The widow of the late Mr. Shawkat had visited al-Sayyid Ahmad once but was unable to repeat that effort because of the pains of rheumatism that had recently been conspiring with old age to cripple her.
Khadija soon returned from the kitchen with a complaint that was actually a boast: "We need a man from the coffeehouse just to serve all the coffee."
Al-Sayyid Ahmad was sitting up in bed, leaning against a pillow that had been folded back, with the covers drawn up to his neck. His visitors sat on the sofa or the chairs arranged in a circle around the bed. He seemed cheerful, in spite of his weakness, for nothing could make him as happy as having his friends gather around him and compete in flattering him and assuring him of their affection. Although the ailment had harmed him, he could not deny the favor it had done him by allowing him to see his brothers' alarm at his suffering and their grief at his absence from their parties, which had seemed desolate during his seclusion. He appeared to want to elicit all the affection he could from them, for he began to recount the painshe had endured as well as the tedium. He allowed himself considerable license to exaggerate and embellish.
Sighing, he said, "During the first days of my illness I was convinced that I was finished. I started reciting our Muslim credo and the Qur'an sura about God's absoluteness [Sura 112], but when I wasn't occupied with those I thought of you a lot, and the idea of leaving you troubled me greatly."
More than one voice was raised to say, "The world wouldn't be the same without you, al-Sayyid Ahmad."
Ali Abd al-Rahim said emotionally, "This illness of yours has made an impression on me that will never be erased."
Muhammad Iffat ventured in a faint voice, "Do you remember that night? My Lord, our hair turned white then."
Ghunaym Hamidu leaned toward the bed a little to say, "You've been saved by the One who rescued us that night the English made us fill in the trench under the city gate at Bab al-Futuh."
"Those happy days…" al-Sayyid Ahmad reflected. "Days of health and romance, when Fahmy was so outstanding and showed such promise "Praise to God, Mr. Hamidu," he replied.
Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad said, "I want to know how much you paid the doctor, who wasn't entitled to anything. You don't need to reply, but I implore you to feed the friends of God who live near the mosque of al-Husayn."
Muhammad Iffat interrupted him to inquire, "What about you, Shaykh Mutawalli? Aren't you one of them? Explain this to me."
Terminating each phrase by a blow to the floor with his stick, the shaykh continued: "Feed the saints of al-Husayn with me at the head of them, whether or not Muhammad Iffat approves. He ought to feed them too in your honor, starting with me. And you ought to perform the pilgrimage to Mecca this year, since it is your religious duty. How grand it would be if you took me with you, so that God would multiply your reward…."
"What a fine man you are, Shaykh Mutawalli, and how dear to me," al-Sayyid Ahmad thought. "You're one of the landmarks of the age."
"Shaykh Mutawalli, I promise to take you with me to the Hijaz and Mecca, if the Compassionate God permits."
At that point, the foreigner, whose fine white hair was visible since he had removed his hat, said, "A little too much agitation…. Agitation's the cause of everything. Give it up and you'll be strong as a bomb."
"Manuli's sold you alcohol for thirty-five years — a purveyor of happiness and an agent for the cemetery," al-Sayyid Ahmad mused privately.
"It's the fault of your goods, Manuli."
The foreigner looked at the faces of his other customers and said, "No one's ever said that alcohol's bad for your health. That's nonsense. Is sickness caused by gaiety, laughter, and comfort?"
Training a nearly sightless eye on the foreigner, Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad cried out, "Now I've recognized you, source of calamities! When I heard your voice the first time I wondered where I'd heard this devil before."
The couscous vendor, Muhammad Ajami, asked Mr. Manuli with a wink in the direction of Shaykh Mutawalli, "Wasn't Shaykh Mutawalli one of your customers once, Manuli?"
The smiling foreigner replied, "His mouth's so full of food, where would he find room for wine, dear friend?"
Gripping the handle of his stick, Abd al-Samad shouted, "Manners, Manuli!"
Then Ajami shouted at him, "Do you deny, Shaykh Mutawalli, you were a big consumer of hashish before age made it hard for you to breathe?"
The shaykh waved his hand in protest, saying, "Hashish is not forbidden by Islam. Have you ever tried performing the dawn prayer under the influence? … God is most great…. Allahu Akbarr Noticing that al-Humayuni was silent, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad turned to him with a smile and to be polite said, "How are you, sir? By God, it's been a long time!"
In a voice like an ox's, al-Humayuni responded, "By God, a long time. Ages, by God. It's your fault, al-Sayyid Ahmad. You're the one who left us, but when Mr. Ali Abd al-Rahim told me, 'Your adversary's confined to bed,' I remembered the days of our youthful passions as though they had never ceased. I told myself, 'It would be disloyal not to visit the dear man myself- such a virile, sociable, jolly man.' If it were not for fear of creating problems for you, I would have brought Fatuma, Tamalli, Dawlat, and Naha-wand. The girls are all eager to see you. My goodness, Mr. Ahmad. You're dear to us whether you honor us with a visit every evening or avoid us for years". Looking at the others with his sharp eyes, he continued: "You've all forsaken us. Blessings on Mr. Ali. May our Lord protect Saniya al-Qulali, who keeps him coming to us. Anyone who loses track of his past goes astray. We provide the sincerest form of fellowship. What's drawn you away from us? If it were repentance, we'd forgive you. But it's not time for repentance yet. May God keep that far in the future by granting you a long life and many happy times."
Pointing to himself, Ahmad Abd al-Jawad remarked, "If you look at me, you can see I'm finished with all that."
The pimp replied enthusiastically, "Don't say that, master of men. A temporary indisposition that will depart, never to return…. I won't leave till you announce you'll return to Wajh al-Birka, even if only once, when God restores you to health."
Muhammad Iffat said, "Times have changed, Master Humayuni. Where's the Wajh al-Birka that we used to know? Look for it in history books. What remains is a playground for today's youngsters. How can we walk among them when our sons are there?"
Ibrahim al-Far said, "Don't forget that we can't trick our Lord when it comes to age or health. As Mr. Ahmad said, we're finished. We're all forced to visit a doctor, who says, 'You have this. You have that. Don't drink. Don't eat. Don't breathe.' And he has many other disgusting prescriptions for us. Haven't you heard of the pressure disease, Master Humayuni?"
Glancing at him, the pimp replied, "Treat a disease with drunkenness, laughter, and sport. If you find any trace of it after that, give it to me."
Manuli shouted, "By your life, that's what I told him."
Muhammad Ajami, as though completing his companion's thought, said, "And don't forget drugs, sir."
Shaykh Mutawalli Abd al-Samad shook his head in astonishment. He asked anxiously, "Tell me where I am, good people: in the home of Abd al-Jawad's son or in an opium den or a tavern? Listen and advise me."
Giving Shaykh Mutawalli a suspicious look, al-Humayuni asked, "Who's your friend?"
"A blessed saint."
The pimp said sarcastically, "If you're a saint, tell my fortune."
Mutawalli Abd al-Samad exclaimed, "Prison or the gallows!"
Al-Humayuni could not keep from laughing out loud. Then he remarked, "He truly is a saint, for this is the end I expect". Then he told the shaykh, "But watch your tongue, or your prophecy may fall upon you."