Read Online Khan Al-Khalili by Naguib Mahfouz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Naguib Mahfouz
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parts of our quarter they export servant girls; the other quarters convert them into barroom singers. Because of this the world’s been turned upside down. Just imagine, my dear sir, yesterday I heard the radish-seller’s daughter using English with her sister. ‘Come here, darling,’ she said.”
Ahmad laughed. By this time he was feeling much more relaxed and at home. “In spite of all that, Boss,” he said, his strategy being to get the other man to do the talking, “your quarter is pure enough. The level of corruption in other quarters is beyond conception.”
“God protect us! It’s obviously a good idea not to let our anxieties get the better of us. So forget about such things, laugh, and worship God. The world belongs to Him, whatever happens is His doing. His command is certain, and the ending belongs to Him as well, so what’s the point of spending time bashing your brains and feeling miserable? God damn the world!”
“Well, Boss, that seems to be your favorite expression. I’ve heard it many times from my room upstairs.”
“Yes, God damn the world! It’s a phrase of derision, not a curse. But can you really curse the world in actuality as you do when you use those words? Can you despise the world and laugh at it when it makes you poor, leaves you naked, and brings hunger and disaster down on you? Believe me, the world’s just like a woman: kneel in front ofher and she’ll turn her back on you; beat her or curse her and she’ll come running. With the world and women therefore I have just one policy. Before and afterward I rely totally on the Lord God Almighty. There’s been many a day when we have no idea where the next penny is coming from; the family has nothing to eat and I can’t even buy myself a shisha, but I still keep on singing, cursing, and joking. The family might as well belong to my neighbors, and poverty be a mere passing cold. Then things change; I’m asked to do some work and grab the money I get. Then it’s, ‘Be happy, Nunu!’ ‘Thank God, Nunu!’ ‘Zaynab, go and buy us some meat!’ ‘Hasan, get some radishes!’ ‘Aisha, run out and buy us a melon!’ ‘Fill your stomach, Nunu!’ ‘Eat up, children!’ ‘Be grateful, you wives of Nunu!’ ”
That phrase “wives of Nunu” attracted Ahmad’s attention. He wondered exactly how many wives Nunu had in his harem. Would he be prepared to share his domestic secrets with the same frankness as he had used to detail his personal philosophy? The only way he could see to find out was to ask a trick question: “God is always there to help us. You obviously have a large family.”
“Eleven stars,” the man replied simply, “and four suns. Oh, and a single moon!” he went on, pointing to himself.
“You have four wives?” Ahmad asked after a pause.
“As God wills.”
“Aren’t you afraid of not being fair to them all?”
“And who’s to say that I’m unfair?”
“Do you rent four separate houses for them?”
“No, like you, sir, I’ve just one apartment. It has four rooms, and there’s a mother and her children in each one.”
Ahmad’s expression showed his astonishment as he stared at his companion in disbelief.
Boss Nunu’s laugh was filled with a certain pride. “Why are you so astonished, Ahmad Effendi?” he asked.
At this point Ahmad discovered a sense of daring that was unusual for him. “Why haven’t you been satisfied with just one?” he asked.
“One?” came the reply. “I’m a calligrapher. Women are just like calligraphy; no single one can make up for the others. One’s naskh, another ruq’a, another thuluth, and a fourth farsi. The only thing I have one of is God Almighty.”
“But aren’t four more than you need?”
“If only they were enough. God be praised, I can satisfy an entire city of women. I’m Boss Nunu, and my recompense is with God!”
“But how can you keep them all in one apartment? Don’t you know what people say about women’s
Ahmad laughed. By this time he was feeling much more relaxed and at home. “In spite of all that, Boss,” he said, his strategy being to get the other man to do the talking, “your quarter is pure enough. The level of corruption in other quarters is beyond conception.”
“God protect us! It’s obviously a good idea not to let our anxieties get the better of us. So forget about such things, laugh, and worship God. The world belongs to Him, whatever happens is His doing. His command is certain, and the ending belongs to Him as well, so what’s the point of spending time bashing your brains and feeling miserable? God damn the world!”
“Well, Boss, that seems to be your favorite expression. I’ve heard it many times from my room upstairs.”
“Yes, God damn the world! It’s a phrase of derision, not a curse. But can you really curse the world in actuality as you do when you use those words? Can you despise the world and laugh at it when it makes you poor, leaves you naked, and brings hunger and disaster down on you? Believe me, the world’s just like a woman: kneel in front ofher and she’ll turn her back on you; beat her or curse her and she’ll come running. With the world and women therefore I have just one policy. Before and afterward I rely totally on the Lord God Almighty. There’s been many a day when we have no idea where the next penny is coming from; the family has nothing to eat and I can’t even buy myself a shisha, but I still keep on singing, cursing, and joking. The family might as well belong to my neighbors, and poverty be a mere passing cold. Then things change; I’m asked to do some work and grab the money I get. Then it’s, ‘Be happy, Nunu!’ ‘Thank God, Nunu!’ ‘Zaynab, go and buy us some meat!’ ‘Hasan, get some radishes!’ ‘Aisha, run out and buy us a melon!’ ‘Fill your stomach, Nunu!’ ‘Eat up, children!’ ‘Be grateful, you wives of Nunu!’ ”
That phrase “wives of Nunu” attracted Ahmad’s attention. He wondered exactly how many wives Nunu had in his harem. Would he be prepared to share his domestic secrets with the same frankness as he had used to detail his personal philosophy? The only way he could see to find out was to ask a trick question: “God is always there to help us. You obviously have a large family.”
“Eleven stars,” the man replied simply, “and four suns. Oh, and a single moon!” he went on, pointing to himself.
“You have four wives?” Ahmad asked after a pause.
“As God wills.”
“Aren’t you afraid of not being fair to them all?”
“And who’s to say that I’m unfair?”
“Do you rent four separate houses for them?”
“No, like you, sir, I’ve just one apartment. It has four rooms, and there’s a mother and her children in each one.”
Ahmad’s expression showed his astonishment as he stared at his companion in disbelief.
Boss Nunu’s laugh was filled with a certain pride. “Why are you so astonished, Ahmad Effendi?” he asked.
At this point Ahmad discovered a sense of daring that was unusual for him. “Why haven’t you been satisfied with just one?” he asked.
“One?” came the reply. “I’m a calligrapher. Women are just like calligraphy; no single one can make up for the others. One’s naskh, another ruq’a, another thuluth, and a fourth farsi. The only thing I have one of is God Almighty.”
“But aren’t four more than you need?”
“If only they were enough. God be praised, I can satisfy an entire city of women. I’m Boss Nunu, and my recompense is with God!”
“But how can you keep them all in one apartment? Don’t you know what people say about women’s
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