The Harafish (42 page)

“Such as?”

“He knows the Quran by heart. He can write and do sums.”

He turned to the boy and asked sarcastically, “Are you trustworthy or light-fingered like the rest of our famous family?”

“I fear God and respect my ancestor,” declared Fath al-Bab vehemently.

“The one who built the minaret?”

“Ashur al-Nagi!”

Samaha glowered. His face changed.

“He's an innocent child,” Sahar said quickly.

“It's your ancestor Ashur who taught us to steal,” said Samaha viciously.

Fath al-Bab was surprised and hurt. Scared he would say something detrimental to his chances, Sahar said, “I can guarantee that he's reliable and serious, as God's my witness.”

So Fath al-Bab joined the business as assistant storekeeper.

12
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Fath al-Bab threw himself into his work. The warehouse occupied a vast basement with as much floor space as the shop itself. Sacks of cereal were piled up on shelves and on the ground, but they were constantly being shifted, the scales were never idle, and he was kept busy registering the movement of goods all day long. He met with his brother at least once every morning to report to him on the purchases and sales. The chief was pleased with his energy and keenness, and saw that he had engaged someone who would unconsciously keep an eye on the storekeeper.

“I encourage hard workers and stamp on idleness,” he said in his normal fashion.

13
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Following Sahar's advice Fath al-Bab called on Nur, mother of his boss, to pay his respects. Nothing remained of her former beauty, and she gave him a chilly reception, making it plain that she could not forget an affront.

“How's your mother?” she asked him.

“I stopped living with her because her new husband didn't like me, and I haven't seen her since.”

“Heartless. That's her only excuse.”

He left, privately vowing not to see her again if he could avoid it.

14
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Again on Sahar's insistence he visited Firdus. She welcomed him affectionately and he was entranced by her beauty and elegance.

“I've heard nice things about how hard you work,” she told him.

But he noticed that she didn't call her children. Perhaps she was reluctant to introduce a simple worker like him as their uncle. This hurt him, but he decided to do his best to forget it. He left, his senses charmed by her. He vowed not to visit her again either.

15
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Through hard work he gained confidence and pride. He began to imitate grown men, grew a mustache, and wore a fine headcloth around his skullcap. He became an habitúe of the mosque and developed a close bond with Sheikh Sayyid Osman. He spent an hour in the café each evening, drinking cinnamon tea and smoking a water pipe, and never went home without taking a stroll around the monastery square, for he had developed a passion for the dervishes' anthems.

16
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A mysterious pain consumed his entrails. His breast overflowed with longing, and burned with a secret fire. The sight of women entranced him, the sound of their voices made his heart tremble. His companions tried to tempt him to become acquainted with the bar, the hashish den, the whorehouses, but the past screamed a warning in his ears. The past burdened with memories of the minaret and the lusts and perversions which had destroyed his family's prestige. As if Sahar could read his thoughts, she said to him one day, “It's time you were married.”

He was delighted at the idea; it seemed like the way out he had been searching for.

But before long the horizon grew dark, threatening storms that nobody could have foretold.

17
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Strange rumors came from outside the alley. The Nile was not going to flood that year. People wondered what to make of this. Some said one catastrophe would follow another until nothing was left. Was it true? Food would become scarce. Perhaps there would be a famine. It would be prudent to lay in provisions for the future. Those with money followed this advice. The harafish looked on and laughed, refusing to believe that they would be deprived of the morsel of bread which they snatched by the sweat of their brows, or were given in alms.

The air filled with a humming sound and was tinged a repulsive yellow. Specters of anxiety were on the march day and night.

18
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The wheel of misfortune raced ahead at full speed. Prices rose by the hour. Black clouds darkened the sky. Food shops only stayed open half the day for lack of supplies. Complaints and lamentations jostled together in the air. There were demonstrations in front of the flour and bean shops. People could no longer talk of anything but food. It was the sole topic of conversation in the bar, the hashish den, the café. Sparks flew and a fire was kindled. Even the notables complained openly but no one believed them, and their plump, pink faces let them down.

“It's an epidemic!” said Anba the bar owner.

Prices went on rising, especially the prices of cereals.

“There's not enough left to feed the birds!” cried Samaha.

However one night Fath al-Bab said to Sahar, “What a liar he is! The warehouse is full. The prices he's asking are just protection money in another form.”

“Hold your tongue, son,” she implored anxiously.

“He's barbaric. He doesn't know what compassion means.”

19
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The atmosphere became gloomier, uglier. Prices went crazy. Beans, lentils, tea, and coffee were scarce. Rice and sugar vanished altogether. Bread was hard to find. As nerves grew more frayed, there were signs that people began to stop caring. Thefts mounted. Chickens and rabbits disappeared. At night people were held up and robbed on their doorsteps. The clan went about issuing warnings and threats, calling for good behavior and solidarity, their voices loud and their stomachs full.

Life bared its cruel fangs as the days passed. The specter of starvation loomed large, like the madman's minaret. It was said that people were eating horses, donkeys, dogs and cats, and would soon be eating one another.

20
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In that cold, sickly time a strange day blazed briefly like a glimpse of another world. Ihsan, Samaha's daughter, married the timber merchant's son. It was an extravagant and flamboyant celebration such as the alley had never witnessed before, flying in the face of the hard times and the famine. Firdus announced that she would feed the harafish. The hungry flocked to the wedding, and as soon as the trays appeared, balanced on the servants' heads, they attacked like wild beasts. Massed together like so many grains of dust on a windy day, they grabbed at the food, pulling, pushing, snatching from one another, then arguing and fighting until blood flowed mingling with the meat broth. The people were drunk on the chaos and commotion; a wave of them surged to the door of the bar and rolled through it, devouring all the food in their path, drinking greedily straight from the barrels. Then they rushed back into the alley whooping with delight and threw bricks at the ghosts that inhabited their slums and squats.

The whole alley gave itself over to frantic carousing till daybreak.

21
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The following day the alley was subjected to a revenge attack. Samaha's men were deployed at strategic points, and the chief walked the length of the alley from the archway to the main square. Not one of the harafish escaped without being beaten up and humiliated. Panic spread, people ran for cover, the shops closed, the café, the smoking dens were deserted. That day nobody even went to the mosque to pray.

22
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Fath al-Bab sat with Sahar, dejected and sad. “Ashur will never return,” he began.

The old woman gave him a sorrowful glance.

“He's still angry with us,” he went on.

“This is worse than the plague in Ashur's time,” muttered Sahar.

“And they're still singing hymns to joy in the monastery!”

“Perhaps they're prayers, my son.”

“Wouldn't it be proper for them to give some of what they've got to ordinary people?”

“You shouldn't criticize them,” she said with feeling.

“They've got the mulberries and the kitchen garden stuffed with vegetables.”

She held her hand up in a gesture of warning.

He sighed. “It's Samaha who's the devil incarnate,” he finished lamely.

23
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A pinprick of light pierced the darkness. A murmur of compassion broke the silence. The secret did not go beyond the slums and derelict buildings where the harafish lived. They were intent on
preserving it, sensing that their life depended on it. Someone had received a sack of food. “From Ashur al-Nagi,” a voice had whispered, then a dim shape had melted away in the darkness. The first time it had been under the archway, then on the path by the monastery wall, then several times in the slums themselves. The harafish talked about it in low voices. They knew instinctively that they were being sought out by a secret benefactor, that the food was intended for them. Bread from heaven. A miracle taking place in the darkness of night. A window opening onto mercy. Ashur al-Nagi or his spirit moving among them. The blank, solid walls of existence bursting apart to reveal the unknown.

The blood coursed through their veins and their hearts beat with new life.

A sack of mercy, accompanied by Ashur al-Nagi's whisper.

24
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The joy of newfound happiness loosed their tongues, which danced to the melodies of their wishes and prayers. They repeated Ashur's name until he seemed to acquire a physical presence. They said nothing of the sacks of food, but it was widely rumored that Ashur returned to life under cover of night. Samaha's men ridiculed this fairy story: they were on guard at night and hadn't seen anybody. Samaha summoned Sayyid Osman, the imam of the mosque. “The people have gone mad with hunger,” he began.

The sheikh inclined his head.

“Have you heard what they're saying about Ashur's return?” continued Samaha.

The sheikh gave another nod of his head.

“What do you think about it?” demanded Samaha.

“It's not true.”

“It's also blasphemy.”

“It is indeed,” said the sheikh sorrowfully.

“Do your duty then.”

So the sheikh addressed the people, warning them against superstition and blasphemy. “If Ashur had really risen from the dead, he would have brought you food,” he declared confidently.

25
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The darkness was transformed into a magic arena crisscrossed by a network of channels linking souls to one another. The air was drunk with enchanted whisperings. Unknown to the watchmen secret conversations burst into life, intense and passionate.

“Are you Ashur al-Nagi?”

But the whisperings melted back into the night like a lost soul. These whisperings roused the sleeper, confirmed that the warehouses were full, cursed greed—greed, not drought, was mankind's enemy. These whisperings suggested that it was better to take a risk than die of hunger. Pointed out that there was a time when the clan slept and were vulnerable. Asked what could stand in their way, if they all broke out together. Challenged them, demanded how they could hesitate when Ashur al-Nagi was on their side.

The darkness was transformed into a magic arena. The air was drunk with enchanted whisperings. The invisible was full of mysterious powers.

26
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There was another force working relentlessly to uncover the secret of the manna from heaven. Samaha came upon a scandal at the heart of his business. Damir al-Husni, the chief's warehouse supervisor, cried out in fear. “I'm innocent, as God's my witness.”

“Half the stuff's gone from the warehouse,” said Samaha savagely.

“I'm innocent, chief.”

“You're guilty until proved innocent.”

“Don't destroy a man who's given his life to serve you.”

“You're the one who has the keys.”

“I hand them into you every evening.”

“And I find them in their place every morning and give them back to you!”

“Perhaps someone takes them and puts them back in the meantime.”

“Without me knowing?”

“It could be someone who's free to come and go,” said Damir desperately.

A cruel light blazed in Samaha's eyes, enough to call the demons from their lairs. His face ugly with malice, he declared, “If you're lying, you're dead. Whoever it is, he'd better start saying his prayers.”

27
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Fath al-Bab sneaked out from behind the fountain in the pitch-dark and made for the door of the warehouse. Cautiously he turned the key and pushed the door gently open. He closed it behind him and advanced a few paces, guided by the light of memory.

Suddenly the place was flooded with light. Fath al-Bab stopped dead in his tracks. Terrifying, cruel faces emerged in the lamp's glow. Samaha, Damir al-Husni, some of the fiercest of Samaha's men. His eyes collided violently with theirs. The silence impaled them all, whistled in their ears like the hissing of snakes. The air crackled with the heat released as their wild, primitive instincts asserted themselves. His brother's look engulfed him, transfixed him, dismembered him. He felt the poison coursing through his veins, and a sense of absolute defeat and loss. His hopes vanished and he plunged into despair, waiting for his sentence to be pronounced as if it related to someone else.

The words came cold, scornful, bitter. “What brings you here at this time of night?”

There was nothing for it but to confess, be brave, hope for the best. He spoke with unexpected calm. “You already know.”

“What are you doing here at this time of night?” repeated Samaha as if he hadn't heard.