Free Khan Al-Khalili by Naguib Mahfouz Page A

smile.
    “Welcome, Ahmad Effendi!” he shouted in his usual loud voice.
    Ahmad moved over in his direction, with a bashful smile on his face. He held out his hand in greeting, and Nunu grabbed it with his own rough palm.
    “This is our new neighbor, Ahmad Effendi Akif,” he said turning to the assembled group. “He’s a civil servant in the Ministry of Works.”
    Everyone stood up in unison out of kindness and respect, something that made Ahmad even more nervous and shy. He went round shaking hands with everyone and being introduced by Boss Nunu: “Sulayman Bey Ata, primary school inspector; Sayyid Effendi Arif from the Survey Department; Kamal Khalil Effendi, also from the Survey Department; Ahmad Rashid, a lawyer; and Abbas Shifa, an eminence from the provinces.”
    They cleared a space for him and made him feel very welcome. He started to feel more at home and forgot about his shyness and discomfort at coming to the café. Before long he was feeling happily superior to them all, although he managed to keep it well hidden by smiling sweetly and exchanging amiable looks.
    There was not the slightest doubt in his mind that he was superior to these people in every conceivable way. After all, he was from al-Sakakini, and families who lived there were the children of quarters like al-Darrasa and al-Gamaliya. He was an intellectual, with a fully fashioned mind, while these folk had none of that. Indeed, he pictured his presence in their midst as a nice gesture of sympathy, an engaging display of humility on his part. What continued to baffle him was the question as to how he would make these people aware of his importance and introduce them to his sterling intellectual and cultural qualities. How on earth was he going to convince them that he was a person of real significance and earn their respect? Needless to say, as long as this new friendshipdeveloped and they continued to get together, such respect would inevitably follow; so there was no harm in delaying things for a couple of sessions.
    He looked round at the people sitting there and studied them carefully. There was Sulayman Ata the inspector, fifty years old or more—ugly to the point of contempt, small, and with a stoop. His face reminded you of a monkey: sloping forehead, bulging cheeks, round, tiny eyes, wide jaw, and stub nose. Even so, he had none of the deftness and energy of monkeys. He wore a fixed glowering frown as though to reflect his own outrageous ugliness. The best thing about him was his amber rosary; his fingers were incessantly playing with the beads. The amazing thing is that, even though he looked so ugly, it did not provoke any hateful feelings, but rather sheer mockery and sarcasm.
    The person called Sayyid Arif was about the same age, small and thin, with a soft complexion and an innocent look about him. By contrast, Kamal Khalil’s expression exuded an aura of respectability; he was obviously meticulous about his appearance, of average height and somewhat portly. He was the one who gave their new guest the warmest welcome. Ahmad then concentrated his attention on Ahmad Rashid. He discovered him to be a young man in the prime of his youth, with a round face and large head, although the heavily tinted dark glasses he wore almost completely obscured his facial features. Ahmad was particularly interested in this young man because he was a lawyer and thus an educated person. The legal profession had been one of his aspirations when he still had hopes in life but had yet to inure himself to failure. He still hatedlawyers just as much as literature scholars and learned people; his feelings were like those of a man toward one who has married a girl he himself was in love with. For that reason he immediately regarded him as an enemy and made ready to pounce on him at the earliest available opportunity. The other member of the group was Boss Abbas Shifa, a youngish man with a dark complexion whose coarse, ugly features suggested a humble