satisfaction? Why should hunger stalk him as if it could find no other prey? The world as a whole was happily ignoring him. Spring pulsed through the green boughs and crimson blossoms, flew high with the sparrows and larger birds, and danced on the red lips that were busy speaking to his right and left. The entire world was happy and blissful. Faces beamed. The Orman Gardens were a collage of human, animal, and plant delights. The earth itself and the sky were enveloped by a silent rapture surpassing any words. Would he starve to death in such a world? The question seemed bizarrely eccentric to him. He laughed mockingly, sarcastically, defiantly. He asked rebelliously, “Should I die of hunger? May rain never fall. May rain never fall.” How could he starve to death while rejecting conscience, chastity, religion, patriotism, and virtue too? Had anyone who was really depraved gone hungry in this world? No, weren’t theyaccused instead of appropriating all the good things in life? Why shouldn’t he print a classified ad in
al-Ahram
saying, “Young man of twenty-four with university degree, ready to undertake any job no matter how depraved. With a clear conscience, he will sully his honor, chastity, and conscience in exchange for seeing his ambitions satisfied.” Wouldn’t prominent figures fight for his services? But who would publish such an announcement for him? Who would take him by the hand? It was no use running to his former classmates, his professors, or to Hamdis Bey. There was only one person left, and that was Salim al-Ikhshidi, who was neither chivalrous nor benevolent. But who else was there?
19
H e thought it best to visit al-Ikhshidi at home, because his office at the ministry did not offer a calm enough environment. So he went to al-Munira, where the gentleman occupied an apartment on al-Sayyid al-Mifdal Street, choosing Friday morning to assure he would be home. The gent, who lived alone in Cairo, cared for by a cook, received him in a small but elegant parlor. The host intuitively grasped the motive for the call but nonchalantly allowed his visitor to make his request.
Mahgub said, “I apologize for coming to your home, but I know your work in the ministry does not allow you to hear private concerns.”
Al-Ikhshidi replied coldly, “I actually work all the time except for a brief period on Friday.”
Mahgub grasped the veiled criticism but with customary boldness chose to ignore it, saying, “I’ve been awarded my degree.”
Al-Ikhshidi smiled in languid encouragement and mumbled, “Congratulations.”
The young man thanked him enthusiastically and continued, “Salim Bey, you are a former neighbor and classmate, our guide in both learning and patriotism. So long as I live I’ll never forget that you saved my life and my future by introducing me to the editor at
The Star.
That’s why I’ve come to you with a big request. Your Excellency, a degree without a patron is less valuable than wrapping paper. Could you possibly direct me toward some position?”
Al-Ikhshidi listened impassively, since he was used to hearing impassioned speeches like this. He despised the young man and scorned his poverty and need. He did not feel much like helping him. There were two vacant positions at the ministry, but he had promised one to an individual and had received a magnificent present with reference to the other. Mahgub might come in handy some day, but a quick fix was preferable to one long-delayed. Mahgub began to gaze at him with eyes full of fear and hope. He sensed that he was at the mercy of an egoist. Receiving no response, he said touchingly, “I’ve taken too much of your time.”
Then al-Ikhshidi lit a cigarette and nodded his head as if he were sorry, even though his eyes remained expressionless. He observed calmly, “We have no positions vacant at the moment.”
Despair swept over the face of the young man, who asked, “Is there any hope?”
“There’s no need for total despair. We
al-Ahram
saying, “Young man of twenty-four with university degree, ready to undertake any job no matter how depraved. With a clear conscience, he will sully his honor, chastity, and conscience in exchange for seeing his ambitions satisfied.” Wouldn’t prominent figures fight for his services? But who would publish such an announcement for him? Who would take him by the hand? It was no use running to his former classmates, his professors, or to Hamdis Bey. There was only one person left, and that was Salim al-Ikhshidi, who was neither chivalrous nor benevolent. But who else was there?
19
H e thought it best to visit al-Ikhshidi at home, because his office at the ministry did not offer a calm enough environment. So he went to al-Munira, where the gentleman occupied an apartment on al-Sayyid al-Mifdal Street, choosing Friday morning to assure he would be home. The gent, who lived alone in Cairo, cared for by a cook, received him in a small but elegant parlor. The host intuitively grasped the motive for the call but nonchalantly allowed his visitor to make his request.
Mahgub said, “I apologize for coming to your home, but I know your work in the ministry does not allow you to hear private concerns.”
Al-Ikhshidi replied coldly, “I actually work all the time except for a brief period on Friday.”
Mahgub grasped the veiled criticism but with customary boldness chose to ignore it, saying, “I’ve been awarded my degree.”
Al-Ikhshidi smiled in languid encouragement and mumbled, “Congratulations.”
The young man thanked him enthusiastically and continued, “Salim Bey, you are a former neighbor and classmate, our guide in both learning and patriotism. So long as I live I’ll never forget that you saved my life and my future by introducing me to the editor at
The Star.
That’s why I’ve come to you with a big request. Your Excellency, a degree without a patron is less valuable than wrapping paper. Could you possibly direct me toward some position?”
Al-Ikhshidi listened impassively, since he was used to hearing impassioned speeches like this. He despised the young man and scorned his poverty and need. He did not feel much like helping him. There were two vacant positions at the ministry, but he had promised one to an individual and had received a magnificent present with reference to the other. Mahgub might come in handy some day, but a quick fix was preferable to one long-delayed. Mahgub began to gaze at him with eyes full of fear and hope. He sensed that he was at the mercy of an egoist. Receiving no response, he said touchingly, “I’ve taken too much of your time.”
Then al-Ikhshidi lit a cigarette and nodded his head as if he were sorry, even though his eyes remained expressionless. He observed calmly, “We have no positions vacant at the moment.”
Despair swept over the face of the young man, who asked, “Is there any hope?”
“There’s no need for total despair. We
Similar Books
