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.
16
There 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.