“What are the neighbors like?”
“Mostly lower-class types, but some of the people living in the new apartment buildings belong to our class.”
“Have you found somewhere suitable to think and do your studies?”
The question delighted him, as anything would that reminded him he was an intellectual. “As the proverb says,” he replied, “ ‘Wear the appropriate clothing for every occasion.’ That’s why every evening I go to the local café and sit there with some friends. Once the radio stops or the general din dies down, I return home to study.”
“So at long last you’ve learned how to visit cafés!” Rushdi commented with a laugh.
“One of the requirements of our new quarter,” Ahmad replied with a smile.
The taxi came to a halt by the entrance to Khan al-Khalili. The two men got out, and the driver followed behind with the suitcase.
“Take good note of the things around you,” Ahmad warned as they plunged into the labyrinth of streets. “Learn the streets by heart, or else you’ll get completely lost.”
As they approached the apartment building, Ahmad noticed his mother looking out of the window in his room. Grabbing his brother by the arm, he pointed up to her. Looking up, Rushdi saw his mother with a brown scarf tied around her head; she was fully made up just like a bride waiting for her groom. No sooner did their eyes meet than she was opening her arms to embrace him. It only took a few moments longer until she was actually giving him a warm embrace.
17
They all gathered around the table. By this time Rushdi’s father had appeared and the younger son had kissed his hand. They embarked upon their conversation with relish. Rushdi told them about Asyut and its people, about his feelings of loneliness, and longing for his family and home. The father spoke about air raids and the incendiary bombs dropped by planes. Rushdi’s mother talked about her neighbor, and about Boss Nunu and his four wives. Just then she noticed that Rushdi had not gained a single pound while he was away. Transferring her attention to the cookies, she let him know that he was about to taste cookies the like of which no one in Egypt had ever before savored.
With that, she took him to his room. Once Rushdi was on his own, he could no longer control his temper; it was written all over his face. Ever since he had taken in the scene at the entrance to Khan al-Khalili, he had felt his heart sinking. When he entered the apartment, he was astonished at how tiny it was, and he knew for sure that he could never feel at home in this new place. What made him even angrier was that all his friends were still in al-Sakakini and neighboring suburbs. From now on, he would be spending the evening with them; then he would have to trek all the way back to this quarter, meandering his way in a drunken stupor along its narrow alleyways. Seething with anger, he told himself he would have to make his way back to their old house or another one nearby, however much it cost.
He opened his suitcase and took everything out. Humming one of Abd al-Wahhab’s songs as was his habit, he started arranging his clothes in the wardrobe. After changing his clothes, he made his way to the bathroom at the opposite end of the long, narrow hallway from his own room. He took a cold bath to get rid of the dust and fatigue of the journey, then went back to his room looking and feeling a lot better. He closed the door behind him so that he could sing as loudly as he wanted, and opened the window. He applied Vaseline to his hair and combed it very carefully, then put on some of his favorite cologne, all of which made him feel much better. He was drawn to the window and looked outside so he could see what kind of view he had. He could see the alley below leading to the old part of Khan al-Khalili, but his view in the other direction was blocked by the next building. That aggravated him and made him feel as though he had come to some kind of prison. Where now was that window he used to have on Qamar Street in al-Sakakini looking out on the square where the observant eye could always manage to spot clusters of lovely Jewish girls?
With a sad sigh he looked around. His gaze was attracted by a window opposite his own but slightly higher, on the side of the building facing his own. Both shutters were open, and he could see the face of a young girl, an exceptionally beautiful face adorned with a pair of eyes that sparkled with simplicity and grace. Their eyes met. Her look was one of disapproval, but his was that of a hunter who’d just spotted his prey. At this point, the way he was staring at her made her feel awkward, so she lowered her eyes and moved away. He gave a gentle smile, and his whole expression brightened at the thought of her pretty face and her flustered looks. He stayed where he was and kept his eyes riveted on the window. He expected her to come back; as far as he was concerned, it was only natural for her to want to take a second glance at the new neighbor who had stared at her so fixedly and shamelessly. He stood where he was, watching and waiting, his feelings a blend of desire, patience, and sheer stubbornness. Eventually the girl did poke her head out again, albeit cautiously. Their eyes met a second time, and the girl retreated yet again in apparent annoyance. He chuckled quietly to himself and left the window with a smirk of satisfaction. Sitting at his small desk chair, he muttered to himself that for the first time something nice had happened since he had entered this miserable quarter. Drumming his fingers on the desk, he thought for a moment. “She’s our neighbor, that’s clear enough,” he told himself. “Her room’s right opposite mine.”
He pictured her face and had to admit that she was pretty and graceful. He was feeling all the inward happiness of someone who has acquired something precious. Where love was concerned, he had limitless self-confidence, based on one success after another. It was all founded on tremendous patience, an iron will that never gave up, and an innate suavity much assisted by artifice. He was patient for sure, and yet he never stopped insisting, urging, chasing, day after day, month after month, year after year — if need be — until he had achieved his goal. Among his well-known maxims on the topic of love was, “Anyone responding to love’s call cannot afford to shackle his quest by being shy, worried, or scared. If you’re chasing a woman, forget about honor. If she rejects you, don’t get angry; if she swears at you, don’t be sad. Rejection and curses are merely fuel for love’s fire. If a woman slaps you on the right cheek, offer here the left one as well. You’ll be the master in the end!”
There had once been an occasion when he took upon himself to chase after a determined young girl who was both well brought up and had a mind of her own. Things went on for quite a while with no sign of softening or change on her part. With that he simply spoke to her one day in a totally unaggressive way: “Listen,” he said, “I’m a disgusting, heartless, annoying rogue. Don’t even dream that you can send me away by throwing reproachful looks or rude words at me. That won’t help, nor will punching me or calling the police either. I’m going to force you to talk to me one way or another, whether it’s today, tomorrow, the day after, in a year’s time, or a century’s time. I really don’t care. But, since the ending is a foregone conclusion, then for heaven’s sake, make the process shorter!”
That’s the way he was. Now once again he was wondering to himself what kind of young beauty this particular girl might be. Was she bold and adventurous, in need of taming by her lover? Or was she experienced and sophisticated, making it impossible to fool around with her? Or could she be naive and yet lively, something that would require a degree of patience in her lover? At this point he realized that Khan al-Khalili was becoming that much more tolerable thanks to this young girl and others like her. He raised his hands to the side of his head, “In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful,” he said. “If love is the intention, then God Himself is the helper!”