Isma'il Latif called out, "I swear I expected only the best from this gesture even before I knew what it meant."
Husayn leaned over to entreat Kamal, "One glass, for my sake."
Kamal advised himself, "Drink," not from any desire, since he had no experience with it, but out of a wish to rebel. Yet his faith proved stronger than his grief or rebellion. He smilingly said, "As for that, no, thank you."
Raising a full glass, Isma'il said, "You've no excuse. Even a pious man permits himself to get drunk at weddings."
Kamal ate the tasty food calmly. He observed the eaters and drinkers from time to time or joined in their conversation and laughter.
"A man's happiness is proportionate to the number of wedding buffets lie's enjoyed," Kamal told himself. "But is the pashas' buffet just like ours? We investigate them while devouring their food. Champagne!.. This is an opportunity for you to taste champagne. The Shaddad family's champagne…. What did you say? 'Why doesn't Mr. Kamal touch alcohol?' Perhaps his belly's full and can't hold more. The truth is that I'm eating with unmatched appetite, uninfluenced by my sorrow or even encouraged by it. You ate like this at Fahmy's funeral. Keep Isma'il away from the food and drink or it will be exhausted. The deaths of the writer al-Manfaluti and of the musician Sayyid Darwish and Egypt's loss of the Sudan are events crowning our era with sorrow, but the coalition of political parties and this repast are happy news. We've eaten three turkeys, and one hasn't been touched yet. This fellow… O Lord, he's pointing at my nose. They're all convulsed with laughter. They're drunk. So don't get angry. Laugh along with them, merrily pretending you're not offended. But my heart is shaken by anger. If you're ever able to launch an attack on the world, do it. As for the effects of this splendid evening, it's preposterous to think you'll ever recover from them…. People are talking about Fuad al-Hamzawi, discussing his success and brilliance. Are you jealous? When you mention him, you'll gain their respect, even if only a little."
"He's been a diligent student since childhood," Kamal ventured.
"You know him?"
Husayn Shaddad answered for his friend, "Fuad's father's an employee in the store owned by Kamal's father."
"My heart feels comforted," Kamal reflected. "May God curse hearts."
Then he said, "His father's always been an honest and reliable man."
"What business is your father in?"
"The term 'merchant' was always surrounded by an aura of respect m my mind," Kamal reminded himself, "until the merchant's son was compared unfavorably with the son of the superior court judge."
"Wholesale groceries."
"Lying's a cheap dodge," Kamal told himself. "Watch them. Try to see what's going through their heads. But is there any man in this house as good-looking or vigorous as your father?"
After leaving the tables, most of the guests returned to their seats in the reception hall, although a good number went into the garden to stroll about. People felt relaxed but sluggish. When the guests started leaving, the family members went upstairs to congratulate the couple. The chamber orchestra soon joined them and played some ravishing selections in that happy setting. Kamal put on his overcoat and picked up his magnificent box of sweets. Then he left the Shaddad mansion arm in arm with Isma'il.
Casting his friend an inebriated glance, Isma'il said, "It's eleven. What do you think about walking down Palaces Street until I sober up a little?"
Kamal agreed willingly, because he felt this would provide a good opportunity for a scheme he had been plotting. They sauntered along together, over the same ground Kamal had previously covered with A'ida. Then he had confessed his love and revealed his pains. He would never forget the sight of this street with its elegant, silent mansions. It was lined by lofty trees that viewed the evening with the calm of a peaceful soul and the awe of a celestial imagination.
"Your heart will never stop pounding with desire, ardor, and pain," Kamal reflected, "no matter how often your feet tread on it or your imagination appeals to it. Your heart's like a tree that casts down its leaves and fruit when convulsed by a storm. Although your previous walk here was a failure, you'll always treasure the memory of a bygone dream, a disappointed hope, an illusory happiness, and a pulsing life filled with emotion. Even viewed in the most negative fashion, that was far better than the repose of nonexistence, the desolation of exile, or the extinction of emotion. What nourishment will you be able to find for your heart in the future unless it is places you observe with imagination's eye or names you listen for with passion's ears?"
He said, "I wonder what's happening upstairs now."
Isma'il answered, in a loud voice that disturbed the reigning silence, "The orchestra's playing Western music. The bride and groom are on the dais, smiling, and around them are the Shaddad and Salim families. I've seen a lot of gatherings like that."
"Aida in a wedding gown!" Kamal exclaimed to himself.
"What a sight! Have you seen anything like that even in a dream?"
"How long will the party last?" he inquired.
"An hour at the most, to let the couple get some sleep, since they're leaving tomorrow morning for Alexandria."
"Words like daggers!" Kamal told himself. "Plunge any of them into your heart."
Isma'il asked, "But who's ever slept on their wedding night?" He laughed raucously. Then he belched and emitted a puff of breath reeking of alcohol. He frowned and grumbled with complaint. Then, as his face relaxed, he said, "May our Lord not condemn you to the sleep of lovers. My dear, they don't get any sleep at all. Don't let Hasan's reserve mislead you. He'll be leaping and bouncing like a stallion until the break of day. That's predestined. There's no way to escape it."
"Savor this new form of distilled pain," Kamal told himself. "It's the essence of pain, the pain of pains. Your consolation is that your pain's unique. No man before you has ever experienced it. Hell will seem easy for you by comparison if you're destined to be carried there by demons who dance you over its tongues of fire. Pain! It';; not from losing your lover, because you never aspired to possessher. It's because she has descended from heaven and is wallowing in the mud, after living grandly over the clouds. It's because she's allowed her cheek to be kissed, her blood to be shed, and her body to be abused. How intense my regret and pain are…."
"Is what they say about the first night true?"
Isma'il yelled, "By God, don't you know about these things?"
"How can people consecrate something filthy?" Kamal asked himself.
"Naturally I know, but I didn't until recently. There are things I 'd like to hear about again."
Isma'il laughed. "At times you seem an idiot or a fool."
"Let me ask you if it would be easy for you to do that to a person you revere."
Isma'il belched again, bringing the accursed smell of liquor to Kamal's nostrils. He replied, "No one deserves to be revered."
"You: daughter, for example, if you had one."
"Not my daughter or my mother. Where did we come from? It's a law of nature."
"Us?" Kamal asked himself. "The truth's a dazzling light. So look away. Behind the curtain of sanctity, before which you've always prostrated yourself, they'll be cavorting like children. Why does everything seem so empty? Mother, Father, Ai'da, the tomb of the Prophet's grandson al-Husayn, the merchant's profession, the aristocratic airs of Shaddad Bey…. How intense my pain is!"
"How filthy the law of nature is," he observed.
Isma'il belched for the third time. In a merry tone but without audible laughter he said, "The fact is that your heart's in pain. It's singing the same words as the new vocalist Umm Kalthoum: Td give my life for her, whether she treasures my love or abandons it.'"