The Search
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
AN ANCHOR BOOK
PUBLISHED BY DOUBLEDAY
a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10103
ANCHOR BOOKS, DOUBLEDAY, and the portrayal of an anchor are trademarks of Doubleday, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.
All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The English translation of The Search was first published by The American University in Cairo Press in 1987.
First published in Arabic as al-Tariq in 1964.
Protected under the Berne Convention.
The Anchor Books edition is published by arrangement with The American University in Cairo Press.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Maḥfūẓ, Najīb, 1911–
[Ŧarīq, English]
The search / Naguib Mahfouz; translated by Mohamed Islam; edited by Magdi Wahba. — 1st Doubleday ed.
p. cm.
Translation of: al-Ŧarīq.
Originally published: Cairo: American University Press, 1987.
I. Wahba, Magdi. II. Title.
PJ7846.A46T313 1991 90-24347
892′.736—dc20
ISBN 0-385-26459-3
ISBN 0-385-26460-7 (pbk.)
eBook ISBN 9780525431695
Copyright © 1987 by The American University in Cairo Press
FIRST ANCHOR BOOKS EDITION: JUNE 1991
v4.1
a
CHAPTER ONE
Tears filled his eyes. In spite of his control over his emotions and the repugnance he felt at weeping before these men, he was quite overcome. With moist eyes he looked at the corpse as it was removed from the coffin and carried to the open grave, the dead body seemingly weightless in its white shroud. Oh, how you’ve wasted away, Mother.
The scene faded and he could see only darkness, and the dust stung his nostrils, and the unpleasant stench of the men around him filled the air.
The wailing of the women, mingled with the sting of the dust, utterly disgusted him, and he moved forward, leaning over the open grave, but a hand pulled him back and a voice said, “Remember your God.”
He was repulsed by the touch and cursed the man inwardly. That man’s a pig like the rest of them. But then the awe of the moment roused him with a pang of remorse and he said, “A quarter of a century of love, tenderness, care, all gone, swallowed up by the earth as though it had never existed.”
A wailing heralded the entrance of a group of blind men who surrounded the grave and sat cross-legged. He felt eyes gazing intently upon him and others stealing an occasional glance. He knew what these looks meant and stretched his lean body in stubborn defiance. They must be wondering why he was so strange in his appearance and dress, as though he were not one of them. Why did his mother remove him from his environment, then abandon him?
They have not come here to pay their condolences, but rather to gloat over you.
The gravedigger and his assistant appeared from below and proceeded vigorously to fill the grave with loose earth. The blind men were chanting on cue from their leader.
She will be truly lonely. What do these pigs have to say? Reverence, covering their faces like a summer cloud. He became impatient, craving the solitude of his house so he could meditate on his situation. Embarrassing questions will be put to his mother in the darkness of the grave. None of these devils will be of any help to her then. “But your time will come!”
The sounds died down, indicating the end of the ceremony, and the gravedigger took a few steps toward him but was stopped by the man standing on his right. “Let me deal with this. I know these people.” He felt revulsion again, but as he realized that it was all over, his sense of loneliness overcame all else. He cast one last look at the grave, feeling at peace with its orderly appearance. Through the bars of the window he could see the creepers growing on the wall of the tomb. His mother, God rest her soul, was fond of the good life, but now all she had left was the grave.
The people moved slowly to offer him their condolences. First the women, who despite their weeping and wailing and mourning dress could not hide the licentious look in their eyes; then the men, drug peddlers, ruffians, hustlers, pimps, all muttering incoherent words of condolence. He looked at them all coldly, knowing full well that the feeling was reciprocated.
On his way home a refreshing breeze fanned him, carrying with it the fragrance of spring. His house on Nabi Danial Street was the scene of a happy, comfortable period in his life. However, the only signs of comfort remaining were the large hall and an abandoned water pipe under his mother’s empty bed.
He sat on the balcony overlooking the intersection of Nabi Danial and Saad Zaghlul streets, smoking a cigarette. His attention was drawn to a flat across the street; foreigners lived there, and preparations were being made for a party. He could see a man and a woman embracing, rather inappropriate for that early time of the day.
He decided that as of today he would know life as it really was. He was lonely, without friends, work, or family, and he was left with nothing but a dreamlike hope. He must as of this moment fend for himself; that was previously his mother’s domain, and he had been free to enjoy life to the fullest. Only yesterday thoughts of death could not have been further from his mind. It was yesterday, too, at about the same time, that the carriage had arrived bringing his mother home. He led her into the house, the house she had prepared for her son. She was weak and haggard, looking thirty years older than her fifty-odd years. That’s how he remembered Basima Omran, as she was when she came home the previous day after having spent five years in jail.
“Your mother is through, Saber.”
Carrying her effortlessly in his arms, he said, “Nonsense, you are in the prime of your youth.”
She lay down on the bed fully clothed, leaned over to look in the mirror, and repeated, “Your mother is through, Saber. Who would believe that this is Basima Omran’s face?”
How true. A round, handsome face, and the pink coloring of a ripening apple. Her laughter that had reverberated through every drawing room in Alexandria now failed to cause the slightest ripple on her large, fat body.
“May God curse sickness and disease.”
Wiping her face, despite the cool weather, she said, “It’s not sickness, but jail. I fell ill in jail. Your mother wasn’t made for jails. They said it was my liver, my blood pressure, then my heart, curse them. Can I ever again be what I was?”
“And even better, with rest, and medicine.”
“And money?”
He winced and said nothing.
“How much have you got left?”
“Very little.”
“I was wise to register the house at Ras el-Tin in your name; otherwise they would have taken that, too.”
“But I sold it when I ran out of money. I told you at the time.”
She groaned and placed her hand on her forehead. “Oh, my head, I wish you hadn’t sold the house. You had a lot of money; I wanted you to lead the good life, to live like the aristocracy. I wanted to leave you a fortune, but…”
“Everything was lost in one stroke.”
“Yes, may God forgive them, a mean revenge from a mean man, a man who enjoyed my wealth, then dropped me for a worthless slut. Suddenly he remembered the call of duty, law, and honor and discarded me, the bastard. I spat on him in court.”
She asked for a cigarette; he lit one for her, saying, “It’s better that you don’t smoke now. Did you smoke in there?”
“Cigarettes, hashish, opium, but I always worried about you.” She drew on the cigarette breathlessly, wiped her damp face and neck, and said, “What about your future, my boy?”
“How should I know? There’s nothing for me to do but become a ruffian, a hustler or a pimp.”
“You?”
“I know, you taught me a better life, but I’m afraid that won’t do me any good.”
“You weren’t made for that kind of life.”
“What else can I do in this world?” Then with sudden rage he exclaimed, “How my enemies gloated when you were away.”
“Saber. Avoid anger. It’s anger that sent me to jail; it would have been easier to appease that scoundrel who betrayed me.”
“Everywhere I find people I’d like to crush.”
“Let them say what they want, but don’t use your fists.”
Clenching his hands, he growled, “If it weren’t for these fists I’d have been humiliated everywhere I went; no one dared mention a word about you when you were in jail.”
She blew out the smoke angrily and said, “Your mother is far more honorable than their mothers. I mean it. They don’t know, but if it weren’t for their mothers my business would have floundered!”
Saber smiled, in spite of the oppressive atmosphere. His mother continued: “They’re very clever at fooling people with their appearance, cars, clothes, expensive cigarettes. Well-spoken, smelling good, but I know them as they really are, I know them in the bedroom, naked except for their defects. I have endless stories about them, those dirty, sly bastards. Before the trial, many of them contacted me and urged me with great persistence not to mention their names at the trial, and in return they promised me freedom. Such people have no right to speak ill of your mother, for she is far more honorable than their mothers, wives, and daughters. Believe me, if it weren’t for them I would be out of business.”
The smile returned to his lips.
“Where have those laughing, carefree days gone?” She sighed. “I loved you with all my heart; everything I had was at your disposal. I let you live here in this lovely house far from my world. If I ever wronged you it was unknowingly. Your looks and elegance are unequaled, but you must avoid losing your temper or worry about what’s happened to me.” Her sadness was contagious.
He said softly, “Everything will be just as it was.”
“As it was…I’m finished. The Basima of days long ago will never return; my health would not permit it, and neither would the police.”
He looked at the floor. “Very little of the price of the house is left.”
“What is there to do? You must maintain the standard of living I have accustomed you to.”
“I’ve never known you to lose hope before.”
“Only this once.”
“Then I must either work or kill.”
She put out her cigarette and closed her eyes as if trying to concentrate on a single idea.
“There must be a way out,” continued Saber.
“Yes, I’ve given the matter much thought in jail.”
For the first time his confidence in his mother was shaken.
“Yes,” she continued, “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I am now convinced that I have no right to keep you here, since it is no longer good for you.”
He looked at her, a questioning glance in his dark eyes.
Then with a tone of defeat she whispered, “You don’t understand. The government took you away from me at the same time that they confiscated my wealth. I don’t have the right to own you either. I knew that the day they sentenced me.” She was silent for a while, utter despair on her face. “Saber, this means that you must leave me,” she said.
“Where to?” he asked resentfully.
“To your father,” she replied in a barely audible voice.
He raised his eyebrows in bewilderment and cried, “My father…”
She nodded.
“But he’s dead. You told me he died before I was born.”
“I told you so. But it wasn’t true.”
“My father, alive…Incredible…My father…alive.”
She looked at him with sudden disdain as he continued: “My father alive…Why did you hide this from me?”
“Yes, the hour of reckoning has come.” She sighed.
“No, no. But I’ve got a right to know.”
“What father could have done for you all that I’ve done, your happiness…?”
“I don’t deny this at all…”
“Then don’t reproach me and start searching for him.”
“Searching?”
“Yes. I’m talking about a man whom I married thirty years ago, and now I don’t know anything about him.”
In a calmer vein but still bewildered, he asked, “Mother, what does all this mean?”
“It means that I’m trying to show you the only way out of your dilemma.”
“But he might be dead.”
“Or alive.”
“Must I waste my life, then, looking for someone I’m not even sure exists?”
“You’ll never be sure unless you find out. Anyway, it’s better than staying as you are with no work and no hope.”
“It’s a very strange and unenviable situation!”
“Your only alternative is to become a hustler, a crook, a pimp, or a murderer. So you must do what must be done.”
“How can I find him?”
She sighed, and an even greater sadness fell upon her. “His name is on your birth certificate, Sayed Sayed el-Reheimy.” Her eyes grew misty as she continued: “He fell in love with me thirty years ago. That was in Cairo.”
“Cairo…Then he’s not even in Alexandria.”
“I know that your real problem will be to find him.”
“Why didn’t he try to find me?”
“He doesn’t know about you.”
A look of resentment and indignation crept into his eyes. “Wait,” she said, “don’t look at me like that. Listen to the rest of it. He is a man of means in every sense of the word. At the time he was a student, but even then he had considerable means and prestige.”
He looked at her with increasing interest but somewhat distantly.
“He loved me. I was a beautiful, lost girl. He kept me secretly, in a golden cage.”
“He married you?”
“Yes. I still have the marriage certificate.”
“He divorced you?”
She sighed, “I ran away.”
“You ran away?”
“I ran away after some years. I was pregnant. I ran away with a man from the gutter.”
“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Now you are going to blame me for your problem.”
“I’m not blaming you for anything. But didn’t he look for you?”
“I don’t know. I ran away to Alexandria and never heard any more about him. Many times I expected to see him in one of my establishments, but I never set eyes on him again.”
He laughed coldly and said, “And thirty years later you send me to look for him.”
“Despair drives us to do even stranger things. You’ll have the marriage certificate to help you. Also the wedding photograph. You’ll see the striking resemblance.”
“Strange that you kept the certificate and photograph.”
“I was thinking of the picture. I was a poor girl living with a hustler, and when I became successful my intentions of avenging you were realized.”
“And yet you never got rid of the rest of your memories.”
She wiped her face and neck impatiently and said, “I intended to many times but changed my mind, as though I had a premonition of what would happen.”
He paced back and forth, then stopped in front of her bed. “What if after all my efforts he denies me?”
“Who can deny you after seeing the photograph?”
“Cairo is a big city, and I’ve never been there before.”
“Who says he’s in Cairo? He might be in Alexandria, Assiut, or Damanhour. I have no idea. Where is he today? What is he doing? Is he married or single? God only knows.”
He waved his arm angrily. “And how am I supposed to find him?”
“I know it won’t be easy. But it’s also not impossible. You know some police officers and lawyers. No prominent personality is unknown in Cairo.”
“I’m afraid that my money might run out before I find him.”
“That is why you must start at once.”
He thought for a moment, then asked, “Is he worth all that effort?”
“Without the least doubt. You will find the life you want with him. You won’t suffer the indignities of work or be forced to lead a life of crime.”
“And if I find him poor? Weren’t you extremely rich?”
“I assure you that money is only one of his assets. It’s true that I was rich, but I never provided you an honorable life, and all you did was go about using your fists to defend your mother’s and your own honor.”
I must be dreaming, he thought. “Do you really believe that I’ll find him?”
“Something tells me that he is alive, and that if you don’t despair, you’ll find him.”
He shook his head, torn between bewilderment and hopelessness. “Should I really start searching for him? If my enemies know of this, won’t they treat me as an insane freak?”
“And what will they say if they find you pimping? You have no alternative but to look for him.” She closed her eyes, muttering about how exhausted she was, so he begged her to sleep, saying that they would resume their talk tomorrow. He took off her shoes and covered her, but she tossed off the cover with a nervous gesture and fell into a deep sleep punctuated by light snoring.
He awoke at nine o’clock next morning after a restless, sleepless night. He went to her room to wake her, and found his mother dead. Had she passed away in her sleep, or did she cry out in the night? An unheeded cry. No matter. Here she was, dead, in the same clothes as those in which she had left prison the day before. He looked closely at the wedding photograph. The only evidence of the existence of a father thirty years ago. How true. He was the image of his father. A handsome, virile-looking man, his tarboosh slightly tilted to the right, enhancing an already impressive figure.
The guests had started to arrive at the neighbors’, the sound of music blending with the chants of the Qur’an in the dead woman’s bedroom.
Where is reality, and where is dream? Your mother, whose last words are still echoing in your ears, now lies dead. Your dead father is seeking resurrection. And you, penniless, persecuted, tarnished with crime and sin, looking for a miracle that will lead you to a life of honor, freedom, and peace of mind.
CHAPTER TWO
Better to let the matter remain secret for the moment. Should he despair of the search, he could seek aid from his acquaintances. He’d start with Alexandria, although it was unlikely that someone like his father would be in Alexandria without his mother’s knowing about it.
The telephone directory for a start. The letter S, Sayed el-Reheimy. Aha…if only luck were on his side. Sayed Sayed el-Reheimy, owner of el-Manshiya bookshop. Very unlikely for a person of his father’s social condition. In any case, el-Manshiya was an area worked by his mother for more than a quarter of a century. Still, this might be a useful clue.
The bookshop owner was a man over fifty, bearing no resemblance to the photograph. Covering his mother’s face, he showed him the picture.
“No, I don’t know this man,” said the bookshop owner.
Saber explained that the photograph was taken thirty years before.
“I don’t remember seeing him.”
“Is he perhaps a relative?”
“We are Alexandrians, and all my relatives live here. Some of my relatives on my mother’s side live in the countryside. Why are you looking for this man?”
He hesitated a moment, then said quickly, “He’s an old friend of my deceased father. Do any of the Reheimys live elsewhere?”
The man looked at him suspiciously and said, “El-Reheimy is my grandfather, and there are only my sister and me.”
There was no other course but to be patient. He had only two hundred pounds, and these were dwindling away with every passing hour. When they were gone, so went the hope of an honorable life. His eyes ached from scrutinizing every passerby. He consulted a lawyer of his acquaintance, who suggested that his father might have an unlisted number. “Ask the local Sheikh el-Hara,”* he suggested.
“My father is an important man,” retorted Saber indignantly.
“Strange things can happen in thirty years. I was going to suggest that you ask about him in the various jails.”
“Jails!”
“Why not? A jail is like a mosque, open to all. Sometimes people go to jail for noble reasons.” With a short laugh, the lawyer continued: “Let’s start with the registry offices, then the jails and the property registrars. If there is no trace there, we have no alternative but to ask the local sheikhs.”
Saber rejected the idea of an advertisement in the paper. This would give his enemies an opportunity to make fun of him. The advertisement would have to wait until he left the city. He made the rounds of the local sheikhs, from one end of Alexandria to the other.
“What does he do?”
“I don’t know anything about him except that he is a well-known personality and of ample means. This is a photograph of him taken thirty years ago.”
“Why are you looking for him?”
“He’s an old friend of my father’s and I’ve been asked to look for him.”
“Are you sure he’s still alive?”
“I’m not sure of anything.”
“How did you know he’s in Alexandria?”
“Only a hunch, nothing more.”
Then the final answer would resound like the clanging of a cell door, “Sorry, we don’t know him.” He did not cease his scrutiny of every passerby, in a continuous whirlpool of searching, without success. The raindrops forced him to retreat from the seashore and move on to Miramar. He looked up to the late afternoon sky with the first shades of darkness gently edging away the remaining daylight. A voice cried out in welcome, “Come.”
He shook hands and sat down.
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