Arabian Nights and Days by Naguib Mahfouz

Author:Naguib Mahfouz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2016-06-15T04:00:00+00:00

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The green tongue stretching out into the middle of the river was like a narrow island, with no light but the faint glow of the stars. Not far away stood the dark form of the date palm, its base the home of the madman. They had to lay down rugs, make ready a cloth with food, and light a fire for grilling. Unfortunately, a specter forced its way in among them, volunteering to serve them, saying, “The attendant of the gentlemen!”

The voice won no encouragement and Galil al-Bazzaz called out, “Ugr! What a disagreeable hanger-on you are!”

He said resolutely, his hands never ceasing to work, “A hanger-on, yes, but I’m not disagreeable. How can a party like this be right without a servant?”

“On condition you close your mouth with glue!” threatened Hasan.

“I shall not open it unless urged to.”

The voice of Shamloul the hunchback was raised, as high-pitched as that of a child, saying, “How can a tramp like you thrust yourself among important people!”

Though he felt enraged, Ugr nonetheless immersed himself in his work, putting the bottles and glasses in place and beginning to light the fire. They all set about drinking. Shamloul took up a lute, which was almost as big as himself, and began softly humming in a voice that merely provoked laughter. Despite his diminutive size, his heart seethed with a basic pride.

Following the first glass to find its way into Ugr’s stomach, he forgot his pledge and asked, “Have you heard the latest anecdote about Husam al-Fiqi, secretary to the governor, Yusuf al-Tahir?”

“We don’t want to hear it, so shut your mouth,” Hasan al-Attar shouted at him.

While they were drinking, an unseen voice came to them, murmuring, “The One,” and all heads turned toward the shadow of the date palm.

“It’s the madman,” said Fadil.

“Didn’t he find any place other than that to spoil the green tongue for its visitors?” questioned Galil.

“He claims he’s your father-in-law, Gamasa al-Bulti,” said Hasan al-Attar, addressing Fadil.

“That’s what he claims, but Gamasa’s hanging head says otherwise.”

“Everything is possible in this crazy city,” said Shamloul the hunchback.

At which Ugr the barber said, “If you want the truth…”

“We don’t want the truth and we don’t like it,” Galil interrupted him.

“Don’t remind us of death,” called out Shamloul. “That’s what the sultan has ordered.”

“How do you spend the evenings with the sultan, Shamloul?” asked Galil.

“I am not one to give away secrets, you most despicable fellow!” said Shamloul haughtily.

They all laughed, with the exception of Hasan al-Attar, whose drunkenness exploded into anger. “You vermin!” he shouted at him.

The hunchback was enraged and threw down the lute and jumped to his feet. All of a sudden he was urinating over the cloth with the food and drink. They were speechless as they realized that their evening had been ruined. Drink roused their anger, which they vented on the hunchback.

Fadil sprang at him and pushed him onto his back, then took him up by his two small feet and went with him to the edge

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