Meanwhile Abbas gazed at her in fascination. Desire, hope, and her silent thoughtfulness increased his tension.
“Why are you silent, Hamida? One word would heal my heart and make the whole world change. One word is enough. Please speak to me, Hamida. Please break your silence.”
She still remained silent and full of indecision. Abbas tried again: “One word would fill my spirit with hope and happiness. Perhaps you don’t realize what my love for you has done to me. It has made me feel as I never felt before. It’s made a new person of me. It’s made me want to take life by the horns quite without fear. Do you know that? I have wakened from my stupor. Tomorrow you’ll see me a new man…”
What did he mean? She raised her head questioningly, and his heart sang at her interest. He spoke full of confidence and pride. “Yes, I am going to put my trust in God and try my luck like the others. I am going to work for the British Army and I might easily be as successful as your brother Hussain!”
Her eyes gleamed with interest and she asked, almost as if unaware of what she said, “Really? When will that be?”
He would have preferred her to say something romantic rather than financial. He longed to have her say that sweet word he wanted so to hear. However, he thought that her interest was merely a veil woven by her modesty to conceal an emotion similar to his own. His heart burst with joy and he said, smiling broadly, “Very soon. I am going to Tell el-Kebir and I will start work there with a daily wage of twenty-five piasters. Everyone I have asked has said that this is only a small part of what people working for the Army really get. I will do all I can to save as much as possible. When the war is over—and people say that will be a long time—I will come back here and open a new barbershop in New Street or Azhar Street and I will make a luxurious home for us together, if God wishes. Pray for me, Hamida…”
This was something unexpected that had not occured to her. If he were successful he could certainly provide some of the things she craved. A disposition like hers, no matter how rebellious and unmanageable, could be pacified and tamed with money.
Abbas muttered reproachfully, “Do you not want to pray for me?”
She answered in a quiet voice which sounded beautiful to his ears, although her voice was certainly not equal to her beauty. “May God grant you success…”
Sighing happily, he replied, “Amen. Answer her prayer, O God. The world will smile on us, with God’s grace. If you are good to me, so is the whole world. I ask nothing of you except that you be happy.”
Slowly she was emerging from her state of indecision. She had found a gleam of light in the darkness surrounding her, the gleam of glistening gold! Even if he did not interest or excite her, perhaps that gleam of light she so wanted might come from him and answer her craving for power and wealth. After all, he was the only suitable young man in the alley. This could not be denied. Happiness filled her as she heard him say, “Do you hear me, Hamida? All I ask is that you be happy.”
A smile spread over her thin lips and she muttered, “God grant you success…”
He continued, overcome with delight: “It isn’t necessary for us to wait until the end of the war! We will be the happiest two in the alley.”
With a scowl she spat out, “Midaq Alley!”
He looked at her in confusion but made no defense of the alley, which he preferred to any place in the whole world. Abbas wondered whether she despised it, as her brother Hussain did. They really had sucked from one breast, then! Wishing to do all he could to erase the bad impression, he said, “We will choose a place you like. There’s Darasa, Gamaliya, Bait al-Qadi—choose your house wherever you wish.”
She listened in embarrassment to what he said and realized that her tongue had betrayed her in spite of herself. Hamida bit her lip and said disbelievingly, “My house? What house do you mean? What have I got to do with all this?”
Full of reproach, he asked, “How can you say that? Aren’t you satisfied with torturing me? Don’t you really know which house I mean? God forgive you, Hamida. I mean the house we will choose together—no, the house you will choose all by yourself. It will be your house, just yours, and will belong to no one else. As I told you, I am going away to earn money for this house. You prayed for success for me and now there is no backing out of the wonderful truth. We have reached an agreement, Hamida, and the matter is decided.”
Had they really reached an agreement? Yes, they had! If not, she would never have agreed to walk and talk with him and get involved in dreams about the future. Where was the harm in that for her? Was he not bound to be her young man anyway? Despite this she felt some apprehension and hesitancy. Was it true that she had become a different girl who had almost no power over herself anymore?
When she reached this point in her thoughts, she felt his hand touch and grip hers, giving warmth to her cold fingers. Should she take her hand away and say, “No, I will have nothing to do with that sort of thing.” However, she said and did nothing.
They walked along together, her hand in his warm palm. She felt his fingers passionately press her hand and she heard him say, “We will meet often…won’t we?”
She refused to say a word. He tried again: “We will meet often and plan things together. Then I will meet your mother. The agreement must be made before I leave.”
She withdrew her palm from his hand and said anxiously, “Our time is up and we have gone a long way…let’s go back now.”
They turned on their heels together, and he laughed delightedly as some of the happiness which had ebbed in his heart returned. They walked off quickly and reached Ghouriya Street, where they parted, she to go down it and he to turn toward Azhar Street back to the alley via Hussain Street.
“O God, grant me your forgiveness and mercy.”
Mrs. Kirsha spoke this phrase as she entered the building where Radwan Hussainy lived. She asked God’s forgiveness and mercy for the despair, rage, and exasperation that she was suffering. She was determined to reform her husband but seemed powerless to restrain him. In the end she had seen no way out but to consult Radwan Hussainy. She hoped that, with his righteousness and venerability, he might succeed where she had failed. She had never before come to Hussainy about her affairs. But now her despair and her concern for the gossips had forced her to knock hopefully on his virtuous door.
It was Hussainy’s wife who received her inside the house and they sat together for a while. Mrs. Hussainy was in her mid-forties, an age many women highly respect and consider the peak of their maturity and femininity. This lady, however, was thin and worn. Her body and mind reflected fate’s scars which had removed her children one after another from her arms. For this reason, she gave her quiet house an air of sadness and melancholy which even her husband’s deep faith could not dispel. Her slimness and wistfulness contrasted with her strong and healthy husband, who beamed in contentment. She was a weak woman, and her faith, although firmly rooted, was not able to diminish her steady decline. Mrs. Kirsha knew what she was like and unhesitatingly released her troubles, quite convinced that she would find a sympathetic audience. Mrs Hussainy eventually excused herself and went to find her husband. After a few minutes she returned and led the visitor to see him in his room.
Radwan Hussainy was sitting on a rug saying his beads, an open brazier in front of him and a pot of tea by his side. His private room was small and neat, with an armchair in each corner and on the floor a Persian carpet. In the middle of the room stood a round table piled with yellowing books, above which a large gas lamp hung from the ceiling. He was dressed in a flowing gray gown and a black woolen skullcap, beneath which his white face, flecked with red, shone forth like a brilliant full moon. He spent a great deal of time in this room alone, reading, saying his beads, and meditating.
It was here too that he met with his friends, all men like himself learned in their religion. They would sit and exchange tales and traditions of the Prophet and discuss the opinions expressed in them. Radwan Hussainy was not a scholar claiming to kn
ow all about holy law and Islam, nor was he unaware of his limitations. He was merely a sincere believer, pious and God-fearing. He captivated the minds of his scholarly friends with his generous heart, tolerance, compassion, and mercifulness. All agreed he was truly a saintly man of God.
He stood to receive Mrs. Kirsha, his eyes modestly lowered. She came over to him, veiled in her outer gown, and gave him her hand wrapped in one of its corners, in order not to spoil his state of ritual cleanliness.
“Welcome to our much-respected neighbor,” he said, greeting her and offering her a seat.
She sat down in the armchair facing him while he squatted on the fur rug. Mrs. Kirsha invoked blessings upon him: “May God honor you, sir, and grant you long life, with the generosity of the chosen Prophet.”
He had already guessed the reason for her call and therefore refrained from making any inquiry concerning the health of her husband, which was the customary polite duty of a host. He knew, as did everyone else, of Kirsha’s conduct, and news had reached him of the disputes and quarrels which had broken out violently on previous occasions. Now he realized he was unfortunately to be involved in this ever-recurring dispute. Hussainy submitted to the inevitable and met it with the same welcome he always gave to unpleasant affairs. He smiled graciously and, encouraging her to speak out, said, “I hope you are well.”
The woman scarcely knew the meaning of hesitation, and shyness was not her weakness. She was, in fact, both fearless and shameless. Indeed there was only one woman in Midaq Alley who was more ungovernable and that was Husniya, the bakeress. She replied in her coarse voice, “Radwan Hussainy, sir, you are all goodness and kindness and there is no better man in the alley than yourself. For this reason I have come to ask for your help and to make a complaint against that lecherous man, my husband.”
Her voice had now risen to a plaintive wail. Radwan Hussainy merely smiled and said in a slightly sad tone, “let’s hear all about it, then, Mrs. Kirsha. I am listening.”
Sighing heavily, she went on: “May God reward you for being such a fine man. My husband knows no modesty and won’t reform himself. Every time I think he has given up his sinful behavior he brings a new disgrace upon me. He is completely immoral and neither his age, his wife, nor his children can cure his lechery. Perhaps you may have heard about that brazen boy he has with him every evening in the café? Well, that’s our new disgrace.”
A look of distress flickered in the man’s clear eyes and he remained silent, thinking deeply. His own personal bereavement had not been able to penetrate his felicity, but now he sat silent and filled with sadness, praying that his own soul would be free of the devil and his wickedness.
The woman took his apparent distress as an indication that her anger was justified and she growled, “The brazen immoral fellow has disgraced us all. By God, if it were not for my age and the children, I would have left his house long ago and never returned. Do you approve of this disgusting business, Mr. Hussainy? Do you approve of his filthy behavior? I have warned him but he takes no notice; I can do nothing else but come to you. I didn’t want to bother you with this revolting news, but I have no choice. You are the most revered and respected man in the neighborhood and your orders are obeyed. You might be able to influence him where I and everyone else have failed. If I find he won’t take your advice, then I will have to adopt other ways of dealing with him. Today, I am controlling my anger, but if I see there is no hope of reforming him, then I will send fire raging through the whole alley and the fuel for it will be his filthy body.”
Radwan Hussainy shot her a critical glance and said with his customary calmness, “Cheer up, Mrs. Kirsha, and put your faith in God. Don’t let your anger get the better of you. You are a good woman, as everyone well knows. Don’t make yourself and your husband a subject for the tongues of the gossips. A really good wife acts as a close-fitting veil over all those things God might wish to keep concealed. Go back home in confidence and peace of mind and leave this matter to me. I will seek help from God.”
Mrs. Kirsha, scarcely able to control her emotions, exclaimed, “God reward you! God bring you happiness! God bless your goodness! You are a real refuge of safety. I will indeed leave this matter in your hands and wait. May God decide between me and that lecherous man…”
Radwan Hussainy quieted her as best he could with words of comfort, but whenever he said anything nice, she replied by spitting forth a stream of curses on her husband and expanding on his disgraceful conduct. His patience nearly spent, he bade her a polite farewell, releasing a sigh of relief as he did so.
He returned to his room and sat thinking. How he wished he could have escaped being involved in this affair, but the damage was done now and he could not break his promise. He called his servant and asked him to fetch Kirsha. As he waited, the thought struck him that he was inviting to his home, for the very first time, a known profligate. In the past, only the poor or ascetic men of religion had been in this room with him.
Sighing deeply, he recited to himself the saying “The man who reforms a profligate does better than the man who sits with a believer.” But could he ever make the man reform? He shook his large head and recited the verse from the Qur’an: “You cannot lead aright whomever you wish; it is God who leads whomever He wishes.” He sat wondering at the enormous power of the devil over mankind and how easily he makes man deviate from God’s intent.
His train of thought was interrupted by the servant announcing the arrival of Kirsha. Looking tall and slim, Kirsha came in and gazed at Hussainy from beneath his heavy eyebrows with a look of admiration and respect. He bowed low as they shook hands in greeting. Radwan Hussainy greeted him and invited him to be seated. Kirsha sat down in the armchair occupied so short a time before by his wife; a cup of tea was poured for him. He felt completely at ease and confident, with not a trace of apprehension or fear, and he had no idea why Hussainy had invited him here. With all those who reach his state of confusion and promiscuity, prudence and intuition are likely to vanish.
Hussainy read what was in the man’s half-shut eyes, and, filled with quiet self-assurance, he politely commenced: “You have honored our house with your presence, Mr. Kirsha.”
The café owner raised his hands to his turban in salutation and said, “May God reward you for your goodness, Mr. Hussainy.”
Hussainy continued: “Please don’t be annoyed at me for inviting you here during your working hours, but I would like to talk to you as a brother about an important matter. Consequently I could think of no place more suitable than my home.”
Kirsha bowed his head humbly and commented, “I am at your command, Mr. Hussainy.”
Hussainy was afraid that by avoiding the issue they would merely waste time and Kirsha would be kept from his work. He decided to tackle the matter straightaway and he lacked neither the courage nor the directness of speech to do so. In a serious, regretful tone of voice he began: “I want to speak with you like a brother, or as brothers should speak if they have real love for one another. A truly sincere brother is one who, if he sees his brother falling, would reach to catch him in his own arms, or who would help him up if he stumbled, or one who would, if he thought it necessary, give his brother the benefit of some good advice.”
Kirsha’s peace of mind was shattered. Only now did he realize he had fallen into a trap. A look of panic appeared in his gloomy eyes and he muttered in embarrassment, scarcely aware of what he was saying, “You are quite right, Mr. Hussainy.”
The man’s obvious confusion and embarrassment did not restrain Hussainy and he continued with a sternness somewhat modified by the look of modest sincerity in his eyes: “My friend, I am going to tell you truthfully what I think and you must not be angry at my speaking out, for someone motivated as I am by friendship, sincerity, and a desire to do good should not be looked upon with anger. The fact is that what I have seen of some of your habits has distressed me very much, for I do not think them at all worthy of you.”
Kirsha frowned and said u
nder his breath, “What’s it got to do with you!” Feigning astonishment, however, he said out loud, “Has my conduct really distressed you? God forbid!”
Hussainy took no notice of the man’s simulated surprise and continued: “Satan finds the doors of youth an easy entrance and he slips in both secretly and openly to spread his havoc. We should do all we can to prevent the doors of youth opening to him and keep them tightly closed. Just think of elderly men to whom age has given the keys of respectability. What would be the situation if we were to see them deliberately opening these doors and calling out in invitation to the devil? This is what has distressed me, Mr. Kirsha.”
Boys and elderly men! Doors and keys! A devil of devils! Why didn’t he mind his own business and let others mind theirs? He shook his head in confusion and then said quietly, “I don’t understand at all, Mr. Hussainy.”
Hussainy looked at him meaningfully and asked him in a tone not devoid of reproach, “Really?”
Kirsha, beginning to feel both annoyance and fear, replied, “Really.”
Hussainy was determined and went on: “I thought you would realize what I meant. The truth is that I am referring to that dissolute youth…”
Kirsha’s anger grew. However, like a mouse caught in a trap, he did his best to fight his way out from behind the bars and he asked in a voice which almost acknowledged his defeat, “What youth is that, Mr. Hussainy?”
Trying hard not to enrage Kirsha, he replied quietly, “You know, Mr. Kirsha, I have not brought the matter up to offend you, or to make you feel ashamed. God forbid! I just want to offer my advice for whatever good it will do. What is the point of denying it? Everyone knows and everyone is talking about it. This is really what has distressed me most of all: to find you the subject of scandal and gossip…”
Anger at last got the better of Kirsha and he slapped his thigh hard with his hand. He shouted hoarsely, his bottled-up resentment flying out in a stream of spittle, “What’s wrong with people that they can’t mind their own business and leave others to mind theirs? Do you really see everyone talking about it, Mr. Hussainy? People have been like that ever since God created the earth and all that’s on it. They criticize, not because they really disapprove, but just to belittle their fellow men. If they don’t find anything to complain about, they invent something. Do you think they gossip because they are really upset and shocked? Certainly not! It is really envy which eats at their hearts!”