"Your voice is too loud. Have you forgotten where we are?"
"We're in our home, in our room. The landing is our room!"
"This afternoon, when I was going to my aunt's, I glanced up in hopes of seeing you at the window, but your mother was looking down at the alley, and our eyes met. I trembled with fear."
"What were you afraid of?"
"I imagined that she knew I was looking for you and that she had discovered my secret."
"You mean 'our secret.' It's the same bond that links both of us together. Aren't we now a single entity?"
Racked by unruly desire, he hugged her violently to his chest as if, in his desperate capitulation to lust, he was attempting to flee the faint voices of protest lodged deep inside him. Blazing fires seared him. He was seized by a force capable of dissolving the two of them into a single swirling vortex.
The silence was broken by a sigh and then by heavy breathing. He finally became aware that he and she were separate beings and that the darkness sheltered two figures. Then he heard her ask shyly in a gentle whisper, "Shall we meet tomorrow?"
With a resentment he did his best to conceal, he replied, "Yes… yes. You'll find out when…."
"Tell me now."
As his annoyance grew increasingly hard to bear, he said, "I don't know when I'll have time tomorrow."
"Why not?"
"Goodbye for now. I heard a sound."
"No! There wasn't any sound."
"Nobody should find us like this."
He patted her shoulder as if it were a dirty rag and freed himself from her arms with affected tenderness. Then he quickly climbed the stairs. His parents were in the sitting room listening to the radio. The door of the study was closed, but the light shining through its little window indicated that Ahmad was studying. Saying, "Good evening," to his parents, he went to the bedroom to remove his clothes, bathe, and cleanse himself in the manner prescribed by Islam, before returning to his room to pray. Afterward he sat cross-legged on the prayer rug and lost himself in deep meditation. There was a sad look to his eyes, his breast was aflame with grief, and he felt like crying. He prayed that his Lord would come to his aid to help him combat temptation and to drive Satan away, that Satan he encountered in the shape of a girl who inspired a raging lust in him.
His mind always said, "No," but his heart, "Yes". The fearful struggle he experienced invariably ended with defeat and regret. Every day was a test and every test an experience of hell. When would this torment end? His entire spiritual effort was threatened with ruin, as though he were building castles in the sky. Sinking into the mud, he could not find any secure footing. He wished his remorse could bring back the past hour.
128
In Ghamra, Ahmad Ibrahim Shawkat finally found his way to the building of al-Insan al-Jadid (The New Man) magazine. Situated halfway between streetcar stops, the structure had two stories and a basement. From the wash hanging on the balcony, he realized at once that the top floor was an apartment. There was a sign with the magazine's name on the door downstairs. The basement was the printshop, for he could see its machines through the bars of the windows. He climbed the four steps and asked the first person he met a worker carrying proofs for Mr. Adli Karim, the magazine's editor. The pressman pointed to the end of an unfurnished hall and a closed door with a sign reading: "Editor in Chief". Ahmad walked that way, thinking he might see a receptionist, but reached the door without finding one. After a moment's hesitation he knocked gently. Then he heard a voice inside say, "Come in". Ahmad opened the door and entered. From the far end of the room, two wide eyes stared at him questioningly from beneath bushy white eyebrows.
Closing the door behind him, he said apologetically, "Excuse me. One minute…."
The man replied gently, "Yes___"
Ahmad went up to the desk, which was stacked with books and papers, and greeted the gentleman, who rose to welcome him. When the editor sat down again, he invited Ahmad to have a seat. The young man felt relief and pride at being able to view the distinguished master from whose magazine and book she had gained so much enlightenment during the past three years. Ahmad gazed at the pale face, which seemed even whiter because of the man's white hair. Age had left its mark on this visage. The only remaining traces of youth were deep eyes that sparkled with a penetrating gleam. This was his master, or his "spiritual father," as Ahmad called him. Now the young man was in the chamber of inspiration with its walls hidden behind bookshelves that stretched all the way to the ceiling.
The editor said curiously, "You're welcome…."
Ahmad answered suavely, "I've come to pay for my subscription". Reassured by the favorable impression his words had made, he added, "And I'd like to find out what happened to the article I sent the magazine two weeks ago."
Mr. Adli Karim smiled as he inquired, "What is your name?"
"Ahmad Ibrahim Shawkat."
The editor frowned as he tried to place the name and then said, "I remember you. You were the first subscriber to my magazine. Yes. And you brought three other ones. Isn't that so? I remember the name Shawkat. I think I sent you a letter of thanks on behalf of the magazine."
This pleasant memory made him feel even more at home, and Ahmad said, "The letter I received referred to me as 'the magazine's first friend.'"
"That's true. The New Man is devoted to principle and needs committed friends if it is to compete with all the picture magazines and the journals controlled by special interests. You are a friend of the magazine and most welcome. But haven't you honored us with a visit before?"
"Of course not. I only got my baccalaureate this month."
Adli Karim laughed and said, "You assume a person must have the baccalaureate to visit the magazine?"
Ahmad smiled uneasily and replied, "Certainly not. I mean I was young."
The editor commented seriously, "It's not right for a reader of The New Man to judge a person by his age. In our country there are men over sixty who have youthful minds and young people in the spring of life with a mentality as antiquated as if they had lived a thousand years or more. This is the malady of the East". Then he asked in a gentler tone, "Have you sent us other articles before?"
"Three that were ignored and then this last article, which I was hoping you would print."
"What's it about? Forgive me, but I receive dozens of articles every day."
"Le Bon's theories of education and my comments on them."
"In any case, if you look for it in the adjoining room where the correspondence is handled, you'll discover its fate."
Ahmad started to rise, but Mr. Adli gestured for him to remain seated and said, "The magazine's more or less on vacation today. I hope you'll stay and talk a little."
Ahmad murmured with profound gratitude, "I'd be delighted, sir.
"You said you got the baccalaureate this year. How old are you?"
"Sixteen."
"Precocious. Excellent. Is the magazine widely read in the secondary schools?"
"No, unfortunately not."
"I realize that. Most of our readers are at the University. In Egypt, reading's considered a cheap entertainment. We won't develop until we accept that reading is a vital necessity". After a pause he asked, "What's the attitude of secondary-school students?"
Ahmad looked at him inquisitively, as if wanting clarification of the question, and the man said, "I'm asking about their political affiliation, since that's more obvious than other things."
"The overwhelming majority are Wafdists."
"But is there any talk of the new movements?"
"Young Egypt — Misr al-Fatat? It's insignificant. You could count its supporters on your fingers. The other parties have no foliowers except for relatives of the leaders. Then there is a minority that's not interested in any of the parties. Some, and I'm among them, prefer the Wafd to the others but hope for a more perfect one."