55
NO ONE could claim any longer that the revolution had not changed at least some aspect of his life. Even Kamal's freedom to go to school and return by himself, which he had enjoyed for a long time, was affected by a development he found obnoxiously burdensome, although he could not prevent it. His mother had ordered Umm Hanafi to follow him on his way to and from school. She was not to let him out of her sight and to bring him home if they ran into a demonstration. He would not have a chance to loiter or obey any frivolous impulses.
The news of the demonstrations and disturbances made the mother'shead spin. Her heart trembled at the savage attacks on the students. She spent gloomy days filled with alarm and panic, wishing she could keep her two sons at home until matters returned to normal. She was unable to achieve her goal, especially after Fahmy promised he would definitely not participate in any strike. H er confidence in his good sense had not been shaken. Her husband rejected the idea of keeping Kamal home from school, because he knew the school would prevent the younger pupils from participating in the strike. Reluctantly the mother agreed that the brothers could go to school, but she had stipulated Umm Hanafi's supervision for Kamal, telling him, “If I were able to go out, I would follow you myself.”
Kamal had objected as forcefully as he could, because he realized intuitively that this supervisor, who would keep nothing about him secret from his mother, would put a decisive end to all the mischief and trickshe enjoyed in the street. That would destroy this brief, happy time of his day as he went from one of his prisons 1:0 the other: home and school. He was also intensely annoyed at walking down the street accompanied by this woman whose excessive weight and faltering step would certainly attract attention. He was forced to submit to her supervision, since his fathe r had ordered him to accept her. The most he could do to comfort himself was to scold her whenever she got too close to him, since he had decreed that she should stay several meters behind him.
In this manner they made their way to Khalil Agha School on Thursday morning, the fifth day of the demonstrations in Cairo. When they reached the door of the school, Umm Hanafi approached the gatekeeper and, acting according to her daily instructions received at home, asked him, “Are the pupils in the school?”
The man answered her indifferently, “Some have gone in and others have left. The headmaster is not interfering with anyone.”
This answer was a bad surprise for Kamal. He was prepared to hear the response he had come to expect since Monday - namely: “The pupils are on strike”. Then they would return home where he would spend the whole day in freedom. That made him love the revolution from afar. His soul urged him to flee to escape the consequences of this new reply. He told the gatekeeper, “I'm one of those who leave.”
He walked away from the school with the woman behind him. When she asked him why he had not gone in with the others who were staying, he implored her repeatedly, for the first time in his life, to deceive his mother by telling her that the pupils were on strike. To strengthen his entreaty and gain her affection, he prayed for her to have a long and happy life when they were passing by the mosque of al-Husayn. Umm Hanafi was unable to keep the truth, as she had heard it, from his mother, who chided him for being lazy and ordered the woman to take him back to school. They left the house again and Kamal treated her to a fierce tongue-lashing and accused her of treachery and betrayal.
In school, he found only boys his age, the youngsters. The others, the overwhelming majority, were on strike. About a third of the pupils were present in his class, which contained a higher percentage of younger students than any other. The teacher ordered them to review the previous lessons. Meanwhile he busied himself correcting their exercises and ignored them as though they actually were on strike. Kamal opened a book. He pretended to read but paid no attention to the book. He did not like staying at school with nothing to do, when he could have been with the strikers or at home enjoying the vacation that these amazing days had unexpectedly granted him. He found school oppressive in a way he had not before.
His imagination flew away to the strikers outside with astonishment and curiosity. He often wondered which view of them was accurate. Were they “daredevils” as his mother claimed, with no feeling for themselves or their families, unnecessarily putting their lives in jeopardy? Or were they “heroes” as Fahmy described them, sacrificing their lives to struggle against God's enemy and their own? He was often inclined to agree with his mother because of his resentment toward the older pupils at his school who were among the strikers. They had made the worst possible impression on him and the other young pupils like him with the rough treatment and contempt they meted out in the school courtyard, where ttiey challenged the younger boys with their enormous bodies atid insolent mustaches.
Yet he could not totally accept this view, because Fahmy's opinion always carried a lot of weight with him and was hard to ignore. Kamal could not deny them the heroism Fahmy ascribed to them. He even wished he could observe their bloody battles from a safe place. Something extremely serious was no doubt underway, otherwise why were the Egyptians striking and banding together to clash with the soldiers? … And what soldiers? The English! The English… when a mention ofthat name had once sufficed to clear the streets. What had happened to the world and to people? This amazing struggle was so overwhelming that its basic ele tnents were engraved in the boy's soul without his having made any conscious effort to remember them. The terms “Sa'd Zaghlul,” “the English,” “the students,” “the martyrs,” “handbills,” and “demonstrations” became active forces inspiring him at the deepest levels, even if he was only a perplexed bystander when it came to understanding what they stood for. His bewilderment was doubled by the fact that the members of his family reacted differently to the events and at times in contrary ways. While Fahmy was outraged and attacked the English with lethal hatred, yearning, for Sa'd so much it brought tears to his eyes, Yasin discussed the news with calm concern and quiet sorrow that did not prevent him from continuing his normal routine of chatting, laughing, and reciting poetry and stories followed by an evening on the town that lasted until midnight. Kamal's mother kept praying that God would bring peace and make life secure again by cleansing the hearts of both the Egyptians and the English. Zaynab, his brother's wife, was the most disconcerting of them all.
She was frightened by the course of events, and the only person she could find to vent her anger on was Sa'd Zaghlul himself, whom she accused of having caused all the evil. “If he had lived the way God's children should, meekly and peacefully, no one would have harmed him in any manner and this conflagration would not have broken out.”
Thus the boy's enthusiasm was set on fire by the thought of the struggle itself, and his sorrow overflowed at the thought of death in the abstract, without his having any clear understanding of what was going on around him, locally or nationally. He would have had a fine opportunity to observe a demonstration at close range or to participate in one, if only in the school courtyard, the day the pupils of Khalil Agha School had been called to strike for the first time, had not the headmaster, to Kamal's distress, immediately shut the younger pupils up in their classrooms. He had lost that opportunity and found himself kept indoors, although he could listen to the loud chanting with a mixture of astonishment and secret delight, inspired perhaps by the chaos affecting everything and mercilessly wreaking havoc with the tedious daily routine. He had missed the chance then to participate in a demonstration, just as he had lost the opportunity today to enjoy a holiday at home. He would remain confined to this boring assembly, looking at a book with eyes that saw nothing, cautiously and fearfully exchanging pinches with a friend across a book bag until the end of the long day came.
Then, suddenly, something attracted his attention. It might have been an unfamiliar voice at some distance or a ringing in his ears. He looked around him to determine what he had heard. He found that the pupils' heads were raised and that they were looking at each other. Then everyone stared at
the windows overlooking the street. It was a reality, not something imaginary, that had attracted their attention. Different voices were blended together into an enormous, incomprehensible sound. Because of the distance, it seemed like the roaring of waves far away. As it grew closer it could be termed a din, or even an advancing din. There was a commotion in the classroom. Pupils started whispering. Then a voice called out: “A demonstration!”
Kamal'sheart pounded. His eyes took on a gleam of joy mixed with dismay. The din came closer and closer until the chanting could be heard clearly, thundering and raging in all directions,surrounding the school. His ears were bombarded by the words that had filled his mind during the past days: “Sa'd,” “independence,” “protectorate”. …
The chanting came even nearer and got louder, until it filled the school courtyard itself. The pupils were dumbfounded. They were sure this deluge would flood them, but they welcomed it with a childish delight that shunned any consideration of the consequences, because of their zealous yearning for anarchy and liberation. Next they heard footsteps coming toward them and noisy shouting. The door swung wide open from the impact of a violent shove. Bands of students from the University and al-Azhar poured Lnto the room like water rushing through an opening in a dam. They were shouting, “Strike! Strike!… No one can stay here.”
In a matter of moments, Kamal found himself swept away by a tumultuous wave pushing him forward so forcefully that resistance was impossible. He was extremely upset. He moved along slowly like a coffee bean revolving in the mouth of the grinder. He did not; kno w where to look. All he knew of the world were bodies crammed together, not to mention the clamor assaulting his ears, until he discerned from the appearance of the sky overhead that they had reached the street. He was being squeezed ever more tightly till he could scarcely breathe. He was so frightened he screamed a loud, continuous, piercing wail. Before he knew what was happening, a hand had grabbed his arm and yanked him forcibly, making a way for him through the crowd until it pushed him up on the sidewalk and against a wall. He started panting and searching around him for a safe place. He discovered that the metal security door of Hamdan's pastry shop had been pulled down until it was close to the ground. He rushed over and got on his knees to crawl under it. When he stood up inside he saw Uncle Flamdan, who knew him quite well, two women, and a few young pupils. He rested his back against the side of the counter with the trays on it while his chest rose and fell repeatedly. He heard Uncle Hamdan say, “Students from al-Azhar and the University, workers, citizens… all the roads leading to al-Husayn are jammed with people. Before today I wouldn't have thought the earth coald support so many people.”
One of the women said in astonishment, “How can they keep on demonstrating after they've been fired on?”
The other woman commented sadly, “May our Lord provide guidance … they're all good boys, alas.”
Uncle Hamdan said, “We've never seen anything like this before. May our Lord protect them.”
The chanting burst out from the demonstrators' throats, convulsing the atmosphere, at times so near it resounded in the shop and at other times at a distance in a great, incomprehensible hullabaloo like the roaring of the wind. It continued without interruption, its slow but steady motion revealed by the differing degrees of intensity and loudness between the waves of people as they approached and drew away.
Whenever he thought it had ended, another wave came along. It seemed it would never end. Kamal concentrated his whole being in his ears to listen attentively, although he felt uneasy and anxious. As time passed without anything terrible happening, he was able to catch his breath and regain his composure. Then he was finally able to consider the situation as transitory. It would soon be over. He wondered whether he should tell his mother what had happened to him once he got home: “A demonstration without beginning or end burst into our classrooms, and before I knew it, I was surrounded by the raging current, which swept me out into the street. I shouted along with everyone else, ‘Long live Sa'd! Down with the Protectorate! Long live independence!’ I was carried from street to street until the English attacked us and opened fire.”
She would be so alarmed she would weep, hardly able to believe he was still alive. She would recite many verses from the Qur'an as she shuddered.
“A bullet went by my head. I can still hear its drone ringing in my ear. People were bumping into each other like madmen. I would have perished with the others if a man had not pulled me into a store.”
His daydreams were cut short by loud, sporadic screams and footsteps rushing past in confusion. Hisheart pounded, and he looked at the faces surrounding him. He saw that they were staring at the door with an expression suggesting they expected to be hit on the head. Uncle Hamdan went to the door and leaned down to peer out the gap at the bottom. Jumping back, he quickly lowered the door until it was flush with the ground. He stammered in confusion, “The English!”
Many people were shouting outside, “The English!… The English”
Others called out, “Stand firm… stand firm.”
Someone else yelled, “We die, but the nation lives.”
Then for the first time in his short life the boy heard shots fired nearby. He recognized them instinctively and shook all over. When the women let out a scream of terror, he burst into tears.
Uncle Hamdan was saying in a shaky voice, “We proclaim that God is one … one.”
Kamal felt afraid, and a deathly chill crept throughout his body from his feet to hishead. The shots kept on coming. Their ears were assailed by a clatter of wheels and a neighing of horses. Voices and movement were heard in extraordinarily rapid succession and then they were joined by roars, screams, and moans. To those crouching behind the door, a fleeting moment of combat seemed an eternity spent in the presence of death. Then a frightening silence prevailed, like a swoon following an onslaught of pain.
Kamal asked in a hoarse and trembling voice, “Have they gone?”
Uncle Hamdan put his finger to his lips and murmured, “Hush”. Then he recited the Throne Verse from the Qur'an (2:255) about the omnipotence of God.
Kamal recited another verse about God, to himself since he no longer felt able to speak. “Say: He is God, one, only one” (Qur'an, 112:1). Perhaps this verse would drive away the English as effectively as it drove away the jinn in the dark.
The door was not opened until the noon prayer, when the boy ran out into the deserted street and dashed off like the wind. Passing by the steps leading down to Ahmad Abduh's coffee shop, he noticed a person coming up whom he recognized as his brother Fahmy. He rushed to him like a drowning man grabbing at a life preserver. As Kamal grasped his arm, the young man turned in alarm. When he recognized his little brother he shouted at him, “Kamal?… Where were you during the strike?”
The boy noticed that his brother's voice was so hoarse it was bard for him to speak. He replied, “I was in Uncle Hamdan's shop. [heard i:he shots and everything.”
Fahmy told him quickly and hastily, “Go home and don't tell anyone you met me…. Do you hear?”
The boy asked him in bewilderment, “Aren't you coming home with me?”
He replied in the same tone, “Of course not… not now…. I'll return at my usual time. Don't forget, you didn't run into me at all.”
He pushed him away, leaving him no opportunity for discussion. The boy galloped off until he reached Khan Ja'far Alley. There he saw a man standing in the middle of the road. He was pointing to the ground and addressing several others. Looking in the direction he was pointing, Kamal saw red splotches in the dust. He heard the man say, as though delivering a funeral oration, “This innocent blood screams out to us to continue the struggle. It was God's will that blood should be shed in the sacred precincts of al-Husayn, the Prince of Martyrs, to link our present trials to our past. God is on our side.”
Kamal was terrified. He turned his eyes away from the bloody ground and ran off like a madman.
56
IN THE early morn
ing darkness, Amina was groping her way to the door of the room cautiously and deliberately to avoid waking hei husband when she heard a strange commotion coming from the street that sounded like the droning of bees. At this, her usual time to arise, she normally heard only the clatter of garbage carts, a cough from someone heading for work early, and the shouts of a man who liked to break the pervasive silence after he returned from the dawn prayer by crying out from time to time, “Proclaim Him one”. She had never heard this strange commotion before. She was at a loss to explain it and curious to learn its source. She walked softly to the window in the sitting room that overlooked the street. She raised the cover of the peephole and poked her head out. She found it was dark with a glimmer of light at the horizon, but that was not enough for her to be able to see what was happening below her. The commotion grew louder and more mysterious at the same time. She could hear human voices of unknown origin. As her eyes became slightly more accustomed to the (darkness, she looked around. Below the historic cistern building on Palace Walk and near it at the intersection of al-Nahhasin with Qirmiz Alley she could make out indistinct human figures, as well as things shaped like small pyramids and other objects like short trees. She stepped back anxiously and went downstairs to the room Fahmy shared with Kamal. Then she hesitated. Should she wake him up to solve this puzzle for her or postpone it until he woke by himself? She could not bring herself to disturb Fahmy and decided to wait until the normal time for him to awaken at sunrise, which was not far off.
She performed her prayers and then went back to the window, driven by her curiosity. She peered out. Rays from the rising sun were beginning to adorn the gown of night. The light of morning was streaming off the peaks of the minarets and the domes. She was able to see the road much more clearly. Her eyes examined the shapes that had alarmed her when it was dark. She could see what they really were. A moan of terror escaped her, and she stepped back to rush to Fahmy's room. She woke him without any hesitation.