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

youthful vigor. As he got on the trolley he was still thinking about that fatherhood that had never come to pass.
    The powerful impact of those two eyes soon faded, as did his nostalgic enthusiasm for fatherhood. In their place came a vicious and black feeling that beset him every timehe was near a female. And all because his love for women was the forbidden love of a middle-aged man that made him as afraid of them as a shy novice. He hated them all as a desperate old man. Every time he saw a pretty girl, he felt a strong emotional pull, a blend of love, fear, and loathing. His early childhood had had a profound effect on his peculiar instincts in this matter: he had been exposed to a father who dealt with him strictly and a mother who doted on him. The father’s strictness had regarded oppression as a sign of affection, while his mother spoiled him to such a degree that, if she had had her way, he would never have learned to walk in case he fell down. As a result he had grown up with a peculiar mélange of fear and coddling, afraid of his father, people, and the world in general, and escaping from all his fears in the affection of his mother. She had done everything for him, even the things he should have done for himself. As a result he was still a child at the age of forty, afraid of the world, going into despair at the slightest failure, and recoiling immediately from any kind of confrontation. In such cases his only weapons were the ones he had had from the start, tears or self-torture. But by now they were useless. The world did not consist of his loving mother; it didn’t care if he stopped eating, nor would it soften when he started weeping. Quite the opposite, it would turn away in disinterest and leave him to his own devices, sinking still deeper into his isolation and mulling over his own agony. Would his parents have ever imagined, one wonders, that this balding failure of a man was actually a victim of the way they had brought him up?
    But in spite of all that he had left a historical record when it came to matters of the heart.
    The first instance occurred during his first year in secondary school, which only need bother us for what it shows about his particular temperament. At the time he was a well turned-out and attractive young man, traits he may well have inherited from his parents. He managed to attract the attention of a pretty young Jewish girl who was the daughter of his neighbors. There was a time—it would appear—that Ahmad Akif was actually attractive! She used to play on the same street and would watch from her window for him to come home from school. Her pert femininity was abundantly evident to him and distracted him with the fires of love, and yet it was not enough to arouse in him the necessary courage and daring. His heart may have been aflame, but the only thing his timid nerve would allow him to do was to stare at her in silent longing and then retreat exhausted as soon as she stared back at him. Even though he was so bashful, he did manage to share some passionate moments with her, but it was at her instigation. She was a daring coquette; nothing could hold her back. Her brazen behavior managed to overcome his bashfulness. One afternoon she chased after him and caught up. She called out his name, and he turned round, his face pomegranate-red. She gave him a gentle smile, and he responded with an abashed one of his own.
    “Let’s walk down Abbas Street!” she said.
    Without uttering a single word he went with her. They walked side by side as the sun headed toward the horizon. She made a point of sidling up and gently rubbing against him. That made him move away; it was as though he were afraid she might think he was the one taking the initiative, whereas in fact he longed to brush against the personalongside him. She now put his right arm through hers, laughing diffidently as she did so. He looked all around him.
    “Are you scared?” she asked playfully.
    “I’m scared that someone