Read Online Voices from the Other World by Naguib Mahfouz - Free Book Online Page A

Taw-ty’s breast there is no wish to summon you!
    I kept going down the road in dread of where it would end. At my home’s doorstep the face of my wife—the companion of my youth and the mother of my children—loomed before me. “My poor Taw-ty, why are you quivering so? Why do your eyes look so distressed?” she cried. I said to her, in agony and despair, “O sister! Something unthinkable has occurred. A deadly disease has settled in the body of your husband. Make ready the bed and cover me up. Summon the physician and our children and loved ones, and tell them that Taw-ty is on his bed, pleading to his Lord, and to plead along with him for his cure.”
    She who had taken me to her breast carried me, and the doctor came to give me medicine. Pointing to heaven, he said, “O great writer Taw-ty, O servant of His Majesty the Prince, you are in need of the Lord’s compassion. Pray to Him from the depths of your heart!” And I lay there, without strength or resource. O Divine Amon, whose wisdom is lofty! Did I not accompany His Highness the Prince to the north in the armies of Pharaoh? Did I not witness the fighting in the deserts of Zahi and Nubia? Was I not there at Qadesh in the courageous campaign? Indeed, O Lord, and I was delivered from the lances and the chariots and the battles. So how can Death threaten me in my dear, safe village, in the embrace of my spouse and my mother and my children? Meanwhile I drowned in the vapors of fever, as my dizziness increased. Senseless jabber flowed from my tongue, and I felt the hand of Doom moving for my heart. How cruel you are, O Death! I see you advancing toward your target on two sure feet, with a heart made of stone. You do not tire or weary, tears do not sway you, you do not show mercy, nor do hopes arouse your sympathy. You trample our tiny hearts, you disregard our desires and dreams—and you do not change your appointed ways even when your prey is in the blooming spring of youth. Taw-ty is in his twenty-sixth year, the father of sons and daughters—do you not hear? What would it harm you if you left my breath to recur in my breast? Send for me when I have been sated with this beautiful and beloved life. It has not brought me torment, nor have I abstained from it ever. I have loved it from the depth of my heart— and it is still in its prime. My health has been good, my money plentiful, my aspirations unbounded. Haven’t you noted all these things? Around me are hearts full of affection, souls and deities—haven’t you looked into their tearful eyes? It’s as if I haven’t lived one hour of this alluring life. What did I see of its scenes? What have I heard of its voices? What have I learned of its sciences? What have I tasted of its arts? Which of its colors shall fade? What opportunities shall be lost tomorrow? What raptures shall be extinguished? What passions shall abate? What delights shall disappear?
    I recalled this, all of it. In my eternity, other things, without boundaries or limits, that lay between the enchantments of the past, the magic of the present, and the longings of the future, spun before me. The flowers and fields and waters and clouds and food and drink and songs and ideas and love and my children and the Prince’s palace and Pharaoh’s parties and the money I was paid and the medals and titles and the honors and the glory, were drawn before my senses. And I wondered, would all this vanish into the void?
    My breast pounded heavily; I was filled with sadness and grief, and every afflicted part of me shouted, “I do not want to die!” The legions of night followed in succession, and sleep overcame the little ones. My wife lingered about my head, my mother about my feet. Midnight came and as quickly passed while we remained in this state, until the baying of jackals startled me with the blue light of dawn. A bizarre feeling of alarm seized me, as a sinister silence