The Day the Leader Was Killed by Naguib Mahfouz Page B

excellent and it was attended by the company’s top executives and a group of businessmen. I wore the inevitable mask of joy. In fact, I had long prayed—and was determined—to succeed. I had a genuine desire to try to make it work and to adjust to my new life. What I dreaded most was the possibility of finding Elwan among the guests, but he was not there. Although I was not attracted to him, I did not find him altogether repulsive. Imagine if Elwan had been the bridegroom tonight. What would he have done? I lived my whole life imagining I could not give myself to anyone but him. But, there it is, reality dictates a differentset of options. Suffice it that I now feel that I could come to love Anwar one of these days.
    In the days that followed, there was an uninterrupted stream of well-wishers, particularly on my side of the family. But what about these men? They come bearing gifts. We welcome them and offer them drinks. Night after night, this wretched stream of men, and some of them are most persistent. I was worn out by these permanent fixtures and by having to exert painstaking efforts at being courteous.
    “You’ve so many friends in the business world!” I told him.
    “Actually, they are our future,” he replied with a telling bluntness.
    “What do you mean?” I inquired, perplexed.
    “My job is worthless except in the eyes of a young employee. Our real future is in the private sector, in the intelligent gamble which enables a person to move up from one class to another. So spare no efforts in making them feel at home!”
    These, then, are business calls! I did not feel comfortable.
    “I had been given to understand that you were financially secure,” I said.
    “Only in this sense. Other than that there’s no sense of security for anyone with this perpetual rise in prices!” he answered blatantly. I was totally dumbfounded while he went on excitedly:
    “God won’t forgive you if you don’t amass an incredible fortune under these circumstances.”
    “Isn’t it enough to have what will allow us to live comfortably?”
    “Comfortably? We’re in a merciless rat race, my dear.”
    Here, then, is a new person emerging, with amazing rapidity, from behind that other person. He will not hear of patience nor will he be satisfied with rising gradually. As for my reactions, they’re beside the point. He’s very simply saying: That’s me, pure and simple, with no retouches. How about that? He sees only his own ambitions in this world, and those are his sole concern. He prostrates himself before them in prayer a hundred times a day. It’s as though I have no existence apart from the role I may be able to play in his broader strategy. Even those false pretenses of his, he’s no good at them, and doesn’t even seem to care. He’s a total surprise to me, a colossal surprise which strikes me like a thunderbolt. Love is only a thing of the moment. I soon experienced an inconsolable sense of disappointment. I had sold myself for nothing. Or maybe things are even worse than that. I am ashamed to confess my disappointment. I was deluded into thinking that I was, to say the least, an end, and I now discover that I am no more than simply a means to an end, quite worthless other than my function as such. My job here is to be courteous, to entertain, and offer drinks. He was not even satisfied with that, and soon informed me that he could no longer postpone his evening duties and that I would myself have to be responsible for receiving and entertaining guests.
    “It’s an extension of your public relations job,” he said with a laugh.
    “But there’s nothing in common between those people and myself,” I objected.
    “It’s not important. Suffice it that you are eloquent, intelligent, and cultured. We’re partners and are supposed to substitute for one another, particularly when there’s ultimately much to gain from it.”
    “This is the language of the market. I never thought I would have to deal with