Urfy had made a superhuman effort to appear interested in Heykal’s premature anxiety about the next governor, and now he began to wonder if Heykal hadn’t perhaps sensed some of his inner turmoil. Why, in any case, was he going on about wanting to leave for other, even more respectable places? Urfy didn’t need to go abroad to find madness and misery. They were flourishing right here in the basement, a daily challenge to his reason. There was plenty for him to get excited about at home, and maybe Heykal envied him for that. He feared the face of his friend, eager to discover the symptoms of this strangely perverse jealousy. But Heykal’s mocking smile, floating in semidarkness, grew suddenly clearer, and Urfy realized that this man, who was incapable of feeling pity, was making fun of him.
The smile disappeared. Heykal asked him:
“How’s your mother? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her.”
“Still the same.”
“There’s no hope of a turn for the better?”
This was pure nastiness, and Urfy regained his presence of mind. Heykal could only be inquiring for his own benefit. No doubt he dreaded any alteration in the old lady’s condition; he wanted her just as she was, crushed by illness and all for his own pleasure.
Urfy was overcome with a desire to set a trap for Heykal. Maybe at last he’d unmask this solicitude that was more torturous than the vilest indifference.
“I’ve been advised to send her to a clinic,” he said. “But I’m reluctant to do it.”
“Of course.”
“But in the end I’ll probably agree.”
“Don’t!” Heykal cried. Urfy had never seen him so passionate. “Don’t ever leave her, brother! What can you expect from those people? It’s like a death sentence!”
“She needs care that I can’t give her. They use new methods in this clinic. They told me that she might get better.”
“You’re like a child! If they knew how to restore her sanity why wouldn’t they apply their methods to all of humanity! No. Nothing can cure her. They’ll treat her disgustingly — and just for their filthy experiments. She’ll suffer.”
“You don’t think she suffers now?”
“If you really want to know, no — she has no notion of suffering. We’re the ones who see what she is going through; we’re the ones who suffer.”
“What! Heykal, you suffer?”
Heykal reached out to touch the schoolmaster’s arm in a gesture of supplication.
“Don’t abandon her to those brutes! It would be monstrous!”
Heykal fell quiet and turned away. How could he have succumbed to such weakness? Now that the panic passed, now that he was relieved of his fear of never seeing the old madwoman again, of losing her forever, he regretted his words and the passion with which he’d pronounced them. What would Urfy think? He could almost sense the schoolmaster’s stupefied, watchful gaze, while his own face was lost in the heavy darkness of the classroom. All he could see were the letters of the alphabet inscribed on the blackboard, like luminous hieroglyphs. Then, slowly, as if magically commanded by them, he got up, walked down the aisle, and climbed onto the podium, to sit at the schoolmaster’s desk. Far away, below him, he could make out Urfy, a vague mass bent over and caught in the darkness. It seemed as if thousands of years had passed since he’d revealed his secret, and he could look him in the face now, certain of being understood.
The stupor that had overcome Urfy gradually turned into joy. He regained all his confidence, and he wanted to proclaim his delight at the discovery that Heykal was so close to him in his suffering. The ignominious pain was gone now that he knew Heykal, too, was touched by the wound that tore at his soul. And yet as always the other man kept his distance, still imprisoned in his pride. What was he doing up there on the podium, like some forlorn creature stranded on a rock? Why didn’t he come close and take his hand in brotherhood? Urfy attempted to speak but the words stuck in his throat, and it was Heykal’s voice that rang out in the silence.
“May I see her?”
“She would be enchanted,” Urfy said. Come on.
He waited for Heykal to join him, then left the classroom with him and walked down the corridor that led to the madwoman’s room.
The door was open and a faint light shone within. Urfy paused on the threshold, worried. He didn’t see his mother anywhere in the room. It was a sort of cell, with a high window that was boarded up tight — to prevent the crazy old woman from attracting the attention of snooping neighbors. It contained a little iron bed, a chest of drawers, and a small sofa covered in jute; on the floor was a straw mat. An oil lamp, set on the chest of drawers, was the source of the meager light.
“Mother!” Urfy called.
There was no response, but Urfy sensed movement in the corner between the bed and the wall. He drew near, followed by Heykal. The old lady was crouched on the ground, seemingly busy patching some rags that were spread over her knees. She showed no surprise at their arrival; it was as if they’d always been there. But her dim eyes brightened at the sight of Heykal, animating her wasted face.
“I waited for you, my prince!” she said. “I dreamed of you all last night. You were on a white horse and you were slaying a dreadful dragon. But after each of your blows the dragon was reborn: it wouldn’t die. And you, prince, you laughed and laughed…And I knew why you laughed. Deep down, you didn’t want to kill the dragon; the dragon entertained you too much for you to want it dead.”
“Mother,” said Urfy. “Get up, and go lie down on your bed.”
But not until Heykal leaned over and held out his hand to help her would she move. She gripped his hand and rose to her feet as nimbly as a young girl, agile and full of grace. Her cotton dress revealed how skinny she was, and she was as light as a feather. She reached up to arrange the thin white threads of her hair, and, grown strangely coquettish all of a sudden, stretched out languorously on the bed — a pose that was both naive and shockingly shameless — like a courtesan awaiting the tributes of her admirers.
Now Heykal pulled the bouquet of jasmine from the inside pocket of his jacket and offered it to her. She took it and lifted it to her nostrils, breathing the perfume of the flowers with the elegance of a woman in the habit of receiving such attentions.
“Prince, you spoil me!” she simpered. “You’ll ruin yourself, for an old woman like me!”
“It’s nothing, a trifle compared to the happiness you give me,” responded Heykal.
“Happiness — me?! Prince, you’re mocking my old age!”
“You know that I would never dare to do that.”
“But I can tell that you’re a man with a taste for mockery.”
“Under far different circumstances, perhaps. Here, my heart overflows with gratitude.”
“Your heart is big, prince. It requires vast spaces. What do you see in this miserable hole! There are marvels outside. Why do you come to waste your time here?”
She waved the jasmine in the air like a fan, and the rank room began to smell sweet. Heykal sat at her feet, at the end of the bed. He seemed to be unaware of Urfy’s presence and was watching the old woman with peaceful joy.
“There’s nothing out there that you could possibly be missing,” he said. “You must believe me.”
Suddenly she shut her eyes — she seemed to have fallen into a state of intense meditation. With her head thrown back on the pillow, she pressed the bouquet of jasmine hard against her nostrils as if she was breathing in the scent of the world outside, the world of the living, and trying to remember it.