Morning and Evening Talk (21 page)

H
E WAS
S
URUR AND
Z
AYNAB’S FIRST CHILD
. He had a radiant, handsome face, which resembled his mother’s, and a slender body, below average in height, which seemed designed for a girl. Amazingly, he was calm and composed from childhood, as though he had been born fully mature. Playing for him consisted in standing outside the front door watching the world go by; or following the movements of his cousin Qasim, who was a few years older than him, as he got up to mischief like others his age; or walking around the square cracking almonds. Radia would call him over and say affectionately, “Sensible boy!”

She would also say of him, “The father is an idiot and the mother is a fool, so where did the brains come from?”

When he was just four years old, encouraged by his composure and avoidance of childish mischief, Surur Effendi sent him to Qur’an school. He thought it would not be a waste of time if he spent a year or two there without understanding or grasping anything. But in those two years he acquired enough knowledge to satisfy the shaykh. “Your nephew, Labib, is an amazing boy. You must start him at primary school,” the shaykh said to Labib‘s uncle, Amr Effendi. In those days no one advanced to primary school below the age of eight or nine, so Labib‘s father presented him for the entrance exam without
taking it seriously and his success came as a surprise. His studies began when he was only six and he progressed with success year after year, causing astonishment around the family. Even more astonishing was the way he applied himself to his homework without encouragement or incentives, or anyone’s help, until he obtained the primary school certificate aged only ten. His age and talent enabled him to enter one of the king’s special schools free of charge, and he progressed through secondary school with similar success. As a teenager, he resisted the temptations he encountered around family or in the street, obeying his mother’s warnings and deliberately spurning whatever might impede his industry and uprightness. Thus, he obtained the baccalaureate at the age of sixteen. The teachers college was the preferred and appropriate option in the family’s circumstances, but the ambitious young man announced he wanted to go to law school.

“It’s the school for leaders!” muttered Surur, worried but hopeful.

“Let’s get Abd al-Azim’s advice,” said Amr.

The pasha was impressed with the young man’s history so took steps for him to enter law school, again with the fees waived. Labib‘s father had his first tong-trouser suit made for him. He went off to law school to be gazed at with amazement; sarcastic comments about the “Elementary Law School” and “The King’s Kindergarten” buzzed around him and attitudes did not change until he proved his ability and potential. He did not hesitate to join in the demonstrations and distribute pamphlets when the 1919 Revolution broke out, though his activities mostly took place in shelter and safety. He was conscious of the class differences between him and his colleagues and it left a residue in his soul. Yet he overcame it with his natural calm and inherent wisdom. It never worried him that he only had one suit, was not part of a social scene or life of luxury, and traveled in second class on the tram. He avoided troubling his father with
requests that might challenge his resources; he was always, as Radia said, very sensible.

His patience and industry bore fruit. He obtained his law degree at the age of eighteen, placed in the top ten. He was obstructed from working for the public prosecutor’s office not because of his roots—in deference to Abd al-Azim Dawud—but because it refused to appoint a minor as an assistant prosecutor! Thus, it was agreed he should take a clerical post until he reached majority, at which point he joined the public prosecutor’s office. This enabled Aziz’s family to hold its head high, gaining for them a foothold in the upper ranks of the bureaucracy next to Dawud and Ata’s families, and prompting jealousy, resentment, and astonishment in every branch of the family, including those closest to him—namely his cousins. Surur Effendi walked tall as though
he
was the public prosecutor. His tongue grew more vicious and left a nasty mark in people’s hearts and he became insufferable.

Yet contrary to expectation and logic, winds of anxiety would blow around Labib. He constantly proved competent and impartial as a prosecutor and judge, thus earning trust and respect, but his family’s circumstances decreed that his marriage had to wait until he had assisted in his brothers’ education and sisters’ weddings. Meanwhile, impulses he had long restrained erupted, demanding compensation for what they had missed out on during childhood, youth, and adolescence. All of a sudden he craved wine and women. He began indulging in riotous behavior and moral depravity while observing the customs of his profession as far as possible. He grew accustomed to this lifestyle until it took him over completely. He did not consider changing even after he was discharged from his family obligations, despite the threat to his reputation and damage to his health.

The July Revolution shook the status of the law and its men. He was overcome with gloom as an old Wafdist on the one
hand, and as a lawyer on the other. He continued visiting every branch of the family and began keenly following the revolution’s effect on them, careful not to give himself away. His cousin Hamid was probably the closest to him. Labib once whispered to his cousin, “What’s the ruse? We have before us a man claiming leadership with a revolver in his hand!”

When he was head of the court of appeals in Alexandria and approaching retirement, he had a sudden upturn and burst with all his energies down the path of prayer and matrimony. He prayed to the point of becoming a dervish and for the first time considered marrying his cousin Dananir. He had not forgotten that he had once, during his period of transgression, tried to get close to her and she had rejected him decisively. But the sight of her now aroused his disgust so he turned to a prostitute, a second-rate singer at a nightclub called The Age of Youth, whom he had stayed in touch with, despite the fickleness of his love life. By that time she had given up work because she was too old, but she had not lost all her femininity. Before long they were married and had taken up residence in an elegant apartment in New Cairo. They performed the hajj together and lived in general peace and splendor. Wine had consumed Labib‘s liver and he began to suffer from internal bleeding while still head of the court of appeals. He was carried from Alexandria to his house in Cairo, where he died. He departed life when Egypt was at the height of its success a few months before the June defeat.

He was the first child of Abd al-Azim Dawud and Farida Husam. In terms of beauty, he was the image of his mother and his sister Fahima, while he owed his intellect to his father and grandfather. During childhood and adolescence, occasions for friendship with Amr’s family, and Amer in particular, were firmly established, and he fell in love with the old quarter and
Radia’s extraordinary eccentricity. He was enchanted by Matariya’s beauty, just as she was by his good looks, and a modest romance developed in keeping with the customs of the day. Their hearts opened up expecting to meet a shower of happy tidings, but when Lutfi signaled his aspirations from afar, it was as if a bomb had exploded at the Dawud family villa on Sarayat Road. They forgot kinship, Amer and Iffat’s love, and the fraternity between Amr and Abd al-Azim. They saw the gesture as a misguided lapse in taste and a route into the abyss. A barrier was placed around Lutfi until Matariya was engaged and the danger had disappeared. Radia was furious and rained her curses on those without roots. Amr felt pain in his heart and blood rushed to his face. Surur egged his brother on, “Your anger shouldn’t be stifled.”

However, Farida Husam’s friendship supported Radia and, as usual, Amr was polite despite his agitation. Family ties triumphed over temporary upsets. How Dawud’s daughters talked about Amr and Surur’s daughters and vice versa! How atrociously Dawud’s family joked about Ata’s family and how cruelly Ata’s ridiculed Dawud’s! Nevertheless, solid foundations stood firm against the storms and hurricanes that raged over the great family. During those strange times, love’s routine was forgotten. It was not long before Lutfi was busy with his medical studies and obtained his degree. He traveled to Germany as part of a delegation then returned to begin a career in research at the ministry of health. He demonstrated brilliance in both administration and learning and attained strong standing among the opposition parties despite his family’s known affiliation. He was more independent than partisan and did not hesitate to pledge allegiance to the Crown as a loyal senior official. He was assigned the rank of bey, then pasha, while still between youth and middle age.

Amr played a historic role in Lutfi’s marriage. He was a boyhood friend of a man who had been made president of the
medical commission, Bahgat Bey Amr. He saw the Bey’s daughter Amal, a graduate from La Mère de Dieu and a rare beauty, and, with his gentle heart and eagerness to please, had the idea of arranging a marriage between her and Lutfi. He became a kind emissary between Abd al-Azim’s family and Bahgat’s family and at his hands the happiest of marriages took place. The favor was appreciated by both families. A new family grew up in a villa in Dokki, an Egypto-European family, who frequently visited its progenitor, Amr Effendi, in his old house on Bayt al-Qadi Square. Amal was enchanted by the ancient quarter and Radia. Among the visitors of the grand houses of Ata, Dawud, and Baligh’s families, she was a fresh rose that diffused a foreign fragrance and a new kind of magic that enchanted relatives and neighbors like the draw of Sufism. She gave birth to Farida, Mirfat, and Dawud, who moved abroad when they were older—Farida and Mirfat as the wives of two politicians, and Dawud as a doctor in Switzerland where he married a Swiss woman. Lutfi was among the few who were not affected by the afflictions of his class during the July Revolution and could retire as a minister. However, most of his savings, which were invested in shares and bonds, were lost with nationalization. He died of stomach cancer, not long after his father. He was in his seventies, which was considered young among Abd al-Azim’s long-living family.

T
HE SWEETEST ROSE TO GLEAM
in the Murakibi family mansion’s large garden. The gentleness of his father, Ahmad Bey, and beauty of his mother, Fawziya Hanem, blossomed in him and he was one of those dearest to the families of Amr, Surur, and Dawud. Since childhood, he had loved his uncle’s daughter Nadira, and she loved him too. Thus, he was the most miserable of all about the dispute that ripped the family apart, and thus, he was exposed to the fury of his brother, Adnan, the instigator of the trouble. He stumbled at school but decided nevertheless to take a degree in agriculture to prepare him for working life and to ensure that the same tragedy was not repeated. Though he was still quite young, he privately endeavored to secure Amr Effendi’s blessing on his efforts to reconcile the angry brothers and secretly urged his beloved cousin to keep their love safe from the storm until it died down. When his amiable father fell sick with the illness that would kill him and the clouds of grief dispersed, his sadness over his father’s death did not prevent him from wholeheartedly welcoming peace back into the family. At the time, he was in his final year of studies and resolved to announce his engagement once the year of mourning was over.

At the beginning of the following spring he traveled with a group of exchange students on a study trip to Alexandria. He
decided to go for a swim with some friends in Shatby but was deceived by the waves and drowned. His death came as a violent blow to the family and in Nadira’s heart it left a scar that would never heal. His possessions went to Adnan, who consequently became the richest man in Ata’s family, though also the only one to whom the agriculture reform laws applied after the July Revolution.

He was born and grew up in the mansion on Khayrat Square. Like his brothers and sisters, his upbringing was serious and urbane. He was tall, slim, good looking, and palpably proud of his social status. He only visited his relatives on special occasions and avoided the Dawud family in particular. His school career was not promising so he made the war college the goal of his studies. He was infatuated with aristocratic life in all its manifestations, from a preference for the Crown over political parties to forging friendships within his class and exploiting his good looks to win the hearts of beautiful girls. He pestered his father with requests for money. Mahmud Bey wanted his sons to be brought up disciplined but not deprived and it troubled him that the boy would not fall in line. At the same time, he loved and admired him so pretended not to mind that his wife was biased toward him and granted his requests—old age and ill health having softened him by that time.

Mahir enrolled at the war college and graduated at the beginning of the Second World War. Through personal connections and his brother Abduh’s influence, he joined the Free Officers Movement on the basis of superficial sentiments and without seriously believing what was said about the “people’s suffering” and “class struggle.” When the revolution came, he found himself among its intimates and leaped effortlessly to a rank his stunted academic achievements could never have
brought him. He was uncomfortable with the agriculture reform laws, though they did not apply to anyone in the family but his cousin Adnan, but the scope of his ambition knew no ends. He rented an apartment in Zamalek for his romantic adventures. His star continued to rise and he was appointed to the leader’s private guard. He stayed in his post after the Setback, up to Abdel Nasser’s death. He was then pensioned off, so devoted himself to the apartment in Zamalek. All this time the idea of marriage never once crossed his mind. When presages of the infitah policy appeared, he was convinced by some friends to start dealing in imports. He sold his land and abandoned himself wholeheartedly to this new line of work and made a huge fortune. Abduh, Mahir, and Nadira were brought together in the mansion in their childlessness and effusion of wealth, which they believed they were amassing for others.