“I’m glad you’ve arrived home safe and sound!” said Ahmad, clasping his brother’s arm. “How are you?”
“I’m very well, brother,” Rushdi replied happily, his face somewhat flushed as a result of the journey’s exertions.
Amid a horde of other people the two brothers walked side by side toward the exit. They were of roughly the same height and had the same thin build. Even though Ahmad looked somewhat crumpled and his younger brother much fresher, there was no mistaking the fact that they were brothers. Their facial features were similar too, except that in Rushdi’s case they were more handsome while Ahmad’s face sagged a bit and more often than not he was frowning and looking tired. Rushdi had the same long, thin face, but his cheeks were not as pale as Ahmad’s, and, while his olive skin may have turned a bit sallow recently, he still looked in the full flush of youth. His eyes were elongated and widely spaced, but their irises were larger. That made his looks seem more piercing; his eyes had a glow to them that suggested a sharp mind, a propensity for fun, and a willingness to take risks.
As they walked shoulder to shoulder, they soon felt the irresistible urge to chat, as is only to be expected with people who have been apart for a long time. They had no idea where to start, what to talk about and what not. It was the younger brother who started things.
“Before anything else,” he asked his brother, “how’s Mother?”
“As well as you could wish her to be. She’s still pursuing those childish fancies of hers without caring in the slightest about the way it affects me. So go ahead and grab your portion of it!”
“All the time I’ve been in Asyut, I’ve never forgotten my portion of it! I’ve bought her some ivory ornaments, nice plates, and subtle scents that will suit her lady friends, I hope.” (He gave a loud laugh at that.) “And how’s Father?”
“Just as you remember him: prayers at home and visits to the mosque. Now we’re living close to the al-Husayn Mosque, so may he find blessings there.”
Smiling, Rushdi said, “I must say, I was amazed when I heard you had all moved to the al-Husayn district.”
By now they had reached the Station Square, where they took a taxi. Rushdi paid the porter a tip, and then the taxi took off and crossed the broad square. Rushdi’s lovely light brown eyes scanned the scene, taking in all the cars, carts, trolleys, and pedestrians.
“My head’s almost spinning,” he said, banging his forehead with a finger. “It’s as though I’m seeing trolleys and the metro for the first time ever. Do you remember the joke about the country yokel who comes to Cairo for the first time? No sooner does he look at this teeming square than he panics. He goes straight back to the train. ‘I’ve arrived too late,’ he tells himself sorrowfully, ‘everyone’s leaving!’ ”
Ahmad laughed out loud. He had always loved his brother’s sense of humor and his basic simplicity. Luckily Rushdi was no university type in the literal sense of the term; not for him academic topics or any concern with memorizing their technical terms. But for that, he would have been a clone of Ahmad Rashid. What’s more, he was one of the people actually taken in by Ahmad’s pseudo-erudition; he regarded his brother as a genuine intellectual and was as convinced as his brother that the other possessed a fine mind. For his part, Ahmad was delighted by the way his brother believed in him and regarded him as a symbol of the Egyptian University’s certification of his superior genius.
“Cairo’s one of God’s gifts to mankind!” enthused Rushdi. “It’s this world and the next all rolled into one. Day and night, heaven and hell, East and West. The entire process is a miracle!”
“You must have been very bored in Asyut.”
“Any place other than Cairo would be equally boring!”
Ahmad stared at him. “For people like you, prison’s the best place. In any case your expression doesn’t look very relaxed.”
The younger brother smiled, revealing a set of near-white teeth. “Whenever two bureaucrats get together anywhere,” he remarked with a leer, “the gambling table will always be their companion.”
Ahmad sighed. “I hereby rule,” he said, “that you be deprived of the blessing of sleep forever!”
“The blessing of sleep?” his brother replied. “Sleep’s actually a curse. It involves purloining a huge and priceless chunk of our short lives.”
“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about!”
“My dear brother, you’re a very sage man, and I’m a crazy youth. That’s the way young people like me think.”
“So you’re going back to.…”
“God willing, yes. In Asyut I met a man who’s a devotee of comedy. He used to say that the best nourishment for good health is drama. If that’s so, then rowdy behavior must be a very precious vitamin!”
“And what if it’s not so?”
“Let’s pray to God that it is. But tell me, when did you start getting so fat?”
“You know I’m continually studying and contemplating.”
“True enough. Maybe it’s natural for our family to be skinny.”
“And what about your mother?”
Rushdi gave a hearty laugh at that. He took off his fez and revealed a gleaming head of hair with a nice clean parting in the middle. “But then,” he said with great affection, “she’s always relied on the drug store to work wonders! How I’ve longed to see her all this time. Tell me, does she still talk about exorcism ceremonies?”
“No longer quite so blatantly,” Ahmad responded with obvious disgust. “But once in a while she still complains about how cruel people are to prevent her from participating in them.”
“Our mother is as gentle as an angel. She never loses her temper. I can hardly ever remember her being anything but happy and full of laughter.”
Ahmad smiled.
“Devils are certainly something to believe in,” Rushdi continued. “I have to admit though that I’ve never actually seen any despite a lengthy relationship with deserted streets late at night.”
“Mankind is the worst devil of them all. Just think of this war.”
Rushdi laughed again. The mention of the war reminded him of the family’s move from al-Sakakini. “Indeed it’s this devilish mankind that’s forced us to leave our old quarter. Amazing! Don’t you realize, Ahmad, that up until now I’ve never even set eyes on the Khan al-Khalili quarter?”
The mention of the quarter’s name aroused a profound sense of joy in the elder brother’s heart. “You’re going to be seeing it morning and night,” he said with great affection.
“Did things get so bad that you had to all leave al-Sakakini?”
“Certainly. Many people were convinced that the air raids were going to destroy Cairo the way they had London, Rotterdam, and Warsaw. But God decided otherwise. Father was in very bad shape, so we decided to get out.”
The younger brother shook his head sadly. He looked at the street outside and noticed that they were crossing Queen Farida Square on the way up al-Azhar Street. The scene called to mind memories of unforgettable love affairs that now wafted across his heart the way a breeze does over gently glowing embers.
“So how do you find the new place?” he asked, perking up considerably.
If he had been asked that same question earlier on, he would have been almost totally negative. But now …! “Just wait until you can see it for yourself, Rushdi. It may take a while, but you’ll get used to it.”