You have grown your beard

Mohamed Salmawy captures a moment of warmth

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The first thing Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz told his Brazilian guest Paulo Coelho, after scrutinising his face for a few moments, was, "You have grown your beard, like me." And Coelho's answer was, "It is just as grey as yours, too." Both men laughed, as if they were old friends reunited after a long seperation; the ice was broken instantly.

Both writers, in somewhat opposite ways, have reached the height of literary achievement: the latter drawing on national sensibilities so deeply he was able to distil their universal import, the former freeing himself of local constraints to tackle basic human preoccupations, especially "the quest for self", symbolised in The Alchemist by the treasure that takes the hero from Spain all the way to the Egyptian desert.

Yet this is what Coelho told Mahfouz about reading his work: "Your novels permeated me without the least resistance. Whenever I read one of your novels I found myself giving in to it, fully, willingly, while at other times I do find myself resisting books I'm reading."

Mahfouz returned the compliment: "And you invaded all the world with your books, seemingly without any resistance either. Your works translated into 56 languages, their sales exceeding 60 million copies -- surely this means your readers have surrendered..."

Coelho interjected, "But you were awarded the Nobel Prize, while I wasn't."

And in more serious tones, without a shade of flattery, Mahfouz replied, "My feeling is that you too will be awarded that prize. All the criteria apply to you -- and more importantly, in the first place your literature is human; it supports values of love and peace among peoples. Secondly, it is popular enough to have affected readers' perceptions."

Coelho laughed appreciatively, "I'll convey your opinion to the Nobel Prize Committee -- as an official candidacy," he said, "since the rules state that a winner has the right to nominate other writers."

"This is true," replied Mahfouz. "I used to receive a letter every year from the committee asking me if I wished to nominate anyone for the prize -- I never did. A few years down the line, it seems that they have given up on me and stopped sending the letters."

"Why did you never nominate anyone?" asked Coelho

"Because I think that such a prize should not depend on personal whims, so I prefer to leave the job to public institutions capable of presenting their nominations, so that the nominations will also be accompanied with proper financial support."

A question I'd been pondering suddenly came out -- to Coelho: "You told me you've read all those novels of Mahfouz's that have been translated into Portuguese. In your opinion, what are the common features between your works?"

"We both prioritise building human bridges," Coelho replied, "through generating an interest in people rather than abstract ideas, doctrines or ideologies. For example, for me personally, the most important thing about visiting any country is getting to know its people. Any time I am given the choice between going to a museum or a coffee shop, I choose the latter without hesitation."

The coffee shop occupies an important position in Mahfouz's life, too, perhaps for the same reason, since he has lived his entire life among the people. He is a great walker, having walked through all of Cairo's districts over the years -- which remains the reason why Mahfouz never owned a car. Now, in response to his guest's comment, he said, "Unfortunately I am no longer able to read at this age, but I have a friend, a physician, who has read your popular novel The Alchemist and told it to me in detail; and it felt as if I had read it. What intrigued me was that notion of the hero's search for the treasure..."

"I finally finished your great novel The Road," Coelho said, "and I discovered that you had beat me to it -- since your novel also revolves around a search, the hero's search for his father. His real search, however, is for the truth, through which he is in fact searching for himself, which is also the case with my hero."

"Everyone has his or her treasure," Mahfouz recapped, "for which they are on a constant search."

"And that treasure may well be inside them," Coelho replied.

"This is the real treasure," Mahfouz said, "because once one finds it, it is never lost again."

"Have you tackled the search theme in other novels?" Coelho asked.

"The search in this direct sense can also be found in Ibn Fattouma's Journey," Mahfouz replied.

"I must track it down, because I am fond of your writing thanks to its unique psychological depth, a feature of great novelists."

Mahfouz was silent, as he always is in response to praise.

It was time for Coelho to returned to my question: "You wanted to know what our works have in common. Well, it is this difficult decision that every sincere writer should make: to make writing his central occupation. The decision requires much courage since it implies that the writer will lead a solitary life. This is why I am always keen on retaining contact with people whenever I have the chance, and I know that Mahfouz faced a similar situation."

The latter commented, "And I still am keen on meeting my friends on a weekly basis, despite of my deteriorating health conditions. Otherwise my life would have been very sad indeed."

Coelho noticed a cigarette pack in Mahfouz's pocket, and immediately commented. "I'm so glad happy you still enjoy smoking."

Mahfouz's reply was somewhat regretful, "Only two cigarettes a day -- that is all I am allowed."

Coelho, who smokes "10 cigarettes a day at 58", said that the 93-year-old Mahfouz makes him optimistic. Both laughed again.

As for the difference between the writing of Mahfouz and Coelho, the latter replied, "I don't know. Maybe the fact that Mahfouz has written more than 40 novels, while I have only written a quarter of this figure."

Coelho went on to ask the Nobel laureate why he has not written his autobiography yet. "Because," replied Mahfouz, "I wrote novels instead."

"But you wrote Echoes of Autobiography, which I read in its English translation."

Mahfouz replied that they are "only echoes, on which I constructed the book. They are not, however, autobiographical in the orthodox sense. My autobiography, per se, is of no interest to anyone, and I will therefore not write it".

According to the Egyptian author, differences do exist between his work and Coelho's, but he stressed that his reading of them is based on other people's opinions rather than his own reading: "What distinguishes his novels is the simplicity of the 'tale', in spite of its depth."

Agreeing, Coelho added that his ambition is for his writing to reach the simplicity and the mysterious complication of the desert.

Before taking his leave, Coelho looked long at his Egyptian colleague, eventually saying, "I visited Egypt the first time in 1978. I was really touched on seeing the Pyramids. When I went back to Brazil The Alchemist had found its genesis in my mind and so I immediately embarked on writing it. This is my second visit to Egypt, and I think the most important event to have taken place is this encounter. It may well provide as much inspiration as the Pyramids on my first visit."

Coelho presented a signed copy of The Alchemist in its Arabic translation, published in Beirut, to the Egyptian beacon, "from whom I have learned so much".

In his turn, Mahfouz presented copy of his latest work, Dreams of the Recuperation Period, in its French translation.

And when Coelho bowed in an attempt to kiss the hand that had signed the book, Mahfouz swiftly retracted it, bowing in turn to his distinguished guest.

C a p t i o n :

Al-Ahram Weekly Online : Located at: http://weekly.ahram.org.eg/2005/745/cu4.htm