Midaq Alley
As she gazed silently at the box, Abbas noticed her diamond brooch and pearl earrings. He withdrew his hand and put the box in his pocket. He asked her pointedly, “Do you have any regrets about your new life?”
In a tone of mock sadness, she answered, “You don’t know how unhappy I am.”
His eyes opened wide in suspicious surprise as he spoke: “How terrible, Hamida! Why did you ever listen to the devil? Why did you hate your life in the alley? How could you throw away a good life for—” here his voice thickened—“a shameless criminal? It’s a dirty crime and there’s no forgiveness for it.”
“I’m paying for it with my flesh and blood.” Her voice was low and melodramatic.
Abbas was now more bewildered, but he felt strangely pleased with the confession he had extracted. Hamida’s hostility had not, however, subsided purely by chance. Her mind raced with devilish inspiration. It occurred to her that she could conscript Abbas against the man who was using her so heartlessly. He would become the instrument of her revenge while she remained apart from any unpleasant consequences. Now she spoke in her frailest voice: “I’m a poor, miserable creature, Abbas. Don’t be angry at what I said. My mental agony has almost made me lose my mind. You see me only as a low prostitute. But it’s what you said, I was betrayed by a devil. I don’t know why I gave in to him. I’m not trying to excuse myself, nor am I asking you to forgive me. I know I’ve sinned and now I’m paying for it. Forgive my temper and hate me as much as your pure heart will let you. I’m just putty in the hands of this horrible man. He sends me into the streets after having robbed me of the most precious thing I had. I loathe and despise him. He’s responsible for all my misery and suffering. But it’s too late now. How can I ever get away from him?”
The wounded look in her eyes made him forget the hysterical woman who had been capable of murdering him only a few minutes before. Her appeal had worked as she hoped it would.
“How awful, Hamida! Both of us are miserable because of that low bestial criminal. I’m sorry, but what you did will always stand between us. We suffer, but his life goes on. I won’t be happy until I smash his head in…”
This pleased Hamida, and she turned her head lest Abbas notice her delight. He had fallen into her trap even faster than she had hoped. She was especially pleased that he had said, “What you did will always stand between us.” She felt relief that he did not want to forgive her. Above all, she did not want that; nor did she want to be taken back.
“I can never forget that you abondoned me and that people saw you with him…It’s over between us. The Hamida I loved no longer exists. But that monster must suffer. Where can I find him?”
“You can’t find him today. Come next Sunday afternoon. He’ll be in the bar at the top of this lane, the only Egyptian in the place. I’ll look toward him when you signal me. What do you plan to do to him?” She spoke as though she feared the consequences for Abbas.
“I’ll smash the filthy pimp’s head.”
Looking at him, she wondered if Abbas could possibly be capable of murder! She knew the answer, but she hoped the encounter might at least bring Ibrahim Faraj before the law; thus she would have her revenge and freedom as well. This fantasy delighted Hamida. She sincerely hoped no harm would come to Abbas and she cautioned him gently, “Be careful, won’t you? Hit him and then drag him to the police station. Let the law handle him from there.”
Abbas, however, was not listening. He mumbled, downcast and half to himself, “We shouldn’t suffer without him paying too. We’re both finished. Why should that pimp get off free and laugh at us? I’ll break his neck; I’ll strangle him!”
Looking up at Hamida, he asked, “And you, Hamida, what if I get this gangster out of your life?”
This was the question she dreaded. It could mean only that Abbas’ affection for her might revive. With quiet determination, she answered, “My ties with the old world are broken now. I’ll sell my jewelry and take a respectable job, somewhere far away…”
Abbas stood thinking. His silence filled her with uneasiness, but eventually he bowed his head and said almost inaudibly, “I can’t find it in my heart to forgive you…I simply cannot…but please don’t disappear until we see how all this ends.”
The note of forgiveness in his voice unnerved her. She would have preferred that both Abbas and Ibrahim Faraj perish.
Anyhow, it would be easy to disappear if she wanted to, but not until she had been avenged. It would be so easy to go to Alexandria; Ibrahim had often talked about the city. She could be…free there, away from the parasites.
Her tone was now sweet and gentle. “As you like, Abbas…”
His heart was geared for revenge, but it also throbbed with deep affection for Hamida.
It was a day of joyful leave-taking. Radwan Hussainy was loved and respected by everyone in the alley. Hussainy had hoped God would choose him to make the holy pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina this year and so He had. Everyone knew this was the day Radwan Hussainy would leave for Suez on his way to those holy lands, and his house was filled with well-wishers, lifelong friends and devout Muslims.
They clustered in his modest room, which had so often echoed with their pious and friendly discussions. They chatted about the pilgrimage and their reminiscences of it, their voices rising from every corner of the room and mixing with a trail of smoke billowing up from the brazier. They told tales of the modern pilgrimage and those of bygone days and related holy traditions and beautiful verses concerning it. One man, with a melodious voice, chanted verses from the Holy Qur’an, and then they all listened to a long and eloquent speech by Radwan Hussainy that expressed his heart’s goodness.
A pious friend wished him: “A happy journey and safe return.”
Hussainy beamed and replied in his most gentle manner, “Please, my friend, don’t remind me of my return. Anyone who visits God’s house with a longing for home deserves to have God deny him reward, ignore his prayers, and destroy his happiness. I will think of returning only when I have left the scene of the revelations on my way back to Egypt. And by ‘returning’ I mean going back on the pilgrimage again, with the help and permission of the All Merciful. If only I could spend the rest of my life in the Holy Land, seeing the ground which once was trod by the Prophet, the sky once filled with the angels singing, and listening to the divine revelation coming down to earth and rising to the skies again with souls from the earth. There one’s mind is filled only with the revelations of eternity. One throbs with love for God. There are the remedy and the cure. Oh, my brother, I long for Mecca and its bright heavens. I long to hear the whispering of time at every corner, to walk down its streets and lose myself in its holy places. How I long to drink from the well of Zamzam and take the road of the Messenger on his Flight, followed by the multitudes of thirteen hundred years ago and those of today, too. I long to feel my heart grow chill when I visit the grave of the Prophet and pray in the Holy Garden. I can see myself now, my brothers, walking through the lanes of Mecca reciting verses from the Qur’an just as they were first revealed, as if I were listening to a lesson given by the Almighty Being. What joy! I can see myself kneeling in the garden imagining the beloved face of the Prophet before me, just as it appears to me in my sleep. What joy! I can see myself prostrated low before the edifice and pleading for forgiveness. What peace I’ll have! I see myself going to the well of Zamzam, saturating with water those wounds of passion and crying out for a cure—what divine peace! My brother, speak not of my return, but pray with me to God to fulfill my hopes…”
His friend replied, “May God fulfill your hopes and give you a long and happy life.”
Radwan Hussainy lifted his outstretched palm to his beard, his eyes glistening with joy and passion, and continued: “A fine prayer! My love for the afterlife does not turn me toward asceticism or make me dissatisfied with life. You all know of my love for life, and why not? It is a part of the creation of the All Merciful, who filled it with tears and with joys. Let, then, he who will
give thought and thanks. I love life in all its colors and sounds, its nights and days, joys and sorrows, beginnings and ends. I love all things living and moving and still. It is all pure goodness. Evil is no more than the inability of the sick to see the good concealed in the crevices. The weak and sick suspect God’s world. I believe that love of life is half of worshipping and love of the afterlife is the other half. Therefore, too, I am shocked by the tears and suffering, rage and anger, spite and malice which weigh down the world, and the criticism with which, as well as all these, the weak and sick afflict it. Would they prefer their lives had not been created? Would they ever have loved if they had not been created from nonexistence? Are they really tempted to deny divine wisdom? I do not declare myself innocent. Once sorrow overcame me too and it ate away a piece of my heart. In the throes of my pain and sorrow I asked myself: Why did God not leave my child to enjoy his share of life and happiness? Did not He, the Glorious and Almighty, create the child? Why, then, should He not take him back when He wished? If God had wanted him to have life, then the child would have remained on earth until His will was done. But He reclaimed my child in all the wisdom His will decreed. God does nothing that is not wise, and wisdom is good. My Lord wished well of both me and the child. A feeling of joy overcame me when I realized that His wisdom was greater than my sorrow. I told myself: O God, You brought affliction upon me and put me to the test. I have come through the test with my faith still firm, certain of Your wisdom. Thank You, O God.
“It has since been my practice that whenever anything afflicts me, I express my joyful thanks from the bottom of my heart. Why should I not do so?”
“Whenever I pass over some test to the shores of peace and faith, I become more and more convinced of the wisdom with which He uses His power. In this way my afflictions always keep me in touch with His wisdom. Why, you could even imagine me as a child playing in his own little world. God treated me severely to rebuke me, frightening me with His mock sternness to double my delight in His real and everlasting kindness. Lovers often put their loved ones to a test, and if they only realized that test is merely a trick and not serious, then their delight in their lovers would be increased. I have always believed that those afflicted on earth are the closest favorites of God. He lavishes love on them in secret, lying in wait for them not far off, to see whether they are really worthy of His love and mercy. All praise to God, for because of his generosity I have been able to comfort those who thought me in need of consolation.”
He drew his hand happily over his broad chest, feeling, in so expressing himself, much the same contentment as a singer lost in the rhythm of a melody and elated with the power of his art. He continued with firm conviction: “Some consider that such tragedies afflicting apparently blameless people are signs of a revengeful justice, the wisdom of which is beyond the understanding of most people. So you will hear them say that if the bereaved father, for example, thought deeply, he would realize his loss was a just punishment for some sin either he or his forebears committed. Yet surely God is more just and merciful than to treat the innocent as the guilty. Yet you hear these people justify their opinion by God’s Qur’anic description of Himself as ‘mighty and revengeful.’ But I tell you, gentlemen, that Almighty God has no need of revenge and only adopted this attribute to advise man to practice it. God had already stated that the affairs of this life should be settled only on the basis of reward and punishment. Dear and Almighty God’s own essential attributes are wisdom and mercy.”
“If I saw in the loss of my children a punishment or penalty I merit, then I would agree with that philosophy and be censured. But I would still be depressed and dissatisfied and no doubt protest that an innocent child died for a weak man’s sins. And is that forgiveness and mercy? And where is the tragedy in what reveals wisdom, goodness, and joy?”
Radwan Hussainy’s opinions drew objections based on both the literal texts and the scholastic interpretations of Islam. Some present insisted that what seemed revenge was in fact mercy. Many of the other men were both more eloquent and erudite than Radwan, but he had not really been inviting argument. He had merely been expressing the love and joy welling up within him. He smiled, as innocent as a child, his face flushed and his eyes beaming, and went on: “Please forgive me, gentlemen. Permit me to disclose a hidden secret. Do you know what has prompted me to make the pilgrimage this year?”
Radwan Hussainy was silent a moment, his clear eyes glistening with a brilliant light. Then he spoke, in reply to the interested looks in his direction: “I don’t deny that I always longed to make the pilgrimage, but each time it was God’s will that I put the matter off. Then, as you know, certain things happened here in the alley. The devil managed to ensnare three of our neighbors—a girl and two men. He led the two men to rob a tomb and then left them in prison. As for the girl, the devil led her to the well of sensuality and plunged her into the slime of depravity. All this nearly broke my heart. And I don’t wish to disguise from you, gentlemen, my feelings of guilt, for one of the two men lived by mere crumbs of food. He ransacked the graves and decayed bones seeking something of value like a stray dog scratching for food from a garbage heap. His hunger made me think of my own well-fed body and I was overcome with shame and humility. I asked myself what I had done, after all God’s goodness to me, to prevent his tragic plight. Had I not simply let the devil amuse himself with my neighbors while I remained lost in my own complacent joy? Cannot a good man unknowingly be an accomplice of the devil by keeping to himself? My conscience told me that I should seek forgiveness in the land of repentance and stay there as long as God wills. I will return with a pure heart and I will put my all to good works in God’s kingdom…”
The holy men said prayers for him and happily continued their conversation.
After leaving his house, Radwan Hussainy visited Kirsha’s café to say farewell. He was surrounded by Kirsha, Uncle Kamil, Sheikh Darwish, Abbas, and Hussain Kirsha. Husniya, the bakeress, entered and kissed his hand, asking him to pay her respects to the Holy Land. Radwan Hussainy addressed them all: “The pilgrimage is a duty for all who can make it. One should perform it for oneself and for all those who cannot go.”
Uncle Kamil said in his childlike voice, “May peace and safety accompany you and perhaps you will bring us back some prayer beads from Mecca.”
Hussainy smiled and said, “I won’t be like that fellow who gave you a shroud and then laughed at you.”
Uncle Kamil chuckled and would have pursued the matter had he not seen Abbas’ somber face. Radwan Hussainy had deliberately brought up this subject in the hope of getting through to the miserable Abbas. He turned to him sympathetically and said gently but firmly, “Abbas, please listen to me like the nice sensible fellow you are. Take my advice. Go back to Tell el-Kebir today. Work hard and save your money for a new life, God willing. Don’t worry about your past bad luck. You’re still only in your late twenties and your disillusion is only a small part of what every man suffers in his lifetime. Why, you’ll get over this just as a child gets over measles. Be brave, and act like a man. In later life you’ll recall it with the smile of a conqueror. Go on, put your trust in patience and faith. Earn as much as possible and be as happy as a pious man convinced that God has chosen him to help those in need.”
Abbas made no reply, but when he saw Radwan Hussainy’s eyes fixed on him, he smiled and said vaguely, “Everything will pass just as though it never happened.”
Radwan Hussainy turned to Hussain Kirsha, saying, “Welcome to the cleverest fellow in our alley! I will pray to God to lead you where your prayers will be answered. God willing, I hope to find you in your father’s place when I get back, just as he wants.”
At this, Sheikh Darwish emerged from his silence and said thoughtfully, “Oh, Radwan Hussainy, remember me when you are in the ritual dress and tell the People of the House that their lover’s passion has drained and drunk him dry. Tell them he has spent all his wealth and possessions in pursuit of a futile love. Complain to
them of the treatment he has suffered from the Lady of Ladies.”
—
Radwan Hussainy left the café surrounded by his friends. He was now joined by two relatives who intended to travel with him as far as Suez. Hussainy turned off into the alley’s business premises and found Salim Alwan poring over his ledgers. He greeted him cheerfully. “It’s time for me to go; let me say farewell to you.”
Alwan lifted his colorless face in surprise; he knew that Hussainy was leaving, but it did not interest him in the least. Radwan Hussainy knew, as everyone else did, of Alwan’s sad condition, but he ignored his indifference and refused to leave the quarter before saying goodbye. Alwan now seemed a bit embarrassed by his indifference. Suddenly Radwan Hussainy folded Alwan in his arms, kissed him, and said a long prayer for him. Hussainy then rose, saying, “Let’s pray to God that next year we can make the pilgrimage together.”
“If God wills,” muttered Salim Alwan mechanically.
They embraced once more, and Radwan Hussainy rejoined his friends. They all walked to the alley entrance, where a carriage loaded with baggage was waiting. The traveler shook hands heartily with his well-wishers, and he and his relatives got into the carriage. His friends watched it move slowly toward Ghouriya Street and then turn into Azhar Street.
Uncle Kamil told Abbas, “No one can give you better advice than Radwan Hussainy. Get yourself ready, put your trust in God, and go. I’ll wait for you no matter how long you’re gone. You will return in triumph and be the most successful barber in the whole quarter.”
Abbas sat on a chair in front of the sweet shop not far from Uncle Kamil, and silently listened to what his friend said. He had told no one of his new secret. When Radwan Hussainy lectured him, he had thought of telling him of his decision, but he had hesitated and when the older man turned to Hussain Kirsha, Abbas had changed his mind. He had given the advice a good deal of thought.