Morning and Evening Talk Part 6

"Bachelorhood is the final solace," he replied rudely.

He persisted in this malevolent obstinacy and his resolve was not shaken after his mother's death. He retired at the beginning of the 1970s and went on living alone like a ghost. It was as though the world could offer him nothing but enduring health, and his only pleasure was to be found in food and books, then television and the new maid.

Faruq Hussein Qabil THE FOURTH CHILD OF SAMIRA and Hussein Qabil, he was born and grew up on Ibn Khaldun Street. Like his brothers and sisters, he greeted the world with a slender, vigorous body and good looks and he had a promising, brilliant mind. He was, however, brought up in the disciplined climate that prevailed on the family after Hussein Qabil's death. From childhood, he dreamed of becoming a doctor and, with strong determination, fulfilled his dream, surmounting the obstacles of the system. His heart was divided between enthusiasm for the July Revolution, because of his birth and a disposition he shared with his brother Hakim, and occasional aversion to it out of sympathy for the Muslim Brothers and affection for his brother Salim, who had been thrown in prison. He found deliverance from the contradictions by concerning himself with his work. When he got his license to practice he opened a private clinic alongside his hospital work. He fell in love with a colleague, Doctor Aqila Thabit, and they married and moved into a modern apartment in New Cairo. Faruq was greatly saddened by the fate of his brother Hakim and the absence of his other brother, Salim. Samira's sons learned the strength of their tenacity just as, like their mother, they learned to stand firm in the face of adversity. He was careful not to let his political views be known outside the family environment, taking the suffering of his brothers as a lesson, and devoted himself to his work. In this arena he achieved a unique position as a surgeon, and his wife, similarly, held high-ranking posts as a midwife. She gave birth to two daughters, who gravitated competently to medicine. Faruq was among the few who believed in Sadat's politics, with the exception of his unregulated infitah policy, whose gates opened with an exuberance that brought the country significant economic problems. Thus, he did not belong to the section of the population that rejoiced at Sadat's death. He once commented to his uncle Amr, "Sadat took Gamal Abdel Na.s.ser's place and so was a.s.sa.s.sinated in his place."

He was remembered as a rare doctor, meaning that he always stood by his principles and never overcharged for his troubles.

Fayyid Amer Amr The third son of Amer and Iffat, like his two brothers he was born and grew up in the house in Bayn al-Ganayin. With his fair complexion, beautiful eyes, and slender figure he bore a close resemblance to his grandmother, Farida Husam. He soaked up a good portion of the heritage of Amr and Radia and the old quarter but was sated by the customs of his other grandparents, Farida and Abd al-Azim Pasha Dawud. From childhood, he adored the law and the glory of legal office, just as he adored modern culture-cinema and radio, then television. He loved his two grandfathers, Amr and Abd al-Azim, but took no interest in the Wafd, nor indeed any other political party. He graduated from law school among the top students and, with his achievements and Abd al-Azim Pasha's standing, was immediately appointed to the public prosecutor's office. Of Amer and Iffat's children, he was perhaps the only one whose behavior and ideas did not cause them worry, in contrast to his brothers, Shakir and Qadri. When he announced one day that he was in love with a student from law school, a girl called Magida al-Arshi, Iffat became agitated because of bitter past experience. However, she was happy when she was rea.s.sured that the girl was a doctor's daughter, a doctor's granddaughter, and from a very good, suitable family. "It's the first wedding to whet the appet.i.te!" she remarked to Amer.

Fayyid married and moved into an apartment in New Cairo. He was not averse to the July Revolution, although it invalidated his grandfather and uncle's rank. Indeed, he was rather drawn to it and made no attempt to hide this from his mother and father.

"It came at the perfect time," he said.

Fayyid advanced with familiar speed until he became a councilor. His att.i.tude to the revolution and its leader remained the same; even the ordeal of June 5 did not change his mind, though it rent his heart. As for Sadat, he supported him in his war and turning of a new page in democracy but had severe misgivings about the peace plan, then cursed him for the infitah policy and relapse of democracy. Thus, while he did not condone his a.s.sa.s.sination, he was not sad and believed Sadat had got what he deserved. Fayyid only had one daughter, who specialized in chemistry. Iffat named her Farida after her mother.

Farga al-Sayyad She appeared in al-Ghuriya at the age of fourteen with a strong body and nice face, walking about in a blue gallabiya, carrying a basket with fish and a set of scales on her head. She was forced to foray from her house in al-Sukariya after her father died and her mother was paralyzed, and was looked after by neighborhood customs and piety. One day a robust man with an accent from outside Cairo called her over to buy some fish. She lowered her basket to the ground and, squatting behind it, began balancing the weights. He gazed at her for a while and said, "Dear girl, you're so sweet."

"Do you want fish or the scales smashed in your face?" she replied rudely.

The man snorted unconsciously. She got to her feet, appealing to the onlookers. Some men dived on the stranger and the situation became aggravated. However, a man they recognized-Ata al-Murakibi-stepped forward from the crowd and shouted, "Praise the Prophet." He laughed and said, "He's an Alexandrian. He lives in my building. He's not familiar with local custom. When they snort it's like when we take a deep breath." Ata recovered his neighbor and took him to his shop.

For his part, Ata saw the man's arrival as a bad omen since it dragged in its wake an army of infidels, Napoleon's troops. "What brought you here?" he asked.

"The plague killed my family so I decided to leave Alexandria," he replied.

Things changed when Ata married his master's daughter, Sakina; he began to regard the Alexandrian's arrival as a good omen and started liking him. "Dear old Yazid, you brought blessings!"

Yazid al-Misri did not forget Farga al-Sayyad. He said to his friend, "I want to marry the fish seller." Ata al-Murakibi asked the mother for her daughter's hand and Farga was wedded to Yazid at his apartment in the house in al-Ghuriya. Ata al-Murakibi claimed that as soon as he closed the door on the bride and groom, the guests outside in the salon could hear the snorts boring a hole through the door, like water gurgling in a narghile. Yazid al-Misri was happy in his marriage and Farga gave birth to many children, of whom only Aziz and Dawud survived. The couple lived to see their grandchildren. One night, Yazid dreamed he saw a man who said he was Nagm al-Din, at whose tomb he sometimes prayed. He advised him, "Build your grave next to mine so we may come together as friends." Yazid did not waver. He constructed the enclosure in which he was buried and which, to this day, welcomes his deceased descendants from all over Cairo.

Fahima Abd al-Azim Pasha She was known as The Flowers' Friend because of the long hours she spent in the garden of the villa on Sarayat Road. She was the most beautiful of Abd al-Azim's children and prettier than Farida Hanem Husam. She may not have been as clever as Iffat, but her heart was kinder and her soul purer. She was educated with her sister at La Mere de Dieu with the same end in mind, namely to prepare her to marry into high rank. Yet her marriage nonetheless came about in the traditional way, as she was engaged-by way of a neighbor-to a public prosecutor called Ali Tal'at. Abd al-Azim Pasha Dawud had a house built for her in Bayn al-Ganayin, as he had done for Iffat, and she was wedded to her groom there. The marriage was very successful and she gave birth to Dawud, Abd al-Azim, and Farida. However, the bad luck waiting round the corner for the family became proverbial. Fahima lost her children once they had made it through youth and raised hope: Dawud died of typhoid in his third year of law school, Abd al-Azim died of cholera a month after graduating from the faculty of science, and Farida died of rheumatism of the heart in secondary school. Profound grief distracted the parents to the point of renouncing the world. Ali Tal'at, then a councilor at the court of appeals in Cairo, requested his pension and devoted himself to worship and religious readings in constant seclusion at home or in the cemetery. Fahima, in contrast, who came from a family where religion crouched on the margins, began asking questions about fate and the day she would be united with her dead children once more. She started buying all the books she could find at the market about spirits, how to summon them, and secret powers, and finally put faith in Radia and the heritage she had previously looked on with a mocking smile.

"Have patience, dear daughter," her father, Abd al-Azim Pasha, said. "If only I could ransom myself for your children."

"You're goodness and blessings, Papa. May G.o.d prolong your life," she replied.

Each time he led the funeral procession of one of her young children, heading the cortege due to his advanced years, he felt anguished and somehow culpable. He found the eyes gazing at him in reverent silence oppressive. Ali Tal'at soon entered G.o.d's mercy, struck down by a severe flu, and Fahima found herself on her own in her kingdom of spirits. She lived long after the death of her parents and relatives from the respectable generation, which hallowed tradition and family ties, and became oblivious to everything except the telephone conversations she had with her sister, Iffat.

Qasim Amr Aziz THE LAST CHILD OF AMR AND RADIA, he was born and grew up in the house on Bayt al-Qadi Square and was the only one of the children who never left home. From the beginning, he was thin and lively and bore no obvious resemblance to either parent. However, when he laughed he called to mind his father, and anyone who saw him when he was agitated was reminded of Radia. The roof and the square with its tall trees were his playground and he lived life to the full in the winter rain and Khamsin wind. He was not given the opportunity to get close to any of his brothers or sisters, as the moment he reached adolescence they departed for their marital homes. Instead, he made friends with his uncle Surur's and the neighbors' children and found recreation at the homes of his married brothers and sisters and the families of Ata and Dawud. He was his mother's most devoted listener and the most believing follower of her dreams and spiritual tours about the mosques and shrines. Whenever his imagination played up he found in her a receptive ear and believing heart. One night in Ramadan he told her that he had seen a window of radiant light open in the sky for a few moments on the "Night of Power" and that another night he beheld a procession of demons through the gap in the mashrabiya. When still a boy, he gazed with interest at the girls in the family, alert and hungry before his time, and would hover in particular around Dananir, Gamila, and Bahiga, as well as the neighbors' girls and young women; even their wives did not escape his wicked desires. Yet he was pious, prayed, and fasted from an early age.

He entered Qur'an school reluctantly and learned the basic principles with a reticent heart and rebellious mind. He could never distinguish between school and the district prison in Gamaliya where wretched faces loomed behind the window bars. At an after-dinner gathering, Amr questioned him, "Don't you want to be like your brothers?"

"No way!" he shouted back.

His father frowned and warned him, "Don't force me to become strict with you."

Qasim's image of his father was shaken by the man's failure to prevent his cousin Ahmad's death and he, Qasim, was left to cry in vain. He liked the pleasure afforded by Gamila's embrace, although his heart would be seized by pain when he came to pray. He was constantly torn between love and prayer and Bahiga and his mother's vigilant eyes. One day, Radia caught him and Gamila on the roof among the chickens, rabbits, and cats. The moment she appeared they broke free from their embrace. Gamila flew off like a dove, blood rushing to her cheeks in shame. Radia glowered and, pointing her emaciated hand up to the sky over the roof, said, "G.o.d sees everything from up there."

Gamila vanished from sight when a suitable man came forward and Qasim added a broken heart to the anguish of death. He began to see rabbits' heads peeking out from under overturned earthenware jars and it was not long before he found himself confronting illusions alongside irksome school lessons and a mysterious smile in Bahiga's beautiful eyes. He expected her to be like her sister, Gamila, but found a sweet heart combined with a strong will. What good could come from their wordless exchange? "You two are the same age. He isn't suitable," Bahiga's mother, Sitt Zaynab, said to her.

And Radia told him, "It's important you focus your energy on school."

Amr spread his palms and pleaded, "Lord, be kind to me with this boy."

Qasim wept over the harsh ban. Sitting with his parents one evening, his father asked him why he was crying. "I'm thinking about Ahmad!"

Amr frowned. "That's ancient history. Even his own mother has forgotten him!" he exclaimed.

He began to gaze at things sadly and weep. When they were alone, Radia said to her husband, "The evil eye has taken our son."

"People envy his misfortune!" Amr replied angrily.

She perfumed him with incense, but when he inhaled its mysterious aroma he fell unconscious. His father took him to the doctor, who concluded it was a mild bout of epilepsy and there was nothing to fear; he needed rest and a change of atmosphere. They recalled the tragedy of Samira's daughter, Badriya. Once when his parents were present he gazed into s.p.a.ce and said, "I will do anything you wish...."

"Is this the illness rambling?" Amr asked.

"No. He is communicating with people in the Unknown," Radia replied confidently.

People learned of his condition and flocked to Bayt al-Qadi to try and revive him. They stared at him full of curiosity and apprehension. At Ata's mansion there was whispering.

"It's the root of madness that has long run through Radia's family," Shakira said to her mother.

At her house Sitt Zaynab said the same to Surur, while Radia a.s.serted her knowledge of such things to Amr and told him with faith and conviction, "Don't be afraid or sad. Trust in G.o.d."

She took her son around the shrines and burned incense in every corner of the house. Qasim renounced school in contempt and began roaming the alleys and wandering about the houses of his brothers and sisters and relatives on Khayrat Square, Sarayat Road, and Bayn al-Ganayin. Everywhere he went he would be given something to drink and would make some enigmatic remarks about the future as he saw it. Events fulfilled his prophecies and he became known as "The Shaykh." People no longer dared to make fun of him.

"It's G.o.d's will," Mahmud Bey said to a dejected Amr. "You're a believer. The boy has a secret that no one but G.o.d knows. He reads my thoughts. I have to think carefully before I do anything."

"But what about the future? How will he make a living?" Amr asked.

His aunt Shahira was present and said, "G.o.d does not forget any of his creation so why should He forget one of his saints?"

Qasim's reputation was spread as a legend. Troubled rich men began arriving with gifts, then money, and the family was forced to set aside a room on the first floor to receive his visitors. Amr was amazed as his son's fortune grew and overtook that of all his brothers together. His worries faded with time until it seemed Qasim was made for this role. Qasim exchanged his European clothes for a gallabiya, cloak, and turban, let his beard grow, and divided his time between receiving visitors and praying on the roof. Even his mother-the mistress of ancient knowledge-became one of his students and disciples. He opened his heart to the sorrows of his family and plunged into their dramas. He paid the last honors for their dead and blessed them in the cavity of their tombs. One day, when he was in his thirties, his heart began to beat in a way that brought rose-scented memories of the past flooding back. A tender voice called him to leave the house. He wrapped his cloak around him, went out, and headed straight to his uncle's house next door. Bahiga met him with amazement, asking herself what had prompted him to burst into her desperate solitude now. They gazed at one another as they had in the carefree old days.

"I dreamed you were beckoning me," he said.

She smiled weakly.

"A voice from the Unknown told me the time has come for us to marry," he continued. He promptly stood up and left. He returned home and told his mother, "I want to marry. Propose to Bahiga on my behalf."

Radia told herself that the saints had all married and produced children. When Labib came to visit she told him the news. Labib consulted his cousins Amer and Hamid, and they all agreed Qasim was capable of bearing the burden of a family; the matter rested with Bahiga. Amazingly, Bahiga consented. Some said it was desperation, others said it was the old love. Either way, she was married to him as soon as the old house had been rejuvenated with new furniture. The wedding took place in near silence because of the gloom that reigned during the war; it was celebrated with antiaircraft fire. Years went by without children. Then, one day, Bahiga gave birth to her only son, al-Naqshabandi. He was handsome, like his uncle Labib, and extremely healthy and intelligent. He graduated as an engineer the year of the Setback and, shortly before the 1970s, was sent on a delegation to West Germany. The situation in his country was a burden on his personal well-being so he decided to emigrate. He took an important post at a steel manufacturer after obtaining his doctorate, married a German girl, and settled in Germany for good. Bahiga was deeply saddened while Qasim, who was never sad, bade him farewell with his heart but did not shed a tear.

Qadri Amer Amr He was born and grew up in the house in Bayn al-Ganayin, the middle son of Amer and Iffat. From childhood he shone in play, industry, and imagination. From childhood too, he was kindled by reading and interested in public life and, unlike his two brothers, was to find he sided with the Marxists. He was pa.s.sionate about art and literature, despite a gift for science, and laid the foundations for his private library when still in the first year of secondary school. He was a near image of his father, though taller and more robust, and naturally rash, which got him into difficulty. How great was Amer's surprise when his son was arrested amid a group of Marxists. The man rushed to his father-in-law, Abd al-Azim Pasha, who took steps to have Qadri released on the pretext of youth. The pasha was nevertheless alarmed. "How did such a boy emerge from your house?" he asked Amer and Iffat.

"We haven't been lax in raising them, but others have sneaked into their lives and corrupted them," Amer replied timidly.

Qadri entered the faculty of engineering with his name on the security forces' blacklist. Halim warned his sister the situation could jeopardize his future, and Hamid did the same with his brother Amer. Qadri was repeatedly arrested and released while an engineering student. He was at one time drawn to Shazli, his aunt Matariya's son, because of their shared culture. But he found Shazli agnostic, the ant.i.thesis of his own rational Sufism, so he lost patience and moved on. When he graduated as an engineer he shunned the civil service and worked in the engineering office of a retired teacher of his. He was a competent engineer but his reputation was marred by his politics. His mother was keen that he marry-to sort him out, on the one hand, and to compensate her loss in the case of Shakir, on the other. For his part, he welcomed the idea. She wanted one of his uncle Lutfi Pasha's daughters for him but did not find the enthusiasm she had hoped for and guessed it was because of his bad reputation. Her anxiety was compounded when neighbors rejected him because they doubted his piety and, consequently, the validity of the marriage. Qadri grew angry with the idea of marriage, just as he was with the bourgeoisie in general. He began to believe his uncles Gha.s.san and Halim were wise to forsake it.

By the July Revolution his political activism had ceased, but his ideology and friends were the same and the cloud shrouding his reputation had not dissipated. He made palpable progress in his career and it looked set to continue, but then he was sent to prison for the third time. His father appealed to some important officers who had been former students of his. They indulged him and Qadri was released. When the revolution became linked with the Eastern Bloc he inclined toward it and began to see dimensions he had not seen before. Perhaps it was this that made the national catastrophe of June 5 easier for him to bear; he saw it as a clear beginning to securing Soviet influence in Egypt and a step closer to total revolution when the time was ripe. Perhaps this was what made him greet the victory of October 6 with an exasperation he could not conceal. He expended all his logic and learning in negating its meaning and portraying it as a charade. He said to himself: Victory for the bourgeoisie equals victory for reactionism! It was for this reason he opposed Sadat the moment his political strategy became clear and why he detested him both in life and in death, despite the wealth that unexpectedly came his way in the days of the infitah policy. He was one of the flood of men sentenced in September 1981. He was freed with the rest a few days before his father died to resume his successful job and frustrated hopes.

Labib Surur Aziz HE WAS SURUR AND ZAYNAB'S FIRST CHILD. He had a radiant, handsome face, which resembled his mother's, and a slender body, below average in height, which seemed designed for a girl. Amazingly, he was calm and composed from childhood, as though he had been born fully mature. Playing for him consisted in standing outside the front door watching the world go by; or following the movements of his cousin Qasim, who was a few years older than him, as he got up to mischief like others his age; or walking around the square cracking almonds. Radia would call him over and say affectionately, "Sensible boy!"

She would also say of him, "The father is an idiot and the mother is a fool, so where did the brains come from?"

When he was just four years old, encouraged by his composure and avoidance of childish mischief, Surur Effendi sent him to Qur'an school. He thought it would not be a waste of time if he spent a year or two there without understanding or grasping anything. But in those two years he acquired enough knowledge to satisfy the shaykh. "Your nephew, Labib, is an amazing boy. You must start him at primary school," the shaykh said to Labib's uncle, Amr Effendi. In those days no one advanced to primary school below the age of eight or nine, so Labib's father presented him for the entrance exam without taking it seriously and his success came as a surprise. His studies began when he was only six and he progressed with success year after year, causing astonishment around the family. Even more astonishing was the way he applied himself to his homework without encouragement or incentives, or anyone's help, until he obtained the primary school certificate aged only ten. His age and talent enabled him to enter one of the king's special schools free of charge, and he progressed through secondary school with similar success. As a teenager, he resisted the temptations he encountered around family or in the street, obeying his mother's warnings and deliberately spurning whatever might impede his industry and uprightness. Thus, he obtained the baccalaureate at the age of sixteen. The teachers college was the preferred and appropriate option in the family's circ.u.mstances, but the ambitious young man announced he wanted to go to law school.

"It's the school for leaders!" muttered Surur, worried but hopeful.

"Let's get Abd al-Azim's advice," said Amr.

The pasha was impressed with the young man's history so took steps for him to enter law school, again with the fees waived. Labib's father had his first tong-trouser suit made for him. He went off to law school to be gazed at with amazement; sarcastic comments about the "Elementary Law School" and "The King's Kindergarten" buzzed around him and att.i.tudes did not change until he proved his ability and potential. He did not hesitate to join in the demonstrations and distribute pamphlets when the 1919 Revolution broke out, though his activities mostly took place in shelter and safety. He was conscious of the cla.s.s differences between him and his colleagues and it left a residue in his soul. Yet he overcame it with his natural calm and inherent wisdom. It never worried him that he only had one suit, was not part of a social scene or life of luxury, and traveled in second cla.s.s on the tram. He avoided troubling his father with requests that might challenge his resources; he was always, as Radia said, very sensible.

His patience and industry bore fruit. He obtained his law degree at the age of eighteen, placed in the top ten. He was obstructed from working for the public prosecutor's office not because of his roots-in deference to Abd al-Azim Dawud-but because it refused to appoint a minor as an a.s.sistant prosecutor! Thus, it was agreed he should take a clerical post until he reached majority, at which point he joined the public prosecutor's office. This enabled Aziz's family to hold its head high, gaining for them a foothold in the upper ranks of the bureaucracy next to Dawud and Ata's families, and prompting jealousy, resentment, and astonishment in every branch of the family, including those closest to him-namely his cousins. Surur Effendi walked tall as though he was the public prosecutor. His tongue grew more vicious and left a nasty mark in people's hearts and he became insufferable.

Yet contrary to expectation and logic, winds of anxiety would blow around Labib. He constantly proved competent and impartial as a prosecutor and judge, thus earning trust and respect, but his family's circ.u.mstances decreed that his marriage had to wait until he had a.s.sisted in his brothers' education and sisters' weddings. Meanwhile, impulses he had long restrained erupted, demanding compensation for what they had missed out on during childhood, youth, and adolescence. All of a sudden he craved wine and women. He began indulging in riotous behavior and moral depravity while observing the customs of his profession as far as possible. He grew accustomed to this lifestyle until it took him over completely. He did not consider changing even after he was discharged from his family obligations, despite the threat to his reputation and damage to his health.

The July Revolution shook the status of the law and its men. He was overcome with gloom as an old Wafdist on the one hand, and as a lawyer on the other. He continued visiting every branch of the family and began keenly following the revolution's effect on them, careful not to give himself away. His cousin Hamid was probably the closest to him. Labib once whispered to his cousin, "What's the ruse? We have before us a man claiming leadership with a revolver in his hand!"

When he was head of the court of appeals in Alexandria and approaching retirement, he had a sudden upturn and burst with all his energies down the path of prayer and matrimony. He prayed to the point of becoming a dervish and for the first time considered marrying his cousin Dananir. He had not forgotten that he had once, during his period of transgression, tried to get close to her and she had rejected him decisively. But the sight of her now aroused his disgust so he turned to a prost.i.tute, a second-rate singer at a nightclub called The Age of Youth, whom he had stayed in touch with, despite the fickleness of his love life. By that time she had given up work because she was too old, but she had not lost all her femininity. Before long they were married and had taken up residence in an elegant apartment in New Cairo. They performed the hajj together and lived in general peace and splendor. Wine had consumed Labib's liver and he began to suffer from internal bleeding while still head of the court of appeals. He was carried from Alexandria to his house in Cairo, where he died. He departed life when Egypt was at the height of its success a few months before the June defeat.

Lutfi Abd al-Azim Dawud He was the first child of Abd al-Azim Dawud and Farida Husam. In terms of beauty, he was the image of his mother and his sister Fahima, while he owed his intellect to his father and grandfather. During childhood and adolescence, occasions for friendship with Amr's family, and Amer in particular, were firmly established, and he fell in love with the old quarter and Radia's extraordinary eccentricity. He was enchanted by Matariya's beauty, just as she was by his good looks, and a modest romance developed in keeping with the customs of the day. Their hearts opened up expecting to meet a shower of happy tidings, but when Lutfi signaled his aspirations from afar, it was as if a bomb had exploded at the Dawud family villa on Sarayat Road. They forgot kinship, Amer and Iffat's love, and the fraternity between Amr and Abd al-Azim. They saw the gesture as a misguided lapse in taste and a route into the abyss. A barrier was placed around Lutfi until Matariya was engaged and the danger had disappeared. Radia was furious and rained her curses on those without roots. Amr felt pain in his heart and blood rushed to his face. Surur egged his brother on, "Your anger shouldn't be stifled."

However, Farida Husam's friendship supported Radia and, as usual, Amr was polite despite his agitation. Family ties triumphed over temporary upsets. How Dawud's daughters talked about Amr and Surur's daughters and vice versa! How atrociously Dawud's family joked about Ata's family and how cruelly Ata's ridiculed Dawud's! Nevertheless, solid foundations stood firm against the storms and hurricanes that raged over the great family. During those strange times, love's routine was forgotten. It was not long before Lutfi was busy with his medical studies and obtained his degree. He traveled to Germany as part of a delegation then returned to begin a career in research at the ministry of health. He demonstrated brilliance in both administration and learning and attained strong standing among the opposition parties despite his family's known affiliation. He was more independent than partisan and did not hesitate to pledge allegiance to the Crown as a loyal senior official. He was a.s.signed the rank of bey, then pasha, while still between youth and middle age.

Amr played a historic role in Lutfi's marriage. He was a boyhood friend of a man who had been made president of the medical commission, Bahgat Bey Amr. He saw the Bey's daughter Amal, a graduate from La Mere de Dieu and a rare beauty, and, with his gentle heart and eagerness to please, had the idea of arranging a marriage between her and Lutfi. He became a kind emissary between Abd al-Azim's family and Bahgat's family and at his hands the happiest of marriages took place. The favor was appreciated by both families. A new family grew up in a villa in Dokki, an Egypto-European family, who frequently visited its progenitor, Amr Effendi, in his old house on Bayt al-Qadi Square. Amal was enchanted by the ancient quarter and Radia. Among the visitors of the grand houses of Ata, Dawud, and Baligh's families, she was a fresh rose that diffused a foreign fragrance and a new kind of magic that enchanted relatives and neighbors like the draw of Sufism. She gave birth to Farida, Mirfat, and Dawud, who moved abroad when they were older-Farida and Mirfat as the wives of two politicians, and Dawud as a doctor in Switzerland where he married a Swiss woman. Lutfi was among the few who were not affected by the afflictions of his cla.s.s during the July Revolution and could retire as a minister. However, most of his savings, which were invested in shares and bonds, were lost with nationalization. He died of stomach cancer, not long after his father. He was in his seventies, which was considered young among Abd al-Azim's long-living family.

Mazin Ahmad Ata al-Murakibi.

THE SWEETEST ROSE TO GLEAM in the Murakibi family mansion's large garden. The gentleness of his father, Ahmad Bey, and beauty of his mother, Fawziya Hanem, blossomed in him and he was one of those dearest to the families of Amr, Surur, and Dawud. Since childhood, he had loved his uncle's daughter Nadira, and she loved him too. Thus, he was the most miserable of all about the dispute that ripped the family apart, and thus, he was exposed to the fury of his brother, Adnan, the instigator of the trouble. He stumbled at school but decided nevertheless to take a degree in agriculture to prepare him for working life and to ensure that the same tragedy was not repeated. Though he was still quite young, he privately endeavored to secure Amr Effendi's blessing on his efforts to reconcile the angry brothers and secretly urged his beloved cousin to keep their love safe from the storm until it died down. When his amiable father fell sick with the illness that would kill him and the clouds of grief dispersed, his sadness over his father's death did not prevent him from wholeheartedly welcoming peace back into the family. At the time, he was in his final year of studies and resolved to announce his engagement once the year of mourning was over.

At the beginning of the following spring he traveled with a group of exchange students on a study trip to Alexandria. He decided to go for a swim with some friends in Shatby but was deceived by the waves and drowned. His death came as a violent blow to the family and in Nadira's heart it left a scar that would never heal. His possessions went to Adnan, who consequently became the richest man in Ata's family, though also the only one to whom the agriculture reform laws applied after the July Revolution.

Mahir Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi.

He was born and grew up in the mansion on Khayrat Square. Like his brothers and sisters, his upbringing was serious and urbane. He was tall, slim, good looking, and palpably proud of his social status. He only visited his relatives on special occasions and avoided the Dawud family in particular. His school career was not promising so he made the war college the goal of his studies. He was infatuated with aristocratic life in all its manifestations, from a preference for the Crown over political parties to forging friendships within his cla.s.s and exploiting his good looks to win the hearts of beautiful girls. He pestered his father with requests for money. Mahmud Bey wanted his sons to be brought up disciplined but not deprived and it troubled him that the boy would not fall in line. At the same time, he loved and admired him so pretended not to mind that his wife was biased toward him and granted his requests-old age and ill health having softened him by that time.

Mahir enrolled at the war college and graduated at the beginning of the Second World War. Through personal connections and his brother Abduh's influence, he joined the Free Officers Movement on the basis of superficial sentiments and without seriously believing what was said about the "people's suffering" and "cla.s.s struggle." When the revolution came, he found himself among its intimates and leaped effortlessly to a rank his stunted academic achievements could never have brought him. He was uncomfortable with the agriculture reform laws, though they did not apply to anyone in the family but his cousin Adnan, but the scope of his ambition knew no ends. He rented an apartment in Zamalek for his romantic adventures. His star continued to rise and he was appointed to the leader's private guard. He stayed in his post after the Setback, up to Abdel Na.s.ser's death. He was then pensioned off, so devoted himself to the apartment in Zamalek. All this time the idea of marriage never once crossed his mind. When presages of the infitah policy appeared, he was convinced by some friends to start dealing in imports. He sold his land and abandoned himself wholeheartedly to this new line of work and made a huge fortune. Abduh, Mahir, and Nadira were brought together in the mansion in their childlessness and effusion of wealth, which they believed they were ama.s.sing for others.

Mahmud Ata al-Murakibi.

The first fruit of Ata al-Murakibi's marriage to the rich widow, Huda al-Alawzi, he was born, grew up, and matured in an atmosphere of glory and splendor in the mansion on Khayrat Square and the farm in Beni Suef. He knew nothing of his father's former life, but he mingled with his relatives-his sister Ni'ma, and her children, Rashwana, Amr, and Surur-from the beginning and his heart was saturated with love for the old quarter. The markings of a strong and proactive personality manifested at the outset, more apparent for their juxtaposition with the mild temper and gentle manners of his younger brother, Ahmad. Nevertheless, the two were equally unpromising in school and, like their cousins Amr and Surur, made do with the primary school certificate. Ahmad then settled into the life of privilege while Mahmud stuck with his father, an astute pupil, faithful follower, and hardy a.s.sistant.

He was a model of strength and coa.r.s.eness; medium in height, a hulking face, handsome features, and a large head supported by a short, thick neck. His demeanor, aggressive gaze, and solid frame bespoke challenge, struggle, and violence. His father found little occasion to censure him in his early teens other than a few flare-ups out in the fields, so arranged for him and his brother to marry two well-bred sisters from the neighboring Bakri family. Mahmud began a prosperous marriage with Nazli Hanem and his eyes never looked at another woman all his life. The partnership succeeded thanks to his attachment to the hanem and his wife's refinement and traditional dedtication to her husband and marriage. As the days pa.s.sed, she gave birth to Hasan, Shakira, Abduh, Nadira, and Mahir. From the very beginning, and with rare shrewdness, Mahmud was resolved on mastering his father's heart. He knew the man was tight-fisted so played the part of a miser in front of him, even though he was himself neither overly stingy nor free handed. At work, on the other hand, he won the man's admiration through his perseverance, precision, and judgment, as well as his excessive violence when dealing with others and his refusal to show leniency, as if it was a crime or betrayal. His father, for his part, suffered moments of cowardice and would say to him, "It's also not wise to make a new enemy every day."

"Everyone likes my brother, Ahmad, but I don't care who likes me. The only way to protect your rights is with force," the son replied.

Ata even exclaimed once, "I've got one son and two daughters!"

Mahmud was unconcerned by his abundant enemies and their rising numbers. He preferred to be feared rather than loved by either employees or business a.s.sociates. The cases brought against him day to day and repeat visits to court with defense lawyers did not bother him. When his father, Ata, died and he was alone with his brother, Ahmad, and his mother, he said, "You're ent.i.tled to manage half of the estate."

Ahmad was confused. The bewilderment showed in his eyes.

"It's a struggle in a forest of wild beasts," Mahmud continued. "Nice people are lost there."

Ahmad was even more bewildered and confused. Mahmud said, "Would you agree to me managing the business alone?"

"Happily! You're my older brother and dear friend. We've only ever known love."

"And I've never neglected a religious duty in my life. I work as though G.o.d is watching me."

"I don't doubt it," said Ahmad and let out a deep, satisfied breath.

Thus, Mahmud took his father's place. It was a black day for the employees, watchmen, and business a.s.sociates. He went about fields, farms, and the market like a steamroller, regarded with contempt, curses raining down on him from men and women alike. One night, returning to the mansion, a couple of anonymous men attacked him with clubs until he collapsed unconscious on the ground. They threw him in a ditch and disappeared into the darkness. Not long after, a patrol pa.s.sed by and heard groaning from the ditch. They rushed over and rescued him from the brink of death. He was taken to hospital. When people heard the news they struck their foreheads in exasperation and cursed the bad luck that hastened to save him at the critical moment. He left hospital, healthy and recovered, with new contusions and scars from the surgery on his forehead, cheek, and neck, which made him look even grimmer and more ferocious. These did not, however, change his nature in any way, though he became better armed and more wary. His cousin Amr Effendi, the person closest to his heart, said to him, "My friend, you must adopt a different policy."

"People are made for one policy. Woe to he who backs away from it," Mahmud replied.

He would visit Bayt al-Qadi in his resplendent carriage, laden with gifts. He enjoyed chatting to Amr and Radia, then would become immersed in talking about his countless lawsuits. Once Amr said to him, laughing, "You'll soon be a legal expert like Abd al-Azim!"

He laughed-he often laughed in Bayt al-Qadi-and said, "I'd rather die than waive my rights."

"But this life isn't worth such toil," Radia burst out pa.s.sionately.

"Dear dervish, we were created for toil," he guffawed.

He would visit Abd al-Azim Dawud in East Abbasiya, where he enjoyed sharing news of his success and affluence and discussed cases. When he had gone, Abd al-Azim would say to Farida, "Sickness is better than a meeting with that oaf."

"His wife is a precious jewel," Farida Hanem would say.

"Lord give her patience in her suffering!" Abd al-Azim would reply sarcastically.

Even Nazli Hanem, who loved him more than anything in the world, advised him to be more moderate. But nothing could divert him from his path, ever.

"Can't Abd al-Azim Dawud help you at all in your lawsuits?" she also asked.

"He affects probity to hide his depravity and lack of chivalry. He's an infidel and copycat of the English-he drinks whisky at lunch and supper!" he replied resentfully.

When the 1919 Revolution came, a new kind of emotion stirred in his heart for the first time. He was touched by the magic of its leader and donated several thousand Egyptian pounds to the cause. For the first time too he perceived in the simple peasants a frightening power he had not known before. When the different positions of the Crown, Adli, and the leader crystallized, he began to take stock of his accounts. He met with his brother at the mansion on Khayrat Square and asked him, "What are your thoughts on the current situation?"

"Sa'd is undoubtedly in the right," Ahmad said innocently.

"I'm asking what is in our best interest," he said coldly.

"I haven't thought about it," Ahmad said confused. "Do you think we should support Adli Pasha?"

"The Crown is the permanent center of power."

"You're always right, brother," Ahmad said simply.

"What is your social circle saying?"