Adrift on the Nile

"I am talking about an artistic instinct," Ragab replied. "One that producers and distributors alike believe in. Just a minute--pucker your lips. Show me how you kiss. Beware of being embarrassed. Embarrassment is the enemy of the art of acting. Now, in front of everyone, a real kiss, real in every sense of the word. A kiss after which the international situation must surely improve. . . ."

He put his long, strong arms around her, and their lips met with force and warmth, in a silence unbroken even by the gurgling of the pipe. Then Mustafa Rashid cried: "That was a glimpse of the Absolute I've been wearing myself out trying to find!"

"Maestro and maestra!" Khalid gushed. "My congratulations! Indeed, we must all congratulate ourselves; we must salute this splendid moment of civilization. Now we can say that Fascism has been completely routed! That Euclid's axioms have been demolished! Sana--no surnames from now on--please accept my sincere acclaim . . ."

Layla smiled. "For goodness' sake," she said, "let someone else speak."

"Jealousy is not an instinct, as the ignorant maintain," Khalid said ruefully. "It is the legacy of feudalism."

_I am not a whore._ Damnation! Oh, smell of the Nile, heavy with the scent of a dusty, exhausting journey. There is an ancient tree in Brazil that stood on the earth before the Pyramids existed. Am I alone among these drugged minds to laugh in the face of this unstoppable turn in history's tide? Am I alone when it whispers in my ear that forty knocks on the door will make the impossible come true? When will I play football with the planets? One day long ago I was forced into a bloody battle, and I alone am keeping the adversaries apart . . .

Outside, beyond the balcony, a bat sped past like a bullet. Anis contemplated the decorations on the brass tray, interlinking circles separated by gold and silver spangles, now veiled by ash and scraps of tobacco. For a while he dozed, insensible, where he sat, and when he opened his eyes he found that Mustafa Rashid and Ahmad Nasr had gone. The door of the room overlooking the garden was closed on Layla and Khalid; and Saniya and Ali were in the middle room. As for Ragab and Sana, they were standing out on the balcony, murmuring to each other. The only room left empty was his own, and more than likely his door as well would be shut in his face that night.

The lovers were talking.

"Certainly not!"

"'Certainly not'? That's not a very suitable reply, considering the age we live in."

"I should be studying with a girlfriend."

"Well, let it be study with a boyfriend."

Anis stretched out his leg and knocked against the water pipe. It toppled over, and the black spittle poured out and spread toward the threshold of the balcony.

There was no importance to anything. Even rest had no meaning. And Man had invented nothing more sincere than farce.

Then Amm Abduh's great height was blocking the light from the midge-surrounded lamp.

"Is it time?" the old man asked.

"Yes."

Amm Abduh began to collect the things and sweep up the scraps with great care. Then he looked at Anis. "When will you go to your room?"

"There is a new bride in there . . ."

"Ah!"

"Don't you like it?"

Amm Abduh laughed. "The street girls are nicer--and cheaper."

Anis roared with laughter. His voice rang out over the surface of the Nile. "You ignorant old man," he said. "Do you think these women are like those girls?"

"Have they got more legs, then?"

"Of course not, but they are respectable ladies!"

"Ah!"

"They don't sell themselves. They give and take, just like men."

"Ah!"

"Ah!" Anis mimicked.

"So will you sleep out on the balcony until the dew comes to wash your face?" Amm Abduh asked; and he saluted him as he left, announcing that he was going to give the call to the dawn prayer.

Anis looked at the stars. He began to count as many as he could. The counting exhausted him . . . and then a breeze came scented from the palace gardens. The Caliph Harun al-Rashid was sitting on a couch under an apricot tree, and the courtesans were dallying around him. You were pouring him some wine from a golden jug. The Caliph, the Commander of the Faithful, became finer and finer until he was more transparent than the wind. "Bring me what you have there!" he said to you.

But you had nothing with you, so you said that you were already dead. But then the servant girl plucked the strings of her lute and sang:

_"I recall the days of love's fever,

Bent o'er my heart for fear it will break

Gone are love's evenings forever,

Let the tears then fall from your eyes . . ."_

Harun al-Rashid was so transported that he tapped his hands and feet, and you said: Now is your chance, and slipped lightly away; but the giant guard saw you and came toward you; and you ran, and he ran after you, unsheathing his sword, and you screamed, calling for help to the Family of the Prophet; and he swore that they would put you in the prison of the palace . . .

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