“Qasim Bey’s secretary?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is the bey there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me speak to him. Tell him it’s Muhammad Rashad.”
He assumed he had to go to the bey’s office to inform him. So he replaced the receiver, cutting the line without meaning to. Entering the bey’s office, he said respectfully, “Muhammad Rashad … Bey … wishes to speak with Your Excellency.”
“Send him in.”
“He’s on the phone.”
The astonished bey asked, “Why didn’t you transfer the call?”
When he didn’t respond, the bey — on seeing the unusual, bewildered look on his face — laughed and explained, “Transfer the call to me. On occasions like this use the ‘connector.’ ”
He left the room confused, realizing that he had made a mistake. How did he transfer a call? What was this “connector”? Returning to his office, he lifted the receiver and then heard a continuous buzzing. He said, “Your Excellency.…”
No one replied no matter how many times he repeated the request. All he heard was a persistent buzzing. He felt even more bewildered and feared that he had committed some new blunder. He felt miffed. He had not realized that telephones have a special drill he would need to learn. He grudgingly summoned the messenger to instruct him in the secrets of telephones. He jotted down notes on a piece of paper so he would not forget what he had to remember in the future. Then his office came to life as a wide assortment of people from different walks of life arrived to request permission to see Qasim Bey Fahmi. He received them calmly, because his natural audacity helped him control his nerves and project a self-possessed, firm façade. He welcomed one of the well-known pashas whom he had only seen from a distance before. The pasha greeted him diffidently, asking permission to see the bey. Although Mahgub presented a calm appearance, he was fighting to suppress his feelings of happiness and joy. He passed the workday in constant motion, unflagging activity, and limitless delight. This nonstop exertion helped him forget his reflections and shadowy suspicions. So without being conscious of it, he calmed down. He left the ministry fit as a fiddle, as if arising from a sound sleep.
He was not the same lad who had rushed to work that morning. He had welcomed beys and pashas, mastered the art of the telephone, and had been called “Mahgub Bey” tens of times. He felt immensely confident and proud. Indeed, his gait and his way of looking at things had changed. He remembered — in the intoxication of this surprising glory — his relative Ahmad Bey Hamdis and hoped he would arrive one day to see Qasim Bey. On entering Mahgub’s office deferentially — what a surprise would await him! They would shake hands as equals, and then Hamdis Bey would tell his family what he had seen. So Tahiya would hear and realize that she had slammed the door of her car on a boy who had achieved renown and glory. How he would like Tahiya to see him with his gorgeous wife, who excelled her in charm and beauty. He would like to watch her face as she looked askance at his wife after realizing how fascinatingly beautiful she was.
29
atience, everything in due time. Life had begun to smile.
That same day, Mahgub Abd al-Da’im — as previously agreed — went to al-Ikhshidi, who accompanied him to the apartment to hand it over to him. Mahgub carried with him the valise containing his clothes and a few books. Al-Ikhshidi gave him the key to the apartment, saying, “The apartment and all its contents belong to the two of you, except for a small wardrobe in the bedroom.”
Realizing that this wardrobe was reserved for Qasim Bey Fahmi, Mahgub blushed and felt a strong desire to kick him as hard as possible.
Al-Ikhshidi observed, “It would be good if you would change the lease to your name.”
“Is it currently in Qasim Bey’s name?”
Al-Ikhshidi responded coldly, “It’s in my name.”
Mahgub felt relieved and asked, “How much is the rent?”
“Ten pounds.”
Smiling, Mahgub commented, “That’s about as much as my salary.”
“The bey will pay it. Likewise, he’ll pay the cook for you, and other expenses.”
They inspected the apartment together. Although it was small, it was beautifully built and elegantly furnished. Mahgub was astonished. He realized that he was seeing many pieces of furniture for the first time. He did not even know what they were called. The apartment consisted of three rooms and a sitting room. To the right of the entrance was a parlor that opened onto a hall leading into a sitting room with a radio. There were two doors on its right-hand wall, one to a bedroom and the other to a dining room. Both of these rooms opened onto a long balcony that overlooked Nagi Street. As he stood there, he quickly recalled his home in al-Qanatir, the student hostel, and his room on the roof of the apartment building on Jarkas Street. Standing there he realized that current realities surpassed in their magic and beauty his prior dreams. Actually the content of dreams is ordinarily drawn from the dreamer’s previous sensations and perceptions. He was seeing here luxury articles he had never encountered before. The difference between this house and that in al-Qanatir was as great as between Ihsan and the cigarette butt collector. Both were women, true, but how different. He forgot at that moment what he had always told himself about all women being alike so that Tahiya, Ihsan, and the butt collector were equivalent.
On saying goodbye, al-Ikhshidi told him, “Tomorrow evening you’ll find your bride waiting for you.”
He departed, followed by the youth’s sidelong look.
The next day, late in the afternoon, Mahgub set off for Giza and immediately remembered Ali Taha. Where might he be staying? He knew he was in Giza but did not know where. Had the young man remained true to his promise and retained his interest in the girl? Would his passion tempt him back to her neighborhood and had news of her marriage reached him? Would they run into him while Mahgub was holding her on his arm? He felt anxious, although nothing really fazed him. In fact, he would have liked for Ali to encounter him at that moment and learn everything. He went to Uncle Shihata Turki’s home and found the entire family — except for Ihsan — waiting for him. Then he knew for certain that al-Ikhshidi’s instructions had preceded him to his noble family. Everyone — Uncle Shihata, his wife, and the six young sons — was sporting new clothes thanks to Qasim Bey’s generosity and solicitude. They greeted each other warmly. Uncle Shihata kissed him on the forehead, and he kissed his mother-in-law’s hand. He teased the boys and kissed the youngest on both cheeks. As he sat there he glanced at all the faces looking at him and immediately admitted that his bride’s house was overflowing with good looks. Her father had handsome features, her mother was beautiful, and her brothers were a matched set of pearls. He told himself that beauty truly is an effective weapon in a poor person’s hands. Their conversation flowed nonstop, and the young man shared in it as was appropriate, although he would have liked to leave as soon as possible. Uncle Shihata talked about the hostel and the well-mannered and industrious student Mahgub Abd al-Da’im, who had not been a customer, because he did not smoke and how he — Uncle Shihata — respected students who did not smoke even though (and he laughed at this) he gained nothing from their rectitude. He explained that he was not hosting a party for his daughter’s wedding because a good bride is the real festivity and that he had not invited any relatives or family members, who were country folk, in order to spare them the difficulties of the journey. Mahgub assumed that the man was probably lying the way vainglorious people do but, remembering his own parents resentfully, said he had dispatched news of his marriage to his parents and that had his father — a prominent agriculturalist in al-Qanatir — not been ill, he would have come to give his blessing in person. Umm Ihsan spoke about her children, especially Ihsan. Mahgub recognized from his mother-in-law’s conversation and tone and from the gestures of her neck, eyebrows, and eyes, that she was a merry, feminine, cunning tease. (He knew nothing of her past on Muhammad Ali Street.) She asked about his position and offered to read his palm. She predicted worthy children and an excellent post in the government.