I am at least aware of the ideas that I must crystallize and clarify to construct a plot. I should now record some basic facts and observations about the characters in this scenario—under their own names, for the time being. Perhaps then I will be delivered from confusion, since it is possible that a plot may arise spontaneously if I can analyze them and determine their basic attributes.
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY
(1) AHMAD NASR
A civil servant, by all accounts competent, with great experience in the practical matters of daily life. Happily married, with a teenage daughter, and religious, I think out of habit. All in all a normal person; I do not know how he will serve the aims of the play. But there is one important question: Why does he smoke the water pipe? Leaving aside what people say about sexual drives, is there something he is trying to escape? But in any case he must be created anew in the sense that he is, deep down, not convinced that his job and his family should take all his energy. In a corner of his mind, he feels that he is responsible. That he must be responsible for what goes on around him. And because he is a believer, he is the most well-balanced of all of them—but in spite of that, or perhaps because of that, it grieves him that he is a person of no consequence in life whatsoever. Thus we can consider his well-known concern with small problems—as we can his addiction—as a kind of escape from the feelings of absurdity that gnaw at him. He will entertain this secret misery unconsciously. On the outside, he will remain the steady person, the believer, the efficient and untroubled man—until the heroine shows him his true self, perhaps through his love for her.
(2) MUSTAFA RASHID
A lawyer. No harm in my leaving him as such in the play, to justify his powers of argument. Charming, and cynical in the’ extreme. Married to a woman he does not love—perhaps out of a desire for her salary more than anything else. Although he is constantly searching for an ideal woman, he does not in fact pursue erotic liaisons on the houseboat. He is a strange man, doubtless harboring some deep secret. Perhaps it is addiction. He is completely aware of his spiritual emptiness, and finds solace in the water pipe and the Absolute. But he is apparently unaware of the deception that he is practicing on himself. He strives for the impossible without any method or any real effort, relying solely on intoxicated meditations. It is as if the Absolute is simply an excuse for addiction, but gives him even so a feeling that he has risen above his real vapidity. Like many whom I meet at social gatherings, he is apparently exquisitely cultured but inwardly hollow, crumbling, stinking of his own miserable decay.
(3) ALI AL-SAYYID
Originally a student at al-Azhar University, he completed his studies thereafter at the Faculty of Arts at Cairo University, and perfected his English at a Berlitz language school. He is a combative character, and fully aware of his short-term, practical aims. He has two wives, the first from his village and the second from Cairo, but the latter is also a housewife and traditional woman—which satisfies his conservative inclinations to be the master of the house. He makes a lot of his generosity in keeping the first wife, but he is a swine, as can be seen by his strange relationship with Saniya Kamil.
As a critic, he is a great scoundrel. His aesthetic is founded on material gain, and he never feels compelled to tell the truth except when his fortunes turn against him, in which case it is disguised as mocking and merciless satire. Harried by feelings of worthlessness and treachery and futility, he devotes himself to the water pipe and to strange dreams of a new humanism which appear before his muzzy eyes through a lethal fog. He is the prime example of a certain contemporary type who wanders aimlessly through life without beliefs or morality. And who would not shrink from committing a crime if he could be sure that he would not be found out.
(4) KHALID AZZUZ
He inherited an apartment block, which means that he lives a life of ease in spite of the obvious mediocrity of his talent. He has found his escape in the water pipe and in sex—and in that gelatinous kind of literature whose degenerate promiscuity is appalling. It is difficult to determine whether his loss of belief—any belief—is what led him to this degenerate life, or whether the degeneracy drove him to reject his belief. For that reason I do not believe it impossible that one day he will return to his traditional faith when his creative spring dries up. Unlike his friends, he is completely idle; he takes from society and gives nothing back—nothing, that is, except stories like the tale of the piper whose pipe turns into a snake! Neither do I think it unlikely that he will be looking down at us one day from the balcony of the absurd.
(5) RAGAB AL-QADI
He is the hope of the drama. If he does not yield to development, then I can say farewell to the play. His father, according to Ali al-Sayyid, was a barber, and still plies his trade in the village of Kom Hammada in spite of his son’s fame—either from his own pride or because of some meanness on the part of his son. Ragab is a race apart. One of those gods who die in their fifties. And as a god of passion, he is not without a harshness which can be made gentle only by love. Like the others, he is without belief or principles, but, unlike them, he displays a nervousness, a tension. Compellingly handsome, he is famous for his dark looks. His power is unlimited. His real release lies in sex; the water pipe appears not to affect him very much. His possibilities for the play do not need mentioning.
(6) ANIS ZAKI
Failed civil servant. Former husband and former father. Silent and dazed, morning and night. They say he is cultured; the only thing he has in the world is an extensive library. Sometimes he seems to me to be half mad, or half dead. He has managed to forget completely what it is he is escaping from. He has forgotten himself. His sturdy build betokens a strength that might have been. He can be described by any attribute—or none at all. He keeps his secret in his head. One can be sure of him in the same way that one can be sure of an empty chair. Useful for comic exploitation, but he will not play a positive role in the play.
—
I can confine the female characters to two: the heroine, because of the importance of her role, and Sana, to enhance the unity of sentiment in the drama. And also because her modern adolescent character lends an attractive spirit to the play, one not wholly without usefulness for study. And furthermore, the heroine’s victory over her on the battlefield of love can be taken as a symbol of the victory of the Serious over the Absurd in the female domain; since there is no point to seriousness if its roots cannot penetrate womankind, who is after all the mother of the future.
Beyond that, there is no need for Saniya Kamil, who practices her own special brand of polyandry; or for the blond translating spinster, who imagines herself to be a pioneering martyr, whereas in fact she is a pioneer only in the incoherent depravity of addiction.
—
There was no more writing—just a heading: Important Observations, which was set alone in the middle of the line and was followed by a blank space. He turned over the succeeding pages until he reached the cover, but found not another word. He put the notebook in his pocket, muttering, “The little…!” Then he took it out again and reread what was written about him, and then he put it back in his pocket. He laughed. He looked at the empty coffee cup. That won’t be any good now, he thought. It would be a long wait. Perhaps he would still be clearheaded when the company gathered. Amm Abduh’s voice echoed from the mosque as he made the call for sunset prayer. “The little…!” he muttered again.
The houseboat shook with approaching footsteps. He looked toward the door, wondering who it could be who was coming so early.
And from behind the screen by the door appeared Samara Bahgat.
She approached, greeting him with a forced smile, clearly preoccupied.
“You do not seem to be yourself,” he said.
She paced around the room, looking high and low. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I’ve lost some important things,” she replied.
“Here?”
“I had them yesterday, during the evening.”
&nb
sp; “What are they?”
“A notebook for my work—and a small amount of money.”
“Are you sure that you lost them here?”
“I’m not sure of anything.”
“Amm Abduh sweeps up, and the man comes to take away the trash in the morning.”
She sat down in an armchair. “If they were stolen,” she said, “why didn’t the thief take the whole bag? Why did he take the notebook and leave the purse?”
“Perhaps you dropped it.”
“Anything’s possible…”
“Can it not be replaced?”
Before she could reply, the houseboat shook again, and voices were heard outside. Hastily, she begged him to forget the matter, telling him not to mention it again as she went to take her place on the mattress. All the friends came in together, and soon the party was complete. Anis devoted himself earnestly and avidly to the water pipe; he was in an unfamiliar state of alertness. Deep inside him, the demons began to incite him to malice. He shot a cunning glance at Samara.
Mustafa was speaking to her. “It’s all clear now. You come early to be alone with Anis!”
She played along. “Didn’t you realize? He is my knight in shining armor!”
“We’re only boys,” commented Ahmad, “while he is a mature man in his forties.”
Without being summoned, Amm Abduh appeared at the screened door. “A houseboat has sunk at Imbaba,” he announced.
They turned toward him in concern. “Did anybody drown?” Ahmad asked.
“No—but they lost the entire contents of the boat.”
“That’s what we care about, the contents,” said Khalid, “not the individuals!”
“And the rescue police came,” continued Amm Abduh.
“The arts police should have come as well.”
“Why did it sink?” asked Layla.
“The watchman was negligent,” replied the old man.
“Or perhaps,” added Khalid, “because the Almighty was angry about what went on inside.”
They said amen to that, and turned again to the water pipe. When Amm Abduh had gone, Ali said: “One night I had a dream that I had become as tall and broad as Amm Abduh.”
Anis broke his customary silence. “That’s because you take refuge in dreams and addiction,” he said.
They met his comment with laughter. “But taking refuge from what, O master of pleasures?” asked Ali.
“From your own emptiness!” replied Anis, and when the laughter had died down, he continued: “You are all modern-day scoundrels, escaping into addiction and groundless delusions…” And he turned and looked at Samara. The demons cackled inside him. A barrage of comments followed.
“At last he has spoken.”
“A philosopher is born!”
All eyes were still turned on Anis. “And what about me?” Mustafa asked him.
“Escaping into addiction and the Absolute, you are hounded by the sense of your own worthlessness.”
He could make out Samara’s laughter among the roars of mirth, but avoided looking at her. He imagined her turmoil; he imagined her face; he imagined her innermost feelings—and then he continued: “We are all scum, we have no morals; we are pursued by a fearful demon by the name of Responsibility…”
“This night,” said Ragab, “will go down in the annals of the houseboat.”
Mustafa spoke again. “I bet tonight’s kif has been smuggled from Moscow!”
“Anis! O philosopher!” It was Khalid’s turn. “What about me—and Layla?”
“You are a depraved degenerate because you have no belief; or perhaps it’s that you have no belief because you are depraved. As for Layla, she is a pioneer, but only in dissipation and addiction, not a martyr as she mistakenly believes.”
“Hold your tongue!” shouted Layla.
But he merely pointed to Saniya, saying: “And you are a bigamist, you dope fiend!”
“You’re mad!” screamed Saniya.
“No. Merely half mad. And also half dead.”
“How dare you be so rude!”
Ali soothed her. “Now you are really angry, Saniya. He is the master of ceremonies, remember…”
“I will not be mocked in front of strangers!” she retorted.
The thunderous atmosphere threatened to overwhelm the merriment. Ragab, however, spoke firmly. “There are no strangers here. Samara is with us all the way.”
“She may be with us, but only all the way with you!”
“No,” said Anis. “She doesn’t care about a man who flees from his own emptiness into addiction and sex.”
“What a night we’re having, boys!” cried Ragab gaily.
“Who would have thought that you were Anis the Silent?”
“Perhaps he’s regurgitating one of his books—the decline of civilization, for example.”
And there is still a bomb inside me—I’m saving it for the Director General. Let the laughter bursting inside me calm down, so that I can see things clearly. Have the mooring chains of the boat parted? The full moon charges at the fragile door of our balcony. As for the midges, I understand at last their fatal fascination with the lamplight.
“You don’t seem very happy,” Ragab remarked to Samara.
She spoke without looking at Saniya, but her listless tone made it clear whom she meant. “That is how strangers are, in company,” she said.
“No, I won’t have it,” Ragab said. “Saniya is a lovely woman—a kindly mother even when she’s in love…”
“Thank you, Ragab,” Saniya said benevolently. “You’re the best of all of us to make my apologies to sister Samara.”
“Let’s not tie the knot of peace too firmly,” said Khalid. “It might get boring.”
The only sound was the gurgling of the water pipe. The ripples of sound spread out in the moonlight. His racing pulse told him that sleep would be hard on this tumultuous night. That he would experience the insomnia of lovers without love. He began to recall all the verses he knew from the poetry of demented lovers. The company disappeared, and he alone remained with the shining night. He saw a horseman, his steed galloping through the air just above the water’s surface, and asked him who he was. The rider replied that he was Omar Khayyam, and that he had managed to escape death at last…He awoke to the sight of his outstretched leg next to the brass tray. Long and bony, pallid in the blue light. Hairy. Big toes with nails curved over, so long had he gone without cutting them. He could hardly believe that it was his leg. Astonishing, the way one’s own limb could seem like that of a stranger…He realized that Mustafa was speaking. “Are we really as the master of ceremonies described, do you think?” he asked the company.
It was Khalid who replied. “It is not escape, or anything like that. We simply understand what we really are, as we should.”
“This houseboat is the last refuge of human wisdom,” added Ali.
“Is submerging yourself in dreams an escape?”
“The dreams of today are the realities of tomorrow.”
“Is searching for the Absolute an escape?”
“What else can we do, for heaven’s sake?”
“And is sex an escape?”
“It’s creation itself, rather!”
“And what about the pipe—is that escape?”
“Escape from the police, if you like!”
“Is it escape from life?”
“It’s life itself!”
“So why did our master of ceremonies attack us like that?”
“For ten years he’s led a quiet life, with no need to make a stir of any kind. He didn’t want to push his luck.”
“And what a night it is, boys!”
Ahmad called for a little silence, so as not to dispel the delirium. The water pipe made its prescribed and unchanging round.
The moon had risen now beyond their field of vision. He was alone in having read the miserable defeat in Samara’s eyes. Their faces appeared pale and sleepy, and serious as well, in spite of themselves. Mustafa fixed
Samara with a quizzical look, and asked her her opinion on it all; but Ragab said: “The end of the night was not made for discussions.”
What was it made for, then? They all left, save Ali and Saniya. It was not long before he was alone in the room. Amm Abduh came as he usually did and carried out his task without their exchanging a word, and then he left. Anis crawled out to the balcony, and saw the moon again, shining in the center of the studded dome of heaven. He spoke to it intimately. There is nothing like our houseboat, he murmured. Love is an old and worn-out game, but it is sport on the houseboat. Fornication is held as a vice by councils and institutions, but it is freedom on our houseboat. Women are all conventions and marriage deeds in the home, but they are nubile and alluring on the houseboat. And the moon is a satellite, dead and cold, but on the houseboat, it is poetry; and madness is everywhere an illness, but here it is philosophy, and something was something everywhere else but here; for here it was nothing. O, you ancient sage Ibur, summon for us your age, from which everything save poetry has melted away! Come and sing for us. Tell me what you said to the Pharaoh. Come, sage!
And the sage recited:
Your boon companions lied to you;
These years are fall of war and tribulation.
I said: Recite again, sage! And he sang: