By Ramadan Abdel Kader
In 1994, a novel by Egyptian writer Mohamed el-Bisatie (1937-2012) was published, breaking new ground in the Arabic literature in terms of theme and style. “Clamour of the Lake” comprises four separate tales with one main protagonist: the lake.
The story, which earned the 1994 Cairo Book Fair Prize for the Best Novel, is set in the vicinity of an imaginary lake, reminiscent of the author’s hometown el-Gamalia in the Nile Delta situated on Lake Manzala.
“Clamour of the Lake” opens with a tale titled “An Old Fisherman’’ depicting a lonely, old fisher of a mysterious past. The man strikes friendship with a poor mother of two twins.
The woman retells her troubled life, in contrast with the fisherman’s reticence. Strikingly, neither the fisher nor the woman is named, anonymity that deepens the mysteriousness of the tale that it ends with the man’s death and his burial by his companion and her twins.
The second story “Gales” revolves around Gomaa and his wife who eke out their livelihood by collecting objects churned up by the sea including shells, colourful solid rocks, bottles of different shapes and colours, culinary items, medals, deflated dinghies and personal accessories.
The couple sell their catch at a local market. “With their unfamiliar colours and shapes, the bottles draw attention. Some have one or two ears. Some look like a small barrel with a handle on one side. Customers are teachers and civil servants. They use shells as ashtrays, empty cans for buying paraffin and oil from the store, unfamiliar bottles as ornaments placed on sills of windows and tables in guests’ rooms, and the ordinary bottles as containers for liquid medicines at state hospitals. As for dysfunctional pens, they have their customers. A civil servant would check them by hand, saying: ‘It doesn’t matter. Their shapes suffice!’”
The couple’s life takes a dramatic turn when Gomaa’s wife finds a chest cast up by the gales. The find proves to be something like Pandora’s box. It makes sounds in a language that no one can understand. The husband becomes so enchanted by the mysterious chest that he deserts his wife and leaves the village only to return years later as a dying man.
“She would only see him seven years later: emaciated, in rags, with his face withered and frayed and his bones protruding, accompanied by a man with a staff. The suburb would have changed. Many tall buildings have emerged, covering the barren land and concealing the shore. His eyes would look for what he used to see, but would not find it. Concrete pillars whose towering edges loom from behind houses while his home looks dwarfed and part of its terrace has crumbled, and crooked cracks in the walls with some repaired with cement as others remain gaping. Rains have stained its façade with dust and garbage swept away from the rooftop. He is gazing at his wife, who has aged in his absence, but he utters no word.
“Both men come in the afternoon with the sun about to set and a cold breeze filling the air. His wife is standing on the sound side of the terrace, with her shoulder leaning on the wall. ‘Have you returned, Gomaa?’ she says quietly. Then she takes him from under his armpit after he becomes unable to ascend the terrace. She puts him in the bed. He breathes deeply as though feeling comfortable. Maybe, he is searching for smells of things with which he was once familiar. She covers him with a quilt and a cloak as she used to do. She puts a pan on the fire. His feverish eyes stare at her in silence.”
The third tale ‘Prairie’ runs in the opposite direction. Although haunted by the magic lake, two locals – Karawia, a café owner, and Afifi, a grocer, forge close friendship. Their tale has existential overtones, raising questions on the meaning of life and its elusive mysteries. The following dialogue between the two is eye-opening.
Karawia: Why do you think God has created us?
For a wisdom which we don’t know.
Ah. The same talk we have learnt by heart since our childhood.
We haven’t been told something different.
For millions of years, as they say, people are born and die. It’s like a water wheel that keeps moving. No one knows the wisdom behind this. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by thoughts that pull me away. I find myself in a mood of understanding. Yes, I understand. Suddenly, it’s hard to understand as a door slammed.
Anyone telling you he understands everything fools you.
Fine. What is the solution?
What solution? The whole life is secrets.
Both friends with their hilarious incidents and pranks provide an element of comic relief amid the grim, mysterious atmosphere.
The final tale “They’ve Left” is engagingly terse. Taking up no more than a page and half, the tale serves as an epilogue, narrating how the woman of the first part returns with her two boys to the lake-side burial place of the old fisherman. They take his remains and leave.
Throughout the 131-page novel, the reader can smell the lake and the nearby sea. The varying landscape with its overwhelming impacts on lives of people residing in the vicinity, are captured in a lyrical, economical style that enhances the uniqueness of the novel. Quietude and tumult of the lake are attractively portrayed.
The presence of the lake is powerfully felt throughout the work. In the early pages, the narrator depicts the fishers’ feelings towards the source of their livelihood: “They were born and grew up on its islands. They found safety in its quiet waters. They would set up their nets and stand on the edges of boats shouting. Sometimes, they would recline in their boats, drinking tea, taking a nap and leaving them moving aimlessly. In the end, they would change their course with a few strokes of the paddle.”
Likewise, the presence of nature is felt and vividly portrayed in narration. “The gale always comes in its time. It may be a bit late. Or it may come earlier. But it does come. We are scared of the winter gale. This sudden stillness as though everything had stopped in anticipation. Dark, heavy clouds gather. Cold winds are about to explode. A suppressed voice resembles a tremor in the earth’s depth. Each time, we say, it’s a storm that will take its time and go away. But it remains latent in the horizon. We hear its rumbling without its coming. We feel its emptiness and mysterious sadness weighing down on us. Dogs on the thresholds of houses whimper, but do not bark.”
Known as “the writer of the poor and the marginalised”, el-Bisatie has penned more than a dozen novels and collections of short stories mostly set in rural areas and focusing on people living on the edges of life. His acclaimed “Clamour of the Lake” is a paradigm of his output that sets him apart from other Egyptian writers dubbed the “generation of the 1960s”.
