “These are the kinds of evil intentions you love,” tie reflected. “You women are the limit. In an hour you'll demand it as one of your rights. In two hours' time, I'll be fleeing, while you pursue me. All the same, tonight's as sweet as jasmine.”
“God knows my intentions are good,” he declared. “I glanced up because I can't keep myself from looking wherever you are. Haven't you understood that? Haven't you felt it? Your longtime neighbor is speaking out, even if it's rather late.”
Mockingly she said, “Speak. Give free rein to your hot air. Raise your voice…. What would you do if your stepmother surprised us on the roof like this?”
“Don't change the subject, bitch. It will be a miracle if I ever convince you,” he reflected. “Do you really fear my stepmother? Oh… one night in this woman's embrace will be worth a whole lifetime.”
“I'll hear her footsteps first,” he explained. “Let's not get distracted from what we're doing.”