Khan Al-Khalili by Naguib Mahfouz

who’ll treat you to the very best lies there are!”
    Even though her mention of the word “wife” made him angry, he still managed to laugh. “What a load of unmitigated liars you are!” he repeated.
    “And you men,” she said, giving him a wink, “you never lie, of course!”
    For a moment he said nothing, not because he did not have a response ready, but rather because he was thinking about the various kinds of lies in his own life. “Oh yes,” he replied, “we lie as well, but about more significant things.”
    “Maybe the things we find trivial are important to you men. But do you really regard life, prestige, and respect as trivialities?”
    “Men’s lies are as noble as manhood itself. Where do all you women fit in the context of lies told by merchants, politicians, and men of religion? Men’s lies are the very pivot of the noble life whose effects you can all see on the battlefields of government, parliament, factories, and academic institutes. Indeed, they are the pivot for this dreadful war that has brought us to this strange quarter!”
    He realized that she only understood part of what he was saying, and that made him even happier. Just then he remembered something.
    “Did you have a visit from the wife of Boss Nunu?” he asked.
    “ ‘God damn this world’ you mean? They all told me a lot about him, but he won’t allow his wives to go outside the house or look out of the windows. They may well have to spend year after year cooped up inside the house, happy and content!”
    “It’s fair enough for someone who curses the world not to trust it.”
    “By God, my son, women are just as wronged as the world is. But never mind. Have you heard of someone called Sulayman Ata?”
    “The inspector?”
    “Tawhida Hanem calls him ‘the monkey.’ ”
    “That may well be the first true statement you’ve heard!”
    “She told us with a great chuckle that he’s thinking of getting married.”
    “Which girl would ever consider taking that monkey as a husband?”
    “Untold numbers of women. Money makes up at least half the value of beauty. The girl in question will be the one who manages to track him down and go after him in earnest so she can marry him before he’s fifty-five.”
    “So is it true,” he asked her with a laugh, “that men are finished at that age?”
    “Good heavens, no! But she has no rights to his pension if she marries him after that.”
    “So when she marries him, she’s gambling on the fact that he’s going to die! And who pray is this judicious woman?”
    “Tawhida Hanem told me that it’s the daughter of Yusuf Bahla, the perfumer. Apparently, she’s a genuine beauty, and in two specific ways, natural and artificial!”
    As Ahmad pictured the aged monkey he felt sick. He was shocked that such a man could manage to attract beautiful women whereas he was a total failure at it. After all, hadn’t a woman—who wasn’t even beautiful—rejected his hand with the words, “He’s too old!”? He wanted to picture the beautiful daughter of the perfumer, but instead what came to his mind right out of the blue was thatbeautiful brunette girl with the honey-colored eyes whom he’d met in the hallway.
    “Does the perfumer live in our building?” he asked, his heart in his throat.
    “No,” she replied. “He lives in Bayt al-Qadi.”
    He gave an inner sigh of relief, then wondered to himself which family the lovely girl belonged to. He only just managed to stifle a groan. At that very moment he remembered the eyes of the young boy, Muhammad, and realized that the place where he had seen them before was in those honey-colored eyes in the hallway! That’s what he had been trying so hard to remember. So, the young boy was the girl’s little brother; there could be no doubt about it! His heart gave a flutter, but, now that he had found a release from all his doubt, confusion, and shyness, he also felt a profound sensation of pleasure and relief. So powerful was his joy