God Dies by the Nile and Other Novels (4 page)

The Mayor moved his head closer to Haj Ismail and said, ‘The girl resembles Nefissa.'

Haj Ismail responded quickly. ‘She's Nefissa's younger sister.'

‘I did not know Nefissa had a sister.'

Haj Ismail realized what was going on in the Mayor's mind, and to curry favour with him said, ‘Each one of them is more beautiful than the other.'

The Mayor winked at him and chuckled: ‘But the youngest is always the most tasty.'

Haj Ismail laughed loudly sucking in quantities of air through his nose and mouth. He felt in high spirits and was completely rid of the mood of depression which had weighed so heavily on him earlier. Now he was certain that the Mayor's behaviour towards him would not change because his brother was in power. Was he not joking with him as though they were equals, and opening up his heart to him like a friend?

He whispered into the Mayor's ear in hushed tones, blinking his eyes rapidly. ‘You are right, your highness, the youngest is always the most savoury to taste.'

The Mayor became very silent. His eyes followed the tall lithe figure of Zeinab as she walked along the river bank. He could see her firm, rounded buttocks pressing up against the long
galabeya
from behind. Her pointed breasts moved up and down with each step. Beneath the tail of her
galabeya
two rosy, rounded heels peeped out.

The Mayor turned round and addressed the Chief of the Village Guard. ‘For the life of me I cannot understand how Kafrawi manages to feed these girls of his. Look! The blood is almost bursting out of her heels.'

The Chief of the Village Guard burst into noisy, raucous laughter, gulping in mouthfuls of air. He had suffered a silent torment for quite a while, for it had seemed to him that he was out of favour with the Mayor. Had not the Mayor been talking to Haj Ismail all the time? But now matters looked different.
Immediately he felt his mood change, felt himself become gay once more.

‘He is stealing from others no doubt. All you have to do is to say the word and we'll push him behind bars.'

He stood up majestically and gave a theatrical wave of his arm. Then pretending to call upon one of his aides, he shouted out loud.

‘Boy, bring the handcuffs and chains immediately.'

The Mayor, highly amused by these antics, roared with laughter, and the three men seated with him joined in, including Sheikh Hamzawi who found himself obliged to abandon the water-jar pipe he had been puffing at with zeal all the time, and to laugh more loudly than any of the others, displaying an erratic row of decayed yellow teeth, and jerking the yellow rosary beads frantically between his fingers.

The Mayor waited until the hilarious laughter had subsided before addressing the Chief of the Guard again.

‘No, Sheikh Zahran, Kafrawi is not a man to steal.'

Sheikh Hamzawi now found it appropriate to intervene on a categorical note as though he was quoting from the Holy Koran on the sayings of the Prophet Mohamed.

‘All peasants steal. Theft runs in their blood like the bilharzia worm. They put on an innocent air, pretend to be dull, kneel down before Allah as they would never think of disobeying Him, but all the time, deep inside, they are nothing but accursed, cunning, unbelieving, impious sons of heretics.
A man will prostrate himself in prayer behind me, but once he has left the mosque, and gone to the field, he will steal from his neighbour, or poison the man's buffalo without batting an eyelid.'

He stopped for a moment to cast a look at the Mayor's face. Reassured that his words were falling on appreciative ears, he went on.

‘He might even commit murder, or fornication.'

The Chief of the Village Guard crossed his right leg over his left leg, throwing the fold of his garment to one side in a way that exhibited his new pair of boots, and permitted him at the same time to convey the message that Sheikh Hamzawi was trespassing on ground which was strictly his.

‘If we are going to speak of murder and fornication then the Chief of the Village Guard should have plenty to say, but…' Turning to the Mayor with an ingratiating smile he asked, ‘Tell me, your highness, you who knows so much. Are people in Misr the same as in Kafr El Teen?'

Sheikh Hamzawi intervened unceremoniously. ‘People have become corrupt everywhere, Sheikh Zahran,' he said. ‘You can search in vain for Islam, or for a devout Muslim. They no longer exist.'

He noticed an expression of disapproval on the Mayor's face and hastily added, ‘Except of course where you are dealing with upper class people of noble descent like his highness, the Mayor. Then it's a different matter.'

He searched frantically in his memory for a verse from the Koran with which to back up what he was saying, but his mind had been dulled by the fumes of what he had been smoking. Undeterred, he made do by intoning sanctimoniously, ‘Allah enjoins you to inquire after a man's descent for his roots will always find their devious way to his soul.'

The Mayor pouted his fleshy lips at the Sheikh of the mosque. Why had this man led the conversation away from Zeinab's rosy heels to such weighty matters as religion and faith? He smiled in Haj Ismail's direction and said, ‘Tell me, in your capacity as doctor-healer in this village, how is it possible that a dark-skinned devil like Kafrawi should have fathered daughters who are as white as a bowl of cream?'

Sheikh Hamzawi butted in again, attempting to chase away the image of the Mayor's disapproving pout, which was still upsetting his tranquillity. He intoned, ‘And Allah doth create from the loins of a man of God a corrupt descent.'

‘You have not told me what you think, Haj Ismail,' said the Mayor, ignoring Sheikh Hamzawi's interruption.

The village barber was still busy turning over in his mind the title of ‘doctor-healer' which the Mayor had bestowed upon him. It made him feel as though he had been accorded a bachelor's degree in medicine, which put him on an equal footing with any medical doctor in the area. He pulled himself up and gazed fixedly in front of him with narrowed eyes as though lost in deep thought. On his face was the look of a man
of science, who has penetrated into the secrets of life and is now endowed with great knowledge.

‘By Allah, your highness, and verily it is Allah alone who knows, the mother of Nefissa must have been yearning for a bowl of cream at the time when she was pregnant with the girl. Or maybe she was possessed by a white devil.'

The Mayor was seized with a fit of almost uncontrollable laughter. He threw his head back, giving full vent to his mirth, before turning to the Chief of the Village Guard as though looking for someone to come to his rescue.

The Chief of the Village Guard stood up imitating the same dramatic stance he had adopted a while before, and shouted into the night.

‘Boy, bring the handcuffs and chains at once. Catch hold of the devils, boy, and clap them in irons.' Then spitting into the neck of his
galabeya
, he whispered, ‘Let not our words anger them, Almighty God.'

Everyone joined in the laughter, but the loudest voice of all was that of Sheikh Hamzawi, who felt that now a special effort was required to melt the ice between him and the Mayor. Leaning over he whispered into his car, ‘It's a well-known fact that the womenfolk in the Kafrawi family have their eyes wide open and are quite brazen, your highness.'

The Mayor gurgled softly. ‘Is it only their eyes that are wide open, Sheikh Hamzawi?' he asked half seriously.

There was another storm of laughter. It was slowly carried across the still waters of the river, this time sounding carefree, as though the men were at last rid of their bitterness and melancholy. Even the Mayor felt better. He had chased away the bitterness which invaded his heart the moment he saw his brother's picture in the newspaper. Now he no longer had a need to be distracted, or entertained. He yawned copiously, displaying two rows of long white teeth like the fangs of a fox, or a wolf. When he spoke it was in a tone which brooked no discussion.

‘Let's go.'

He stood up, and in the wink of an eye the three men were also on their feet.

_________

^*
The central government in Cairo which manages national affairs. Misr, here, is Egypt, but also refers to the capital.

^*
A popular saying meaning that sometimes when you try to improve a situation you may make it worse.

III

She piled up pieces of stone and pebbles in the ditch beneath the slope of the river bank, covered them with earth, and flattened the surface with the palm of her hand. Then, resting her arm on the ground, she sat down with her back to the trunk of a mulberry tree. The earth was fresh against her hot skin. A damp coolness seemed to flow from the tree into the aching muscles and bones of her back. She pressed her forehead and face up against it, licking the moisture that exuded from it with her parched tongue.

The moist trunk of the tree evoked an ancient memory, an old sensation. She could almost feel the warm, wet nipple pouring milk into her mouth as she touched it with her lips. A bead of sweat fell from her forehead onto her nose. She wiped it with her sleeve, then her hand moved up to rub her eyes, but they were dry. She whispered softly, ‘May Allah have mercy on you my mother.'

She lifted her face to the sky, and the light of dawn shone in her large black eyes. Her eyes had never looked down, nor did she walk with them fixed to the ground. Like her Aunt Zakeya she looked up with pride and with anger, but in her
eyes there was no defiance. Over them now lay a cloud of anxiety, as though she was lost and afraid of what lay ahead of her. Her look wandered into the infinite expanses of sky, slowly plunged itself in its depths. In the distance she could see the horizon, a dark line where the earth met the sky. The red disc of the sun climbed out gradually from behind, and started to pour its orange light into the universe. A shiver went through her body. She could not tell whether it was the lingering cold of the night, or the fear of what was yet to come. She lifted her shawl and concealed her face from the light. In front of her the waters of the river were the same as they always had been, and its banks went on and on forever. She looked back, and looking back what she saw seemed no different from what she saw ahead. The same water, and the same track over the river bank stretching out to an endless end. But she knew this time that somewhere in the limitless space was the village she had left behind. And her mind kept remembering things as though she was back, or as though she had never left. The mud hut where she lived, nestling up against her Aunt Zakeya's dwelling. And just in front across the lane that huge gate with the iron bars, shielding the large house which hid behind from curious stares and probing eyes.

She used to crawl on her belly over the dusty lane. If she lifted her head she could see the iron bars like long black legs, watch them advancing slowly, intent on crushing her under their weight. She screamed out in fright, and immediately two
strong arms reached out and picked her up. She buried her nose in the black garment. It was homely and rough, and smelt of dough or yeast. When she nestled up against her breast, her mother put something in her mouth. It was a mulberry fruit, ripe and sweet and soft. The tears were still in her eyes but she gulped them down, greedily swallowing the fruit which was filling her mouth with the taste she loved so much.

Ever since childhood the sight of the iron bars had filled her with fright. She heard people mention the gate and the iron bars when they talked of different things. But they never came close, and when they walked through the lane they sidled along the opposite side, and their voices would drop to a whisper the moment it came in sight. The expression in their eyes would change at once from one of pride or anger or even cruelty to a humble resignation as though they had decided to accept anything which fate might do to their lives. They would bow their heads and look at the ground as they passed by, and if one happened to look into their eyes at that moment not even a hint of anger or rebellion could be detected lurking inside.

Once her legs could carry her around she started to go to the fields, either running behind the donkey, or dragging the buffalo by a long rope tied around its neck, to make sure it followed her wherever she went. And every day she carried an earthenware jar on her head, and walked along the river bank to the bend in the Nile where the girls filled up the empty jars
with water. But she avoided passing in front of the iron gate, and took a roundabout way behind the village, making almost half a circle to get to the river bank and walk straight down to the filling place. By now she knew that the iron gate opened on the yard which led to the big house owned by the Mayor, and that the house lay far behind, surrounded by a huge garden with trees and flowers. But somehow her imagination kept telling her that behind the gate was concealed a great giant, a monstrous devil who walked on twenty iron legs which could crush her to death at any moment if she was not careful.

When she grew older, instead of taking the roundabout track to the river bank, she started to follow the more direct route, although it led her right in front of the iron gate. She had grown enough to know there were no devils hiding behind it, and that in the big house dwelt the Mayor, his wife and their children. And yet whenever she heard the Mayor being mentioned, a shiver would go through her. Later, when a few more years had passed, the shiver was still there, but now it could barely be sensed deep down inside her.

But one day her father told her that the next morning, as soon as she had dressed and had her breakfast, she was expected to go to the Mayor's house. That night she could not sleep a wink. She was only twelve years old at the time, and her small mind spent the dark hours of the night trying to imagine what the rooms of the Mayor's house could be like. Through it flitted images of a bathroom in white marble
which the children of the neighbours had told her about. They added that the Mayor bathed in milk each night. And before her eyes she could see his wife moving around the house, her skin white and smooth, her thighs naked. The son was said to have a room of his own full of guns, and tanks, and aeroplanes which could really fly. The Mayor too kept coming and going before her eyes as real as she had seen him one day swathed in his wide, black cloak, as he walked along surrounded by the men of the village. She remembered now that each time she saw him she used to run away and hide in the house.