Khan Al-Khalili by Naguib Mahfouz Read Free Book Online Page A

his parents had moved south. The best solution would have been to live in a pension. Truth to tell, he would have welcomed the idea, because, although he wasn’t aware of it himself, he relished change. How could it be otherwise when he was still a bachelor, someone who had spent forty years living in a single house and enduring a routine that never changed from one day or year to the next and left him with a devastating sense of isolation? However inured he was to such an existence, something deep inside him was bound to push him toward change, even if he himself was not aware of it; it would need to be a complete change at that.
    On this occasion, however, he did not completely surrender to his thoughts because a strange smell managed to bring his dreams to a grinding halt; it penetrated his nostrils as though carried by some previously dormant breeze. What made him aware of it was that he had never smelled anything like it before. He could not describe it: neither sweet-smelling nor foul, yet pleasant. There was a serenityand depth about it, allowing it to penetrate to the very core of his senses. For a while it would disappear, only to come back again. Were people really burning incense at this hour of the night? Or was it that this strange new quarter possessed its own particular scents that hovered over the depths of the night’s silence?
    All this made him forget his previous thoughts. Without even being aware of it he started to doze off and, before very long, slumber invaded his eyelids and closed them tight.

4
    N ext morning at seven o’clock he was seated at the table eating his breakfast. It normally consisted of a cup of coffee, a cigarette, and some bread along with a few pieces of cheese and some olives. Leaving the apartment, he went out into the hall. Before he reached the stairs, he heard the soft sound of feet behind him. Looking round he saw a young girl wearing a blue school-jumper with a satchel of books under her arm. For a fleeting second their eyes met, then he looked away feeling all confused, something that always happened whenever he looked at a female. He could not decide whether it was more polite to go ahead of her or to let her pass. That made him even more confused than before, and he blushed. So here was the philosopher of the Archives Department in the Ministry of Works acting just like an immature teenager falling over himself out of sheer embarrassment. The girl looked surprised and stopped where she was, while the extent of his confusion conveyed itself to her. The only thing he could do was to stand to one side.
    “After you, Miss,” he whispered in a barely audible voice.
    The girl went on down the stairs, while he was left to follow her, wondering whether he had done the right thing or not. What impression did she get from his hesitation and confusion? When he reached the building’s main door, his thoughts were rudely interrupted by a loud voice shouting, “Damn the world!” Looking to his left he saw Nunu opening his store, just as he had suspected. He relaxed a bit and gave a smile, before muttering, “O God, Opener, All-Knowing!” With that he went on his way, with the girl just a short distance ahead of him. When she reached the New Road, she branched off to the left toward al-Darrasa, while he made his way to the trolley stop.
    All he had seen of her was her eyes. Once he had realized she was there, he had been looking straight at them. They were large and limpid, with honey-colored irises; her lashes were so long that they looked as though she had used kohl. They managed to suggest both softness and attraction and made their way straight into his affections. The girl was obviously only just approaching the age of maturity; she could not be more than sixteen. He, on the other hand, was forty; over twenty years between them! If he had married at the age of twenty-four—that being the sensible age at which to marry—he might well be father to a young girl of her age and