Egyptian Personalities I Have Loved

Muhammad Naguib — Yusuf al-Siba'i — Muhammad Taymur — Mustafa Amin

1 — Muhammad Naguib:

Muhammad Naguib did not appeal to me merely because he is the man of the hour, and because his name has lately been on every lip and tongue, and because he is the liberator of the Egyptian nation and its savior from an era of tyranny and despotism... Nor did Muhammad Naguib appeal to me because he is a seasoned statesman, an upright patriot devoted to his nation and his country, whom the Egyptian people entrusted with defending their rights and safeguarding their dignity and sovereignty, and who performed that duty in the best possible way...

I say Muhammad Naguib did not appeal to me only because he is this or that; rather, I loved Muhammad Naguib as a man — strong of personality without domineering or harshness, imposing of presence without stiffness or severity, spreading around him an air of gaiety, warmth, and affection... I felt a fearful awe before entering his presence, but no sooner had the sitting room gathered us in than my timidity and shyness fell away, that formality I had draped over myself left me, and I set off talking and talking — about Egypt, and the noble Egyptian people, and Egypt's precious, priceless monuments, and the Lebanese people's love for Egypt and the Egyptians...

And he in turn spoke to me at length; the words flowed from between his lips free and unconstrained, sweet and graceful, and his face never ceased breaking into those broad smiles that radiated across it, lending his features an endearing color, close to the heart...

2 — Yusuf al-Siba'i:

On a lofty, towering hill overlooking broad, outspread Cairo, where the Egyptian Military Museum sits, I met Yusuf al-Siba'i... And I do not suppose any of us need ask who Yusuf al-Siba'i is... that storyteller of the atomic age, the storyteller of the twentieth century, who, though he has not yet passed his thirty-fifth year, has given the world twenty-six books, all of them successful works of fiction — among them the short story, keen in analysis, deep in meaning, splendid in imagery, and among them the full-length novel... Yusuf al-Siba'i is counted among the pioneers of the long Arabic novel, and the first who attempted to write it — and excelled... Two books, "I Am Departing" and "Among the Ruins," are counted among the most famous novels, able to stand side by side with the most famous novels of the world...

And Yusuf al-Siba'i writes only what he feels and senses; his story rests entirely upon an experience that he himself, or someone else, has lived... Imagination has an ample share in his stories, yet it is a realistic, constructive imagination, one that makes you live the story you are reading and feel it in your own world and your own reality — not a story that carries you off into the seventh heaven till you forget the earth and everyone upon it...

And Yusuf al-Siba'i invites you to take lunch at his table and presses the invitation, so you yield to his wish while nothing could please you more than to accept, eager as you are for more of his graceful conversation and his hospitable company.

At the table I met Bissa and Ismail and their mother... And only then did I feel that there is true happiness in this world of ours... Cheer, gaiety, and contentment looked out at you from every eye and every lip and tongue... Yusuf al-Siba'i talks to you beaming and joyful; his wife draws you into conversation and asks you about beautiful Lebanon, the smile radiating in the folds of her face and shining out of her eyes; and Bissa and Ismail... those two gentle lambs, sat beaming and happy, answering the visitors' questions with all the innocence, quickness, and ready wit their childhood holds...

And now, what shall I say of this ideal family... The mistress of the house is the most beautiful Egyptian lady I met there... and Bissa the most beautiful Egyptian girl my eye fell upon... and Ismail the most beautiful Egyptian boy I glimpsed in the course of my journey... and Yusuf al-Siba'i the most beautiful and most gracious writer, Egyptian or otherwise, that I have known...

No doubt each one of us has read a great deal of Mahmoud Taymur's stories... the pioneer of the modern Arabic story — nay, its reviver and its creator... And no doubt all of us have admired this man's lofty art, and his fine analysis, and the original incidents of his stories, and then this modern direction he has taken in the Arabic story, and these local colors he has brought into his story, so that it took on a special and beautiful stamp... Yet none of us knows exactly who Mahmoud Taymur is until he meets him and becomes acquainted with his personality...

Mahmoud Taymur is one of those people whom one finds it a comfort to talk with, for he is calm of temper and measured of phrase, and despite his advancing years, there show upon him the marks of a handsomeness that cannot escape the discerning, keen-eyed observer...

Hardly does Mahmoud Taymur make your acquaintance and learn that you are from Lebanon than he opens a notebook he keeps in his pocket and proceeds to enumerate a host of Lebanese names — people he has met and come to know, with whom firm bonds of friendship have since been knit; for he loves the Lebanese and takes pride in these friends from the sister country... Nor does he forget to ask you about the names of certain students who consulted him in writing their theses on the story and on literature, for he would like a greater number of Lebanese to get in touch with him and knit the bonds of affection with him... Then before long he adds your name, with your address, to the host of names, after promising to write to you... And you take comfort in this pure, natural affection, shown toward you by a great writer and a storyteller of wide renown like Mahmoud Taymur — nor does he forget to invite you to dinner, or lunch, or a cup of tea... And the Egyptians are all alike in this respect — in generosity, hospitality, and the welcoming of the guest...

I did not admire Mustafa Amin because his massive frame caught my eye, or because his fame as a brilliant journalist had taken hold of my thoughts, but because Mustafa Amin was the best of companions on my air journey to Cairo, and in the course of it he performed the office of guide in the best possible way: he directed me to the beautiful places I might visit, and he also urged me to visit the house of Akhbar al-Yom, that I might become acquainted with the Egyptian press in its fullest expression... And I chose to seize the opportunity of being with him on the airplane to open with him an amusing record of interrogation, which I shall lay before you in the pages of this paper in a coming issue.

And Mustafa Amin, contrary to what his outward appearance suggests, is a tactful conversationalist, quick-witted, of charming humor, and pleasant company.

An amusing incident befell me with him, one that caused me a great deal of discomfort and embarrassment — though the offense does not fall upon me alone; sharing it with me is that Nature which chose to work wonders and send us twins so exactly alike, in every single thing, that a person is powerless to tell them apart — like Mustafa and Ali Amin...

When the airplane landed, I bade Mustafa Amin farewell after promising to visit him, and waiting to receive him at the airport was his brother Ali Amin... I did not look very closely at the latter's features to see the difference between them, for the drone of the airplane was still ringing in my ears and a touch of dizziness had come over me... though I did see that they resembled each other greatly...

A few days passed after our arrival, and we set out for the Auberge to spend an evening there... It seemed to me that Mustafa Amin was entering the hall in the company of a lady, and I drew the attention of the friends accompanying me to him — whereupon they burst out laughing, saying: Can you still not tell Ali from Mustafa Amin?... The man coming in is Ali Amin... And I fell silent, convinced they were right... The man passed in front of us, and I set about scrutinizing his face, to see whether there was any difference between this half of the twins and the one I had met aboard the airplane — whereupon he simply smiled and said: Good evening, Miss... I don't suppose you forget your traveling companions so quickly... A wave of embarrassment swept over my face, and I found myself in a predicament from which I knew no way out but to say: Forgive me — the fault is not mine but these companions', who convinced me that you were the other half of the twins... And he laughed aloud, saying: Curse this trick of fate — how many predicaments it lands me in, and what losses it costs me...