The Harafish (18 page)

“You should be ashamed!” he shouted. “Behind my back too!”

“I was simply asking for advice. There's no harm in that.”

“So people are justified in saying that you're trying to get a divorce so you can marry Khidr!”

“To hell with them!”

“But it's very damaging to our reputation.”

“I've done nothing wrong.”

He stared savagely into her face. “It'll look to them—not without reason—as if you were his partner in crime.”

“They'll always find something to say.”

“But it's very damaging. Our reputation will be blown to pieces.”

“I'm not a child, Ibrahim,” she protested angrily.

“A woman is a child all her life.”

Startled by his wrath she said, “Let's postpone this conversation till another time.”

“Out of the question,” he said obstinately.

“Leave me alone!” she cried irritably.

“Now I'm sure you're in league with him.”

“Have you forgotten what happened?”

“And I also know the story of Joseph and Potiphar's wife.”

“As far as I'm concerned, I've got nothing to be ashamed of.”

He stood up, pale-faced, and asked, “Answer me honestly, do you intend to marry Khidr?”

“I won't be interrogated and accused of things I didn't do.”

“It's one catastrophe after another!”

Now it was her turn to stand up and demand, “Isn't marriage a lawful relationship?”

“Sometimes it can be as bad as adultery.”

“I haven't heard that before.”

Suddenly calm, he said, “So you do intend to marry Khidr?”

She was silent. Her limbs were trembling.

“You're going to marry Khidr. It's true, people have an unerring instinct for such things.”

“You needn't have anything more to do with me, Ibrahim. We can go our separate ways.”

“We will, Radwana.”

He threw himself at her in a frenzy and grabbed her by the throat and squeezed with all his might. Intoxicated by the violence of his feelings, he squeezed harder, bent on destruction. Radwana fought helplessly for her life, lashing out blindly, emitting soundless screams, inaudible cries for help, prayers that went unheeded. Her despair scattered the light into a million particles and strewed objects around the room.

She went limp, submitted, weakened, and grew still as she slid into nothingness.

1
.

T
he sun rose, the sun set, daylight came, darkness fell, the anthems sounded in the dead of the night. Radwana had vanished into the bowels of the earth, Ibrahim into prison, Bikr into the unknown.

Nobody lamented the murdered woman, but there was plenty of sympathy, even respect, for Ibrahim. Khidr nursed his sorrows privately, sharing them with nobody. People exchanged all the old sayings about woman's corrupt nature, quoted proverbs on the treachery of brothers, and agreed sanctimoniously that a curse must have fallen on the Nagi family.

The office of clan chief had passed out of their hands; Atris continued to hold it with pride until he died and was succeeded by al-Fulali, the most powerful of his followers. Ashur, Shams al-Din, and Sulayman became figures of legend.

Their elder statesman, Khidr, sat in the grain merchant's, growing richer day by day, paying taxes to the clan chief when required, cut off from all notions of heroic valor.

He had a new house built, devoted himself to bringing up Radwan, Safiyya, and Samaha, remained single until he was approaching
forty, buried Fathiyya, his father's first wife, and attended the funerals of Tulba al-Qadi, the imam of the mosque, Sheikh Said al-Faqi, and Uthman al-Darzi, owner of the bar.

In the end Khidr married Diya al-Shubakshi, Radwana's youngest sister. She bore some resemblance to Radwana, and her beauty was comfortingly familiar. He soon discovered that she was unusually good-hearted, with a simplicity and candor verging on stupidity. She made little contribution to the running of the house and had no children. Elegant clothes and makeup were alien to her and she left her looks to nature. Khidr was satisfied with his lot and never thought of taking a second wife. He began to favor a more pious and devout way of life and often spent his evenings in the square at the monastery gate, like Ashur before him.

Safiyya married Bakri, owner of the timber yard. Radwan worked as his uncle's assistant in the grain merchant's, taking Ibrahim's place. He soon showed that he was steady and reliable, with a flair for business, and his future looked bright.

Samaha, on the other hand, seemed as if he was going to be a problem.

2
.

Samaha was of medium height and powerful build, overflowing with life and energy. He had the typical local features of his grandfather Sulayman and the fine head and clear skin of his mother Radwana.

He was educated at the Quran school, and from that virtuous world acquired decency, kindliness, and some basic piety, but he was ablaze with the recklessness of youth, and adulated the world of heroes. He found the work in the grain merchant's uncongenial and appeared to have no talent for it. He made friends with some of al-Fulali's gang and sat up with them in the hashish dens or even wandered through the bar sometimes.

This worried Khidr. He would often say to him, “You need a lot of willpower and concentration.”

Samaha would look curiously over to his brother Radwan and say, “I wasn't made for business, uncle.”

“What do you think you were made for, Samaha?” his uncle would ask apprehensively.

His eyes would waver uncomfortably and Khidr would say, “Roaming around with the gangs having fun won't get you anywhere.”

“What did our ancestors do?” he retorted.

“They were true chiefs, not thugs,” said Khidr seriously. “Our only hope is to gain prestige in society through business.”

He wanted to give him guidance, point him in the right direction, out of love for Radwana; he had focused his thwarted paternal instincts on her three children. True, she was only a memory, but one that refused to die.

3
.

Khidr learned eventually that Samaha had joined al-Fulali's gang. The chief was delighted that a descendant of al-Nagi had declared his allegiance to him, and considered it his greatest triumph in his own alley. The harafish, on the other hand, thought of it as a new phase in the tragedy which was slowly grinding them down. Trying to explain it to themselves, they said that God was sometimes capable of producing worthless scoundrels from the loins of heroes, and that Ashur who had dreamed a dream, escaped miraculously, and returned to rule with perfect justice was an extraordinary phenomenon that would never recur.

Khidr was deeply distressed and suffered from a bitter sense of failure and disgrace.

“You're dragging the memories of Nagi, Samari, and Shubakshi through the dust,” he said to his nephew.

“I've got a head full of dreams, uncle,” said Samaha.

“What do you mean?”

“One day the Nagis will reign again in all their glory!”

“Are you tempted by the idea of becoming chief?” asked Khidr uneasily.

“Why not?” replied Samaha, full of confidence.

“You don't have the strength for it.”

“That's what they thought about Shams al-Din,” said Samaha vehemently.

“You're not him.”

“Wait till the fight for the succession.”

“Watch out for al-Fulali,” Khidr interrupted. “He's a cunning devil. Your exploits will disgrace us and finish us off for good if you're not careful.”

“Forget about your ambitions,” advised his brother Radwan. “Al-Fulali's got eyes everywhere. He's taken you under his wing so that you can't make a move without him knowing about it.”

Samaha smiled, and his dreams glowed in his eyes like the rosy red of a sunset sky.

4
.

That night Khidr sat in the monastery square. He hid his fears and anxiety in the blessed darkness, contemplated the stars, gazed in reverence at the dim outline of the ancient wall, and prayed to the monastery's imposing door. He looked sadly along the path to the graveyard, then greeted the vague forms of the mulberry trees, remembering with emotion the dead at rest in their graves and those lost in the unknown. Burning passions which had never tasted the nectar of life. Vanished hopes. Dreams released from the valleys of silence like meteors. The throne of love poised above the uncertainties of good and evil.

What did the future hold? Why was Ashur the only one to have visions to guide him?

The melodies rose in the air like the cries of hoopoes.

Ananke khaq ra benazar kimya konand

Aya bovad keh koshahe cheshmi bema konand
.

5
.

Khidr thought he should find Samaha a suitable girl to marry. He was convinced he was going through a reckless, dangerous period and should be made to listen to reason. If he married into a respectable
family he would have to reconsider his way of life. Living in a luxurious house, fathering a handful of fine children, acquiring kinship with people of a superior class would create a new world around him and make him see things differently. He thought he had found what he was looking for in Unsiyya, the daughter of Muhammad al-Basyuni the herbalist. He went to test the water, and found an even friendlier welcome than he had anticipated.

“I've found a nice girl for you to marry,” he said to Samaha.

“Shouldn't we start with Radwan? He's older,” said Samaha in surprise.

“We'll start with the headstrong one!” retorted his uncle.

“The fact is that I beat you to it,” said Samaha in unruffled tones.

“Really?” He bowed his head, seemingly unmoved, but asked in some trepidation, “Who's the lucky girl?”

“Mahalabiyya,” answered Samaha with a defiant smile.

Diya burst out laughing, her innocent eyes devoid of either pleasure or sorrow at the news, but Radwan repeated in amazement, “Mahalabiyya!”

“The daughter of Sabah, the exorcist,” agreed Samaha calmly.

Khidr frowned and flushed with anger. Diya shook an imaginary tambourine, laughing heartily.

“Why are you tormenting us like this?” demanded Khidr.

“Uncle, I love you, and I love Mahalabiyya too,” answered Samaha gently.

6
.

He had noticed her for the first time at the Feast of the Dead sitting beside her mother on a donkey cart. Later when he was at Shams al-Din's graveside he saw her jump lightly to the ground. Her skin was dark, almost black. She was slim, with sharp features, well-proportioned limbs, a smiling face, and she exuded life and femininity. He felt a surge of burning desire to be joined with her. Their eyes met in mutual curiosity, responsive like fertile earth. The scorching air, the heavy sighs of grief, the fragrance of cut palm leaves, basil, and sweet pastries for the festival fused with
their secret desires. He inclined toward her like a sunflower. The death all around spurred him on.

He was not surprised by what had happened. He had always felt intensely attracted to black women, and his first sexual encounters had taken place in their arms, in the gloom of the archway or in the derelict buildings behind the bar.

7
.

He acted alone. He chose the most disreputable man he could think of, Sadiq Abu Taqiya, to ask about Mahalabiyya and her mother.

“I never leave the bar,” he said, “but I get unsolicited gossip all the time.” He thought a little. “The girl's got quite a few admirers, but I've never heard a bad word said against her.”

Samaha felt glad, reckoning that such an obvious scoundrel would probably give the most accurate kind of evidence. However, he was not entirely convinced and went to consult the imam of the local mosque, Sheikh Ismail al-Qalyubi. “Her mother's trade is damned in the eyes of God,” he declared.

“I'm asking about the daughter.”

“Why choose your wife from a house haunted by demons?” asked the imam testily.

But Muhammad Tawakkul, the local sheikh, was unequivocal. “The girl's reputation is spotless.”

She seems more respectable than my grandmother Saniyya, thought Samaha.

8
.

Samaha went to visit Sabah in her home overlooking the animal trough. At first she imagined he was a prospective client and her mind went to Diya al-Shubakshi.

“Welcome to the son of our glorious heroes,” she said effusively.

He looked at her mildly, lulled by the fumes of Sudanese incense which filled his nostrils. His eyes roamed over the tambourines of various sizes, the whips and swords, and the robes encrusted
with colored pearls, all of which were jumbled together on the sofa or piled up on shelves around the room, then returned to rest on her body which bulged in front of him like a sack of coal.

“At your service, my lord,” she said.

“It's not what you think,” he muttered.

“What can I do for you, then?”

Fixing his eyes on the patterned rug at his feet, he said, “I want to marry your daughter, Mahalabiyya.”

She was astonished at first. Her bearing suddenly changed. Her face broke out into a broad smile, revealing even white teeth.

“Fancy that!” she muttered.

He raised his head, smiling, and said, “I hope you'll say yes.”

“None of your family's with you,” she said significantly.

“I decided to start things off by myself,” he said vaguely.

“Really? How I like free men!”

He smiled encouragingly.

“Fine!” she murmured, and they joined hands and recited the prayer to confirm the agreement.

9
.

Khidr did not want to let go of Unsiyya, the herbalist's daughter, so he married her to Radwan and ensured his line would be established on a reliable basis.

Samaha asked his uncle, “Will you come to my wedding?”

“You're one of us and the nail clings to the flesh,” answered Khidr without hesitation.

Reassured, Samaha asked Radwan the same question. “I'll always be beside you,” answered his brother enthusiastically.

But nothing could efface their hidden sorrow.