Free Karnak Café by Naguib Mahfouz Page A

nothing. “Don’t you realize,” he eventually went on, “that there’s nothing between us any more? All we have left are memories of an old friendship.”
    Needless to say, I was anticipating such a response, or something like it, since it corroborated all my own observations and deductions. Even so, I was astonished to hear him describe it that way. “Did it happen suddenly?” I asked.
    â€œNo, it didn’t,” he replied. “But it’s difficult to hide a corpse’s stench, even when you’ve buried it. There came the point, especially after we’d both graduated, when we had to think about getting married. I discussed it with her, keeping all my suppressed and bitter feelings to myself. For her part, she neither refused nor consented; better put, she wasn’t enthusiastic. I couldn’t fathom the reason why, but I had to accept the situation the way it was. After that, we only broached the topic on rare occasions and no longer felt the need to spend all our time together as we’d done in the past. We used to sit in Karnak Café acting like colleagues, not lovers. I can clearly remember that signs of this situation began to show themselves after our second term in prison, but they began to assume major proportions after the third. It was then that our personal relationship started to flag. It kept gradually falling apart until it died completely.”
    â€œSo it’s over then?”
    â€œI don’t think so.…”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œWe’re both sick. At least I am, and I know the reason why. She’s sick too. One day our love may be revived; otherwise it’ll die for good. At any rate, we’re still waiting, and that doesn’t bother either of us.”
    So they’re both waiting. But then, who isn’t?

Zaynab Diyab

    Z aynab was both vivacious and pleasant, a combination that drew me to her from the first. She had a wonderful wine-dark complexion, and her figure had bloomed sweetly and with a certain abandon; she looked both svelte and trim. She seemed well aware that I admired her fascinating personality; in fact that was what allowed us to get to know each other well and eventually to develop a really strong sense of friendship.
    She had grown up in the same surroundings as Isma‘il; in the very same building, in fact.
    Her father was a butcher, and her mother started out as a washerwoman before becoming a broker after a good deal of effort. She had a brother, who worked as a plumber, and two married sisters. As a result of her mother’s second job the family could afford some of life’s necessities; for Zaynab she was able to provide the bare minimum of clothing she needed. They were not prepared for the way Zaynab excelled in her school work, and it caused both surprise and problems. They could see no harm in allowing her to continue playing this game with education until some nice young man came along. That was why her mother did not welcome Isma‘il al-Shaykh at first. She thought he was a layabout and a distinct roadblock to the future progress of any prettyyoung girl. Truth to tell, Zaynab’s mother was the real power in the household. Her father worked hard all day for a few piasters and then proceeded to squander it all at the beer parlor. The standard result was a fierce family quarrel. The amazing thing was that her dissolute father was actually very good-looking; his austere face may have had hair sprouting from it and a mass of wrinkles to go with it, but his features were very handsome. It was from him that Zaynab had inherited her looks. Meanwhile, her virago of a mother was just as tough as any man.
    The long-anticipated crisis had finally arrived when Zaynab was in secondary school. A chicken seller who was considered to be wealthy in the terms of this poor quarter came to ask for her hand. He was forty years old and a widower with three daughters. Zaynab’s mother