Chapter 19 - 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 nineteen. All day the shellshad been flying thick and fast. When
night settled down, the fire wasso continuous that one could trace the battle
front by the reflection in the sky. Cameron stood at his post under the
stars and cried out in his soulfor God. For days now death had

(00:20):
stopped them very close. His comradeshad fallen all about him. There seemed
to be no chance for safety.And where was God? Had he no
part in all this hell on earth? Did he not care? Would he
not be found? All his seekingand praying and reading of the Little Book
seemed to have brought God no nearer. He was going out pretty soon in

(00:42):
the natural order of the battle,if things kept on out into the other
life without having found the God whohad promised that if he would believe,
and if he would seek with allhis heart, he would surely find him.
Once in a y m c ahut on a Sunday night, a
great tenor came to entertain them andsang almost the very words that the stranger

(01:03):
back in the United States had writtenin his little book. If with all
your hearts ye truly seek him,ye shall ever surely find him. Thus
saith your God. And ever sincethat song had wrung its wonderful melody down
deep in his heart, he hadbeen seeking, seeking, in all the
ways he knew, with a longingthat would not be satisfied, And yet

(01:25):
he seemed to have found nothing.So now as he walked silently beneath the
stars, looking up, his soulwas crying out with the longing of despair
to find a savior, the Christof his soul. Amid all the shudderings
of the battle rent earth, theconcussions of the bursting shells, could even
God hear a soul's low cry.Suddenly, out in the darkness in front

(01:48):
of him, there flickered a tinylight, only a speck of a glint.
It was the light of a cigarette. But it was where it had
no business to be, and itwas Cameron's business to see that it was
not there. They had been givenstrict orders that there must be no lights
and no sounds to give away theirposition. Even though his thoughts were with
the stars in his search for God, his senses were keen and on the

(02:10):
alert. He sprang instantly and silently, appearing before the delinquent like a miracle.
Halt, he said under his breath. Can that cigarette? I guess
you don't know who I am,swaggered, a voice thick and unnatural that
yet had a familiar sound. Itmakes no difference who you are. You
can't smoke on this post while I'mon duty. Those are my orders.

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And with a quick motion he caughtthe cigarette from the loose lips and extinguished
it, grinding it into the groundwith his heel. I'll have you comarshalled
for this, stuttered the angry officer, stepping back unsteadily and raising his fist
in disgust. Cameron turned his backand walked away. How had Wainwright managed
to bring liquor with him to thefront, something powerful and condensed out to

(03:00):
steady his nerves in battle? Wainwrighthad ever been noted for his cowardice.
His breath was heavy with it.How could a man want to meet death
in such a way. He turnedto look again, and Wainwright was walking
unsteadily away across the line where theyhad been forbidden to go out into the
open where the shells were flying.Cameron watched him for an instant, with

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mingled feelings to think. He calledhimself a man and dared to boast of
marrying such a woman as Ruth MacDonald. Well, what if he did go
into danger and get killed? Theworld was better off without him. Cameron's
heart was burning hot within him.His enemy was at last within his power.
No one but himself had seen Wainwrightmove off in that direction, where

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there was certain death within a fewminutes. It was no part of his
duty to stop him. He wasnot supposed to know. He had been
drinking. The whistle of a shellwent ricocheting through the air, and Cameron
dropped as he had been taught todo, but lifted his eyes time to
see Wainwright throw up his arms,drop on the edge of the hill,
and disappear. The shell plowed itsway in a furrow a few feet away,

(04:08):
and Cameron rose to his feet sharply. Distinctly, in a brief lull
of the din about him, heheard his name called. It sounded from
down the hill, a cry ofdistress, but it did not sound like
Wainwright's voice. Cameron, come help. He obeyed instantly, although strange to
say, he had no thought ofits being Wainwright. He crept cautiously out

(04:30):
to the edge of the hill andlooked over the blare of the heavens made
objects below quite visible. He couldsee Wainwright huddled as he had fallen.
While he looked, the injured manlifted his head, struggled to crawl feebly,
but fell back again. He felta sense of relief that at last
his enemy was where he could dono more harm. Then, through the

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dim darkness he saw a figure comingtoward the prostrate form, and stooping over
to touch him. It showed whiteagainst the darkness, and it paid no
heed to the shell that suddenly whistledoverhead. It half lifted the head of
the fallen officer, and then straightenedup and looked toward Cameron. And again,

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although there was no sound audible nowin the din that the battle was
making, he felt himself called.A strange thrill of awe possessed him.
Was that the Christ out there whomhe had been seeking? And what did
he expect of him? To comeout there to his enemy, to the
man who had been in many waysthe curse of his young life. Suddenly,

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as he still hesitated, a versefrom his testament, which had often
come to his notice, returned clearlyto his mind. If thou bringest thy
gift to the altar, and thererememberest that thy brother has aught against thee.
Leave there thy gift before the altar. First be reconciled to thy brother,
and then come and offer thy gift. Was this then what was required

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of him? Had his hate towardWainwright been what had hindered him from finding
God? There was no time nowto argue that this man was not his
brother. The man would be killed, certainly. If he lay there many
minutes, the opportunity would pass asquickly as it had come. The Christ
he sought was out there expecting himto come, and he must lose no

(06:18):
time in going to him. Howgladly would he have faced death to go
to him? But Wainwright that wasdifferent. Could it be this that was
required of him? Then? Backin his soul there echoed the words,
if with all your heart ye trulyseek. Slowly he crept forward over the
brow of the hill and into thelight, going toward that white figure above,

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the huddled dark one, creeping painfullywith bullets ripping up the earth about
him. He was going to theChrist with all his heart, Yes,
all his heart, even if itmeant putting by his enmity forever somewhere on
the way. He understood when hereached the fallen man there was no white
figure there, But he was notsurprised nor disappointed. The Christ was not

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there, because he had entered intohis heart. He had found him at
last. Back at the base hospital, they told Wainwright one day how Cameron
had crawled with him on his back, out from under the searchlights, amid
the shells, and into safety.It was the only thing that had saved
his life, for if he hadlain long with the wound he had got,

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there would have been no chance forhim. Wainwright, when he heard
it, lay thoughtful for a longtime, a puzzled, half sullen look
on his face. He saw thateverybody considered Cameron a hero. There was
no getting away from that. Therest of his life. One could not
indecency be an enemy of a manwho had saved one's life. Cameron had

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won out in a final round.It would not be good policy not to
recognize it. It would be entirelytoo unpopular. He must make friends with
him. It would be better topatronize him than to be patronized by him.
Perhaps also down in the depths ofhis fat selfish heart. There was
a little bit of gratitude mixed withit all, for he did loved life,

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and he was a mortal coward.So he sent for Cameron one day,
and Cameron came. He did notwant to come. He dreaded the
interview worse than anything he had everhad to face before. But he came.
He came with the same spirit hehad gone out into the shell fire
after Wainwright, because he felt thatthe Christ asked it of him. He
stood firm and grave at the footof the little hospital cot and listened while

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Wainwright pompously thanked him and told himgraciously that now that he had saved his
life, he was going to putaside all the old quarrels and be his
friend. Cameron smiled sadly. Therewas no bitterness in his smile, perhaps
just the least fringe of amusement,but no hardness. He even took the
bandaged tent that was offered as atoken that peace had come between them,

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who had so long been at war. All this time were ringing in his
heart the words with all your heart, with all your heart, he had
the Christ. What else mattered?Somehow, Wainwright felt that he had not
quite made the impression on this strongman that he had hoped, and in
an impulse to be more than gracious, he reached his good hand under his

(09:15):
pillow and brought forth an envelope.When Corporal Cameron saw the writing on that
envelope, he went white under thetown of the battlefield. But he stood
still and showed no other sign.When I get back home, I'm going
to be married, said the complaisantvoice. And my wife and I will
want you to come and take dinnerwith us some day. I guess you
know who the girl is. Shelives in brine Haven, up on the

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hill. Her name is Ruth MacDonald. I've just had a letter from her.
I'll have to write her how yousaved my life. She'll want to
thank you too. How could Cameronpossibly know that envelope, addressed in Ruth
MacDonald's precious handwriting, contained nothing butthe briefest word of thanks for an elaborate
souvenir that Wainwright had sent her fromFrance. Was the matter with Cammie,

(10:01):
his comrades asked one another. Whenhe came back to his company, he
looks as though he had lost hislast friend. Did he care so much
for that Wainwright guy that he saved. I'm sure I don't see what he
sees in him. I wouldn't havetaken the trouble to go out after him,
would you. Cameron's influence had beenfelt quietly among his company. In

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his presence, the men refrained fromcertain styles of conversation. When he sat
apart and read his testament, theyhushed their boisterous talk, and lately some
of them had come to read withhim. He was generally conceded to be
the bravest in their company, andwhen a fellow had to die suddenly,
he liked Cameron to hold him inhis arms. So far, Cameron had

(10:43):
not had a scratch, and themen had come to think he had a
charmed life. More than he knew. He was beloved of them all,
more than they knew. Their respectfor him was deepening into a kind of
awe. They felt he had apower with him that they understood. He
was still the silent corporal. Hetalked not at all of his newfound experience,

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yet it shone in his face ina mysterious light. Even after he
came from Wainwright with that stricken look, there was above it all, a
glory behind his eyes that not eventhat could change. For three days he
went into the thick of the battle, moving from one hairbreadth escape to another,
with the calmness of an angel whoknows his life is not of earth.

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And on the fourth day there camethe awful battle, the struggle for
a position that had been held bythe enemy for four years, and that
had been declared impregnable from the sideof the allies. The boys all fought
bravely, and many fell, butforemost of them all passing unscathed from height
to height, Corporal Cameron on thelead in fearlessness and spirit. And when

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the tide at last was turned andthey stood triumphant among the dead, and
saw the enemy retiring in disorder,it was Cameron who was still in the
forefront, his wife face and tattereduniform, catching the last rays of the
setting sun. Later, when thesurvivors had all come together, one came
to the captain with a white faceand anxious eyes. Captain, where's Cammie.

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We can't find him anywhere. Hecame a half hour ago and volunteered
to slip through the enemy's lines tonightand send us back a message, he
said in husky tones. But Captain, he was wounded. He was.
The captain looked up, startled.He said nothing about it. He wouldn't,
of course, said the soldier.He's that way, but he was

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wounded in the arm. I helpedhim bind it up. How bad I
Dunno, he wouldn't let me look, he said he would attend to it
when he got back. Well,he's taken a wireless in his pocket and
crept across no man's land to findout what the enemy is going to do.
He's wearing a dead jerry's uniform.The captain turned and brushed the back

(12:56):
of his hand across his eyes,and a low sound between us Bob and
a whispered cheer went up from thegathered remnant as they rendered homage to their
comrade. For three days, themessages came floating in, telling vital secrets
that were a vast strategic value.Then the messages ceased, and the anxious
officers and comrades looked in vain forword. Two more days passed three and

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still no sign that showed he wasalive, and the word went forth missing
and missing. He was proclaimed inthe newspapers at home. That night there
was a lull in the sector whereCameron's company was located. No one could
guess what was going on across thewide dark space called No Man's Land.
The captain sent anxious messages to otherofficers, and the men at the listening

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posts had no clue to give.It was raining, and a chill,
biased sleet that cut like knives wasdriving from the northeast. Water trickled into
the dugouts and sopped through the trenches, and the men shuddered their way along
dark pass passages and waited. Onlyscattered artillery fire lit up the heavens.
Here and there. It was anight when all hell seemed let loose to

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have its way with Earth. Thewatch paced back and forth and preyed or
cursed, and counted the minutes untilhis watch would be up. Across the
blackness of no Man's Land, pockmarked with great shell craters, there raged
a tempest, and even a hunwould turn his back and look the other
way. In such a storm,slowly, oh so slow that not even

(14:28):
the earth would know it was moving, There crept a dark creature forth from
the enemy line, a thing allof spirit could not have gone more invisibly,
lying like a stone, as motionlessfor spaces uncountable, stirring every muscle
with a controlled movement that could notstop at any breath, lying under the
very nose of the guard without beingseen for long minutes, and gone when

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next he passed that way, slowly, painfully, gaining ground with a track
of blood where the stone were cruel, and a holding of breath when the
fitful flare lights up, the way, covered at times by mud from nearby,
bursting shells, faint and sick,but continuing to creep, chilled and
sore and stiff, blinded and bleedingand torn shell holes and stones and miring

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mud, slippery and sharp and neverending the long, long trail halt came
a sharp, clear voice through thenight. Pat, come here, what
is that? Whispered the guard.Now watch, I'm sure I saw it
move there. I'm going to it. Better look out. But he was
off and back with something in hisarms, something in a ragged, blood

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soaked German uniform. They turned ashaded flashlight into the face and looked.
Pat, it's Cammie. The guardwas sobbing at sound of the dear old
name. The inert mass roused toaction. Tell cap they're planning to slip
away at five in the morning.Tell him if he wants to catch them,
he must do it now. Don'tmind me, go quick. The

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voice died away, and the headdropped back with a last wistful look.
Pat was off to the captain,but the guard gathered Cameron up in his
arms tenderly and nursed him like ababy, crooning over him in the sleet
and dark till Pat came back witha stretcher and some men who bore him
to the dressing station, lying anertbetween them while men worked over his silent

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form. His message was flashing toheadquarters and back over the lines to all
the posts along that front. Thetime had come for the big drive.
In a short time, a greatcompany of dark forms stole forth across no
man's land, till they seemed likea wide dark sea, creeping on to
engulf the enemy. Next morning,the newspapers of the world sent forth in

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monstrous type the glorious victory, andhow the Americans had stolen upon the enemy
and cut them off from the restof their army, wiping out a whole
salient. But while the world wasrejoicing. John Cameron lay on his little
hard stretcher in the tent and barelybreathed. He had not opened his eyes
nor spoken again. End of Chapternineteen