At this, his heart leaped with joy. Yet, his voice heavy with sadness, he said, “This is the last time we’ll meet before I leave, and God alone knows when we’ll meet again. I’m in a state of bewilderment, halfway between sadness and happiness. I’m sad that I’m going far away from you, yet glad that this long path I’ve chosen is the only one leading to you. I leave my heart with you, in the alley. It refuses to travel with me. Tomorrow I’ll be in Tell el-Kebir, and every morning I’ll think of the beloved window from which I first glimpsed you combing your lovely hair. How I’ll long for that window and our walks along Azhar Street and Mousky. Oh, Hamida, these are the thoughts that will break my heart to bits. Let me take away with me as vivid memories as I can. Put your hand in mine and hold it as tightly as I grip yours. Oh God, how sweet it is to feel your touch! It makes my heart pound. My heart is in your hand, my darling, my love, my Hamida! How beautiful your name is; to say it makes me wild with joy.”
His loving and passionate words lulled her into a sort of dream. Her eyes took on a faraway look as she murmured, “It was you who chose to go away.”
Almost wailing in lament, he said, “You are the cause, Hamida. It is because of you, you! I love our alley and I am deeply grateful to God for the livelihood He provides me from it. I don’t want to leave the quarter of our beloved Hussain, to whom I pray morning and night. The trouble is, I can’t offer you a life here which is worthy of you and so I have no alternative but to leave. May God take my hand and lead us towards better circumstances…”
Deeply touched, Hamida replied, “I’ll pray for your success and will visit the tomb of our Lord Hussain and ask him to watch over you and bring you success. Patience is a virtue and it’s a blessing to travel.”
He answered wistfully, “Yes, travel is a blessing, but how sad that I’ll be so far away from you.”
She whispered softly, “You won’t be the only sad one…”
He turned abruptly toward her, delirious at her words, and lifted her hand until it touched his heart, whispering, “Truly?”
By the dim light of a nearby shop his love-filled eyes saw her sweet smile of reply. At that moment he was aware only of her beloved face. Words streamed from his lips: “How beautiful you are! How tender and kind you are! This is love. It is something rare and beautiful, Hamida. Without it, the whole world means nothing.”
She had no notion of how to reply and so she took refuge in silence. Hamida was delighted to hear his words, which made her tremble with ecstasy, and she wished they would continue forever.
The strength and passion that Abbas felt was such that he scarcely knew what he was saying as he went on: “This is love. It is all we have. It is enough and more than enough for our needs. It is everything. It means happiness when we are together and comfort when we are apart. It gives us a life that is far more than life itself.”
He was silent a moment and then added, “I leave you in the name of love. By its strength may I return with lots of money.”
“A great deal of money, I pray to God,” she murmured, almost unaware of what she said.
“With God’s permission and by the grace of Hussain. All those other girls will really envy you.”
She smiled happily and agreed. “Ah, how nice that would be!”
Before they knew it, they were at the end of the street and they laughed aloud in unison. Then they turned and he suddenly realized that their meeting was approaching its end. Thoughts of a dreaded farewell swam before him. Sadness enveloped him and halfway along the street he asked nervously, “Where shall we say goodbye?”
She understood what he meant and her lips trembled. She asked halfheartedly, “Here?”
However, he opposed the idea, explaining, “We can’t just snatch this farewell hurriedly, like thieves.”
“Where do you suggest?”
“Go home a bit ahead of me and wait for me on the stairs.”
She hurried off and he followed slowly. When he reached the alley, all the shops were closed and he made his way dreamily toward Mrs. Saniya Afify’s house. He moved cautiously up the pitch-black stairs, breathing as quietly as possible, walking with one hand on the banister and one groping into the shadows before him.
On the second landing his fingers touched her cloak. This caused his heart to leap with desire. He took her arm and drew himself gently toward her. His mouth searched desperately for hers, touching first her nose and then making its way down to her lips, which were already parted in welcome. He was transported on a wave of ecstasy from which he did not recover until she gently drew herself from his arms and went upstairs. He whispered after her, “Goodbye.”
Hamida herself had never before had such an emotional experience. For this one brief period in her life, she brimmed with emotion and affection, feeling that her life was forever bound to his.
—
That night Abbas visited Hamida’s mother to say farewell. Then he went to the café, accompanied by his friend Hussain Kirsha, to have their last coffee together before departure. Hussain was happy and triumphant with the success of his suggestion, and he said to Abbas, his voice somewhat challenging, “Say goodbye from now on to this wretched alley life. Now start to enjoy a real life.”
Abbas smiled silently. He had not told his friend of his agony at leaving both the alley and the girl whom he loved so dearly. He sat between his two friends and tried to suppress his sadness, saying goodbye to well-wishers and enjoying their kind words.
Radwan Hussainy too had blessed him and said a long prayer for him. He also advised him, “Save what you can from your wages after buying the necessities. Don’t be extravagant and keep away from wine and pork. Never forget that you come from the alley, and it’s here you will return.”
Dr. Booshy said to him, laughing, “If God wills, you will return here a rich man, and when you do, we’ll have to extract those rotten teeth of yours and give you a nice set of gold ones appropriate to your new position.”
Abbas smiled his gratitude to the “doctor.” It was he who had acted as ambassador to Hamida’s mother, and it was he who had bought his shop fittings at a price that provided the money for his journey. Uncle Kamil sat silently listening, his heart heavy with his friend’s impending departure. He dreaded the loneliness which would set in the next day, when the friend whom he loved, and with whom he had shared so many long years of his life, would be gone. Every time anyone shook his friend’s hand or said how sorry he was that he was leaving, Uncle Kamil’s eyes filled with tears, so that everyone around him laughed.
Sheikh Darwish recited the holy “Throne Verse” from the Qur’an in blessing and commented, “You have now become a volunteer in the British Army, and if you prove yourself a hero, then it’s not unlikely that the King of England will carve you out a little kingdom and appoint you ruler in his place. The title for this in English is ‘Viceroy’ and it is spelled v-i-c-e-r-o-y.”
—
Early next morning Abbas left his house carrying his clothes tied in a bundle. The air was cold and moist and the only people in the alley yet awake were the bakeress and Sanker, the café waiter. Abbas lifted his head toward the sacred window and saw it was closed tight. He stared at it with such a fierce longing that the dew on its shutters almost seemed to evaporate.
He continued slowly, lost in thought, until he reached the door of his shop. Abbas stood looking at it sadly as his gaze rested on a notice in large letters: “For Rent.” His chest tightened and his eyes flooded with tears.
He increased his pace, as though fleeing from his emotions. And when he reached the end of the quarter, he felt as though his heart wanted to pound its way out of his body and return to the alley.
It was Hussain Kirsha who persuaded Abbas to serve with the British Army, and so the young man had gone to Tell el-Kebir, leaving no trace of himself in the alley. Why, even his shop had been taken over by an old barber. Hussain now found himself completely unsettled and full of hostility for the alley and its inhabitants. For a long time he
had expressed his disgust for the alley and tried to plan a new life for himself. However, he had never clearly conceived a course of action and consequently had never made a firm resolution to achieve his dreams. Now that the barber was gone, he found himself filled with a desperate determination to do something. It seemed insupportable to him that Abbas should have escaped from the filthy alley and that he should have remained.
Finally he decided to alter his life no matter what it cost him. One day, with his usual crude bluntness, he said to his mother, “Listen to me. I have made a firm decision. I can’t stand this life anymore and I see no reason why I should!”
His mother was used to his rudeness and his customary curses about the alley and its inhabitants. She considered him (as she did his father) to be utterly stupid, and never took his silly ravings seriously. So she made no reply and merely muttered to herself, “O God, please spare me this dreadful life!”
Hussain, however, his small eyes flashing and his near-black face becoming slightly paler in his anger, continued: “I can’t bear this life anymore and after today I am not going to!”
She was not a woman noted for patience. As she shouted at him, her voice clearly betrayed what Hussain had inherited from her. “What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with you, you son of a villain?”
The young man answered disdainfully, “I must get away from this alley.”
“Have you gone mad, you son of a lunatic?” she shouted, staring at him in fury.
Hussain folded his arms nonchalantly and replied, “No, I have my senses back after a long period of lunacy. Now listen to what I say and believe me, I am not talking just for the sake of it. I mean every word. I have tied my clothes into a bundle and there’s nothing left but to say goodbye. It’s a filthy house, the alley stinks, and the people here are all cattle!”
She gazed at him searchingly, trying to read his eyes. His evident determination made her frantic and she screamed, “What are you saying?”
“It’s a filthy house, the alley stinks, and the people here are cattle,” he repeated, as though talking to himself.
She bowed sarcastically and said, “Welcome to you, honored sir! Welcome to the son of Kirsha Pasha!”
“Kirsha Coal Tar! Kirsha, the laughingstock! Ugh. Ugh. Don’t you realize everyone has smelled out the scandal now? Everywhere I go people joke and sneer at me. They say, ‘His sister ran away with someone and now his father is going to run away with someone else!’ ”
He stamped his foot on the floor so hard that the window glass rattled violently. He screamed in a rage, “What’s forcing me to put up with this life? I’m going off to get my clothes and I’m never coming back.”
His mother struck her breast with her hand and commented, “You really have gone out of your mind. The hashish addict has passed his madness on to you! I will go and call him to bring you back to your senses.”
Hussain shouted contemptuously, “Go on, then, call him! Call my father; call our Lord Hussain himself! I am going…going…”
Sensing his obstinate determination, his mother went to his bedroom and saw a bundle of clothes, just as he had said. Now she was convinced and, full of despair, decided to call her husband, no matter what the consequences. Hussain, her son, was the only comfort she had left in life and she never expected that he would desert her. She had hoped he would always remain at home, even after he married, whenever that might be. Unable to overcome her despondency, she set off in search of Kirsha, shouting and lamenting her bad luck. “Why should anyone envy us? In spite of our great misfortunes! In spite of our disgraces! In spite of our misery!”
After a little while Kirsha appeared, grinding his teeth with anger. “What do you want, a new scandal?” he roared at her. “Have you seen me serving tea to another new customer?”
Thrashing her hands in the air, she answered, “It’s about your son’s disgraceful conduct! Catch him before he goes and leaves us. He is fed up with us!”
Kirsha brought the palms of his hands together violently and, shaking his head in anger and disgust, roared, “You want me to leave my work just for that? You want me to climb a hundred stairs just for that? Oh, you miserable pair, why on earth should the government punish anyone who kills off people like you?”
Gazing first at the mother and then at the son, he continued: “Our Lord has obviously afflicted me with both of you as some sort of punishment. What has your mother been saying?”
Hussain remained silent. His mother, as quietly as her short patience permitted, explained, “Don’t lose your temper; this is an occasion which calls for wisdom and not temper. He has bundled his clothes and plans to go away and leave us…”
Scarcely believing his ears, Kirsha gazed at his son with angry scorn and asked, “Have you gone out of your mind, you son of an old hag?”
His wife’s nerves were so on edge that she could not restrain from shouting, “I called you in to deal with him, not to call me names…”
Turning angrily toward her, he shouted, “Were it not for your congenital insanity your son would not have gone off his head!”
“God forgive you. All right, so I’m a lunatic and so were my parents. Let’s forget all about that. Just ask him what is on his mind.”
Kirsha stared fixedly at his son and spat out his question, sending spray in all directions, “Why don’t you answer, you son of an old hag? Do you really intend to go away and leave us?”
Normally the young man would have been careful not to antagonize his father. He had, however, definitely made up his mind to leave his old way of life no matter what the price. Therefore he did not hesitate, especially since he considered his staying or leaving to be entirely within his own rights which no one could deny. He spoke quietly and with determination: “Yes, Father!”
Controlling his anger, Kirsha asked, “And what for?”
“I want to lead a different life,” answered Hussain after a little thought.
Kirsha gripped his chin and shook his head sarcastically. “Yes, I understand that. You want to lead a life more suitable to your position! All dogs like you, brought up deprived and starving, go mad when they get money in their pockets. Now that you have money from the British, it’s only natural that you should want to lead another life, more appropriate to your lordship’s position!”
Hussain suppressed his rage and replied, “I have never been a hungry dog, as you describe me, because I grew up in your house and your house has never known hunger, thanks be to God! All I want is to change my way of life and this is my undeniable right. There is absolutely no need for your anger and sarcasm.”
Kirsha was stunned. His son had always enjoyed a free life and he had never asked what he did. Why should he want to start a new life elsewhere? Kirsha loved his son, in spite of quarrels between them. He loved him, but the circumstances and atmosphere had never allowed him to express his love. He always seemed overcome with rage, exasperation, and a desire to curse. For a long time he had almost completely forgotten that he loved his only son, and at this particular moment, when the young man was threatening to leave home, his love and sympathy vanished behind a veil of anger and exasperation. The matter seemed to him a battle in which he must engage. For these reasons he spoke to him in tones of bitter irony: “You have your money to spend as you wish. You can go off and enjoy yourself with drunkards, hashish addicts, or pimps. Have we ever asked you for a penny?”
“Never, never. I am not complaining about that.”
In the same bitter tone his father now asked, “And that covetous woman, your mother, never satisfied unless her eyes are feasting on filth, has she ever taken a penny from you?”
Blinking with embarrassment, Hussain replied, “I said I am not complaining about that. The whole point is that I want a different life. Why, many of my friends even live in houses that have electricity!”
“Electricity? So, it’s for the sake of electricity that you want to leave home? Thanks be to God that your mother, for all her scandals, has at least
kept our house safe from electricity!”
At this point Mrs. Kirsha broke her silence and wailed, “He keeps humiliating me! O God, by the murderous wrongs done to Hassan and Hussain…”
Her son went on: “All my friends live the modern way. They have all become ‘gentlemen,’ as they say in English.”
Kirsha’s mouth opened wide in amazement, his thick lips exploding to reveal his gold teeth. “What did you say?” he asked.
Scowling, Hussain made no reply. His father went on: “Galman? What’s that? A new type of hashish?”
“I mean a neat, clean person,” he muttered.
“But you are dirty, so how can you expect to be clean…Oh, galman!”
Hussain was now thoroughly annoyed and replied emotionally, “Father, I wish to live a new life. That is all there is to it. I want to marry a respectable girl!”
“The daughter of a galman!”
“A girl with respectable parents.”
“Why don’t you marry the daughter of a dog like your father did?”
“May God have mercy on you! My father was a learned, pious man,” said Mrs. Kirsha, groaning in disgust.
Kirsha turned his pale face toward her and commented, “A pious, learned man indeed! He recited the Qur’an at burials! Why, he would recite a whole chapter for a penny!”
“He knew the Qur’an by heart and that’s all that counts!” she declared, pretending to be offended.
Kirsha now turned away from her and moved several steps toward his son, until they were only an arm’s length apart. Kirsha said, in his terrifying voice, “Well, we have had enough talking and I can’t waste any more time on two lunatics. Do you really want to leave home?”
“Yes,” answered Hussain shortly, summoning all his courage.
Kirsha stood looking at him. Then he suddenly flew into a rage and slapped Hussain hard in the face with the palm of his hand. His son caught the heavy blow and it shocked and enraged him. He backed away, shouting, “Don’t you hit me! Don’t you touch me! You’ll never see me after today!”