"Only one paragon interests me," Kamal thought. "The paragon for all others. I haven't laid eyes on her since I confessed my love. She discovered my secret and disappeared."
"I won't try to conceal my interest in seeing the important people. Husayn told me his father had invited many of the men I read about in the papers."
Isma'il laughed out loud and said, "Do you imagine you'll find some of them have four eyes or six feet? They're men like you and me., although older and not particularly good-looking. But I understand the secret behind your desire to see them. It's part and parcel of your excessive interest in politics."
"I really ought to drop all interests in the world," Kamal told himself. 'She's no longer mine and I'm not hers. But my curiosity about famous people is derived from my love for greatness. You'd like to be great. Don't deny it. You have a promising aptitude for looking like Socrates and suffering like Beethoven, but you owe this aspiration to the woman who deprived you of light when she departed. By tomorrow you'll find no trace of her in Egypt. Delirium of pain, there's something intoxicating about you."
Kamal said longingly, "Husayn told me the reception would bring together men from all the different political parties."
"That's true. Yesterday Sa'd Zaghlul invited the Liberals and the Nationalists to a widely publicized tea party. Today Shaddad Bey invites them to his daughter's wedding. Of the Wafd Party politicians you admire I've seen Fath Allah Barakat and Hamad al-Basil. Tharwat, Isma'il Sidqy, and Abd al-Aziz Fahmy are also here. Shaddad Bey has lofty ambitionshe's actively pursuing, and that's only right. The era of 'Our Effendi' the Khedive Abbas is over. People used to chant, 'God lives…. Abbas arrives.' The truth is that he's gone, never to return. So it's most judicious of Shaddad Bey to look to the future. To be on the safe side, all he has to do is to travel to Switzerland every few years to assure the Khedive formally but falsely of his loyalty. Then he returns to continue from success to success."
"Your heart abhors this type of judiciousness," Kamal thought. "Sa'd's recent tribulations demonstrate that the nation abounds with such judicious' men. Is Shaddad Bey really one of them? The beloved's father? Not so fast… the beloved herself has descended from the highest heavens to marry a human being. Let your heart crumble into so many scattered fragments you're unable to collect them."
"Do you think a celebration like this will be complete without singers?"
Isma'il replied sarcastically, "The Shaddad family's half Parisian. They have little respect for our wedding traditions. They wouldn't allow a woman entertainer to perform at one of their parties. And they don't recognize the worth of any of our male vocalists. Remember what Husayn said about this orchestra, which I'm seeing for the first time in my life? Every Sunday evening they play at Groppi's tearoom. After dinner they'll move into the hall to entertain the dignitaries. Forget about the music. You should realize that the high point of the evening's the dinner and the champagne."
"The musicians Jalila and Sabir… the weddings of Aisha and Khadija … what a different atmosphere!" Kamal thought. "How happy you were back then…. Tonight the orchestra will escort your dream to the grave. Remember what you saw through a hole in the door the night Aisha got married? I feel sorry for a goddess who grovels in the dirt…."
"That doesn't matter," Kamal said. "What I really miss is not being able to see the big men up close. I'll regret that for a long time. Th ere are two important things I'd be watching for. The first is to hear what they say about the political situation. After the coalitiorL between the political parties, is there really any hope of having the constitution reinstated and of reviving parliamentary government? The second is to listen to the ordinary small talk of such festive occasions coming from the mouths of men like Tharwat Pasha. Wouldn't it be extraordinary to hear him gossip and crack jokes?"
Affecting disdain, although his scornful gestures betrayed his pride, Isma'il Latif said, "I've had many chances to sit with friends of my father's like Salim Bey and Shaddad Bey. I can assure you nothing there justifies this interest."
"Where's the difference then between the son of a superior court judge and the merchant's son? Why is it the fate of one to worship the beloved while the other marriesher? Isn't this marriage a sign that these people are formed of a different clay than normal folks? But you don't know how your father talks to his friends and associates."
"In any case, Salim Bey isn't the kind of dignitary I had in mind."
Isma'il smiled at this last remark but did not comment on it.
The laughter from the men's reception hall was gleeful, that descending from the upper balcony fragrant with the enchanting perfume of femininity. The two types of laughter harmonized with each other like sounds from distant instrumentsheard at times in chords and then as a bouquet of different melodies. The tuneful laughter formed a rosy setting in which Kamal's sad and desolate heart stood out like a black funeral announcement in a floral arrangement.
Husayn Shaddad soon arrived, his tall, slender body sporting a frock coat. Beaming and radiant, he opened his arms wide, as did Kamal. Then they embraced each other warmly. He was followed by the handsome Hasan Salim, formally attired, his natural arrogance encased in a polite and refined exterior. Even so, he seemed short and insignificant standing next to Husayn. He shook handsheartily with Kamal, who congratulated him from the depths of his tongue if not his heart.
With his usual bluntness, which was often hard to distinguish from malicious wit, Isma'il said, "Kamal's really sad he's not getting to sit with Tharwat Pasha and his colleagues."
In an uncommonly jolly manner that brushed aside his customary reserve, Hasan Salim retorted, "He'll just have to wait until his 'forthcoming' books are published. Then he'll find he's one of them."
Husayn Shaddad protested, "Don't be stuffy. I'd like us to be completely at ease this evening and enjoy ourselves."
Even before Husayn sat down, Hasan excused himself and went off. That evening he flitted from place to place like a butterfly. Husayn stretched his legs out and said, "Tomorrow they leave for Brussels. They're getting to Europe before me, but I won't stay here long. Soon I'll be able to amuse myself by traveling between Paris and Brussels."
"You'll be traveling between al-Nahhasin and al-Ghuriya," Kamal told himself, "without a lover or a friend. This is what you get for gazing at the heavens. You can look everywhere in the city helplessly, but your eyes will never recover from love's anguish. Fill your lungs with this air perfumed by her breath. Tomorrow you'll be pitying yourself."
"I imagine I'll join you there one day."
Husayn and Isma'il both asked, "How?"
"Let your lie be as enormous as your pain," Kamal advised himself.
"My father agreed to let me go there in a student group at my own expense once I've finished my studies."
Husayn cried delightedly, "If only this dream will come true…."
Isma'il laughed and said, "I'm afraid I'll find myself alone in a few years."
The instruments of the orchestra joined together in a tumultuous movement that allowed each to demonstrate its agility and power. They seemed to be participating in a fierce race. The goal had come in sight of their eyes and ambitions. The music reached its climax, indicating that the end was near. Although Kamal was absorbed by his grief, his mind gravitated toward the fiery tunes, racing after them until his heart beat fast and he felt breathless. Soon he was overcome by tenderness and intoxicated by generosity. These sentiments turned his sorrow into tearful ecstasy. When the music ended, he sighed deeply, as its echoes reverberated melodiously in his spirit, making a powerful impression on him. He wondered whether inflamed emotions would not peak and then die away, like the music. If pieces of music — and everything else had an end, why should not love have one? He recalled listless stateshe had experienced on rare occasions when he had seemed to recollect nothing about Ai'da except her name.