“Me too,” said Hassan enthusiastically. “He’ll always find me right beside him.”
For the first time, Qassem smiled gratefully, and looked at his cousin’s strong body admiringly, but Zachary gave his nephew a look of disapproval. “This is not a game. Think of our life and our safety.”
Uwais nodded vigorously to show his agreement. “That is the truth. No one has ever before heard what we’ve heard today.”
“Gabal and Rifaa heard things like this, and more!”
Uwais stared at him in surprised revulsion. “Do you think you’re like Gabal and Rifaa?”
Pained, Qassem lowered his eyes, and Qamar looked at him affectionately. “Uncle!” she said. “Who knows how these things happen?”
He resumed stroking his mustache, and Zachary spoke. “What good is there in thinking he’s like Gabal or Rifaa? Rifaa died a terrible death, and Gabal would have been killed if his people hadn’t joined forces with him. Who’s with you, Qassem? Have you forgotten that they call our neighborhood the Desert Rat territory? Or that most of the people are either beggars or other poor unfortunates?”
“Don’t forget that Gabalawi chose him above everyone else, even above the gangsters,” said Sadeq vigorously. “I don’t think he’ll abandon him if things get hard.”
“That’s what they said about Rifaa in his time, and he was murdered an arm’s length from Gabalawi’s house!” said Zachary hotly.
“Don’t raise your voice,” Qamar cautioned.
Uwais glanced furtively at Qassem, thinking, What strange things to have heard and said. This shepherd my niece has made into a gentleman! I believe he’s truthful and trustworthy, but is that enough to make him a Gabal or Rifaa? Do great men come this simple? What if these dreams come true?
“It looks like Qassem isn’t moved by our warnings. So what does the lad want? Is he troubled that our community should be the only one with no share in the estate? Qassem—do you want to be a gangster and overseer here?”
“That is not what I was told,” said Qassem, agitation rising in his face. “He said that all the people of the alley are his grandchildren, that the estate belongs to all on the basis of equality and that the gangsters are evil!”
Excitement flashed in Sadeq’s and Hassan’s eyes, and Uwais was shocked.
“Do you know what that means?” Zachary asked.
“Tell him!” said Uwais angrily.
“You are challenging the power of the overseer and the clubs of Lahita, Galta, Hagag and Sawaris!”
Qamar’s face turned pale, but Qassem said calmly, almost sadly, “That’s right.”
Uwais emitted a laugh which echoed in indignant looks from Qassem, Sadeq and Hassan, but Zachary paid no attention.
“We will all be destroyed. We’ll be crushed like ants. No one will believe you. They didn’t believe the ones that met Gabalawi, or heard his voice, or talked with him—how will they believe someone who was sent one of his servants?”
“Never mind those stories,” said Uwais in a new tone of voice. “No one saw the meeting between Gabalawi and Gabal, or Gabalawi and Rifaa—the stories are told that way, but no one saw them. Even so, it was good for the people. Gabal got its exalted status, and Rifaa too; our neighborhood deserves to be like them, doesn’t it? All of us come from the loins of that man hiding in his mansion. But we have to approach this very wisely and be careful. Qassem, remember your community—forget about ‘grandchildren’ and ‘equality’ and what’s good and what’s evil. It will be easy to get Sawaris to join us; he’s your relative, and we can work with him to get us a share of the estate revenues.”
Qassem glowered angrily. “Uwais, you want one thing and we want something else. I don’t want to haggle, or share in the revenues. I have firmly decided to do the will of our ancestor, as I was told.”
“God help us,” Zachary groaned.
Qassem’s scowl did not dissolve. He remembered his anxieties, his solitary times and his conversations with his teacher Yahya; how release had come to him from the hand of a servant he had never known before; how new adventures beckoned on the horizon; how Zachary thought only of safety, Uwais only of income; how life would be good only when they faced the adventure-crowded horizon.
“Uncle,” he said with a sigh, “I had to begin by asking your advice, but I won’t ask you for anything.”
“I’m with you,” said Sadeq, pressing his hand.
Hassan made a fist. “And I’m with you, with you through good and bad.”
“Don’t be misled by childish talk!” said Zachary irritably. “When the clubs are raised, people like all of you will be hiding. And who will you be risking death for? There are just animals and vermin in our alley. You have a guaranteed carefree, easy life. Come to your senses; enjoy your life.”
Qassem asked himself what this man was saying. It was as if he were listening to some of the voices within himself, which said, Your daughter—your wife—your house—yourself But you made the same choice as Gabal and Rifaa; let your answer be the same as theirs.
“I’ve thought about it a long time, uncle, and I’ve chosen my way,” he said.
Uwais smacked his hands together resignedly. “ ‘There is no power and no strength save in God!’ The strong will kill you and the weak will just jeer at you!”
Qamar looked helplessly back and forth between her uncle and her husband’s uncle, sorry for her husband’s disappointment and at the same time fearful of the consequences of his standing by his opinion.
“Uncle,” she said, “you are the leader of all the prominent people. You could help him through your influence.”
“What is it you want, Qamar?” Uwais asked disapprovingly. “You have money, a daughter and a husband. What does it matter to you whether the estate is divided among everyone or the gangsters take it? We regard as mad anyone who wants to be a gangster—what do you think of someone who wants to be overseer of the whole alley?”
Qassem sprang to his feet, deeply wounded. “I don’t want anything like that. I want the good things our ancestor wants for us.”
Uwais tried to conciliate him with a forced smile. “Where is our ancestor? Let him come out into the alley, even if his servants have to carry him on their shoulders. Let him execute the terms of his estate any way he wants. If he were to speak, do you think anyone in the alley, no matter how powerful he is, could lift a finger toward him, or even an eye?”
“And if the gangsters jump on us to murder us, would he make one move, or even care if we die?” Zachary concluded.
“I won’t ask anyone to believe me or help me,” said Qassem very despondently.
Zachary got up and went to him, putting his hand warmly on his shoulder. “Qassem, it was the evil eye. I know all about this kind of mischief. People have been talking so much about your intelligence and good fortune that the evil eye lit on you. Seek protection in God from the devil, and know that today you are one of the finest people in our community. You can, if you want, go into business with some of your wife’s money. Enjoy your wealth. Forget all of this in your head, and be happy with the good things God has given you.”
Qassem bowed his head sadly, then raised it to face his uncle and spoke with wondrous determination. “I won’t forget anything in my head, even if the whole estate were mine alone.”
75
What are you going to do? For how long will you think and wait? What are you waiting for? Your relatives didn’t believe you, so who will believe you? What good is sorrow? What good is sitting alone by Hind’s Rock? The stars don’t answer, neither do the darkness and the moon. Do you hope to meet the servant again? What new thing do you expect from him? You stare into the darkness, around the site where, it is said, your ancestor met Gabal. You stood for such a long time by the huge wall, at the place where, it is said, he spoke to Rifaa. But you did not see him or hear his voice, and his servant has not returned. What are you going to do? This question will stalk you the way the desert sun stalks shepherds. It will constantly t
ear away your peace of mind and the pleasures of happiness. Gabal was like you, but he triumphed. Rifaa knew his own way, and kept to it until he was murdered, then he triumphed. What are you going to do?
“How you neglect your beautiful little girl,” Qamar chided him. “She cries, and you ignore her. She plays, but you don’t play with her.”
He smiled at the little face, scenting her sweet breath, which soothed the inferno of his thoughts. “She’s so dear!” he said.
“Even the hour we do spend together, you’re not really there—like we’re no longer part of your world.”
He moved closer to her on the couch, where they all sat, and kissed her cheek, then kissed the baby’s face all over. “Don’t you see how much I need you?” he said.
“You have my whole heart and all the love, affection and friendship in it, but you have to be easier on yourself.”
She lifted the child into his arms, and he cuddled and rocked her tenderly, listening to her otherworldly chants. Suddenly he said, “If God gives me victory, I will not exclude women from getting income from the estate.”
“But the estate is only for males, not females,” said Qamar in surprise.
He gazed into the dark eyes in the little face. “My ancestor said, through his servant, that the estate belongs to everyone, and women are half our alley. It’s amazing our alley doesn’t respect women, but it will respect them when it respects justice and mercy.”
Love and solicitude were clear in Qamar’s eyes. She said to herself: He talks about victory, but where is this victory? How she longed to advise him to take a safe, peaceful course, but her courage let her down. She wondered what the future held for them. Would she have the luck of Shafiqa, Gabal’s wife, or be afflicted with Abda’s fate—or Rifaa’s! Gooseflesh covered her body, and she looked away lest he see anything questionable in her eyes.
When Sadeq and Hassan came to go to the coffeehouse with Qassem, he suggested that they visit Yahya so that he might introduce them. When they reached his hut they found him smoking the pipe, and the air redolent of the rich savor of hashish. Qassem introduced his friends, and they all sat down in the entryway of the hut, where the full moon beamed like happiness through a small window.
Yahya looked at the three faces in mild astonishment, as if asking: Are these really the ones who are going to turn the alley upside down? He repeated to Qassem what he had already told him. “Be careful that no one should know your secret until you’re ready.”
They had a pleasant round at the pipe. The bright moonlight from the window illuminated Qassem’s head and fell on Sadeq’s shoulder, and the coals blazed in the brazier in the dim hall of the hut.
“How should I get ready?”
The old man laughed. “Anyone chosen by Gabalawi has no need to ask the opinion of an old man like me!” he joked.
There was silence broken only by the gurgle of the pipe, until the old man spoke up again. “You have your uncle, and your wife’s uncle. There’s no good or harm in your uncle, but you can bring the other one over to your side if you promise him something.”
“What should I promise him?”
“Promise to make him overseer of the Desert Rats.”
“No one is to be above anyone else when it comes to the estate revenue,” said Sadeq loyally. “It is everyone’s legacy on the basis of equality. That’s what Gabalawi said.”
“What a strange old man!” chuckled Yahya. “It was power with Gabal, and mercy with Rifaa, and now he has something else!”
“He owns the estate,” said Qassem. “He has the right to substitute or change the Ten Conditions!”
“But you have a terrible task, my boy. It concerns the whole alley, not just any neighborhood.”
“That’s what Gabalawi wanted.”
Yahya had a long fit of coughing that left him weak, and Hassan volunteered to take over handling the pipe. The man stretched his legs out and sighed deeply. “So will you use force, like Gabal, or love, like Rifaa?”
Qassem’s hand explored his turban. “Force when necessary, and love at all times.”
Yahya nodded and smiled. “The only problem you have is your concern with the estate. That will cause you endless trouble.”
“How can people live without the estate?”
“The same way Rifaa did,” said the old man grandly.
“He lived with the help of his father and his friends,” said Qassem seriously, but politely. “He left behind him friends not one of whom could imitate him. The fact is that our miserable alley needs cleanness and dignity.”
“Do those come only with the estate?”
“Yes, sir, with the estate and with an end to gang rule. That is how to win the respect that Gabal won for his neighborhood, and the love that Rifaa called for—and the happiness that Adham dreamed of.”
“What have you left for the one coming after you?” laughed Yahya.
Qassem thought this over for a while. “If God gives me victory, the alley will not need anyone else after me.”
The pipe made the rounds like an angel in a dream, the water singing in its glass filter. Yahya yawned and asked, “What will be left for any one of you if the estate is divided out equally?”
“But we want the estate in order to capitalize on it, and that way the alley will be like an extension of the mansion!” said Sadeq.
“What kind of preparations have you made?”
The radiant moon disappeared behind a passing cloud, and they sat in darkness, but within a minute the radiant light reappeared.
Yahya looked at Hassan’s burly body. “Can your cousin defeat the gangsters?”
“I’m seriously thinking of consulting an attorney,” Qassem suddenly said.
“What attorney will agree to threaten Rifaat the overseer and his protectors?” yelled Yahya.
Despondent thoughts invaded their drugged stupor. The three friends went home, discouraged. Qassem suffered terribly in his solitude; he was so driven by worry and care that one day Qamar told him, “We shouldn’t be so worried about people’s happiness that we make ourselves miserable!”
“I have to be worthy of the good opinion in which I’m held,” he said sharply.
What are you going to do? Why don’t you step back from the edge of the abyss? The abyss of despair, filled with silence and stagnation, a graveyard of dreams covered with ashes. His loveliest memories and favorite melodies had turned against him. Tomorrow was already wrapped in yesterday’s shroud.
But one day he summoned Sadeq and Hassan. “It’s time to begin,” he told them.
Their faces were jubilant.
“Tell us,” Hassan said.
“I’ve done my thinking, and come to a decision. We are going to set up an exercise club!” Surprise tied their tongues, but he smiled. “We’ll have it in the courtyard of my house. Exercising is a big pastime in most of the neighborhoods.”
“What does that have to do with our mission?”
“Like a weight-lifting club? What does that have to do with our mission?” asked Sadeq in his turn.
Qassem’s eyes were brilliant. “The young will come to us, in love with strength and games, and we will choose the most trustworthy and mature of them.”
Their eyes widened.
“We’ll be a team—and what a team we’ll be!”
“Yes. And we’ll get young men from Gabal, and from Rifaa!”
They were happy enough to sing, and as he walked, Qassem almost seemed to dance.
76
Qassem sat near the window, watching the festival in the alley. How wonderful feast days are in our alley!
The water carriers had sprayed the ground using waterskins; the donkeys’ necks and tails were adorned with artificial flowers. The space danced with the vivid colors of children’s clothes and balloons, little flags flew from the handcarts, and shouts, cries and cheers mingled with the sound of pipes. Donkey carts tilted by with men and women dancing on them. The shops were closed, and the coffeehouses, bars and drug de
ns were crowded. Everyone, everywhere, was smiling brilliantly and wishing one another a happy holiday. Qassem sat in new clothes with Ihsan standing cradled in the crook of his arm, exploring his features with her small hands and clutching at his cheeks with her fingernails.
“What entangled me first with my love were my eyes,” sang a voice under the window.
He suddenly recalled his joyous wedding procession, and his heart softened. He was a man who loved music and entertainment; how Adham had longed for the leisure to sing in that garden of song! And what was this man on the feast day singing? “What entangled me first with my love were my eyes.” The man was right. Since his eyes had looked up in the darkness to Qandil, his heart, mind and will had not been his own. Here was the courtyard of his house, turned into a club for strengthening minds and purifying souls. Like the rest of them, he lifted weights and was learning fencing. The muscles of Sadeq’s arms filled out, as his leg muscles already had, thanks to his coppersmithing work. Hassan was huge, a giant, anyway. And the others, how splendid was their enthusiasm; Sadeq had wisely advised him to invite the unemployed and beggars to his club, and in no time they were as enthusiastic about the exercises they did as they were about the things he said. Perhaps there were not many of them, but they were so eager that they were stronger than any force twice their number. “Ad! Ad!” cried Ihsan, and he gave her a series of kisses. The edge of his galabiya was damp underneath her. From the kitchen he heard the rapping of the mortar and pestle, the voices of Qamar and Sakina and the meowing of the cat. A donkey cart passed under the window, loaded with clapping singers.
Recite a prayer for the soldier boy.
He threw off his fez for a job as a saint!
Qassem smiled, remembering the night Yahya had sung this hymn stoned on hashish. Oh, if things would only straighten themselves out, all you’d have to do is sing, alley of mine! Tomorrow the club will be filled with strong and reliable helpers; tomorrow, with them, I will challenge the overseer, the gangsters, and all obstacles, so that there will be nothing in the alley but a merciful ancestor and his dutiful grandchildren. Poverty, filth, beggary and tyranny will be wiped out. The vermin, flies and clubs will disappear. A feeling of safety will prevail, with gardens and singing. He awoke from his daydreams to the sound of Qamar’s voice scolding Sakina in an angry outburst. He listened for a moment, surprised, and then called his wife. The door quickly opened, and Qamar came out, pushing the slave in front of her.