The Mirage (14 page)

Over and over I said to myself with bitter resolve, “I’ll never go back, I’ll never go back.”

This resolve was the healing balm I needed for the wound I’d received that day. Indeed, I would never go back. They would never lay eyes on me again, and never again would I expose myself to their contemptuous grins. Besides, what was the use of going back to the Faculty of
Law if a lawyer’s life was full of such situations? It would be better to draw the curtain altogether on the era of academics. I’d been a slave to torment long enough. My new resolve comforted me in the face of all the humiliation and embarrassment I’d endured. In fact, it was like a breath of fresh air to my suffocating heart, and it caused me to forget my pain and bitterness. I returned home with nothing on my mind but this same determination.

After lunch, I told my mother and grandfather about the affliction I’d suffered that day.

My voice choked with tears, I said, “This is an unbearable life, and I’ll never go back to the university.”

Shocked by what I’d said, my grandfather rejoined, “Are you really a man? If you’d been born female, you would have made the best of girls! Do you want to quit your education when you’re on the last lap just because you weren’t able to say a couple of words? I swear, if your mother had been in your place, she would have delivered a speech to the people there!”

My mother began clenching her right hand, then releasing it in a kind of spasmodic motion as she said, “They envied him. O Lord, they envied him!”

My grandfather tried to talk me out of my decision, sometimes with gentle persuasion and other times with threats, but desperation had entrenched me in my obstinacy, and I wouldn’t bend. When his patience had run out, he said, “So then, the whole year is a loss. There’s no point in enrolling you in some other faculty when we’re already more than two months into the school year.”

Fearful that I might be cast once again into the educational hellhole, I said, “There’s no use in my going on with my education.”

Interrupting me in a pained voice, my mother cried, “Don’t say that, Kamil! You
will
continue your education, whether in this institution or in another one!”

Clapping his hands together, my grandfather said, “He’s lost his mind. And this is the end of the pampering!”

However, I was like someone defending himself in the face of certain destruction. Knowing I no longer had it in me to cope with lessons, examinations and other students, I cried desperately, “I can’t! I can’t! Have mercy on me!”

A fierce argument then broke out which I handled with a strength I hadn’t known I had in me—a strength derived from fear and despair. Finally my grandfather fell silent, furious and exasperated.

After a period of enervating silence, he asked me, “Do you want to get a job with nothing but a high school diploma?”

“Yes!” I replied, without looking up.

When I stole a glance at him, he was calm, his brow was furrowed, and he was fiddling with his silver mustache. I then looked over at my mother, whose eyes were filled with tears. Even so, I felt certain that my grandfather’s opposition was only half in earnest, and that if he had really wanted to break my resolve, he would have had the last word. The fact was that the matter of our future occupied his thinking a great deal during those days, especially now that he’d entered old age, and he may even have been relieved at the suggestion that he help me find work, since in this way he could set his mind at rest concerning my mother’s fate.

Thus it was that my academic life drew to a close barely two months after I’d enrolled in the Faculty of Law. However, I didn’t find the happiness I’d dreamed of. It’s true, of
course, that not for a moment did I consider going back to the cruel experience of academic life. At the same time, though, I felt an intense need to portray myself as an innocent victim, making up hollow excuses for myself for having withdrawn from the pursuit of knowledge and fled its institutions. Although this attempt of mine succeeded to some extent with others or, at least, with my mother—my true-blue friend for right or wrong—I just barely managed to convince myself. I was filled with a bitterness and discontent that triggered within me a desire to discipline and punish myself. This desire took the form of an offensive launched against myself, and I subjected myself willingly for the first time to an honest confrontation with my faults and shortcomings.

I saw my life as it was: childish, fugitive dreams, timidity and fear that put aspirations to death, and an utter self-centeredness that had doomed me to an isolation devoid of a single friend or companion and to an ignorance of the world and everything in it. There was no time and no place, no politics and no sports. As for the large metropolis in which I’d been born and raised, all I knew of it was a couple of streets, as though I’d been living in a cell in the desert. A heavy pall of gloom settled over me, and I mulled over my grief in a deadly, heartfelt loneliness. However, my mother didn’t abandon me for a single moment of those dark days, nor could she bear to stand opposed to me for long. Hence, it wasn’t long before she abandoned her opposition and came over to my side, pretending to be pleased and content.

One day she said to me consolingly, “The best thing lies in what God has chosen. Do we have the power to do anything for ourselves? Before long you’ll become a responsible
man, and it will be your turn to pamper your mother and repay some of the debt you owe her.”

We spent long hours together in which I basked in her gentle, healing words. It was thanks to her alone that my ordeal passed, my heart was opened anew to life, and I ceased to labor under the weight of scruples, misgivings, and obsessive thoughts.

I
n his efforts to find me a job in the Ministry of War, my grandfather sought the good offices of a high-ranking army officer who had once worked as a petty lieutenant under his command in Sudan. And his efforts were crowned with success. However, the officer informed him that I might be appointed to Salloum. When my grandfather mentioned this, my mother’s face clouded over.

“Salloum!” she cried in horror. “Don’t you know that Kamil wouldn’t be able to live by himself?”

She thought that Salloum was a nearby town like Zagazig, or possibly one as far away as Tanta. When she found out that it was really next to the border with Libya, she let a nervous laugh escape, thinking it was a joke.

“Find a job for him yourself!” shouted my grandfather in frustration. “Or appoint him to work in your lap and give me a break!”

However, continuing to spare no effort on my behalf, he approached old acquaintances of his who had been born in
the nineteenth century and who had worked under his command many years before. They may have been touched by his venerable age and his long, active military career, not to mention the memories he stirred up in them, so they promised to do their best. And sure enough, they found me a job in the warehousing section of the Ministry of War’s general administrative office. The ministry was only three tram stops and a ten-minute walk from our house. Hence, my mother approved and was visibly pleased. The justifications for the appointment were presented, and I was seen by the general medical committee in keeping with routine procedures. In short, I became an employee of the government. The feeling I had as I left home for the ministry for the first time was a complex one: it included an element of pride, as well as a sense of delight over being liberated from slavery to both home and school. At the same time, it wasn’t without an element of anxiety of the sort that would come over me whenever I embarked on some new venture.

My heart aflutter, I proceeded toward the stop where I would see “my beloved,” since as of this auspicious day, our paths had become one, if only for a few stops. Even if the job had involved this alone, it would have provided me with sufficient happiness and well-being. Taking precautions on behalf of my cowardly heart, I stood at the far end of the sidewalk lest I faint from being too close to her. A short while later she came along, striding by with that dignified but lively gait of hers, and my heart received her with a jubilant throb. I kept my gaze lowered, though I was in a state of elation that turned the world around me into a chorus of heavenly praises. The tram arrived and we boarded together. It was the first time we’d been in the same enclosed place together, and the feel of it coursed
through my body like electricity. I wished the tram would keep on going forever without stopping. When I got off, I crossed the street hurriedly to the sidewalk, then looked back at the ladies’ compartment, where I caught a glimpse of her back as she pored over a book she was holding. As the tram began to move again, she suddenly turned and looked behind her, and her eyes fell on me. Then she turned her back to me again. A rush of excitement went through me from head to toe. Frozen in place, my eyes clung to the tram until I could no longer make out any of its features. Then I proceeded on my way, oblivious to everything around me, intoxicated by the glance that heaven had so generously bestowed. Puzzled and amazed, I wondered: Why did she turn around? What would have prompted her to do that? Indeed, what could possibly have prompted her to do so but my spirit’s unspoken invitation? A radio picks up sound over the airwaves even from inside our homes. So what would there be to prevent someone from answering the summons of another spirit charged with amorous affection and desire? Enchanted by the thought, I jubilantly embraced the belief that my spirit had an effect on hers. But, Lord have mercy, how I’d trembled under the impact of that fleeting glance! Do you suppose she recognized me as the young man who had looked at her for a moment at the tram stop three months earlier?

By this time I was approaching the ministry, and I gradually began waking from my reverie. Then, as though I were bidding farewell to this passing moment of ecstasy, I said to myself: I love her! This is love, plain and simple.

Then I exited the world of amorous love to enter the world of government. I introduced myself to the director, who introduced me in turn to my nine office mates. This
was a small number by comparison to the students I’d had to deal with. Besides, they were full-grown men, so I couldn’t possibly expect them to treat me with mockery or disdain. I hoped with all my heart that I was beginning a new, rich life, and since no work had been assigned to me that day, I had some moments in which to dwell on happy thoughts. So I pondered the freedom I’d been looking forward to and which I hoped would rescue me from the prison of home and the slavery I’d known as school, as well as the enchanting look my soul had managed to wrest from the depths of the spirit by dint of its strength and potency.

Embarking on my new life full of hope, I won the first type of friendship I’d ever known in my life, namely, what they term “office friendship.” It’s a kind of compulsory friendship that’s imposed on people by virtue of being coworkers in the same office. I delighted in it at first. After all, for someone like me who’d never had a friend in his entire life, it was the only way I could have responded to being in the midst of nine men who called me by name and who received me and bade me farewell in the friendliest of ways. But alas, my severe shyness stood as an impenetrable barrier between us. Then over time, experience demonstrated to me that it was a species of friendship that isn’t worth grieving over. It starts in the morning with a greeting and pleasantries, but by noon it may have been transmuted into some unpleasant incident that ends with a warning or a punishment. And the worst thing of all was that I had no real work of my own to do. Rather, there wasn’t a single one of them who didn’t assign me to mechanical work that
I would carry out in servile obedience. It wasn’t unusual for them to spend most of the day chattering, smoking, and drinking coffee while I sat bent over a stack of papers in a kind of semi-slavery. Shrewd folks that they were, they’d no doubt picked up on the fact that I was inexperienced and unsure of myself, and they took advantage of my weakness in the worst possible way. So, within a month of the time I’d begun, I’d grown weary of the new life, and I concluded with a certainty that I’d gone from the frying pan into the fire.

To make matters worse, I discovered that my difficulty in keeping my mind on a task hadn’t left me. I made careless errors time and time again, as a result of which I repeatedly became the object of derisive criticisms and warnings from my supervisors. It was as though I were back in school with its students and teachers. The bitterness of my past life returned to haunt me, and I concluded that I’d never know true rest as long as I had to have dealings with a single human being. However, I nursed my wounds in secret, and never once did I rebel openly against anything that made me miserable. Rather, it was my wont always to obey with a bleeding heart filled with pent-up rage.

What made my suffering even more acute was the fact that I could see no way to change my life or any hope, even a distant one, of deliverance. When I was in school, I had sometimes derived the strength to endure my misery from the hope that it would be over some day and I’d become a free, independent man. Now, by contrast, I saw nothing before me but a dreary, harsh future from which the only escape would be death. I realized that relief would elude me for the rest of my life, and that I’d always be afflicted with a secret desire to flee. But where would I flee this
time? The root of my misfortune lay not only in my helplessness in the face of obstacles, but also in my tendency to blow them entirely out of proportion. I’d pitted my mind against my soul in a terrible war of nerves. I’d never accustomed myself to living in reality or bearing up under its difficulties. Consequently, I knew nothing of the philosophy of being content with one’s lot or making light of one’s woes. Nor was I capable of living by the philosophy of power or revolution. Hence, whenever I was presented with something that was unbearable—and life in its entirety was unbearable as far as I was concerned—my sickly imagination would go and make a mountain out of a molehill. I faced difficulties with what appeared on the surface to be patient endurance. In reality, however, I would retreat within myself in a deadly state of misery and anxiety. Consequently, no place I went was without an enemy, whether real or imagined. The students and teachers had been my old enemies, and my fellow employees had become my new ones.