Chapter 16 - The Search - Grace Hill

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Naguib Mahfouz, Egyptian literature, existentialism, identity, love, relationships, social commentary, cultural norms, social class, personal growth, literary style, literary legacy, literary analysis, literary adaptation, literary criticism, Cairo, modernity, cultural influence, societal expectations, individualism, human nature, psychological analysis, Arab culture, family, urbanization

Episode Transcript

(00:00):
Chapter sixteen. The first night onthe water was one of unspeakable horror to
Cameron. They had scarcely begun tofeel the roll of the waves before Captain
wurtz manifested his true nature. Atsix o'clock and broad daylight, he ordered
the men below and had them lockedin and all the portholes closed. The

(00:21):
place was packed, The heat wasunbearable, the motion increasing all the time,
and the air soon became intolerable invain, the men protested and begged
for air. Their requests were alldenied. The captain trusted no man.
He treated them as if they werehounds. Wainwright stood by the captain's side,

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smoking the inevitable cigarette, his eyesnarrowly watching Cameron when the order was
given, But no onlooker could havetold from Cameron's well trained face whether he
had heard or not. Well heknew where those orders had originated, and
instantly he saw a series of liketorments. Wainwright had things in his own
hands for this voyage. Words washis devoted slave. For Wainwright had money

(01:06):
and used it freely with his captain, and Wainwright well knew how to think
up tortures. It was really theonly thing in which he was clever,
And here again was an instance ofpractice making perfect. For Wainwright had done
little else since his kindergarten days thanto think up trials for those who would
not bow to his peevish will.He seemed to be gifted in finding out

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exactly what would be the finest kindof torture for any given soul who happened
to be his victim. He hadthe mind of nero and the spirit of
a mean little beast. The wonderthe great miracle was that he had not,
in some way discovered that Ruth hadbeen visiting the camp and taken his
revenge before she left. This wasthe first thought that came to Cameron when

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he found himself shut into the murkyatmosphere. The next thought was that perhaps
he had discovered it, and thiswas the result. He felt himself the
Jonah for the company, And asthe dreadful hours went by, would fain
have cast himself into the sea ifthere had been a possible way of escape.
It was not an American transport onwhich they were sailing, and the

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captain was not responsible for the food, but he might have refused to allow
such meals to be served to hismen. If he had cared, he
did not care. That was thewhole trouble. He ate and drank,
principally drank and did whatever Wainwright suggested. When a protest came up to him,
he turned it down with a laughand said, oh, that's good

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enough for a buck private, andwent on with his dirty jokes. The
supper that first night was abominable,some unpleasant kind of meat cooked with cabbage,
and though they tried to eat it, many of them could not keep
it down. The ship rolled andthe men grew sick. The atmosphere became
feted. Each moment seemed more impossiblethan the last. There was no room

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to move, neither could one getout and away. After supper, the
men lay down in the only placethere was to lie, Two men on
the tables, two men on thebenches each side, two men on the
floor between, and so on allover the cabin packed like eggs in a
box. They sent a message totheir captain, begging for air, but
he only laughed and sent word backthat they would have air enough before they

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got through with this war. Thenight wore on, and Cameron lay on
his scant piece of floor. Hehad given his bench to a sicker man
than himself and tried to sleep,But sleep did not visit his eyelids.
He was thinking, thinking, I'mgoing to find God. I'm going to
search for him with all my heart, and somehow I'm going to find him

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before I'm done. I may nevercome home, but I'll find God anyhow.
It's the only thing that makes lifebearable. Then would come a wave
of hate for his enemy and wipeout all other thoughts, and he would
wrestle in his heart with the desireto kill Wayne right, yes, and
the captain too. As some poorwretch near him would writhe and groan in

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agony, His rage would boil upanew, His fists would clinch, and
he would have rise to go tothe door and overpower that guard. If
only he could get up to wherethe officers were enjoying themselves. Oh to
bring them down here and bind themin this loathsome atmosphere, feed them with
this food, stifle them in thedark with closed portholes. His brain was

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fertile with thoughts of revenge. Thensuddenly across his memory would flash the words,
if with all your heart ye seekhim and he would reach out in
longing. Oh, if he couldfind God. Surely God would stop a
thing like this. Did God haveno power in his own earth? Slowly,
painfully, the days dragged by,each worse than the last. In

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the mornings, the men must goon deck, whether they were sick or
not, and must stay there allday, no matter what the weather.
If they were wet, they mustdry out by the heat of their bodies.
There was no possibility of getting attheir kit bags. It was so
crowded. No man was allowed toopen one. All they had was the
little they carried in their packs.How they lived through it was a wonder

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but live they did. Perhaps theworst torture of all was the great round
cork life preserver, in the formof a cushioned ring, which they were
obliged to wear night and day.A man could never lie down comfortably with
it on, and if from sheerexhaustion he fell asleep, he awoke with
his back aching tortures. The meatand cabbage was varied twice by steamed fish,

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served in its scales, tails,fins, heads, and entrails.
Complete. All that they got whichwas really eatable was a small bun served
in the morning, and boiled potatoesoccasionally. Nevertheless, these hardships would have
been as nothing to Cameron if theyhad not represented to him hate, pure
and simple. He felt, andperhaps justly, that if Wainwright had not

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wished to make him suffer, thesethings would surely have been mitigated. The
day came at last, when theystood on the deck and watched the strange
foreign shore draw nearer. Cameron,stern and silent, stood apart from the
rest. For the moment, hisanger toward Wainwright was forgotten, though he
could hear the swaggering tones from thedeck above, and the noisome laughter of

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words in response. Cameron was lookinginto the face of the future, wondering
what it would mean for him.Out there was the strange country. What
did it hold for him? WasGod there? How? He wanted God
to go with him and help himface the future. There was much delay
in landing and getting ready to move. The men were weak from sickness and

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long fasting. They tottered as theystood, but they had to stand unless
they dropped. They turned when facestoward one another and tried to smile.
Their fine American pep was gone hopelessly. Yet they grinned feebly now and then,
and got off a weak little jokeor two. For the most part,
they glared when the officers came by, especially too, those two.

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The wrath toward them had been brewinglong and deep as each man lay weltering
through those unbearable nights. Hardship theycould bear, and pain and sickness,
but tyranny. Never someone had writtena letter. It was not the first.
There had been others on shipboard protestingagainst their treatment. But this letter
was a warning to that captain andlieutenant if they ever led these men into

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battle, they would be killed beforethe battle began. It was signed by
the company. It had been aunanimous boat. Now, as they stood
staring leadenly at the strange sights aroundthem, listening to the new jargon of
the shore, noting the quaint headdresses and wooden sabots of the people with
a fine scorn of indifference, theythought of that letter in hard phrases of

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rage. And bitterest of all werethe thoughts of John Cameron as he stood
in his place awaiting orders. Theywere hungry, these men, and unfit.
When at last the order came tomarch, and they had to hike
it straight up a hill with agreat pack on their backs. It was
not that they minded the packs,or the hike, or the hunger.

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It was the injustice of their treatmentthat weighed upon them like a burden that
human nature could not bear. Theyhad come to lift such a burden from
the backs of another nation, andthey had been treated like dogs all the
way over. Like the low rumblingof oncoming thunder, was the blackness of
their countenances. As they marched up, up and up into breast, the

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sun grew hot, and their kneeswobbled under them from sheer weakness. Strong
men when they started, who werefine and fit, now faint like babies,
yet with spirits unbroken and great vengeancein their hearts. They would fight,
Oh they would fight, yes,But they would see that captain out
of the way. First Here andthere by the way some fell the wonder

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as they all did not, andhad to be picked up by the ambulances.
And at last they had to beordered to stop and rest. They
who had come over here to flaunttheir young strength in the face of the
enemy, they to fall before thefight was begun. This too, they
laid up against their tyrant, butthere was welcome for them. Nevertheless.

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Flowers and wreaths and bands of musicmet them as they went through the town,
and women and little children flung themkisses and threw blossoms in their way.
This revived somewhat the drooping spirits withwhich they had gone forth, and
when they reached the camp and gota decent meal, they felt better and
more reasonable. Still, the bitternesswas there against those two who had used

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their power unworthily. That night,lying on a hard little cotton camp,
Cameron tried to pray, his heartfull of longing for God, yet found
the heavens as brass, and couldnot find words to cry out except in
bitterness. Somehow, he did notfeel he was getting on at all in
his search, and from sheer wearinessand discouragement, he fell asleep. At

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last three days and nights of restthey had, and then were packed into
tiny freight cars with a space sosmall that they had to take turns sitting
down. Men had to sleep sittingor standing, or wherever they could find
space to lie down. So theystarted across France. Three days and awful

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nights. They went weary and soreand bitter, still, but they had
air, and they were better fed. Now and then they could stand up
and look out through a crack.Once in a while a fellow could get
a space to stretch out for afew minutes. Cameron awoke once and found
feet all over him, feet evenin his face. Yet these things were

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what he had expected. He didnot whine. He was toughened for such
experience dances, so were the menabout him. The hardness merely brought out
their courage. They were getting theirspirits back now as they neared the real
scene of action. The old excitementand call to action were creeping back into
their blood. Now and then asong would pipe out, or a much

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abused banjo or mandolin would twang andbring forth their voices. It was only
when an officer walked by, ormention would be made of the captain or
lieutenant, that their looks grew blackagain, and they fell silent in justice
and tyranny, the things they hadcome to fight, and they would not
forgive or forget. Their spirits werereviving, but their hate was there.

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At last, they detrained and marchedinto a little town. This was France.
Cameron looked about him in dismay,a scramble of houses and barns,
sort of two and one affairs.Where was the beauty of France about which
he had read so often? Mudwas everywhere, the streets were deep with
it. The ground was sodden,rain soaked. It was raining even then

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sunny France. It was in abarn yard, deep in manure, where
Cameron's tint was set up, littlebrown tints, set close together, their
flies dovetailing, so that more couldbe put in a given space. Dog
weary, he strode over the stakesthat held them and looked upon the place
where he was to sleep. Itsfloor was almost a foot deep in water,

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rank ill, smelling water. Pawwas this intention that he should have
been billeted here? Some of themen had dry places. Of course it
might have just happened, But well, what was the use here? He
must sleep, for he could notstand up any longer or he would fall
over. So he heaped up apillow of the muck, spread his blanket

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out, and lay down. Atleast his head would be high enough out
of the water so that he wouldnot drown in his sleep. And with
his feet in water and the coldooze creeping slowly through his heavy garments.
He dropped immediately into oblivion. Therewere no prayers that night. His heart
was full of hate. The barnyardwas in front of an old stone farmhouse,

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and in that farmhouse where billeted theCaptain and his favorite first Lieutenant,
Cameron could hear his raucous laugh andthe clinking of the wine glasses, almost
the gurgle of the wine. Thethought of Wainwright was his last conscious one
before he slept. Was it ofintention that he should have been put here
close by where Wainwright could watch hisevery move. As the days went by

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and real training began, with Frenchofficers working them hard until they were ready
to drop at night, Gradually Camerongrew stolid. It seemed sometimes as if
he had always been here, splashingalong in the mud, soaked with rain,
sleeping in muck at night, neverquite dry, never free from cold
and discomfort, never quite clean,always training the boom of the battle afar,

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but never getting there. Where wasthe front? Why didn't they get
there and fight and get done withit all? The rain poured down day
after day, ammunition trains rolled by, more men marched in, more marched
on, still they trained. Itseemed eons since he had bade Ruth and

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his mother could buy. That nightat the camp, no mail had come.
Oh, if he could just heara word from home, if he
only had her picture. They hadtaken some together at camp, and she
had promised to have them developed andsend them. But they would probably never
reach him, and it were betterif they did not. Wainwright was censor.

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If he recognized the writing, nothingwould ever reach him. He was
sure still Wainwright had nothing to dowith the incoming mail, only the outgoing.
Well, Wainwright should never censor hisletters. He would find a way
to get letters out that Wainwright hadnever censored, or he would never send
any. But the days dragged byin rain and mud and discouragement, and

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no letters came. Once or twice, he attempted to wire a respectable letter
to his mother, but he feltso hampered with the thought of Wainwright having
to see it that he kept itsecurely in his pocket and contented himself with
gay pictured postcards which he had purchasedin Breast, on which he inscribed a
few noncommittal sentences, always reminding themof the censer and his inability to say

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what he would, and always endingremember me to my friend and tell her
I have forgotten nothing, but cannotwrite at present for reasons which I cannot
explain. At night, he layon his watery couch and composed long letters
to Ruth, which he dared notto put on paper, lest somehow they
should come into the hands of Wainwright. He took great satisfaction in the fact

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that he had succeeded in slipping througha postcard addressed to herself from Breast,
through the kindness and understanding of asmall boy who agreed to mail it in
exchange for a package of chewing gum. Here at the camp, there was
no such opportunity, but he wouldwait and watch for another chance. Meantime,
the long separation of miles and thecreeping days gave him a feeling of

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desolation such as he had never experiencedbefore. He began to grow introspective.
He fancied that perhaps he had overestimatedRuth's friendship for him. The dear memories
he had cherished during the voyage werebrought out in the night watches, and
ruthlessly reviewed until his own shy hopethat the light in her eyes had been

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for him began to fade, andin its place there grew a conviction that
happiness of earth was never for him. For he reasoned, if she cared,
why did she not write at leasta postcard. Other fellows were getting
letters now and then day after day. He waited when the mail was distributed,
but nothing ever came. His motherseemed to have forgotten too. Surely,

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all these weeks some word would havecome through. It was not in
reason that his mail should be delayedbeyond others. Could it be that there
was false play somehow? Was Wainwrightat the bottom of this? Or had
something happened to his mother and hadRuth forgotten? End of Chapter sixteen.