However, it became clear that the path to recognition was not easy and required him to set up a production company for his wife’s genius. He knew his father no longer had the confidence in him that he used to, so asked for his share of the business capital to dedicate to the new venture. His father granted the wish, saying, “Keep it between you and me.” With this, Husni cut himself off from his mother, and indeed the whole family. He produced two films for Agiba, neither of which brought her fame. Reports of a suspicious relationship between her and a supporting actor called Rashad al-Gamil reached his ears. He watched the two until he caught them in a furnished apartment in Agouza. He beat her to death and was charged and sentenced to fifteen years. Relatives learned his news from the newspapers and, before that, from gossip. More than one of them exclaimed, “Lord have pity! Son of Hazim, the son of Surur Effendi, God have mercy on him.”
Hakim Hussein Qabil
Anyone who looked into his wide brown eyes was dazzled by their beautiful shape and bright shine, and his large head and thick hair lent him dignity. He was the third child of Amr Effendi’s daughter Samira and her husband, Hussein Qabil, the antique dealer in Khan al-Khalili. Ibn Khaldun Street, where his family lived in an apartment block, was the amphitheater of his childhood and youth, al-Zahir Baybars Garden his playground. As well as being intelligent and a high achiever, he was fond of gambling from an early age, starting with dominoes and backgammon and later gravitating to poker and rummy. He was known for his close friendship with one of the neighbors. They were together through primary and secondary school, then Hakim went to the faculty of commerce, the other to the war college. Hakim knew all his mother’s relatives — the families of Amr, Surur, al-Murakibi, and Dawud — just as he did his father’s. His uncles Amer and Hamid were baffled by his political stance, which rejected, or seemed to reject, the situation in its entirety.
“I think the treaty is a great achievement for the Wafd!” Hamid said to him.
“It has several negatives. I don’t believe in political parties,” he replied.
“The Muslim Brothers buy and sell religion and Misr al-Fatah are Fascist agents!”
“Not all of them.”
“So what do you believe in?”
“Nothing.”
Amer gave a light-hearted laugh. “A dissonant chord in the family,” said Hamid.
Hakim graduated during the Second World War, not long after his father died, and was appointed to the tax office. It was not long before he fell in love with a colleague called Saniya Karam, married her, and moved with her to an apartment in West Abbasiya. She gave birth to Hussein and Amr and life looked set to follow the familiar routine from start to finish. Then came the July Revolution and his best friend was one of its star players. The future hatched new dimensions no one would have imagined. At an opportune moment he was appointed manager of the distributions office at one of the major newspapers and his salary leaped from the tens to the hundreds with a stroke of the pen. His position sent ripples through the family tree from bottom to top. Samira’s family cried for joy and Amr’s family were pleased in spite of their shattered Wafdist dreams. As for the antagonists in the Murakibi and Dawud families, they remarked sarcastically, “Corruption used to be humble. Now it’s greedy.”
Because of his connection to his close friend he was revered, even by ministers, and flattered by friends and enemies alike. Within a short time, he moved to a new apartment in East Abbasiya, purchased a car, and became a true man of the times. He was loyal to family and friends and extended a helping hand to his uncle Hamid and cousin Nadir. It was thanks to him that his younger brother, Salim, was dealt with humanely when he was interrogated prior to his incarceration. Likewise, he was the intermediary in the appointment of many of his friends as guards after members of the family were placed under supervision. He remained close to his friend even after the man ranked with the new leaders. Not a week went by without a domestic visit to his mansion, where they would discuss romance and memories in confidence. On one such occasion he asked his friend casually, “Isn’t it about time you nominated me as a minister?”
“What’s the value in being a minister? Your income would be cut in half,” the man said.
“But.…”
The other laughed. “I’m telling you I already tried…,” he said and gazed at Hakim with a meaningful smile.
“I promise I’ll give up gambling,” he said.
“It’s your brother Salim too,” said the friend dejectedly.
Hakim gave up the idea of becoming a minister, but his star continued to soar and he was elected a member of the national assembly. His light went on shining until June 5, when his friend was among those swallowed by darkness. Hakim’s influence thus disappeared in one blow, though he managed to keep his job. The fall was a personal as well as public defeat; he tasted the bitterness of ignominy after the sweetness of glory and found the many snubs he suffered — including from those he had loyally rescued from insignificance — unbearable. His only comforts in the world were his two sons, Hussein and Amr, who had become officers in the cavalry. Around this time, he began to show symptoms of high blood pressure and to suffer the effects. Then came the calamity he had often had nightmares about: Amr was martyred in the War of Attrition. Unlike Saniya, Hakim tried to maintain his self-control and appear brave and accepting of fate, leaving his sorrow to congeal deep inside him like sediment in a vessel. He carried on as one leader died and the next took over. He lived through October 6 and was shaken by a delirium he had not felt since the happy days before June 5. But the blaze was soon extinguished when he received news that his remaining son, Hussein, had been martyred on the battlefield. The tension mounted and exploded without self-control, a show of bravery, or acceptance of fate, and killed him. These events took place as Radia hovered at the summit of her old age. The angels chuckled in the old house.
Halim Abd al-Azim Dawud
He was born and grew up in an elegant villa in East Abbasiya, the third son of Abd al-Azim Pasha Dawud. He had a pleasant face and sporty build and from an early age was devoted to fun and amusement, jokes, and riotous behavior. He was never known to utter a single serious word. His two older brothers were excessively serious and industrious, hence he would say, “I was created to restore balance to the family.”
Abd al-Azim Pasha watched bitterly as he stumbled through school and told him, “You’ll bring shame on yourself and the family.” But Halim took no notice of censure. Of the family’s characteristics he retained only pride, conceit, and arrogance — he even held his own family, along with Amr and Surur, in contempt and resented the successful among them. Only Amer, who was married to his sister Iffat, was spared his tongue. The Murakibi family he placed, despite their wealth, on the same level assigned them by the Dawud family because of their lack of education and their descent from a man who sold pantofles. Had it not been for the weight of tradition and the vigilance of his aunts, he would not have hesitated to seduce the pretty female cousins of his age, like Surur Effendi’s daughters, Gamila and Bahiga, or Rashwana’s daughter, Dananir. Hamid was probably the only person he was cautious around, on account of his strength and predisposition to violence. He resented him nevertheless, and they remained adversaries until the final stages of their lives, when all they had in common was misfortune. In childhood and adolescence, amid his mother’s pampering, he gained mastery in swimming, football, gambling, wine, romance, and amusement. He was also distinguished by a sweet voice and would say with characteristic conceit, “Were it not for family tradition, I’d be a popular singer.” After a long struggle with school, he decided to enroll in the police academy. The family, men and women alike, was not impressed. “We’re a family of lawyers and doctors,” his father said.