Read Online The Day the Leader Was Killed by Naguib Mahfouz - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Naguib Mahfouz
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was taking leave of me, I added:
“I wanted to tell you, so it wouldn’t come as a surprise to you over there.”
As I walked to the office, I was all wrapped up in my own thoughts and emotions, conscious only of my own sorrow and joy. A sense of gloom surrounded Randa, and very soon it had spread all over the office.
“I’m …” I said as I greeted her.
“Thanks,” she said, interrupting me.
“You don’t deserve that,” I said with great sincerity.
“Thanks again. And that’s enough now,” she said calmly.
There were a great many rumors going around in Randa’s absence. I heard all sorts of amazing things. It was obvious that he had failed, as often happens with men who get married late in life. No, no, he’s queer.… Look at the way he gesticulates with his hands. No, but the problem is her frigidity: apparent beauty is not everything. There are also rumors that he’s having an affair with his sister. I listened and was hurt. I love you, Randa, as much as I used to, if not more. It hurts me to see you defeated so. My heart goes out to you in your wounded pride.
I thought I might get closer to the truth by resorting to Anwar Allam.
“Thanks!” he muttered sarcastically when I expressed my regret.
“I’m sorry for both of you,” I said as soon as I felt that he was doubting my sincerity.
“There’s nothing that warrants regret,” he said coldly. With not a word more, he returned to the paperwork on his desk.
Gulstan Hanem invited me over. I accepted without hesitation, almost sure that she would tell me the truth. She was all bedecked like a bride.
“You only visit me when I invite you?” she said reprimandingly.
“I don’t want to cause you any embarrassment.”
“A nonsensical excuse, and you’re the first to know that.”
She offered me ice cream filled with nuts.
“It just occurred to me,” she then said.
I looked at her with interest, and she continued:
“My brother now seems far too busy for me, so how about your handling my affairs?”
The suggestion seemed like a bottomless pit opening up beneath me.
“This may upset him,” I said.
“It’s his idea!”
“Give me time to think about it, for I have been toying with the idea of enrolling for a master’s degree,” I said, embarrassed.
“The work is simple but requires someone honest.”
“Just give me a little while to think about it.”
She suddenly offered to reveal an important aspect of her past.
“My marriage has always made me the object of greed. Actually, it was my father who married me off to a man who was thirty years my senior. In spite of that, I continued to lead an impeccably honest and respectable life. My reputation has remained as good as gold.”
“You are the epitome of respect,” I said in a tone of despair which passed her unawares. “Anwar Bey is also respectable, yet see how unlucky he is,” I added cunningly.
“Are you feeling sorry for him or for his wife?” she asked, looking at me suspiciously.
“What’s done cannot be undone!” I said defiantly.
“Really?!”
“That’s the truth, plain and simple.”
“Then forget about other people’s problems and let’s concentrate on ours!”
I crouched in a corner, not knowing what to say. Then, with a bluntness that reminded me of her brother, she added:
“You understand and so do I. I’ve a right to seek my own happiness as long as my dignity remains untouched,” she added somewhat excitedly.
Then, in order to break that unbearable silence, I said, “I respect so sound a logic.”
“You won’t have any regrets. And I’ll be waiting,” she said sweetly.
Randa Sulayman Mubarak
S ix pairs of eyes whirling in a cesspool of confusion: my eyes in my mother’s eyes, my eyes in my father’s, and my mother’s in my father’s—all drawing away from each other furtively. My mother was shocked to see me walk in at that time of night. Her face grew pale, reflecting the color of my own face. My father was
“I wanted to tell you, so it wouldn’t come as a surprise to you over there.”
As I walked to the office, I was all wrapped up in my own thoughts and emotions, conscious only of my own sorrow and joy. A sense of gloom surrounded Randa, and very soon it had spread all over the office.
“I’m …” I said as I greeted her.
“Thanks,” she said, interrupting me.
“You don’t deserve that,” I said with great sincerity.
“Thanks again. And that’s enough now,” she said calmly.
There were a great many rumors going around in Randa’s absence. I heard all sorts of amazing things. It was obvious that he had failed, as often happens with men who get married late in life. No, no, he’s queer.… Look at the way he gesticulates with his hands. No, but the problem is her frigidity: apparent beauty is not everything. There are also rumors that he’s having an affair with his sister. I listened and was hurt. I love you, Randa, as much as I used to, if not more. It hurts me to see you defeated so. My heart goes out to you in your wounded pride.
I thought I might get closer to the truth by resorting to Anwar Allam.
“Thanks!” he muttered sarcastically when I expressed my regret.
“I’m sorry for both of you,” I said as soon as I felt that he was doubting my sincerity.
“There’s nothing that warrants regret,” he said coldly. With not a word more, he returned to the paperwork on his desk.
Gulstan Hanem invited me over. I accepted without hesitation, almost sure that she would tell me the truth. She was all bedecked like a bride.
“You only visit me when I invite you?” she said reprimandingly.
“I don’t want to cause you any embarrassment.”
“A nonsensical excuse, and you’re the first to know that.”
She offered me ice cream filled with nuts.
“It just occurred to me,” she then said.
I looked at her with interest, and she continued:
“My brother now seems far too busy for me, so how about your handling my affairs?”
The suggestion seemed like a bottomless pit opening up beneath me.
“This may upset him,” I said.
“It’s his idea!”
“Give me time to think about it, for I have been toying with the idea of enrolling for a master’s degree,” I said, embarrassed.
“The work is simple but requires someone honest.”
“Just give me a little while to think about it.”
She suddenly offered to reveal an important aspect of her past.
“My marriage has always made me the object of greed. Actually, it was my father who married me off to a man who was thirty years my senior. In spite of that, I continued to lead an impeccably honest and respectable life. My reputation has remained as good as gold.”
“You are the epitome of respect,” I said in a tone of despair which passed her unawares. “Anwar Bey is also respectable, yet see how unlucky he is,” I added cunningly.
“Are you feeling sorry for him or for his wife?” she asked, looking at me suspiciously.
“What’s done cannot be undone!” I said defiantly.
“Really?!”
“That’s the truth, plain and simple.”
“Then forget about other people’s problems and let’s concentrate on ours!”
I crouched in a corner, not knowing what to say. Then, with a bluntness that reminded me of her brother, she added:
“You understand and so do I. I’ve a right to seek my own happiness as long as my dignity remains untouched,” she added somewhat excitedly.
Then, in order to break that unbearable silence, I said, “I respect so sound a logic.”
“You won’t have any regrets. And I’ll be waiting,” she said sweetly.
Randa Sulayman Mubarak
S ix pairs of eyes whirling in a cesspool of confusion: my eyes in my mother’s eyes, my eyes in my father’s, and my mother’s in my father’s—all drawing away from each other furtively. My mother was shocked to see me walk in at that time of night. Her face grew pale, reflecting the color of my own face. My father was
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