On the outside, he will remain the steady person, the believer, the efficient and untroubled man — until the heroine shows him his true self, perhaps through his love for her.
(2) MUSTAFA RASHID
A lawyer. No harm in my leaving him as such in the play, to justify his powers of argument. Charming, and cynical in the extreme. Married to a woman he does not love — perhaps out of a desire for her salary more than anything else. Although he is constantly searching for an ideal woman, he does not in fact pursue erotic liaisons on the houseboat. He is a strange man, doubtless harboring some deep secret. Perhaps it is addiction. He is completely aware of his spiritual emptiness, and finds solace in the water pipe and the Absolute. But he is apparently unaware of the deception that he is practicing on himself. He strives for the impossible without any method or any real effort, relying solely on intoxicated meditations. It is as if the Absolute is simply an excuse for addiction, but gives him even so a feeling that he has risen above his real vapidity. Like many whom I meet at social gatherings, he is apparently exquisitely cultured but inwardly hollow, crumbling, stinking of his own miserable decay.
(3) ALI AL-SAYYID
Originally a student at al-Azhar University, he completed his studies thereafter at the Faculty of Arts at Cairo University, and perfected his English at a Berlitz language school. He is a combative character, and fully aware of his short-term, practical aims. He has two wives, the first from his village and the second from Cairo, but the latter is also a housewife and traditional woman — which satisfies his conservative inclinations to be the master of the house. He makes a lot of his generosity in keeping the first wife, but he is a swine, as can be seen by his strange relationship with Saniya Kamil.
As a critic, he is a great scoundrel. His aesthetic is founded on material gain, and he never feels compelled to tell the truth except when his fortunes turn against him, in which case it is disguised as mocking and merciless satire. Harried by feelings of worthlessness and treachery and futility, he devotes himself to the water pipe and to strange dreams of a new humanism which appear before his muzzy eyes through a lethal fog. He is the prime example of a certain contemporary type who wanders aimlessly through life without beliefs or morality. And who would not shrink from committing a crime if he could be sure that he would not be found out.
(4) KHALID AZZUZ
He inherited an apartment block, which means that he lives a life of ease in spite of the obvious mediocrity of his talent. He has found his escape in the water pipe and in sex — and in that gelatinous kind of literature whose degenerate promiscuity is appalling. It is difficult to determine whether his loss of belief — any belief — is what led him to this degenerate life, or whether the degeneracy drove him to reject his belief. For that reason I do not believe it impossible that one day he will return to his traditional faith when his creative spring dries up. Unlike his friends, he is completely idle; he takes from society and gives nothing back — nothing, that is, except stories like the tale of the piper whose pipe turns into a snake! Neither do I think it unlikely that he will be looking down at us one day from the balcony of the absurd.
(5) RAGAB AL-QADI
He is the hope of the drama. If he does not yield to development, then I can say farewell to the play. His father, according to Ali al-Sayyid, was a barber, and still plies his trade in the village of Kom Hammada in spite of his son's fame — either from his own pride or because of some meanness on the part of his son. Ragab is a race apart. One of those gods who die in their fifties. And as a god of passion, he is not without a harshness which can be made gentle only by love. Like the others, he is without belief or principles, but, unlike them, he displays a nervousness, a tension. Compellingly handsome, he is famous for his dark looks. His power is unlimited. His real release lies in sex; the water pipe appears not to affect him very much. His possibilities for the play do not need mentioning.
(6) ANIS ZAKI
Failed civil servant. Former husband and former father. Silent and dazed, morning and night. They say he is cultured; the only thing he has in the world is an extensive library. Sometimes he seems to me to be half mad, or half dead. He has managed to forget completely what it is he is escaping from. He has forgotten himself. His sturdy build betokens a strength that might have been. He can be described by any attribute — or none at all. He keeps his secret in his head. One can be sure of him in the same way that one can be sure of an empty chair. Useful for comic exploitation, but he will not play a positive role in the play.
I can confine the female characters to two: the heroine, because of the importance of her role, and Sana, to enhance the unity of sentiment in the drama. And also because her modern adolescent character lends an attractive spirit to the play, one not wholly without usefulness for study. And furthermore, the heroine's victory over her on the battlefield of love can be taken as a symbol of the victory of the Serious over the Absurd in the female domain; since there is no point to seriousness if its roots cannot penetrate womankind, who is after all the mother of the future.
Beyond that, there is no need for Saniya Kamil, who practices her own special brand of polyandry; or for the blond translating spinster, who imagines herself to be a pioneering martyour, whereas in fact she is a pioneer only in the incoherent depravity of addiction.
There was no more writing — just a heading: _Important Observations_, which was set alone in the middle of the line and was followed by a blank space. He turned over the succeeding pages until he reached the cover, but found not another word. He put the notebook in his pocket, muttering, "The little…!" Then he took it out again and reread what was written about him, and then he put it back in his pocket. He laughed. He looked at the empty coffee cup. That won't be any good now, he thought. It would be a long wait. Perhaps he would still be clearheaded when the company gathered. Amm Abduh's voice echoed from the mosque as he made the call for sunset prayer. "The little…!" he muttered again.
The houseboat shook with approaching footsteps. He looked toward the door, wondering who it could be who was coming so early.
And from behind the screen by the door appeared Samara Bahgat.
11
She approached, greeting him with a forced smile, clearly preoccupied.
"You do not seem to be yourself," he said.
She paced around the room, looking high and low. "What's the matter?" he asked.
"I've lost some important things," she replied.
"Here?"
"I had them yesterday, during the evening."
"What are they?"
"A notebook for my work — and a small amount of money."
"Are you sure that you lost them here?"
"I'm not sure of anything."
"Amm Abduh sweeps up, and the man comes to take away the trash in the morning."
She sat down in an armchair. "If they were stolen," she said, "why didn't the thief take the whole bag? Why did he take the notebook and leave the purse?"
"Perhaps you dropped it."
"Anything's possible…"
"Can it not be replaced?"
Before she could reply, the houseboat shook again, and voices were heard outside. Hastily, she begged him to forget the matter, telling him not to mention it again as she went to take her place on the mattress. All the friends came in together, and soon the party was complete. Anis devoted himself earnestly and avidly to the water pipe; he was in an unfamiliar state of alertness. Deep inside him, the demons began to incite him to malice. He shot a cunning glance at Samara.