Laughing, Kamal replied, "We're members of the wartime poor, in other words civil servants, my good woman."
Riyad asked her, "What is your distinguished name?"
Raising her head with ludicrous pride, she responded, "The celebrated Sultana Zubayda, in person."
"The Sultana?"
"Yes," she continued jovially. "But my subjects have all died."
"May God have mercy on them."
"God have mercy on the living. It's enough for the dead that they're in the presence of God. Tell me who you are."
A smiling waiter brought her a water pipe and tea. Then, approaching the three friends, he asked, "Do you know her?"
"Who is she?"
"The entertainer Zubayda, the most famous vocalist of her time, but age and cocaine have reduced her to the state you see today."
It see tried to Kamal that he had heard the name before. The interest of Riyad Qaldas intensified, and he urged his friends to introduce themselves as she had requested, in order to encourage her to talk.
Isma'il presented himself: "Isma'il Latif."
Gigghng and sipping her tea before it could grow cold, she remarked, "Long live names! Even when a charming one like this doesn't lit the person They laughed, and Isma'il cursed her in a low voice she could not hear. But Riyad said, "Riyad Qaldas."
"An infidel? I had one of you for a lover. He was a merchant in the Muski, and his name was Yusuf Ghattas. He was a world-beater. I used to crucify him on the bed till dawn."
She laughed along with them, her pleasure obvious from her face. Then she turned her eyes to Kamal, who said, "Kamal Ahmad Abd al-Jawad."
She w as bringing the glass of tea to her lips. Her hand stopped in midair as she experienced a fleeting moment of lucidity. Staring at his face, she asked, "What did you say?"
Riyacl Qaldas answered for him, "Kamal Ahmad Abd al-Jawad."
She took a drag on the water pipe and said as if to herself, "Ahmad Abd al-Jawad! But there are lots of people with the same name, as many as there once were piasters". Then she asked Kamal, "Is your father a merchant in al-Nahhasin?"
Kamal was astonished and replied, "Yes."
She stood up and walked toward them. Coming to a stop in front of him, she roared with a laughter that seemed to exceed by far the powers of her emaciated skeleton. Then she exclaimed, "You're Abd al-Jawad's son! O son of my precious companion! But you don't resemble him! This really is his nose, but he was as handsome as the full moon shining by night. Just mention the Sultana Zubayda to him, and he'll tell you more than enough about me."
Riyad and Isma'il burst into laughter. Kamal smiled as he tried to conquer his disquiet. Only then did he remember that long ago Yasin had told him the story — in fact the many stories — about his father and Zubayda the entertainer.
She asked Kamal, "How is al-Sayyid Ahmad? It's been ages since I moved out of your neighborhood, which spurned me. Now I'm one of the people of Imam al-Shafi'i. But I get homesick for al-Husayn and visit on rare occasions. I was ill for so long that the neighbors got disgusted with me. If they had not been afraid of censure, they would have thrown me into the grave alive. How is my master?"
Kamal replied rather despondently, "He passed away four months ago."
She frowned a little and said, "To God's mercy… what a pity! He was a man unlike any other."
She returned to her seat and suddenly laughed loudly. Shortly thereafter the proprietor of the coffeehouse appeared at the entry to the balcony and warned her: "That's enough laughter! 'When we did not scold him the first time, he brought in his jenny.' The gentlemen are to be praised for their generosity to you, but if you're rowdy again, I'll show you the door."
She kept quiet until he left and then smiled at the men. "Are you like your father or not?" she asked Kamal as she made a lewd gesture with her hand.
The friends laughed, and Isma'il said, "He's not even married yet!"
In a bantering tone of disbelief, she said, "It's clear that you're trying to make a sucker out of me."
They laughed. Riyad rose and went to sit beside her. He remarked, "We're honored by your company, Sultana. But I want to hear about the days of your reign."
156
Twenty minutes before the lecture was to begin, Ewart Hall at the American University was almost full. According to Riyad Qaldas, Mr. Roger was a noted professor and especially memorable when discussing Shakespeare. There had been a suggestion that the lecture would contain political allusions, but that was hardly worth considering when the speaker was Mr. Roger and the topic William Shakespeare. Even so, Riyad was glum and despondent. Had he not invited Kamal, he would have stayed away. His distress was entirely natural for a man as preoccupied by politics as he was. With obvious passion, he whispered to Kamal, "Makram Ubayd has been expelled from the Wafd! Why are all these outrageous things happening?"
Kamal, who also still felt stunned by the news, shook his head dejectedly without any comment.
"It's a national catastrophe, Kamal. Things should not have deteriorated this far."
"Yes, but who was responsible?"
"Al-Nahhas! Makram Ubayd may be high-strung, but the corruption that has infiltrated the government is a fact that should not be hushed up."
Smiling, Kamal replied, "Let's not talk about corruption in government. Makram's revolt was less about corruption than about his loss of influence."
With a trace of resignation, Riyad asked, "Would a committed nationalist like Makram abandon the struggle on account of a transitory emotion?"
Kamal could not restrain his laughter as he replied, "You've abandoned your struggle for the sake of a transitory emotion."
Without smiling, Riyad insisted, "Answer me!"
"Makram has an emotional personality like a poet's or a singer's. If he can't be everything, he'd rather be nothing at all. He discovered that his authority was shrinking and rebelled by openly criticizir g instances of favoritism and by making an issue of it in the cabinet. So he precluded any chance for reconciliation and cooperation. It's regrettable."
"And what's the result?"
"No doubt the palace blesses this new split in the Wafd Party and will embrace Makram at an appropriate time, just as it has embraced other rebels in the past. From now on, we will see Makram playing a new role with the minority parties and palace agents. Otherwise, he will be out of the picture. They may hate him as much as they do al-Nahhas, or worse, and there are some who hate the Wafd because of Makram. But they will embrace him in order to destroy the Wafd. What happens then is anybody's guess."
Frowning, Riyad said, "A hideous picture! Both men were at fault, al-Nahhas and Makram. My heart senses that no good will come of this". Then in a lower voice he continued: "The Copts will have no one to turn to. Or they will seek protection from their archenemy, the king, and his defense of them will not last long. If the Wafd is now treating us as unfairly as the other parties have, what is to become of us?"
Pretending not to understand, Kamal inquired, "Why do you exaggerate the importance of this incident? Makram is not all the Coptic Christians, and the Copts aren't Makram. He's a political figure who has lost power, but the nationalist principles of the Wafd Party will never be abandoned."
Riyad shook his head sadly and answered sarcastically, "The papers may assert this, but what I'm saying is the truth. The Copts feel that they have all been expelled from the Wafd. They are searching for security, and I fear they will never find it. Politics has recently handed me a new puzzle similar to the one I've had with religion. I have spurned religion with my intellect and yet from ethnic loyalty have felt sympathetic to it with my heart. In exactly the same way, I will spurn the Wafd with my heart and feel sympathetically inclined toward it with my intellect. If I say I'm a Wafdist, I betray my heart. If I say I'm opposed to the Wafd, I cheat my intellect. It's a catastrophe I never dreamed of. Apparently Copts are destined to live forever with split personalities. If all of us were a single individual, he would go mad."