Karnak Café Read Online Free Page A

capital he’s after,” she replied sarcastically. “He wants the woman who owns it as well!”
    â€œNot so,” insisted Zayn al-‘Abidin. “My proposal only involves the business itself. Matters of the heart rest in the hands of God Almighty.”
    She stopped arguing with him. It seemed as though she was totally consumed by her infatuation. Every time I watched her playing the role of the blind lover, I felt a tender sympathy for her plight. I had no doubt in my mind that that boy loved her in an adolescent kind of way; for her part she certainly knew how to attract him and keep him happy, while he was able to enjoy her affection to the full. But how long would it last? On that particular score she used to share some of her misgivings with me, but at the same time she felt able to tell me with complete confidence that he certainly wasn’t a gigolo.
    â€œHe’s as decent as he is intelligent. He’s not the sort to sell himself.”
    I had no reason to doubt her word. The boy’s appearance and the way he talked both tended to confirm her opinion, although once in a while his expression would turn cryptic and even violent. But speculation of this kind was essentially pointless when one was faced with the incontrovertible fact that Qurunfula was well into the autumn of her years; at this stage in her life, money and fidelity were the only things she could now offer from among the many forms of enticement she had previously had at her disposal.
    One time Zayn al-‘Abidin had a word in my ear. “Don’t be fooled by his appearance,” he said.
    I immediately realized he was talking about Hilmi Hamada. “What do you know about him?” I asked.
    â€œLook, he’s either a world-class schmoozer or a complete and utter phony!” For a few moments he said nothing, then went on, “I’m pretty sure he’s in love with Zaynab Diyab. Any day now he’s going to grab her away from Isma‘il al-Shaykh.”
    I was troubled by his comments; not because I thought he was lying, but rather because they tended to confirm what I had recently been noticing myself, the way Hilmi and Zaynab kept on chatting to each other in a certain way. I had frequently asked myself whether it was just a case of close friendship or something more than that.
    My friendship with Qurunfula was now on a firm enough footing for me to summon up the necessary courage to ask her a crucial question. “You’ve had a lot of experience in matters of life and love, haven’t you?
    â€œNo one can have any doubts on that score,” she responded proudly.
    â€œAnd yet …,” I whispered.
    â€œAnd yet what?”
    â€œDo you think your love affair is going to have a happy ending?”
    â€œWhen you’re really and truly in love,” she insisted, “it’s that very feeling that allows you to forget all about such things as wisdom, foresight, and honor.”
    And that forced me to conclude that there is never any point in discussing love affairs with their participants.

    And then the young folk disappeared again. As with the first time, it all happened suddenly and with no warning whatsoever.
    This time, however, none of us needed to go through tortures of doubt or ask probing questions. Nevertheless we were all scared and disillusioned.
    Qurunfula staggered under the weight of this new blow. “I never in my life imagined,” she said, “that I’d have to go through it all again.” That said, the sheer agony of the whole thing drove her upstairs to her apartment.
    Once she had left, it was easier for the rest of us to talk.
    â€œI may be totally innocent and old,” said Taha al-Gharib, “but now even I’m starting to worry about myself.”
    Rashad Magdi’s expression was totally glum. “Listen,” he said with a jeer, “the leaders of the ‘Urabi Revolt in 1882 may have had some doubts