Passage Analysis

Pasage:

You’re just the same, Rauf—I don’t know which of you is the most treacherous—except that your guilt is greater because of your intelligence and the past association between us: You pushed me into jail, while you leapt free, into that FOUR

So this is the real Rauf Ilwan, the naked reality—a partial corpse not even decently underground. The other Rauf Ilwan has gone, disappeared, like yesterday, like the first day in the history of man—like Nabawiyya’s love or Ilish’s loyalty. I must not be deceived by appearances. His kind words are cunning, his smiles no more than a curl of the lips, his generosity a defensive flick of the fingers, and only a sense of guilt moved him to let me cross the threshold of his house. You made me and now you reject me: Your ideas create their embodiment in my person and then you simply change them, leaving me lost—rootless, worthless, without hope—a betrayal so vile that if the whole Muqattam hill toppled over and buried it, I still would not be satisfied.

I wonder if you ever admit, even to yourself, that you betrayed me. Maybe you’ve deceived yourself as much as you try to deceive others. Hasn’t your conscience bothered you even in the dark? I wish I could penetrate your soul as easily as I’ve penetrated your house, that house of mirrors and objets d’art, but I suppose I’d find nothing but betrayal there: Nabawiyya disguised as Rauf, Rauf disguised as Nabawiyya, or Ilish Sidra in place of both—and betrayal would cry out to me that it was the lowest crime on earth. Their eyes behind my back must have traded anxious looks throbbing with lust, which carried them in a current crawling like death, like a cat creeping on its belly toward a bewildered sparrow. When their chance came, the last remnants of decency and indecision disappeared, so that in a corner of the lane, even in my own house, Ilish Sidra finally said, “I’ll tell the police. We’ll get rid of him,” and the child’s mother was silent—the tongue that so often and so profusely told me, “I love you, the best man in the world,” was silent. And I found myself surrounded by police in Al-Sayrafi Lane—though until then demons themselves with all their wiles had failed to trap me—their kicks and punches raining down on me.

You’re just the same, Rauf—I don’t know which of you is the most treacherous—except that your guilt is greater because of your intelligence and the past association between us: You pushed me into jail, while you leapt free, into that palace of lights and mirrors. You’ve forgotten your wise sayings about palaces and hovels, haven’t you? I will never forget.

At the Abbas Bridge, sitting on a stone bench, he became aware for the first time of where he was.

“It’s best to do it now,” he said in a loud voice, as if addressing the dark, “before he’s had time to get over the shock.” I can’t hold back, he thought. My profession will always be mine, a just and legitimate trade, especially when it’s directed against its own philosopher. There’ll be space enough in the world to hide after I’ve punished the bastards. If I could live without a past, ignoring Nabawiyya, Ilish, and Rauf, I’d be relieved of a great weight, a burden; I’d feel readier to secure an easy life and a lot further from the rope. But unless I settle my account with them, life will have no taste, because I shall not forget the past. For the simple reason that in my mind it’s not a past, but the here and now. Tonight’s adventure will be the best beginning for my program of action. And it’ll be a rich venture indeed.

The Nile flowed in black waves slashed sidelong by arrows of light from the reflected streetlamps along its banks. The silence was soothing and total.

At the approach of dawn, as the stars drew closer to earth, Said rose from his seat, stretched, and began to walk slowly back along the bank toward the place from which he’d come, avoiding the few still-lit lamps, slowing his steps even more when the house came in sight. Examining the street, the terrain, the walls of the big houses as well as the riverbank, his eyes finally came to rest on the sleeping villa, guarded on all sides by trees like ghostly figures, where treachery dozed in a fine unmerited tranquillity. It’s going to be a rich venture, indeed, and one to give an emphatic reply to the treachery of a lifetime.

He crossed the street casually without a movement to either right or left, without looking wary. Then followed the hedge down a side street, scanning carefully ahead. When he was sure the street was empty he dodged into the hedge, forcing his way in amidst the jasmine and violets, and stood motionless: If there was a dog in the house—other than its owner, of course—it would now fill the universe with barking.

But not a whisper came out of the silence.

Rauf, your pupil is coming, to relieve you of a few worldly goods.

He climbed the hedge nimbly, his expert limbs agile as an ape’s, undeterred by the thick, intertwining branches, the heavy foliage and flowers. Gripping the railings, he heaved his body up over the sharp-pointed spikes, then lowered himself until his legs caught the branches inside the garden. Here he clung for a while regaining his breath, studying the terrain: a jungle of bushes, trees, and dark shadows. I’ll have to climb up to the roof and find a way to get in and down. I have no tools, no flashlight, no good knowledge of the house: Nabawiyya hasn’t been here before me pretending to work as a washerwoman or a maid; she’s busy now with Ilish Sidra.

Analysis: 

It is evident in this text how the author, Mahfouz, conforms to the tragic hero archetype when writing by creating a character like Mahran that entails hubris and hamartia, meanwhile he deviates by having the peripeteia occur before the start of the story only to unlock it to the audience via flashbacks. Furthermore, the nemesis is vague and debatable, enabling readers to be proactive when reading to come to a final decision.

Initially, the context of this passage is insightful the readers to Mahran’s tragic flaw, his hamartia is a very stubborn character that is invade to change nor come to terms with his past traumas, and thus he doesn’t accept his past mentors helping hand but instead tries to fulfil his insatiable vengeance through planning to rob Rauf of his material goods. This tragic flaw is further characterised and develops Mahran's character through the depiction of his hubris, by which Mahran is definitely arrogant throughout. He can only see himself as justified in his path for revenge. Evident in this statement “You’re just the same, Rauf—I don’t know which of you is the most treacherous—except that your guilt is greater because of your intelligence and the past association between us: You pushed me into jail, while you leapt free, into that FOUR” Mahfouz directly characterises Mahran through his distorted thoughts and psychological state, revealed through the streamline narrative, by which maintains the sensibility of a realistic character. 

Moreover, Mahfouz embodies tension, by rising conflicts and the pacing of the novel. In this passage, it is evident that throughout there is a use of a stream of consciousness narrative. By which interjects the narrative technique of flashbacks, ultimately developing Said’s character through his past, enabling reader's insight on characters behaviour, revealing plot points, which in turn enhances the impacts of actions in the present through contrast. 

In addition to this, there are instances scattered within the novel beyond the exposure that readers are given from the unreliable narrator, causing the readers to be proactive in creating their own more objective timeline. “I have no tools, no flashlight, no good knowledge of the house: Nabawiyya hasn’t been here before me pretending to work as a washerwoman or a maid; she’s busy now with Ilish Sidra.”

These things are all purposely done to connect to the stories larger plot at hand and implicitly mimics and symbolises to the audience the ultimate betrayal and injustice of the political state during the context of reception of The Thief and the Dogs.