and walked on, thinking about my mind and the strange ways in which it was working.
#
Sixty times a quarter of a pound equals fifteen. I made twelve. I thought of giving the driver five pounds, because I figured that any money that he got would implacate him in the act, but then I gave him three, and smiled at the slyness with which I was suddenly acting.
I crossed Chamber of Commerce Street, and entered Sa’ad Zaghlul Street. I glanced to my left and saw people sitting outside the Brazilian coffee store drinking coffee. The girls’ skirts were so tight that they revealed the elastic of their panties digging into their firm flesh, and their bras showed through their light shirts.
“Cappuccino,” I said to the man behind the espresso machine, who then looked up at me. Is there anything wrong? Is it because I am tall? Because I have come into the store alone? There were young couples sitting and whispering in every corner of the store. Standing alone among them, I discovered that I could not look around. It would be an invasion of their privacy, and would oblige people to raise their eyes quite high to look back at me.
“Pardon!” said a girl who almost bumped into me as she hurried into the store. Then she took a step backward, and nearly fell down the steps at the entrance. I held her arm, and felt my fingers press into her soft flesh. The smell of her perfume invaded and shattered me. It seemed as if my clothes fluttered and my nose widened at the invasion. I bought a news-paper from a nearby newsstand, and walked away with the sensation of her cool skin still on my fingers. I didn’t care what the man behind the espresso machine said when I left before he had finished fixing my coffee.
#
On Safiyya Zaghlul Street, I realized that my feet alone were deciding my route. I love this street, and no one has ever liked the Alhambra Cinema as much as I used to. It used to open early in the day, so students always slipped in. It’s probably the same now. We used to wait for a full hour before the movie started. The washed floors had a familiar smell, the faint lamps were spread far apart on both sides of the theater, and there was the distinct light of the bathroom. There was a spontaneous seating arrangement, as if whole schools had come into the theater and not just individual students. And there were the exchanges of insults:
“The School of Commerce at Muharram Bey salutes the Crafts School. May God provide! May God provide! Seven crafts in hand, but it’s luck we demand. Tra la la la.” “Alexandria School of Crafts salutes Abbasiah High. Rain falls from the sky, out of water fish die!” “Abbasiah High salutes the School of Commerce. Spiro Spatis betrayed the nation. Spiro Spatis betrayed the nation. . . ” Meanwhile, the light of the bathroom remained distinctly visible.
It was quite a while before the show started. Then came the famous song: “My beloved nation, my grand nation, day after day its glories increase and its life fills with victories. My nation is growing and becoming liberated. My nation. My nation.” Everyone sang along. Then came the cheer: “Long live the good-for-nothing generation!”
As the movie started, so did the whistling, while the light of the bathroom remained distinctively visible. The steam engine runs between Marilyn Monroe’s thighs, Jack Lemmon lets his boss use his apartment so that he can bring Shirley
MacLaine to it. Raf Vallone rapes Sophia Loren at the coal store. Gina Lollobrigida jumps into the circus ring with Tony Curtis. Burt Lancaster smiles idiotically at Gary Cooper. Kirk Douglas sadly touches the belly of Jean Simmons, who is pregnant with his son, the son of Spartacus. Jacques Sernas kidnaps Rossana Podesta, and starts the Trojan War. Steve Reeves plucks out a tree and throws it in front of the cart whose horses have bolted. A strange man sitting next to me says that he knew this Hercules personally before he got into the movies. The door to the bathroom opens every minute, and while my face remains turned towards the screen, my animal calls for that door. When I feel its heat on my thighs, I spread my legs a little, and then I get up. I am not the only one spilling himself on the bathroom floor. It’s very crowded, and each person is looking intently at the floor to hide the well-known secret. All I see are bushy heads of hair. . . .
Why do I remember all these useless details now? It’s all over, and it wasn’t even a conscious decision on my part. I don’t go to the movies or think about my animal anymore. Is it possible that I have forgotten about it? Well, it shouldn’t distract me now. I should only look ahead.
The street was as clean as it always is. It gave me the familiar feeling that it was mine, that I was the one who designed it and designated its beginning and end. Here was the usual morning breeze blowing gently with the taste of fresh spring water. The noon sun shed only its brightest and most tender rays. It seemed as if it had been years since I last walked down this street. Why am I suddenly realizing all of this?
I thought of throwing the newspaper in the nearest trash can so I could be alone. I was busy catching the breeze, which was scented with women’s perfumes. My eyes raced with the sun’s rays over their brilliant legs. I didn’t want to sit in the spacious and loud billiard hall. Hani always won there. I had run into him three years ago near the telephone office. He was laughing constantly, as he usually was. How can a sergeant in the army laugh so hard in a public square? But I was glad. He didn’t ignore me. I asked him if Rashid still knew all of ‘Abd al-Halim’s songs by heart. He said that Rashid had finished medical school, and joined the army, and that he didn’t see him anymore. The army is a big place. . . He also said that no one left the army these days.
“Haven’t you been drafted by the army?” he asked.
“I am an only son, as you know,” I answered.
“So you are responsible for the home front,” he said, and giggled freely. Then he told me that it had been a long time since he came to this place at Raml Station, and that he was there to call his fiancée in Cairo. Then he left.
#
“Breaded scallopini,” I said.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have that today,” said the handsome black waiter. I didn’t know what else to order, and I hadn’t realized there was a menu on the table. At Elite, there are always couples on dates, and you can always hear them kissing. Hani used to tell us amazing stories. He said that he joined the military academy to get the most girls to fall in love with him. What brought me to Elite just now?
I had stopped in front of Rialto Cinema, enchanted by the pictures hanging outside the box office. The Jane Mansfield picture was still at the center, her big bosom almost ready to jump into my hands. But I have stopped collecting her postcard photographs to take into the bathroom with me at home. I have stopped buying postcard photographs altogether, and the factories have also stopped producing bars of soap with pictures of nude women on their wrappers. It must have been a government decision. It must also have been the government who changed the kinds and brands of soap. It didn’t know that I had already, without any conscious decision, quit my bad habit.
I hadn’t thrown away the newspaper yet. I let it fall out of my hand. Then I saw a young couple looking at the pictures while holding hands. They were glancing at me, then whispering to each other and smiling. I bent down to pick up the newspaper, and felt a pain in my stomach, so I crossed the street and went into Elite.
“Why is there no scallopini?”
“There are no eggs. We ran out unexpectedly.”
“Shrimp then. Large grilled shrimp, and beer.”
I wasn’t going to retreat. At the tables, young men sat with women ripe with both femininity and happiness, and the music was what you could call dreamy. Why this silence following my entry? The atmosphere may be sweet but it also invites sleep. With no kisses or whispers around me, I lit a cigarette, found the menu on the table, and started reading it. Will there be more orders to take the workers out to greet the President? He always visits Alexandria on the twenty-sixth of July. He practically moves his headquarters to Alexandria during the summer now. My fortune, therefore, lies with those who will visit the President during the summer. But. . . Oh God! The relationship between Egypt and Syria has been strained, between Egypt and Libya, between Egypt and the Soviet Union, between Egypt and the Palestinians. That’s four leaders