The Human and Intimate in Maguid Tobia's Short Stories

Maguid Tobia  (1938- ) is an Egyptian novelist, short story writer and journalist, born in Menya in Upper Egypt . His passion for writing began with a passion for reading which started at the age of 14. Coming to Cairo for his university education, he fell in love with cinema and theatre and began his first attempts at writing in the form of radio dramas. This was followed by his first short stories appearing in the 1960s where his first collection "Fustuk Arrives to the Moon" was published in 1967, followed by "Five Unread Newspapers" in 1970 "Khamas Gara'ed lam Tuqra'" and "The Following Days" "Al Ayam Al Talya" in 1972 with other collections to follow over the years. He also published a number of novels among which was Taghrebet Bani Hathout which has been listed by the Union of Arab Writers as one of  the 100 best Arabic novels of all time. Moreover, a number of his short stories have been turned into film such as Sons of Silence (Abna' al-Samt).

Many of his short stories focus on the social and political issues of the time, touching on Egypt 's wars with Israel , corruption and oppression as well as the changes and transformations that swept Egypt after the open door policy in the 1970s. Other stories are of a more intimate and universal nature, depicting childhood, parenthood, aging, and love in all its forms and diversity.

One of his very moving stories is "His Handkerchief " or "Mandeluh" a story about a soldier returning home and agonizing on how to tell his best friend's mother that her son had died at the front. This agony is embodied in his own handkerchief which he uses in a attempt to hide his tears, and which the mother, believing that he is using it to wipe his sweat from the road,  takes it to wash, giving him instead her son's handkerchief, which in turn causes the soldier even more distress. As the young soldier attempts to hide the dreaded news from the mother, she finally realizes what she has been sensing and  fearing in her heart - but trying to deny- in the eyes and behavior of her son's friend as she stands in the balcony pressing and hanging his handkerchief to dry.

In his story "If You Love Me" or "Law Kunt Tuhebeni" he touches on how love –and life - feed on the imagination and our attitude towards life. The ability to "feel" the warmth of spring in the cold of winter, to "see" the magnificent in the mundane, to find great pleasure in simple endeavors and to create and re-create the extraordinary from the ordinary…is what  the fire of life – and love – is all about.

Tobia often uses fantasy and animals in his stories to depict moral and social issues. In his story "The Incident that Took Place" "Al Hadetha Alati Garat" he tells us a story of a young bird, angered by how corrupt human officials put the blame on birds for the wheat they steal, decides to bravely confront the truck carrying the stolen wheat, only to be killed in his attempt. His heroic act is sung by the birds like the story of Adham El Sharkawy, the Egyptian Robin Hood-like hero, symbolizing how the small and weak…but free and proud…can always challenge and resist injustice and wrongdoing and be an inspiration to others.

Finally I leave you with a quote from one of his stories "Those Small Gestures""Telka al- Lamasat al-Saghera" where a man celebrating his 40th birthday is overwhelmed with negative thoughts and regrets of how life has passed him by without much to show for, only to be inspired and rejuvenated by the smile of a little girl, showing that happiness and satisfaction can often be found in the little moments and details of life and that regardless of everything, life is worth living. 

"He walked briskly towards his home, feeling refreshed and happy by the girl's welcoming gaze and her waving at him. He entered the apartment, still struck by the girl's sweetness and innocence. He found himself wishing her and her parents happiness and health. He undressed and wore his pajamas and got into bed feeling relaxed and at peace with himself. He turned off the light and quickly fell asleep without the aid of a sleeping pill... but he dreamt of a child that looked just like him, a child who sneaked from behind his mother in Upper Egypt, and headed towards the ruins of the ancient temple. There he saw the goats of the gypsies and began playing with them. Whenever they pushed him down he quickly got up again, and went on playing and jumping."   

 

Pictures

I came across them as I was walking in the garden, heading towards my favorite spot by the sea. A young couple, totally absorbed in themselves, taking pictures of each other with a mobile phone camera. The girl was maybe in her mid twenties, a bit on the plumb side, with a beautiful rounded face and a flowing mane of blonde hair. Given her dark olive complexion I assumed her hair colour wasn’t natural. The young man was probably the same age, very thin and much taller than the girl. There was something about them…about the girl that caught the eye. Her face was lit up with an aura of excitement, of ecstasy as she tossed her hair left and right to pose for the pictures. Then I watched as she held the boy's arm and stood on her tip toes, bringing her cheek right close to his as her outstretched arm clicked a picture of their smiling faces, with the sea in the distance behind them. Then she turned the boy around, and again, cheek to cheek, clicked another picture of the both of them, this time with the trees and flowers of the garden in the background. Again they moved and floated from one position to another, with the girl, radiant with emotion, always leading the way.  A keen observer would make no mistake in guessing who the active partner and who the passive one in this dance of love was. When they had finished, I watched as the girl gave the boy an impassioned look, then, taking his face in both her hands, kissed him…on the lips…in full view of everyone.

I was taken aback by the audacity of the girl, by her boldness and daring in a country where such a public display of affection is strictly frowned upon, considered an act of indecency punishable by law.  I looked away and continued my walk towards the sea, leaving them behind in their amorous embrace. But I couldn't help feeling a pang of envy. When I was their age such an act in public would have been scandalous and unthinkable. Had things changed that much while I wasn't looking?! Had young women become this assertive and liberated?! As I approached the sea, I welcomed the sense of freedom it always gave me. The lingering picture of the enamored couple made me think how wonderful it would be to live freely and openly, with nothing to hide…to feel and express ones emotions without fear or shame…without secrets to conceal or inhibitions that cripple.

As I headed back some time later, I saw the couple still where they had been. This time the young man was standing up, smiling at the girl as she sat on a bench in front of him.  I looked at her as she tied her thick hair in a golden bun. Then from somewhere she pulled out what looked like a long black scarf. In a blink of an eye, and with quick and experienced hands, her hair was totally hidden under a black veil. Then she stood up and in another second she had all but disappeared behind a black 'abayia, with nothing of her left visible except her hands and face …still flushed and beaming with love. She gave a long passionate look at her partner then turned and walked away, with the young man following her at a distance.

I watched them in amazement and wonder as they disappeared into the horizon…a small black figure followed by a tall shadow…and all I could think about was those pictures…those many…many pictures.

In the Name of Allah

"In the Name of Allah the Compassionate, the Merciful…."

The boy's beautiful voice filled the room with the recitation of Surat Mariam. His mother sat listening with reverence, totally absorbed in the young voice chanting the words of God. How proud she was .that her own son had been blessed with such an angelic voice. How often had he made grown men cry with his impassioned recitation? How many times had he softened hard hearts while praising the beloved Prophet (PBU)?

"O Yahya, hold fast the Book.’ And We gave him wisdom while yet a child…"

She remembered when her father had discovered the gift that God had blessed his grandson with and had made sure to give him proper training with one of the famous Chanters in their town. She recalled how her boy sat in this very same room, day after day reciting and chanting over and over again the many verses of the Holy Quran. How she had fretted and worried about him when his grandfather had taken him from village to village, town to town, so that others would be blessed to hear the purity of his voice in praise and supplication to God.

"And tenderness of heart from Ourself, and purity. And he was pious…"

How proud she had felt when visitors had flocked to their home just to listen to her boy. She recalled the shy smile on her son's face when hearing the words of praise and adoration from his audience and admirers. What a future he had ahead of him as a great chanter.

"And dutiful toward his parents. And he was not haughty and rebellious…"

She closed her eyes as his sweet voice floated through the room, giving her a sense of peace, tranquility and deep love…of acceptance and resignation to the will of the Almighty.

"And peace was on him the day he was born, and the day he died, and peace there will be on him the day he will be raised up to life again."

Suddenly the recitation stopped. She opened her eyes feeling a pang of anxiety as her heart skipped a beat. She stared with apprehension at the silent tape recorder. Her shaking hand slowly and cautiously removed the tape.  Thank God…it didn't seem to be damaged. She placed a soft kiss on it with her lips, then pressed it close to her heart. This is all she had left of her son …a small tape that carried his voice…and her soul. 

"In the name of Alllah…" she whispered as she carefully reinserted the tape and  pressed the "rewind" button. Yes, it was working properly. Then she pressed "Play". She sighed with relief, holding back a tear.  A quiet sadness echoed in the room as once again the soft captivating recitation of the beloved voice flowed gently from the old tape recorder…..

"In the Name of Allah… the Compassionate … the Merciful…."

A Scent of Rose Water

He clung to his mother as they walked towards the Moulid, smelling the soft scent of rose water that floated from her head scarf as the evening wind blew refreshing ripples of cool air against their faces. He was the happiest little boy in the world. At last he was going to theMoulid. How he had pleaded and cried to be taken there. Many in his family, even those younger than him, had gone before. They came back with amazing stories: of parades of chanting men in flowing white robes; of storytellers chanting tales; of puppet shows; of brightly coloured swings; of games they played and little trophies they won; of magicians, toys and delicious sweets. How he longed for that world! But he had never gone. Every year the Moulid came and went to their town but he was left at home, never allowed to go.

“There’s nothing for you to see there” his mother always told him. “You’ll only get lost or hurt my sweetest”.

And when he cried in anger and desperation she told him that he was her special little boy, that she would bring him beautiful gifts, that she would bake him his favorite cookies…she promised him so many things. But he never calmed down until she took him in her arms and hugged him tenderly, holding him until he fell quietly asleep amidst the soft scent of rose water.

But this year he was adamant. He was already ten years old, he wasn’t a baby anymore. He had a right to go just like everybody else! She finally acquiesced after his incessant pleading. They would go…but on one condition…he would stick to her no matter what. He would make sure to always hold her hand and never wander off on his own. She warned him it would be crowded and easy for a little boy like him to be lost.

Yes…yes… yes…he had agreed to every word she said…he was in seventh heaven…at last he would go!

As they approached the Moulid grounds, he shivered with excitement as his body vibrated with the multitude of sounds, voices and music that met his ears. The air was thick with all sorts of smells: incense, tobacco, spices, dust, smoke...an endless aroma of familiar and unfamiliar scents. He was in utter awe and rapture to what his senses were capturing as he clung to his mother, feeling safe in her presence as they both slowly navigated their way deeper and deeper into the crowds, slowly discovering this magic world he had always dreamed of.

He was overwhelmed by the mesmerizing devotional chanting emanating from the many tents that were erected around the Moulid, at times finding his body swaying back and forth to its rhythmic beat; he giggled with delight as he listened intently to every word of the puppet show; he was thrilled by the ride he took on the swings, feeling as if a hand was lifting him up into the heavens; he ate and tasted a multitude of delicious sweets, savoring new and unfamiliar flavours.

Music filled the air, but it is one particular sound that caught his attention …it was the melancholy singing of a rababa…how he loved it. It must be a storyteller chanting his tales. He followed the sound…slowly slipping away from his mother’s side…moving in the direction from where the music came. Before he got too far the rababa stopped. He stood there for a moment, hoping the music would resume, but it never did. He suddenly realized that he was standing all alone…not knowing in which direction to turn. He called out to his mother but she was nowhere near him. For the first time since he came to the Moulid he began feeling a deep sense of fear…people were bumping against him…he fell several times…he was all alone…not knowing where to go or how to reach his mother…was this what she had meant by being lost??? He stood there in horror and began crying…yelling out for her.

“What’s wrong little boy?” he heard a man asking him. “Are you lost?”

“He seems to be blind”, came a woman’s voice. “How could anyone leave a blind child all on his own like that??” she added with indignation.

Just as more people were gathering…just as he was reaching the pit of despair, he felt two strong hands holding him by his armpits, lifting him up in the air and in a fraction of a second he found himself in his mother’s arms.

“Didn’t I tell you not to leave my side” he heard her shouting in a panicked voice. “You scared me to death”, she yelled as she held him tighter.

“Sorry mother”, he sobbed with relief as he began feeling safe again in her comforting arms and the familiar scent he adored.

“Don’t I always tell you to be extra careful," she said in a more tender voice. “You’re special…your eyes can’t see like the rest of us…you can’t wander off on your own like that”.

“Yes mother”, he said in a weak voice as he buried his face in her bosom. He knew she was right…but he had just wanted to listen to the storyteller and the music of the rababa.

Despite this scare, coming to the Moulid was a dream come true. It was a world that had aroused every sense in his body and would forever remain etched in his memory. But fornow, he was happy heading back home…wrapped in the safety of his mother’s embrace…and the soft scent of rose water.

Sleepers...Awake!

It was already past midnight. She was feeling so tired and worn out. She had been working for days on end, from morning till night. Another important report had to be finished and delivered before the end of the year. It was a critical moment in her career. It would open so many doors for her, so many possibilities and opportunities. There was still a lot to do and she knew she had a long night ahead of her. But she was feeling so tired. Fatigue was setting in, seeping deep in every part of her body. Her back was aching, her shoulders feeling numb. She looked into the screen of her computer feeling her eyes heavy from the strain of long hours of work. She would take a few minutes rest then go back to work. She opened the radio and lied down on the sofa. They were playing Bach's Sleepers, Awake! one of her favorite pieces. It was, calm, soothing, uplifting. She closed her eyes as the soft sound of the oboe floated through the air. How long had it been since she had heard it last? She couldn't even remember. When had she last gone to a concert? In fact, when had she had time to do anything truly meaningful? Her days were all the same, a string of duties and monotony…a rush to do everything…and nothing. She thought of him for a moment as the music permeated her mind and soul…filling in the empty spaces…but she quickly brushed the thought aside.

She stood up and opened the balcony, stepping out into the cold winter night. She was amazed as she saw a full moon shining like a sliver ball in the heart of the dark sky. She stared at it with her weary eyes as the music followed her out into the crisp night air. Thoughts of him came back again. She couldn't resist this time and for a moment she sensed that he was there with her…that his arms held her tight as they both looked up at the bright shining jewel decking the midnight sky...was that him whispering in her ears…was it the heat of his body that was keeping her warm…?

Tears rolled down her face as she stood there, in a magical trance. As the last note of Bach's Sleepers, Awake! was played she re-entered the room and shut the balcony. She looked for a moment at her desk and at the pile of work waiting for her.

She calmly shut her computer, turned off the lights and went to sleep.

Forbidden

He couldn’t get his eyes off the gorgeous beauty lying in front of him. He tried turning round and walking away, but he just couldn’t resist the temptation of looking. He knew it was forbidden, that he should brush away the thoughts that were coming to his mind…but the temptation was too strong, he just couldn’t help himself. He looked again, feeling a formidable desire swelling inside of him. No…he must be strong…he wasn’t a child anymore…he’d better leave right now…he knew better than this. If he dared do what he was thinking of doing, and his wife found out, she would really be upset. He turned to go again but hesitated at the door. Why be so hard on himself…why not break the rules once in a while… what was wrong in a little moment of pleasure …even if it was forbidden?? He was human after all for crying out loud! He looked again. No, no, he must act like a responsible adult and control himself. He could end up paying a high price and hurting himself and those he cared for if things went wrong. He’d better leave right now! He took one last look. But he knew he shouldn’t have because all of a sudden his defenses broke down. He felt his heart pounding faster …he was perspiring heavily…an aching desire gripped him mercilessly. Oh he just couldn’t resist this!! To hell with all the rules!!

-

He plunged forward, grabbed the knife and cut two big slices from the chocolate cake. He put them on a plate and began eating like a madman….God it was delicious!! He groaned with pleasure as he savored the juicy cake and felt the chocolate icing slowly melting in his mouth...it was pure ecstasy! He knew his wife would be mad at him. He was overweight, diabetic, with a history of heart problems. Sweets like this delicious beauty were strictly forbidden. But there were times when he couldn’t bear this deprivation. He loved chocolates and sweets, let alone this magnificent cake baked by his wife for their guests.

-

As he finished the last bits of cake on his plate he began feeling guilty that he had weakened and succumbed to his desires. But on second thoughts...what kind of life would it be if we couldn't enjoy some sweet little pleasures every now and then...even if they were forbidden.

The Café

He tried walking at a faster pace, but it wasn’t that easy with his bad leg and walking stick. He remembered when it used to take him just ten minutes to walk to the Café, now it would take him over twenty minutes. But today was a beautiful winter morning, a bit chilly but fresh and clear and he would enjoy the walk. He was excited to see the Café. For several months now it had been closed for renovations. They had been long boring months. The Café was more like a second home to him and had been so for many years. There he met friends, discussed everything from politics to sports, read the papers, sipped his Turkish coffee and watched the hustle and bustle of life in the main square in front of the Café.

It was a simple Café, like many others, but it had its own very special character and charm that had captured his heart and made it one of his most favorite places. He remembered the first time he went there as a young boy with his father. It was his first venture into the adult world and he had been completely fascinated by the place. He loved its beautifully colored tiled floors with intricate floral designs; the mirrors that stretched throughout the upper portion of the walls giving it a more spacious feeling and a sense of infinity; the now faded pictures of its proud owners hanging over the wood paneled counter welcoming all those who walked into their world; its large terrace with its enormous green canopy stretching like an endless green sky overlooking the square. But most of all he was enchanted by its mystical aroma…its almost ethereal scent…a mixture of coffee, cardamom, and tobacco, …of tea, mint, and cologne….of laughter, whispers and sighs.

After his wife died, he had made it a habit to go to the Café everyday. He found solace there among friends and its clientele, as well as the waiters who knew him so well. Even when he was alone he enjoyed its warm atmosphere and the sounds and smells of life that vibrated within its walls. And now, in his twilight years, the Café was a refuge from an ever changing world, a little haven where things still seemed familiar and real.

He was now entering the street where the Café was located and was full of excitement and anticipation as he got nearer. Most of the regular crowd would already be there by now he thought to himself as he tried to quicken his pace, almost feeling the taste of their exquisite Turkish coffee on his lips.

The moment he entered the Café he was struck by the complete change that met his eyes. Gone were the beautifully colored tiles, the mirrors, the faded pictures, the wood paneled counter…even its beloved aroma had disappeared leaving in its stead a dull and artificial scent. The spacious terrace had been enclosed within the Café itself and the outside world was only visible through a barrier of glass and steel. Even the clientele was different…he couldn’t see any familiar faces.

He stood there for some moments trying to absorb the change that had so abruptly struck his eyes and senses. A waiter approached him inviting him to take a seat. He didn’t recognize him either nor any of the other waiters.

“What would you wish to order sir,” he asked.

“Can I have a Turkish Coffee?” he replied in a semi-dazed voice.

“I’m sorry sir, but we don’t serve it.”

“How come?” he asked in bewilderment” “You always did.”

“I’m sorry sir, but we’re a different establishment now. We’re an international chain…we serve coffee with over 20 different flavours,” he replied in a proud tone as he handed him the menu.

He took a quick glance at the brightly colored menu. It had dozens of items, many with exotic names. He gasped at the prices…they were way above what his meager pension could afford.

“Eh…I forgot I have an errand to do…I may be back later on…thank you”, he told the waiter in a weak voice as he handed him back the menu.

He awkwardly made his way out of the Café, feeling a growing chill creeping all over his body. For the first time since his wife died he felt tears come to his eyes. As he slowly crossed the street his body began to shake. He didn’t know if it was from the cold or from the deep sense of loss that had so intensely gripped him. He just stood there in the middle of the street, feeling the entire weight of his seventy eight years pressing down on his shoulders…almost crushing his walking stick. In the distance he could see cars speeding in his direction….but all he could do was just stand there…shaking…in front of the Café…