1962 / NAGUIB MAHFOUZ

In the initial stage of his search, the protagonist is coldly received by a lawyer and Zaabalawi1
a district officer, former acquaintances of Zaabalawi who have become worldly, mate-
rialistic, and highly successful, Moreover, these bureaucrats who depend on reason Finally I became convinced that I had to find Sheikh2 Zaabalawi.
technology, and businesslike efficiency can do no more than send him to old addresses
The first time I had heard of his name had been in a song:
or draw him city maps. Zaabalawi is still alive, they say, but he is unpredictable and
hard to find now that he no longer inhabits his old home — a now-dilapidated mansion Oh what's become of the world, Zaabalawi? .. ->
in front of which an old bookseller sells used books on mysticism and theology. In They've turned it upside down and taken away its taste.
contrast, the calligrapher and composer to whom the narrator next turns welcome
him as a person. Indeed, the composer reproves him for thinking only of his errand It had been a popular song in my childhood, and one day it had occurred
and overlooking the value of getting to know another human being. The relationship to me to demand of my father, in the way children have of asking endless
among art, human sympathy, and spiritual values is made clear, for Zaabalawi is close
to both artists and has provided inspiration for their best works. In the last scene, at questions;
the Negma Bar, Mahfouz fuses the realistic description of a hardened drinker with a "Who is Zaabalawi"?"
dream-vision of another, peaceful world. At this stage of the quest, the narrator is He had looked at me hesitantly as though doubting my ability to under-
not even allowed to state his errand but must place himself on a level with his drunken stand the answer. However, he had replied, "May his blessing descend upon
host before being allowed to speak. When he does sink into oblivion (in stages that you, he's a true saint of God, a remover of worries and troubles. Were it not
suggest a mystic stripping- away of rational faculties), he is rewarded in his dreams by for him I would have died miserably—"
a glimpse of paradise and wakes to find that Zaabalawi has been beside him as he In the years that followed, I heard my father many a time sing the praises
slept. Zaabalawi ends as it began — "'I have to find Zaabalawi" — but the seeker is now of this good saint and speak of the miracles he performed. The days passed
more confident, and the route more clearly marked. and brought with them many illnesses, for each one of which I was able,
Roger M. A, Allen, The Arabic Novel: An Historical and Critical Introduction
without too much trouble and at a cost I could afford, to find a cure, until I
(1982), is an authoritative introduction that situates Mahfouz in the context of mod-
became afflicted with that illness for which no one possesses a remedy. When
ern Arabic literature and includes a bibliography of works in Arabic and Western
I bad tried everything in vain and was overcome by despair, I remembered
languages. The author's own perspective is given in •Najib Mahfuz, Echoes of an Auto-
biography (1997), trans. Denys Johnson-Davies. Sasson Somekh, "Za'balawi" — by chance what I had heard in my childhood; Why, I asked myself, should I
Author, Therne and Technique" in Journal of Arabic Literature (1970), examines the not seek out Sheikh Zaabalawi? I recollected my father saying that he bad
story as a "double-layered" structure governed by references to Sufi mysticism. made his acquaintance in Khan Gaafar 3 at the house of Sheikh Qamar, one
Michael Beard and Adnan Haydar, eds., Naguib Mahfouz: From Regional Fame to of those sheikhs who practiced law in the religious courts, and so I took
Global Recognition (1993). assembles eleven original essays on themes, individual myself off to bis house. Wishing to make sure that he was still living there,
works, and cultural contexts in Mahfouz's work. Trevor le Gassick, ed., Critical Per- I made inquiries of a vendor of beans whom I found in the lower part of the
spectives On Naguih Mahfouz (1991), reprints articles on Mahfouz's work up to the
1970s. Rasheed El-Enany, ed., Naguib Mahfouz: The Pursuit of Meaning (1993), is house.
"Sheikh Qamar!" he said, looking at me in amazement, '"He left the quarter
an excellent study that includes biography, analyses of novels, short stories, and plays
ages ago, They say he's now living in Garden City and has his office in al-
and a guide for further reading. Comparative studies include Mona Mikhail, Studies
in the Short Fiction of Mahfouz and Idris (1992), an introductory work juxtaposing Azhar Square."4
themes in Hemingway, Idris, Mahfouz, and Camus; and Samia Mehrez, Egyptian I looked up the office address in the telephone book and immediately set
Writers between History and Fiction: Essays on Naguib Mahfouz, Sonallah Ibrahim, off to the Chamber of Commerce Building, where it was located. On asking
to see Sheikh Qamar, I was ushered into a room just as a beautiful woman
and Ga-mal al-Ghitani (1994).
with a most intoxicating perfume was leaving it. The man received me with
PRONOUNCING GLOSSARY a smile and motioned rne toward a fine leather-upholstered chair. Despite
The following list uses common English syllables and stress accents to provide rough equiv- i the thick soles of my shoes, my feet were conscious of the lushness of the
alents of selected words whose pronunciation may be unfamiliar to the general reader. i costly carpet. The man wore a lounge suit and was smoking a cigar; his
Wanas al-Darnanhouri: wan'-nas ctd- manner of sitting was that of someone well satisfied both with himself and
Hassanein: hassan-ayn'
with his worldly possessions. The look of warm welcome he gave me left no
Naguib Mahfouz: nah-geeb' mah-fooz' dam-an~oo' -ree
doubt in my mind that he thought me a prospective client, and I felt acutely
Zaabalawi: zah-bah-lah' -wee
Qamar: qa-mar' embarrassed at encroaching upon his valuable time.
Umm al-Ghulam: oum al-ghol-atn' "Welcome!" he said, prompting me to speak.
"1 am the son of your old friend Sheikh All al-Tatawi," I answered so as to
put an end to my equivocal position.

!• Translated by Denys Johnson-Davies. 2. A title of respect (originally "old man"), often indicating
tulership. 3. Gaafar Market, an area of shops, 4. An area of Cairo close to the famous mosque and
university of ai-Azhar.
 ZAABALAWI /
A certain languor was apparent in the glance he cast at me; the languor tained a desk and a telephone, and I found him sitting at his desk, wearing
was not total in that he had not as yet lost all hope in me.
a jacket over his striped galabeya.s As he did not interrupt his conversation
"God rest his soul," he said. "He was a fine man."
with a man sitting beside him, I stood waiting till the man had gone. The
The very pain that had driven me to go there now prevailed upon me to sheikh then looked up at me coldly. I told myself that I should win him over
stay.
by the usual methods, and it was not long before I had him cheerfully inviting
"He told me," I continued, "of a devout saint named Zaabalawi whom he
me to sit down.
met at Your Honor's. I am in need of him, sir, if he be still in the [and of the "I'm in need of Sheikh Zaabalawi," I answered his inquir}' as to the purpose
living."
of my visit.
The languor became firmly entrenched in his eyes, and it would have come He gazed at me with the same astonishment as that shown by those I had
as no surprise if he had shown the door to both me and my father's memory. previously encountered.
"That," he said in the tone of one who has made up his mind to terminate "At least," he said, giving me a smile that revealed his gold teeth, "he is
the conversation, "was a very long time ago and I scarcely recall him now." still alive. The devil of it is, though, he has no fixed abode. You might well
Rising to my feet so as to put his mind at rest regarding my intention of bump into him as you go out of here, on the other hand you might spend
going, I asked, "Was he really a saint?"
days and months in fruitless searching."
"We used to regard him as a man of miracles."
"Even you can't find him!"
"And where could I find him today?" I asked, making another move toward "Even I! He's a baffling man, but I thank the Lord that he's still alive!"
the door.
He gazed at rne intently, and murmured, "It seems your condition is
"To the best of my knowledge he was living in the Birgawi Residence in serious."
al-Azhar," and he applied himself to some papers on his desk with a resolute 'Very."
movement that indicated he would not open his mouth again. I bowed my "May God come to your aid! But why don't you go about it systematically1?"
head in thanks, apologized several times for disturbing him, and left the He spread out a sheet of paper on the desk and drew on it with unexpected
office, my head so buzzing with embarrassment that I was oblivious to all speed and skill until he had made a full plan of the district, showing all the
sounds around me.
various quarters, lanes, alleyways, and squares. He looked at it admiringly
I went to the Birgawi Residence, which was situated in a thickly populated and said, "These are dwelling-houses, here is the Quarter of the Perfumers,
quarter. I found that time had so eaten at the building that nothing was left here the Quarter of the Coppersmiths, the Mouski,6 the police and fire sta-
of it save an antiquated facade and a courtyard that, despite being supposedly tions. The drawing is your best guide. Look carefully in the cafes, the places
in the charge of a caretaker, was being used as a rubbish dump. A small, where the dervishes perform their rites, the mosques and prayer-rooms, and
insignificant fellow, a mere prologue to a man, was using the covered the Green Gate, 7 for he may well be concealed among the beggars and be
entrance as a place for the sale of old books on theology and mysticism. indistinguishable from them. Actually, I myself haven't seen him for years,
When I asked him about Zaabalawi, he peered at me through narrow, having been somewhat preoccupied with the cares of the world, and was only
inflamed eyes and said in amazement, "Zaabalawi! Good heavens, what a brought back by your inquiry to those most exquisite times of my youth." .
time ago that was! Certainly he used to live in this house when it was hab- I gazed at the map in bewilderment. The telephone rang, and he took up
itable. Many were the times he would sit with me talking of bygone days,
the receiver.
and I would be blessed by his holy presence, Where, though, is Zaabalawi "Take it," he told me, generously, "W;e're at your service."
today?"
Folding up the map, I left and wandered off through the quarter, from
He shrugged his shoulders sorrowfully and soon left me, to attend to an square to street to alleyway, making inquiries of everyone 1 felt was familiar
approaching customer. I proceeded to make inquiries of many shopkeepers with the place. At last the owner of a small establishment for ironing clothes
in the district. While I found that a large number of them had never even told me, "Go to the calligrapher8 Hassanein in Umm al-Ghulam—they were
heard of ZaabaJawi, sorne, though recalling nostalgically the pleasant times
friends."
they had spent with him, were ignorant of his present whereabouts, while I went to Umm al-Ghulam, 9 where I found old Hassanein working in a
others openly made fun of him, labeled him a charlatan, and advised me to deep, narrow shop full of signboards and jars of color. A strange smell, a
put myself in the hands of a doctor—as though I had not already done so. I mixture of glue and perfume, permeated its every corner. Old Hassanein was
therefore had no alternative but to return disconsolately home. squatting on a sheepskin rug in front of a board propped against the wall; in
With the passing of days like motes in the air, my pains grew so severe the middle of it he had inscribed the word "Allah"1 in silver lettering. He was
that I was sure I would not be able to hold out much longer. Once again I engrossed in embellishing the letters with prodigious care. I stood behind
fell to wondering about Zaabalawi and clutching at the hope his venerable
name stirred within me. Then it occurred to me to seek the help of the loca 5. The traditional Arabic robe, over which this modernized district officer wears a European jacket.
sheikh of the district; i n fact, I was surprised I had not thought of this tc 6. The central bazaar. 7. A medieval gate in Cairo. . 8. One who practices the art of decorative
lettering (literally "beautiful witing"), which is respected as a fine art in Arabic and Asian cultures. 9. A
begin with. His office was in the nature of a small shop, except that it con- streel in Cairo. !• God (Arabic).
him, fearful of disturbing him or breaking the inspiration that flowed to his "He visited me some time ago. He might well come right now; on the other
masterly hand. When my concern at not interrupting him had lasted some hand I mightn't see him till death!"
time, he suddenly inquired with unaffected gentleness, "Yes?" I gave an audible sigh and asked, "What made him Sike that?"
Realizing that he was aware of my presence, I introduced myself. "I've The musician took up his lute. "Such are saints or they would not be
been told that Sheikh Zaabala\vi is your friend; I'm looking for him," I said. saints," he said, laughing.
His hand came to a stop. He scrutinized me in astonishment. "Zaabalawi! "Do those who need him suffer as I do?"
God be praised!" he said with a sigh. "Such suffering is part of the cure!"
"He Js a friend of yours, isn't he?" I asked eagerly. He took up the plectrum and began plucking soft strains from the strings.
"He was, once upon a time. A real man of mystery: he'd visit you so often Lost in thought. I followed his movements. Then, as though addressing
that people would imagine he was your nearest and dearest, then would myself, I said, "So my visit has been in vain."
disappear as though he'd never existed. Yet saints are not to be blamed." He smiled, laying his cheek against the side of the lute. "God forgive you,"
The spark of hope went out with the suddenness of a lamp snuffed by a he said, "for saying such a thing of a visit that has caused me to know you
power-cut. and you me!"
"He was so constantly with rne," said the man, "that I felt him to be a part I was much embarrassed and said apologetically, "Please forgive me; my
of everything I drew. But where is he today?" feelings of defeat made me forget my manners."
"Perhaps he is still alive?" "Do not give in to defeat. This extraordinary man brings fatigue to all who
"He's alive, without a d o u b t . . . . He had impeccable taste, and it was due seek him. It was easy enough with him in the old days when his place of
to him that I made my most beautiful drawings." abode was known. Today, though, the world has changed, and after having
"God knows," I said, in a voice almost stifled by the dead ashes of hope, enjoyed a position attained only by potentates, he is now pursued by the
"how dire my need for him is, and no one knows better than you2 of the police on a charge of false pretenses. It is therefore no longer an easy matter
ailments in respect of which he is sought." to reach him, but have patience and be sure that you will do so."
"Yes, yes. May God restore you to health. He is, in truth, as is said of him, He raised his head from the lute and skillfully fingered the opening bars
a man, and more. . . ." of a melody. Then he sang:
Smiling broadly, he added, "And his face possesses an unforgettable I make lavish mention, even though I blame myself, of those I love,
beauty. But where is her" For the stories of the beloved are my wine.5
Reluctantly I rose to my feet, shook hands, and left. I continued wandering
eastward and westward through the quarter, inquiring about Zaabalawi from With a heart that was weary and listless, I followed the beauty of the
everyone who, by reason of age or experience, I felt might be likely to help melody and the singing.
me. Eventually I was informed by a vendor of lupine 3 that he had met him "I composed the music to this poem in a single night," he told me when
a short while ago at the house of Sheikh Gad, the well-known composer. I he had finished. "I remember that it was the eve of the Lesser Bairam.6
went to the musician's house in Tabakshiyya,11 where I found him in a room Zaabalawi was my guest, for the whole of that night, and the poem was of his
tastefully furnished in the old style, its walis redolent with history. He was choosing. He would sit for a while just where you are, then would get up and
seated on a divan, his famous lute beside him, concealing within itself the play with my children as though he were one of them. Whenever I was
most beautiful melodies of our age, while somewhere from within the house overcome by weariness or my inspiration failed me, he would punch me
came the sound of pestle and mortar and the clamor of children. 1 imme- playfully in the chest and joke with me, and I would bubble over with mel-
diately greeted him and introduced myself, and was put at my ease by the odies, and thus I continued working till 1 finished the most beautiful piece
unaffected way in which he received me. He did not ask, either in words or I have ever composed."
gesture, what had brought me, and I did not feel that he even harbored any ''Does he know anything about music?"
such curiosity. Amazed at his understanding and kindness, which boded well, "He is the epitome of things musical. He has an extremely beautiful speak-
I said, "O Sheikh Gad, I am an admirer of yours, having long been enchanted ing voice, and you have only to hear him to want to burst into song and to
by the renderings of your songs." be inspired to creativity. . . ."
"Thank you," he said with a smile. "How was it that he cured those diseases before which men are powerless?"
"Please excuse my disturbing you," I continued timidly, "but I was told "That is his secret. Maybe you will learn it when you meet him."
that Zaabalawi was your friend, and I am in urgent need of him." But when would that meeting occur? We relapsed into silence, and the
"Zaabalawi!" he said, frowning in concentration. "You need him? God be hubbub of children once more filled the room.
with you, for who knows, O Zaabalawi, where you are." Again the sheikh began to sing. He went on repeating the words "and I
"Doesn't he visit you?" I asked eagerly. have a memory of her" in different and beautiful variations until the very
5. From a poem by the medieval mystic poet Ibn al-Farid, who represents spiritual ecstasy as a kind of
drunkenness. 6. A major Islamic holiday, celebrated for three days to end the month's fasting during
2. One of the calligrapher's major tasks is to write religious documents and prayers t o Allah-
3. Beans, 4. A quarter named for the straw trays made an<! sold there. Ramadan.
 1968 / NAGUIB MAHFOUZ

walls danced in ecstasy. I expressed my wholehearted admiration, and he less series of colored planes. I don't know how long it was before my head
gave me a smile of thanks. I then got up and asked permission to leave, and sank down onto the arm of the chair and I plunged into deep sleep. During
he accompanied me to the front door. As I shook him by the hand, he said it, I had a beautiful dream the like of which I had never experienced. I
"1 hear that nowadays he frequents the house of Hagg Wanas al- dreamed that I was in an immense garden surrounded on all sides by luxu-
Damanhouri. Do you know him?" riant trees, and the sky was nothing but stars seen between the entwined
1 shook my head, though a modicum of renewed hope crept into my heart. branches, all enfolded in an atmosphere like that of sunset or a sky overcast
"He is a man of private means," the sheikh toid me, ''who from time to with cloud. I was lying on a small hummock of jasmine petals, more of which
time visits Cairo, putting up at some hotel or other. Every evening, though fell upon rne like rain, while the lucent spray of a fountain unceasingly sprin-
he spends at the Negma Bar in Alfi Street." kled the crown of my head and rny temples. I was in a state of deep con-
I waited for nightfall and went to the Negma Bar. I asked a waiter about tentedness, of ecstatic serenity. An orchestra of warbling and cooing played
Hagg Wanas, and he pointed to a corner that was scmisecluded because of in my ear. There was an extraordinary sense of harmony between me and my
its position behind a large pillar with mirrors on all four sides. There I saw inner self, and between the two of us and the world, everything being in its
a man seated alone at a table with two bottles in front of him, one empty rightful place, without discord or distortion. In the whole world there was
the other two-thirds empty. There were no snacks or food to be seen, and I no single reason for speech or movement, for the universe moved in a rapture
was sure that I was in the presence of a hardened drinker. He was wearing of ecstasy, This lasted but a short while. When I opened my eyes, conscious-
a loosely flowing silk galabeya and a carefully wound turban; his legs were ness struck at me like a policeman's fist and I saw Wanas al-Damanhouri
stretched out toward the base of the pillar, and as he gazed into the mirror regarding me with concern. Only a few drowsy customers were left in the
in rapt contentment, the sides of his face, rounded and handsome despite bar.
the fact that he was approaching old age, were flushed with wine. I "You have slept deeply," said my companion. "You were obviously hungry
approached quietly till I stood but a few feet away from him. He did not turn for sleep."
toward me or give any indication that he was aware of my presence. I rested my heavy head in the palms of my hands. When I took them away
"Good evening, Mr. Wanas," I greeted him cordially. in astonishment and looked down at them, I found that they glistened with
He turned toward me abruptly, as though my voice had roused him from drops of water.
slumber, and glared at me in disapproval. I was about to explain what had "My head's wet," I protested.
brought me to him when he interrupted in an almost imperative tone of voice "Yes, my friend tried to rouse you," he answered quietly.
that was none the less not devoid of an extraordinary gentleness, "First, "Somebody saw me in this state"?"
please sit down, and, second, please get drunk!" "Don't worry, he is a good man, Have you not heard of Sheikh Zaabalawi?"
I opened my mouth to make my excuses but, stopping up his ears with his ''Zaabalawi!" I exclaimed, jumping to my feet.
fingers, he said, "Not a word till you do what I say." "Yes," he answered in surprise. "What's wrong?"
I realized I was in the presence of a capricious drunkard and told myself "Where is he?"
that I should at least humor him a bit. "Would you permit me to ask one "I don't know where he is now. He was here and then he left."
question?" I said with a smile, sitting down. I was about to run off in pursuit but found I was more exhausted than I
Without removing his hands from his ears he indicated the bottle. "When had imagined. Collapsed over the table, I cried out in despair. "My sole
engaged in a drinking bout like this, I do not allow any conversation between reason for coming to you was to meet him! Help me to catch up with him
myself, and another unless, like me, he is drunk, otherwise all propriety is or send someone after him."
lost and mutual comprehension is rendered impossible." The man called a vendor of prawns and asked him to seek out the sheikh
I made a sign indicating that I did not drink. and bring him back. Then he turned to me, "I didn't realize you were afflicted.
"That's your lookout," he said offhandedly. "And that's my condition! I m very sorry. . . ."
He filled me a glass, which I meekly took and drank. No sooner had the "You wouldn't let me speak," I said irritably.
wine settled in my stomach than it seemed to ignite. I waited patiently till "What a pity! He was sitting on this chair beside you the whole time. He
had grown used to its ferocity, and said, "It's very strong, and I think the was playing with a string of jasmine petals he had around his neck, a gift
time has come for me to ask you about—" from one of his admirers, then, taking pity on you, be began to sprinkle some
Once again, however, he put his fingers in his ears. "I shan't listen to yo water on your head to bring you around."
until you're drunk!" Does he meet you here every night?" I asked, my eyes not leaving the
He filled up my glass for the second time. I glanced at it in trepidation; doorway through which the vendor of prawns had left.
then, overcoming my inherent objection, I drank it down at a gulp. No soon "He was with me tonight, last night and the night before that, but before
had the wine come to rest inside me than I lost all willpower. With the thir that I hadn't seen him for a month."
glass, I lost my memory, and with the fourth the future vanished. The wor Perhaps he will come tomorrow," I answered with a sigh.
turned round about me and I forgot why I had gone there. The man leane "Perhaps."
toward me attentively, but I saw him—saw everything-—as a mere meaning I am willing to give him any money he wants."
1970 / ALEXANDER SOLZHENITSVN

Wanas answered sympathetically, "The strange thing is that he is not open

to such temptations, yet he will cure you if you meet him."
"Without charge?"
"Merely on sensing that you love him."
The vendor of prawns returned, having failed in his mission.
I recovered some of my energy and left the bar, albeit unsteadily. At every
street corner I called out "Zaabalawi!" in the vague hope that I would be
rewarded with an answering shout. The street boys turned contemptuous
eyes on me till I sought refuge in the first available taxi.
The following evening I stayed up with Wanas al-Damanhouri till dawn,
but the sheikh did not put in an appearance. Wanas informed me that he
would be going away to the country and would not be returning to Cairo
until he had sold the cotton crop.
I must wait, 1 told myself; I must train myself to be patient. Let me content
myself with having made certain of the existence of Zaabalawi, and even of
his affection for me, which encourages me to think that he will be prepared
to cure me if a meeting takes place between us.
Sometimes, however, the long delay wearied me. I would become beset by
despair and would try to persuade myself to dismiss him from my mind com-
pletely. How many weary people in this life know him not or regard him as
a mere myth! Why, then, should I torture myself about him in this way?
No sooner, however, did my pains force themselves upon me than I would
again begin to think about him, asking myself when I would be fortunate
enough to meet him. The fact that I ceased to have any news of Wanas and
was told he had gone to live abroad did not deflect me from my purpose; the
truth of the matter was that I had become fully convinced that I had to find
Zaabalawi.
Yes, I have to find Zaabalawi.