The critical moment had arrived. He realized that the friendship myth they had chanted in unison doubtless hung on a single word. He hesitated a little, remembering that al-Ikhshidi’s enmity was not something to be dismissed lightly, since he was not a man like Ali Taha or Ma’mun Radwan whose vengeance would be limited by their honor. This was a man — just like him — who had no morals and no principles and who knew everything. What could he do? He reflected for a time. He told himself his secret would certainly come out some day, if people like Ahmad Badir did not actually know it. And what effect had Badir’s mocking comments about the heroes of the party of the Society for Blind Women had on them? Tuzz! Then he shouldn’t hesitate. Let al-Ikhshidi and his friendship go to hell. As a storm of disdain swept through him, he said, “Don’t you think, Salim Bey, that this would mean rejecting an honor that the minister has chosen for me?”
Al-Ikhshidi cast him a look that seemed to say, “You son of a bitch!” With amazing self-control, though, he retained his composure. He was silent for a moment. He was ready to ask him to reconsider. One of his smiles was almost traced on his lips as graceful comments were lining up on his tongue. He almost said something about friendship and cooperation, but his will prevented all this. So he remained silent as his face and regard froze. He confined his commentary to asking in an expressionless voice, “Is that what you think?”
Mahgub replied nonchalantly after his guardian demon had gained the upper hand, “Yes. Don’t you agree with me?”
Turning his eyes away, al-Ikhshidi muttered, “That makes sense. You’re right. Thanks. Congratulations!”
He quit the room with unhurried steps, his pride having returned. Mahgub rested his elbows on his desk thoughtfully. He had previously lost Ali Taha and Ma’mun Radwan and had quickly forgotten. This time he was assailed by fear. Enraged by this fear, he clenched his fist angrily. Apparently wishing to forget his concern, he rose and left the room for the personnel office to see for himself the memo of his appointment.
40
r. Mahgub Abd al-Da’im — henceforth to be known as Mahgub Bey Abd al-Da’im — settled into the room reserved for the office manager. The senior staff of the ministry came in a delegation to congratulate him. It was a great day of memorable glory. Some of them congratulated him “in anticipation” on his promotion to the fourth level, as if it were a done deal. Salim al-Ikhshidi, however, did not come to offer his felicitations and thus frankly declared his enmity. News made the rounds in the ministry that al-Ikhshidi would transfer to Foreign Affairs, where he would be promoted to the fourth level. It was not difficult for Mahgub to guess the source of this rumor. He did not, however, discount its validity, because he knew of the man’s links to leading statesmen. He told himself: Al-Ikhshidi’s powerful — there’s no dispute about that. Had it not been for my wife, I wouldn’t have defeated him. He would have my place today. He felt delighted. If al-Ikhshidi really did transfer, that would clear the air for him and he would become the minister’s right-hand man just as his wife was already tops with the minister. Although he was no doubt overjoyed by this, his joy did not last long. He began brooding again about al-Ikhshidi’s anger and the forms his revenge might take. Soon his spirit of scornful contempt resurfaced and his good humor returned. He began to tell himself: People love appearances and are deceived by dissimulation. If he was forced to defend himself, he would provide them with all the deceptive surface gloss they wanted, even if he were obliged to join the Society for Muslim Youth, for example. So tuzz for everything, except not for people, at least not in public. He was incapable of banishing al-Ikhshidi and his anger from his mind, however. He had a thought that troubled him greatly. Why hadn’t this occurred to him before? Al-Ikhshidi was a former neighbor from al-Qanatir. Wasn’t it possible that his desire for vengeance would be so great that he would spill the secret in some manner to his parents? He swallowed with difficulty and his face turned a pale yellow. He started to tug at his eyebrow with pensive discomfort. He remained thoughtful and uncomfortable until he realized that he should not sacrifice his joy on this glorious day to whispered insinuations that might never materialize. He snorted with resentful rage, clenched his fist angrily, and told himself: The course has been set. What’s done is done. So let the results be what they may. It was quite a remote possibility that al-Ikhshidi would tell the truth about his marriage, because he himself knew facts about him that were no less damning. Moreover, al-Ikhshidi was too judicious to disclose a secret that would expose himself to Qasim Bey’s wrath. On the other hand, he should anticipate that his father would hear about his appointment. He had better arrange to provide for the man’s needs and to safe-guard his honor. Wishing to shake off his concerns, he spread a piece of paper on his desk and wrote down the sum of his new salary: twenty-five pounds. His protruding eyes rested on the figure till he beamed. He would receive that much on the first of October, which was not too far off. Could the owner of the beanery in Giza Square imagine that? Indeed, not even Ma’mun Radwan himself would earn more after he returned from studying abroad — in eight years! Tuzz had scored a dazzling victory! He felt such relief at this realization that it consoled him for all the pain, discomfort, anxiety, and grief he had suffered. He felt a pure delight at his liberation from this imaginary but malignant malady called conscience or remorse. He did fear people at times, and jealousy tormented him on other occasions, but remorse was quite a different kettle of fish. His rejection of society and its values was dazzlingly complete. He certainly believed he would continue to be powerful and free to the end and that he would not soften or weaken even if stricken by ill health or forced to live in reduced circumstances. How beautiful it was to taunt death when dying and to stare at annihilation with an eye capable of processing what was happening without any terror about some imaginary force or nugatory god. In this way a free intellect could vanquish blind instincts and trumped-up superstitions. He recalled Qasim Bey Fahmi, al-Ikhshidi, and tens of others with whom he was in contact in his new life. All of them seemed to belong to his school. No — he haughtily rejected that idea. Those men did evil knowing it was evil. Some committed an act without distinguishing between good and evil. Others simply did not take the trouble to reflect. Some did evil believing it to be good. He was unlike all the others, because he denied the existence of both good and evil and spurned the society that had concocted them. He believed in himself and nothing else. Some things were pleasant or painful, useful or harmful, but good and evil were purely pointless fantasies. Many a person would say, “If everyone believed that, everyone would perish.” That was true. There was no debate about that. But he wasn’t a big enough fool to seek converts to his point of view, which he reserved for himself alone. If he did speak, it would be to men like himself who were liberated from those idiotic believers. Society tolerated people who were good at concealment — like him. Since society was only interested in its continued existence, it was hostile even to its well-wishers who sang about perfecting it — people like Ali Taha and Ma’mun Radwan. Society resembled a conceited woman who spurns any admirer she finds criticizing her. Thus society’s critics are destined to fatigue, struggle, and perhaps even prison.
Life was good. Then, remembering something, he corrected himself, Except for one thing. That was Ihsan or the tyrannical emotion that appears only with love. Where was love? The young woman shared his hopes and was a model spouse, but he felt she was conscientiously performing a duty. She resembled an employee who loves the profession rather than the job itself or who doesn’t love or hate it. She had tied her destiny to his and loved life the way he did. She was as fond of luxury as he was. But something was missing that kept their relationship from being totally perfect. This deficiency alarmed him even during those brief moments when they both seemed tipsily happy — lip to lip and breast to breast. The missing thing was important, even if he would say of it in the throes of despair: tuzz! Indeed it provoked a revolution inside him similar to the one hunger had once fomented. Thus he seriously thought he should do as he had been done by. Indeed, he toyed with the idea of renting a room and furnishing it, just in case. Who knew? Perhaps people would seek it out sooner or later. As he had given, so should he receive.