Khan Al-Khalili (16 page)

When he went home at lunchtime he found a letter
waiting for him. As soon as he took a look at the envelope, he recognized the handwriting—small, neat letters very similar to his own. He opened the letter with a smile and read its contents to the end.

“Rushdi is coming home on the morning of the day before Eid al-Fitr.”

Even though his parents had known ahead of time that his younger brother would be spending the Eid in Cairo, they were still thrilled by the news. However, the letter went on to convey some even happier news for the two parents.

“Rushdi goes on to say that an order’s been issued transferring him from Asyut to the headquarters in Cairo. He’s to get his new post there immediately after the Eid holiday.”

The parents were utterly delighted.

“We’ll have two festivals to celebrate,” Sitt Dawlat proclaimed. “I’ve missed him so much. I wonder how he’s managed to spend the entire year on his own in Asyut.”

“You’d better hope and pray,” Ahmad replied with a smile, “that he’s adopted a different lifestyle from the one he was following in Cairo before he left!”

Ahmad went to his room, took off his clothes, and lay down on the bed as usual to take a nap before evening—or rather, until his “love appointment” (as he now had to term it after such a notable day). The letter he had received from his brother temporarily distracted him from thoughts of sleep and the joyous feelings he was enjoying. Instead his mind was filled with memories of his younger brother.

It was rare for anyone to provoke such contradictory feelings as did Rushdi Akif in his elder brother’s mind,
ranging from anger to love. Ahmad had felt a sense of real grievance when the need to stand surety for his younger brother had meant that he, Ahmad, would have to sacrifice his own future and the application of his genius! Then again, he had been annoyed when his brother had squandered his young adulthood by indulging in all kinds of diversions and pleasures and had refused to listen to reason. On the other hand, he loved his brother more than anything on earth, because the young man had shown his love for him in ways that far surpassed the love and respect he showed to his parents. He always remembered the way Ahmad had taken care of him and served as his benefactor. Rushdi adored his elder brother because the latter had crafted him with his own two hands, nourished him with his spirit, and spent his own money on his younger brother’s upbringing. Ahmad was both elder brother and loving parent. He had enjoyed his younger brother’s childhood, carrying him in his arms, teaching him to talk, and training him to walk. He had watched over him as a boy and directed his education. Later on, the younger brother’s success—after so much toil and trouble—had come as a reward for all the struggles his elder brother had undertaken and a proud achievement for his efforts. He was forever recalling his elder brother’s sacrifices on his behalf. Beyond all that, Rushdi was a lovable person: kind and cheerful, he had inherited from his mother the ability to open other people’s hearts without the slightest effort on his part; both of them—he and his mother—were generously endowed with beauty, sincerity, loyalty, and a fondness for company and conviviality. Unfortunately, those qualities were not accompanied by a similar level of moderation,
poise, and commonsense. For him life was to be lived on the edge, at full throttle; everything had to be done to the maximum, and his natural bent pushed him forward without the slightest hint of restraint.

From the outset he had been brash and forward in his approach to life in general; and all this while the person who was supposed to be looking after him—namely his elder brother—was the exact opposite, trammeled by the fact that he was both spoiled and scared. As a result, Ahmad had tended to rely on the younger brother he was helping to bring up—who was reliable along with other people—when it came to doing things for him, buying whatever he needed, and borrowing books for him. The younger brother had thereby gained world experience, along with self-reliance, initiative, and masculinity. His elder brother needed him just as much as he needed his elder mentor. However, while he may have learned about the world and operated within it, he still had no fixed set of principles to protect him from its pitfalls. Ever since Akif Effendi had been pensioned off, he had kept to himself and left the running of family affairs to his elder son and his wife. As far as Rushdi was concerned, neither of those two dear people had the necessary resolution to provide him with guidance and restraint. He preferred to make his own way and to do everything on impulse. In fact, had he not been even-tempered and considerate, he might well have crossed the line from youthful indiscretion to criminality.

His early educational career in primary and secondary schools had often heralded great success; to such an extent that even Ahmad declared that Rushdi seemed to have
inherited some of his own intellectual abilities. But once he had enrolled in the School of Commerce things changed. Corruption bent his will. He found himself drawn toward a group of young men who indulged in heavy drinking, betting on card games, and in general living a dissolute life. His behavior became more and more crazy; he went into debt several times and neglected his studies, to such an extent that it almost caused a rift between himself and his brother. Things reached a climax when he started thinking seriously of abandoning his university studies and becoming a singer, and all because he had heard a lot about the bohemian lifestyle of singers and their success in attracting women, quite apart from the fact that he was well aware of what a sweet, harmonious voice he had. With that, Ahmad’s patience snapped; he warned his brother that he would cut off his allowance if he didn’t immediately stop behaving in such a debauched and reckless fashion. Sometimes he became so angry that he really felt as though he hated his brother. So strong was his feeling of resentment that he found himself doing some things that he himself was actually incapable of undertaking on his own, one or two of which caused him no small amount of heartache.

And yet, in spite of everything, the two brothers still remained very fond of each other, due in no small part to the talents of the younger one. Whenever the elder brother applied pressure, the younger one slowed his pace a little; whenever the former frowned, the latter smiled; if Ahmad cursed and swore, Rushdi used to laugh and then either kiss his brother’s hand or nudge his shoulder; if Ahmad clenched his fist, Rushdi would tease him ever so gently.
This phase came to an end with a miracle. Yes indeed, a miracle in the form of a BA degree. All of which drove Ahmad to observe that here was a student being awarded a degree that gave its holder precedence over himself! But then he gave a deep sigh and realized that now his own responsibilities were over. He would not have to concern himself—to an excessive degree—with his younger brother’s raucous behavior any longer; Rushdi was in charge of his own life. All that meant that the atmosphere between the two brothers calmed down a lot; their mutual affection returned to the way it used to be when Rushdi was a boy, with nothing to mar the picture. In fact, they were so comfortable with each other that Rushdi would often share with his brother stories about his love affairs, drawing from his wide experience involving both chaste and distinctly unchaste episodes. He was just as likely to look for adventure in low dives as he was to chase pretty girls across roads and squares. He managed to collect a number of photographs of pretty girls with this odd expression scribbled in pleasant handwriting: “To my beloved fiancé, Rushdi.” It was not that he meant any harm to these young women or that he found it in any way easy to plot dirty tricks against them. The truth of the matter was that it was all too easy for him to fall victim to his own intense passions. For him nothing was easier than to become a lover, a genuine and sincere one at that. But, once he was involved, he would never actually swear a lie, all too often he would break his word.

When his emotions became really intense, it often happened that he would take it further and make a genuine, truthful promise; then there would be an engagement. But
not long afterward, his emotions would calm down or something else would happen. In his life there was no such thing as peace and quiet; it provided fertile ground for pleasures and passions, so much so that he actually wore himself out. He grew thinner and downright skinny, so much so that, according to his parents, he looked like a beanpole. Ahmad, who loved him and felt sorry for him, kept looking at him anxiously. “Have pity on yourself,” he told his brother, to which Rushdi replied with his usual merriment, “God have mercy on us and you!” When the bank had sent him to work in the Asyut branch, his family had been secretly delighted—even though they were sorry to see him go so far away. They clung to the single hope that in his new posting—his exile to the South—their younger son might adjust his lifestyle and regain some of the health he had lost. They also hoped that he would be able to save some of his salary as well. For that very reason they were delighted when they heard he had been moved back to Cairo, all the while keeping their worries to themselves.

T
here were just three days left in the month of Ramadan. Ahmad was actually sad that the blessed month was coming to an end. After all, how could he possibly forget all the benefits and mercies it provided? How could he commune with the sunset hour about his rotten luck and lonely heart? What would tomorrow bring, he wondered to himself, and what of the future? His mother, Sitt Dawlat, and the servant girl were both busy getting the room ready for his brother who was coming home from Asyut. It was the room next to his parents’ bedroom and looked out onto the street that led to the old part of Khan al-Khalili, as did one of the windows in Ahmad’s own room. They swept and cleaned the room, then put some furniture in it so that it was completely ready for the young man’s arrival. Their mother then embarked on one of her seasonal campaigns—as usual, one that involved her son, Ahmad—all connected with the arrival of the first day of the Eid, or “the Cookie Feast,” as she liked to call it. After they had
all broken the fast, she took advantage of the fact that she was alone with him and started bidding a fond farewell to the Ramadan days with their particular rituals.

“Just a couple more days,” she said, “and we’ll all be enjoying the smell of cookies!”

He was expecting something of the sort and realized that there was no avoiding an argument about it; he was bound to lose no matter what he said or however much he objected. Even so, he was not in the habit of surrendering even a single solitary penny without putting up a fight as a way of salving his conscience.

“In times like these,” he said by way of justification, “people won’t be smelling cookies! They’ll be asking God to keep them safe and provide them with life’s bare necessities. You’re always keen to get us trivial luxuries, Mother. You don’t think about how much money I have. Have mercy on those who dwell on earth, and He who dwells in heaven will have mercy on you!”

The look she gave him was a blend of reproach and entreaty, but then she smiled. “Oh, you’re impossible!” she responded with a blink of her bespectacled eyelids. “How many times have you started an argument with your own mother for no reason at all, as though she isn’t the one who has loved you and spoiled you to death? Are you pretending to be so poor, when you’re obviously well-off? Are you pretending to forget that it’s your turn now to spoil your mother a bit? I’ve no intention of ever causing you, the best of sons, any hardship. We always manage to make do with just a little, in honor of you!”

He was well aware that she would never give up until she had her way.

“Uh-huh,” he sighed in despair.

“Uh-huh to the idea of a feast day with no cookies. Are we supposed to celebrate the feast day without cookies, when you’re the man of the house?”

“Cookies are for kids!”

“And men and women as well. The feast’s for everyone. Haven’t you noticed that your father’s bought himself a new cloak for the feast-day prayers? You’ve bought yourself a new suit, fez, and shoes—good for you in the name of the All-Merciful! As far as I’m concerned, celebrating the feast involves kneading, sculpting, sprinkling sugar, and stuffing with honey-sesame paste!”

The next morning, the day before the Eid, he made his way to the Cairo train station to await his younger brother’s arrival. It was damp but not too cold, so he sat down on a bench on the platform for trains coming from the South. There were only a few minutes left before the train was supposed to arrive. As usual, he felt a bit panicky around steam trains puffing smoke and blowing shrill whistles. He had never had to meet a train before; in fact, he had never left the boundaries of Cairo itself. He had absolutely no desire to travel or take trips. As far as he was concerned, a prison term would be more tolerable than living in a distant country. No doubt it was his fear of any encounter with the outside world that fueled this hatred of travel, but the way he himself explained it—following his usual pattern of justifying his behavior and temperament—was that it was the natural path for an intellectual who much preferred the world of ideas and avoided material things as
much as possible. After all, hadn’t the great poet Abu al-Ala’ al-Ma’arri lived his entire life in devotion to religious obligations? The thing that managed to lessen his sense of panic was the joy he was feeling because his brother, Rushdi, was coming back to Cairo—his own brother, almost his son. Not to mention his assumption that Rushdi would be able to help him shoulder the family burdens that up until now had fallen on his shoulders alone. He was hoping as well that his brother would manage to bring some fun and pleasure into his life.

Before long everyone’s necks were craning toward the southern direction, and the place was full of all kinds of movement and activity. He too looked in the same direction and watched as the train slowly made its way into the station. Almost immediately the din of the engine could be heard and the ground started shaking; as it gradually approached the platform, the train filled one’s entire field of vision. Heads were poking out of every open window as it drew to a halt alongside the long platform. Everyone rushed forward. With people rushing all around him, Ahmad scanned the windows until he caught sight of his brother at the front of one of the second-class carriages. Rushdi was handing his suitcase down to one of the porters. Ahmad yelled out his name and gave his brother a wave as he ran toward the carriage. The young man turned toward him, then leapt down from the carriage, and stood in front of his brother. The two brothers greeted each other warmly.