God Dies by the Nile and Other Novels (11 page)

The angry voice came back at him. ‘Your age?'

He hesitated for a moment before saying, ‘Forty or
fifty.'

He heard people laugh and could not understand why they did so.

The angry voice resumed. ‘You are accused of having murdered Elwau and it's better for you to admit to your crime, instead of beating about the bush.'

‘Admit to what?' he asked.

‘Admit to killing Elwau.'

‘I did not kill him. Elwau was a good man.'

The voice said, ‘Did you not hear that he was the man who assaulted your daughter, Nefissa?'

‘I heard them say it was Elwau.'

‘After you heard that, did you not think of killing him?'

‘No.'

The voice asked, ‘Why?'

‘I did not think of it.'

‘Is that normal for a man whose honour has been sullied?'

‘I don't know,' Kafrawi answered.

The voice sounded very angry. ‘Is that natural?'

‘What does natural mean?'

He heard laughter again. He looked around in surprise. He could not understand why people kept laughing. It occurred to him that they might be laughing about something which had nothing to do with him.

The voice resumed its questioning. ‘On that Friday, why did you stay in the fields instead of going to the mosque for prayer like all the men of the village?'

‘I've stopped praying since Nefissa left.'

‘Why?'

‘Nefissa used to look after the buffalo while I went to pray.'

‘Did you not know that, unlike the other men in the village, Elwau did not go to the mosque on Fridays?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did you or did you not know?'

‘I knew. Everybody knew that Elwau did not go to the mosque.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't know why. People say that his mother's grandfather was a Copt, but Allah alone knows the reason.'

The voice asked insinuatingly, ‘Did you dislike Elwau?'

‘No.'

‘Was it not your conviction that a man like him should have carried out the religious rites which Allah has ordained?'

Kafrawi said, ‘Elwau was a good man.'

‘Do you not know that prayer is a protection against sin?'

‘Yes, that's what Sheikh Hamzawi used to say to us.'

‘So Elwau assaulted your daughter and committed a grievous sin.'

‘That's what was said.'

‘And after all that happened, you insist you didn't think of killing him?'

‘No, I didn't.'

‘Why did you not think of killing him?' ‘Elwau was a good man,' Kafrawi repeated.

The voice came back, insistent. ‘Don't you care about honour? Don't you care about your honour and that of your family?'

Kafrawi was silent for a moment and then replied, ‘Yes, I do.'

The voice said with a note of triumph barely veiled, ‘That's why you killed Elwau.'

‘But I did not kill him.'

The voice was very angry again. ‘Then why were you found near the body?'

Kafrawi was silent, trying to remember, but his memory failed him. He said nothing.

The voice still sounded angry. ‘Why did you run away and try to escape?'

‘I was afraid of the dog.'

‘Do you know why the dog picked you out from all the men in the village?'

‘No. It's the dog who knows.'

He heard laughter in the room and looked around in great surprise. Why were people laughing again?

The voice was furious this time. ‘Don't try to deceive me. You had better confess. Do you know what's awaiting you?'

‘No,' he said.

Laughter echoed in his ears once more. His eyes expressed a puzzled amazement. After a moment he felt the steely fingers close round his arm as they led him away into a long, dark passage. He closed his eyes and muttered, ‘I do testify that there is no God but Allah.'

IX

Zakeya still sat on the dusty threshold with Zeinab by her side. Both of them were plunged in silence, and their eyes continued to watch the lane with an expression of angry defiance. In front of them there still rose the huge door with its iron bars. It seemed to stand there blocking the way, shutting out the bank of the river and the water which flowed beside it. From time to time the Mayor walked out, tall, broad-shouldered, surrounded by men on all sides. He walked ahead of them with his slow steady stride. In his eyes was the haughty, blue look which he raised to the skies. He never bent his head to look at the ground over which he walked, nor noticed Zakeya and Zeinab sitting on the dusty threshold of their house, thinking over something in silence, their eyes staring in front of them steadily.

Zakeya's hands rested on her lap, over her wide, black
galabeya
. They were big, and the skin on them was coarse and cracked. In her palm lay the deep imprint of the hoe which she held firmly in her clasp whenever she dug into the soil. Her nails were black, and they smelt of manure and of mud. Now and again she would lift them from her lap to hold her
head, or wipe the sticky sweat, or chase away a mosquito or a gnat. Zeinab sat by her side, her hands busy sifting the corn from the chaff, or kneading the dung with straw, and cutting it into round cakes like a loaf of bread. Sometimes she would stand up, lift the earthenware jar to her head and walk to the river bank. Her body was tall and slender, her big, dark eyes faced straight ahead. She did not look at passers-by, or houses on the way, or shops or sheds. Nor did she smile at anyone, or greet a friend as the other girls or women did. When she passed in front of Haj Ismail's shop she would hasten her pace. She could almost feel the blue eyes singe her back. They gazed at her fixedly, inflexibly, cruelly cutting through her dress, feeding on the beauty of her legs, on the curving flesh, on the fullness of her thighs and belly, on the petal-like skin and the waist narrow and slender above her hips, on her back rising up like a powerful stem.

She would lift her shawl to hide her face and cover her breast. But the sharp, inflexible eyes which knew no rest, no quiet, no tenderness, pierced through her robe as she climbed the river bank, or descended its sloping flank, slid over her back, and round her uncovered body to the pointed breasts which moved up and down with every step, with the beat of her heart and the rhythm of her breath. She advanced quickly, her eyes fixed straight ahead, cheeks flushed with health, full lips trembling, her lithe form wafted through the open spaces as though on air.

When she got home she would lift the earthenware jar of water from her head, and put it on the ground, then sit down by the side of her Aunt Zakeya still out of breath. Her heart continued to beat fast under her ribs, her chest heaved up and down, and the drops of sweat stood out on her forehead, for they had not yet dried, nor had they dripped down over her face to disappear over her neck.

Zakeya would stare at her silently for some time. Then her parched lips would part and in a low, tense whisper she would ask, ‘What's wrong with you, my child?'

But Zeinab never answered, so Zakeya would drop into silence again for a long while before her lips opened again with the oft repeated lament.

‘I wonder where you are, Galal my son. I wonder whether you are alive or dead. O God, if I knew he was dead my mind would be put at rest. And now Kafrawi has also been taken away. Who knows if he'll ever come back. O God, were not Galal and Nefissa enough? Did you have to take Kafrawi also? We no longer have anyone left, and the house is empty. Zeinab is still young and I am old. Who is going to look after the buffalo and the crops?'

Zeinab dried her sweat on her shawl and then she said, ‘I have grown up now, and I will look after the buffalo, and the crops, and the house and everything else until my father comes back. Father will come back, and so will Galal, and Nefissa as well.'

‘Those that go never come back, my child.'

‘God knows what difficult straits we're in and He won't abandon us.'

Zakeya muttered in a low tone as though speaking to herself. ‘No one is going to come back. Those who go never come back. Kafrawi too. He will not return.'

‘My father will come back. You will see. He'll come back,' Zeinab said vehemently. ‘He will tell them that he did not kill anyone and they will believe him. Everybody knows my father is a kind man, and could never kill anybody.'

The old woman sighed. ‘People here know him. But over there, no one knows who he is. If Galal was here he would have gone with him. Galal knows the people there, and he could have helped him. But Galal is not here. He used to lend a helping hand to everyone, even to strangers, so you can imagine what it would have been like with his uncle Kafrawi.'

‘May Allah come to his aid.'

‘My child, Allah alone is not enough.'

Zeinab opened her big black eyes wide, and looked at her with amazement. ‘God Almighty have mercy on us. God is great and helps everyone. Aunt, why don't you get up, do your ablutions, and pray God to help us.'

Zakeya raised her hands in a gesture of rebuttal. ‘I have not ceased praying and begging God to help us. And yet every day our misery becomes greater, and we are afflicted with a new suffering.'

Her voice was not angry. It was distant, and calm, and as cold as ice. Zeinab's eyes opened even wider with astonishment. She was gazing up at the heavens with a strange expression in her eyes. Zeinab was seized with a dark shiver that made the hair on her body stand up. Her hands were shaking as she took hold of Zakeya's hand and held it between them.

‘What's the matter, Aunt?' she asked anxiously. ‘Your hand is as cold as ice.'

Zakeya did not answer. She continued to stare into space with her wide open black eyes. Zeinab's hand was still shaking as she held her shoulder and pressed it.

‘What's the matter, Aunt? Please tell me what's the matter with you,' she implored.

But Zakeya still continued to stare in front of her in silence like a statue. The girl was seized with terror. She clapped her hands to her face in agony and screamed, ‘My Aunt Zakeya. O God, something has happened to my Aunt Zakeya.'

Almost immediately the yard of the house was filled with the dark forms of people. They crowded through the dusty entrance of the house, and filled up the yard and the lane outside, coming between Zakeya and the huge iron gate on which she had fixed her eyes. But she could still see the big iron bars moving towards her as she lay on her belly over the ground. They came closer and closer like long iron legs which would crush her at any moment. She licked the dust with her tongue, and a sticky wetness streamed from her mouth, her
nose and her eyes on to the ground. She screamed as loudly as she could to make sure that her mother would hear her, and snatch her up quickly from under the long legs of the buffalo that looked as though they would walk over her at any moment. And her mother arrived just in the nick of time to save her from being crushed. It was a strange dream which had visited her many times in her sleep. Other nights she would dream that she was standing on a hill. Suddenly her body fell from on high into the river and started to drown. But she swam with all her might, although she did not know how, and managed to reach the river bank. She was about to lift herself out of the water on to the ground when she found herself in front of a huge iron gate. She was lying on a mat with her husband Abdel Moneim on one side and her son Galal on the other. She opened her eyes to the sound of their breathing. From behind the iron bars of a window she could see a man pushing a hand cart filled up with calves' feet and heads, and entrails. Blood kept dripping from the cart on to the dust. The stranger's eyes were fixed on her as he came nearer. His long arm stretched out and tried to pull off the anklet she wore around her leg. When he was close enough she could see that his eyes were those of Om Saber who now leant over her and tried to push one thigh away from the other. Then she pulled out a razor blade from somewhere and proceeded to cut her neck. She tried to scream, but her voice would not come out. Then she tried to run, but her feet were nailed to the ground. When she
turned her head, she could see her son Galal sleeping beside her. She tried to put her arm around him but he seemed to move out of reach, and suddenly a hand caught hold of her on the other side. She looked round to find her husband fast asleep, but he got up at once, and started to hit her on her head, and chest. Then he kicked her in her belly which was pregnant with child. She tried to scream again, but her voice did not come out and when she looked at him he had come very close and was busy tearing her
galabeya
down the front till her body was exposed. She could feel his fingers around her breast, feel them creep down to her belly and between her thighs. His heavy body bore down upon her with all its strength, pressing harder and harder down on her flesh, so that the ground beneath her began to shake. When she opened her eyes again the face of her husband Abdel Moneim had disappeared and in its place, right in front of her was the face of her brother Kafrawi. She screamed out as loudly as she could but no one seemed to hear her voice. Kafrawi hid his face in the mat and wept bitterly. She stretched out her hand to him and lifted his head, but when she looked at his face, it was the face of her son Galal. She wiped the tears in his eyes with the palm of her hand, then washed his nose and mouth with water from the earthenware jar held up by the iron stand in the corner of the room. Around him formed a pool of water and liquid stools but after a short while the ground had started to become dry, but the dryness crept up to her son's body. It
shrank rapidly before her eyes, and became the size of a small rabbit, so she dug a hole and buried him in the ground. Just at that moment her husband came back from the fields, and because he could not find his son anywhere he started to beat her again. For it was like that. Every time a son of hers died he would strike out at her blindly, and beat her up with anything he could lay his hands on. And the same thing would happen whenever she gave birth to a daughter. She had given birth to ten sons and six daughters – but the only child who had lived to grow up was Galal. All the others had died at different ages, for life was like that. One never knew when a child would die.