“I don’t think I understand you.”
“What I’m trying to say is that I hate to hear poetry cited because I hate any resort to the past. I want to live in the present and for the future. When it comes to the provision of guidance and direction, I’m quite content to rely on the sages of this era.”
Unlike his colleague, Ahmad Akif was someone who believed that genuine greatness resided in the past. Or rather, the only examples of greatness that he was familiar with were in the past; he had no knowledge of greatness in the contemporary era. As a result, the other Ahmad’s statement made him angry again.
“Why would anyone wish to deny the greatness of times past,” he asked, “with their prophets and messengers?”
“Our era has messengers of its own!”
Ahmad was about to express his sense of outrage, but he didn’t want to express it in words unless it was his companion’s ignorance that was involved rather than his learning. “So,” he asked calmly, “who are the messengers of this era?”
“Let’s take those two geniuses: Sigmund Freud and Karl Marx.”
He felt as though a hand had grasped his neck and was throttling him. Indeed, he felt as if his honor had just suffered a deep wound, because he had never heard either of those two names before. He was now insanely angry with his companion, but was obviously unwilling to display his own ignorance. He shook his head as though he was well acquainted with the views of the two men.
“Do you really see them as being the equals of geniuses of the past?”
The young lawyer was thrilled to come across another educated person and was eager to argue points of principle. He pulled his chair up so close that they were almost touching.
“Freud’s philosophy concerning the individual,” he said in a low voice so no one else could hear, “has shown us the way out of the ills of our sexual existence that play such an essential role in our lives. Marx for his part has provided us with ways to liberate ourselves from the miseries of society. Isn’t that so?”
Ahmad Akif’s heart was pounding and his fury was barely suppressed. This time he did not know how to object, let alone to come out on top. All of which led him to dodge the whole issue.
“Take it easy, Professor,” he said gently, although his chest was bursting, “take it easy! In the old days we were all as enthusiastic as you are, but the passage of time and further thought on the matter both demand that we maintain a certain balance.”
“But I do think a great deal about the things I read!” protested Ahmad Rashid.
“I’m sure you do,” he replied, “but you’re still young. As you get older, you’ll acquire genuine wisdom. Haven’t you heard people say, ‘Someone one day older than you is a whole year wiser’?”
“Some ancient proverb, no doubt.”
“A sage one too!”
“There’s no wisdom in the past.”
“Oh yes, there is!”
“If there were any genuine wisdom in the past, it wouldn’t have become just our past.”
“What about our religion then?”
The young man raised his eyebrows in amazement. If Ahmad Akif had been able to look behind the dark glasses, he would have spotted a look of sheer contempt.
“Utter naiveté!” the young man muttered.
Ahmad Akif had read the religious philosophy of the Brethren of Purity. There were two reasons why he was anxious to summarize it for his obnoxious companion: firstly to defend himself against the charge of merely following the popular view of religion; and secondly as a means of baffling his companion just as much as the latter had done to him.
“Religion constitutes a sensory phenomenon for people in general and a rational essence for intellectuals. It involves truths that intellectuals should have no problems believing in, such as God, divine law, and the active intellect.”
His companion gave a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders. “Come now,” he said, “our contemporary scholars know about the elements contained in the atom and the millions of stars that lie beyond our own galaxy. Where is God in all that? A load of religious myths! What’s the point of thinking about issues that cannot be solved, when we face any number of problems that can and must be solved?”
The young man gave Ahmad a furtive smile. “Needless to say,” he went on, altering his tone of voice, “we mustn’t include anyone else in this particular conversation.”
“Of course, of course! But never forget that disbelief is always the point at which knowledge begins.”
Their conversation was interrupted by an angry outburst from Sulayman Ata. Apparently Sayyid Arif, his opponent at backgammon, had finally provoked him with all his blather.
“What a wise and just God who’s deprived you of your powers!”
Ahmad Akif recalled what had been said about Sayyid Arif just an hour earlier and smiled at Ahmad Rashid, who smiled back meaningfully.
“Our friend keeps taking those pills,” he said, “with sincere hope and belief in their effectiveness!”
At this point both of them noticed a group of men in gallabiyas gathered around the café entrance, each of them clutching a huge wad of bank notes. The entire scene was astonishing for the contradictions it implied.
“Maybe they’re war profiteers,” Ahmad Akif suggested.
“You’re right,” his companion responded. “They’re leaving one class in order to join another.”
“The war’s managed to lift a number of people out of the lower classes.”
“Lower classes, you say! True enough, but there’s no real gap between lower and upper classes any more. Today’s aristocrats are yesterday’s poor. Surely you realize that in the past marauding mobs could grab our land by right of conquest. The same is true now with the upper classes. They all wallow in their prestige, power, and privileges without limit.”
For the first time he was inclined to concur with his companion without any argument.
“I agree with that,” he said.
“It’s Marx’s view,” the young man went on, “that the working classes will eventually win, and the world will turn into a single class where everyone can enjoy the necessities of life and human fulfillment. That’s what socialism is.”
Neither of them said any more, as though they were both exhausted. Ahmad Akif started pondering: What ideas! Freud and Marx, atoms and millions of planets, socialism! His facial expression showed signs of a burning hatred and disgust. It had never occurred to him that in Khan al-Khalili he would come across someone who could challenge his own cultural identity and force him to acknowledge that there was always going to be more to be learned. Would he never be able to find any peace in this world?
With that the young man took off his glasses to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief, only to reveal that his left eye was actually made of glass. For just a moment he was astonished, but then a wave of malicious satisfaction poured over him as he realized that the other man’s eye condition gave him at least one way of exerting his sense of superiority.
He stayed there for a short while longer, but then left to go home, his mind churning and his dignity outraged. Fortunately for him, at that very moment he remembered the young boy, and that completely changed his mood. A cool moist breeze wafted across his burning senses and blew away the anger and hatred. Those honey-colored eyes appeared once again, with the coy expression. He gave a deep sigh. “I’m bound to see him again,” he told his heart.
7
When he woke up the next morning, he was full of energy. Opening his window, he leaned out and found his amazing new quarter gradually rousing itself. Storefronts were being raised and window shutters opened; milk and newspaper sellers were wending their way through the patchwork of streets yelling their wares in non-stop chorus. He noticed a group of religious school students heading for their school in groups, wearing black jubbas and white turbans. They reminded him of popcorn in a pan. He listened with pleasure as they intoned a verse from the Qur’an: “Has there ever come on man a period of time when he was a thing unrecorded?” He let his gaze follow them as they proceeded on their way; eventually they reached the end of the sura: “He allows whomever He wishes to enter into His mercy; for evildoers he has reserved a painful punishment.” That last phrase immediately put him in mind of Ahmad Rashid, the lawyer: there was someone for whom God had reserved a painful punishment, and he thoroughly deserved it!