Midaq Alley by Naguib Mahfouz
Zaita marveled at the man’s servility, cowardice, and stupidity. It was a bit surprising that Zaita should find him ugly and constantly scoff at his appearance: Jaada was extremely tall, with long arms, and his lower jaw jutted out. Long and often Zaita had envied him the pleasures of his formidable wife, whom Zaita both admired and desired. As it was, he despised Jaada and often wished he could toss him in the oven with the dough. And so it seemed natural to Zaita to sit pleasantly with his wife in the absence of the cowardly baker. Now he sat quite lost in his fantasies that centered on the bakeress.
Husniya rose, walked to where he sat, and bellowed out, “Why do you sit there like that?”
Zaita said a silent prayer: “O God, spare me her wrath,” and then replied in a friendly manner, “I’m your guest and a guest ought not be insulted.”
“Why don’t you crawl off and spare me your face?”
His yellowed fangs showed as he smiled and said seriously, “A man can’t spend his whole life among beggars and garbage. One must sometimes see nobler sights and people.”
“Meaning you can inflict your revolting sight and filthy smell on others?” she asked. “Go away and lock the door behind you!”
“I know of more disgusting sights and filthier smells.”
Husniya realized he was referring to her husband, and her face paled as she asked menacingly, “Just what do you mean by that, you snake?”
“Our charming friend, Jaada,” answered Zaita, his courage causing him some surprise.
Husniya shouted at him in her terrifying voice, “Be careful, you rat! If I hit you I’ll split you in two!”
Zaita paid no attention to the danger looming before him and continued: “I told you guests shouldn’t be insulted. Anyway I criticize Jaada because I’m quite sure you have nothing but loathing for him, plus the fact that you beat him up at the slightest excuse.”
“Why, his little fingernail is worth more than all of you!”
“Well, I know what you’re worth—but as for Jaada…”
“Do you think you’re better than he is?”
Zaita’s annoyance was obvious. His mouth dropped in amazement, not because he thought he was better than Jaada, but because he thought the comparison was an unpardonable insult. How could he be compared to that lowest of all forms of animal life who had not a single vestige of civilization in his character or personality?
“What do you think, Husniya?”
“I told you what I think,” she snapped.
“That animal?”
“He’s a man,” she shouted. “Not like some I know, you ugly devil…”
“That creature you treat like a stray dog? You call him a man?”
She heard the jealousy in his voice and it pleased her. No, she wouldn’t hit him, much as she longed to. Rather she decided to feed his envy. “That’s something you can’t understand. You’ll die longing for the blows that fall on him.”
“Probably a beating from you is too good for me,” said Zaita invitingly.
“Yes, it’s an honor you’ll never really know, you worm!”
Zaita sat thinking a moment. Could she really like living with that animal? He had often asked himself this question but had always refused to believe it was so. After all, what else could she do but defend him like a loyal wife. And he was still sure she was being less than fully frank. His greedy eyes stared at her ample and firm body, and his determination and stubbornness increased. His imagination worked furiously, his lecherous eyes glistened with the feverish fancies conjured up by the empty room.
As for Husniya, his jealousy delighted her and she was not in the least afraid of being alone with him. Her confidence lay in her own strength. She said to Zaita sarcastically, “As for you, you chunk of earth…first, get all that filth off your body and then maybe you can speak to people.”
She was not angry. If she had been, nothing would have prevented her from giving him a beating. She was deliberately flirting with him and Zaita was quick to see that the opportunity should be seized.
“You can’t even tell the difference between dust and gold dust,” he said, pleased with his joke.
“Do you deny that you’re just a chunk of clay?” she asked.
“We are all clay,” Zaita replied, shrugging his shoulders.
“Shame on you! You’re just dirt on dirt, filth piled on filth, and that’s why you’re only fit to disfigure people. You love to draw other people down to your own filthy level.”
Zaita merely chuckled at this and his hopes increased. “But I am the best of people, not the worst,” he said. “Don’t you realize that regular beggars don’t earn a penny, whereas if I give them a deformity they can earn their weight in gold. It’s a man’s worth, not his appearance, that counts. Now as for our friend Jaada, why he’s neither handsome nor worth anything.”
“Are you going back to that again?” demanded Husniya threateningly.
Zaita thought it best to abandon the subject he had deliberately broached. He went on in the tone of a public speaker.
“And apart from that, all my customers are professional beggars. What would you have me do with them? Would you like me to pretty them up and set them loose in the streets at the mercy of their ‘well-wishers’?”
“You’re a real devil! You talk like one and look like one, too.”
Zaita sighed audibly and as though meekly seeking sympathy said, “Nevertheless, I was once upon a time a king.”
“A king of devils?” she asked.
In the same tone of humility Zaita replied, “No, of mankind. Which of us is not at first welcomed into the world like a king of kings, to be later carried wherever ill fortune decrees. This is one of nature’s wisest treacheries. Were it to show us first what is in store for us, we would all refuse to leave the womb.”
“What next, you son of a whore!”
Zaita continued, his self-assurance unwavering: “And so I, too, was once a happy creature whom loving hands coddled and enfolded with tender care. Do you doubt that I was once a king?”
“Not for a moment, master!” Her tone was now sarcastic.
Intoxicated by the power of his oratory and filled with anticipation, Zaita went on: “Moreover, my birth was considered a most fortunate blessing. My parents were both professional beggars. They hired a baby, which my mother carried on their rounds, and when God gave them me, they had no need for other people’s children. So they were delighted.”
At this, Husniya burst into a resounding laugh. This increased Zaita’s confidence and desire and he continued: “Oh, what memories I have of my happy childhood! I still remember my resting place on the sidewalk. I would crawl on all fours until I reached the street curb. I’d rest at a spot where there was a mudhole. All kinds of scum and insects floated on its surface. It was a beautiful sight! The water was full of garbage and its shores consisted of rubbish of all colors—tomato skins, fruit stains, beans, filth, and flies floating all around it and falling in. I would lift my eyelids, weighted down with flies, and I’d wallow about in that delightful summer resort. I was the happiest person alive…”
“Oh, how lucky you were,” commented Husniya sarcastically.
Her pleasure and the way she listened delighted him, and he went on, even more encouraged: “This is the secret of my love for what you call filth. Man is capable of growing fond of anything, no matter how strange. That’s why I’m afraid for you, getting attached to that animal.”
“Must we talk of that again?”
“Why not? Man has no reason to disregard what is right.”
“It’s obvious that you’ve given up this world.”
“I once tasted peace and mercy, as I told you, in the cradle.” Then he made a gesture with his hand toward his room and he went on: “And my heart tells me that I may have another joy to taste, in that room of mine.” He nodded toward it with a sly wink.
Husniya seethed at his impertinence. She leaned over and roared in his face, “Watch out, you bastard, you!”
“And if I were to break your neck?”
“Who knows—perhaps that would be delightful too.”
He got up suddenly and walked back a bit. He felt he had what he wanted and that Husniya would do as he wished. A fit of violent passion gripped him, and he drew off his filthy cloak and stood quite naked. For several moments Husniya remained dumbfounded. Then she seized a heavy mug lying nearby and hurled it at him as violently as she could. It struck him in the stomach and, letting out a bellowing howl, he fell to the floor, writhing in pain.
Salim Alwan was sitting as usual at his desk one day when Umm Hamida came in to buy some things. He always made a point of welcoming her, but on this occasion his normal formal politeness was not enough. He invited her to sit in an armchair near him and sent one of his employees to buy the perfume she wanted. His kindness delighted Umm Hamida and she thanked him and blessed him profusely. If the truth were known this kindness was not particularly spontaneous, for Mr. Alwan had made an unalterable decision.
It is, after all, difficult for a man to have to live with his mind in a constant turmoil of indecision. It disturbed him deeply to see his whole life clouded with problems that he could not solve. He was well aware, too, of the distress this caused his sons. Yet he had no idea how to use his accumulated wealth, especially since the gossips said its cash value was likely to drop after the war. As for the matter of his title, whenever he managed to dismiss the matter, it kept coming back like an abscess. Another worry was his relationship with his wife and his fear that his youth and vitality were vanishing. Last but not least of his concerns was this emotion and desire of his which caused him so much anguish.
Now he realized the time had come when he must solve at least one of his problems, although he still could not decide which one. Eventually he decided he would settle the one that consumed him the most. He believed that when that one was settled, the other worries would also come to an end.
However, he was not unaware of the consequences. He knew that once he solved that problem, no less dangerous ones could emerge. Yet this was purely a matter of passion. The difficulties which stood in the way of his dreams now seemed trivial and he firmly told himself, “My wife has ceased her life as a woman and I am not the sort to enter into adultery at my age. Nevertheless, why should I be punished? Allah made things easy, why should we make them difficult?”
Thus he had made up his mind to satisfy his desires and there was no retreat. So it was that he had invited Umm Hamida to come and sit near him so that he could broach the vital matter to her. Mr. Alwan was still a bit apprehensive of speaking out, not because he felt any indecision or hesitancy, but because it was not easy to descend in one jump from his high position and suddenly bare his soul to a woman like Umm Hamida.
At that moment one of his employees entered carrying his famous green wheat and pigeon concoction on a tray. Umm Hamida saw it and a faint smile flickered across her lips, which he did not fail to notice. Alwan seized his opportunity and opened the conversation by speaking of the bowl. He tried to forget his dignity and revered position, and said to her in a slightly hurt tone, “No doubt this bowl of mine offends you?”
Umm Hamida was afraid that he had seen her smile and she replied hastily, “Heaven forbid! Why should you think that?”
In the same tone, Alwan went on: “It does cause me a lot of trouble…”
“Why should you say that?” asked Umm Hamida, having no idea what he meant.
Alwan, conscious that he was talking to a professional matchmaker, said quietly, “My wife doesn’t approve of it…”
Umm Hamida was astonished at this and she recalled how all Midaq Alley was at one time wild for a bit of this food. So Alwan’s wife was too puritanical, was she, and didn’t approve of it? She repeated to herself the saying “People with fine voices often have no ears to enjoy their singing.” Smiling, she muttered, quite unabashed, “That’s very strange!”
Alwan shook his head in sad agreement. His wife had never approved of his eating this food, even when she was a young woman in the prime of life. She was of a conventional disposition and had a genuine dislike of any sort of abnormality. She had always tolerated her passionate and virile husband from fear and respect; in no way did she want to displease him. Nevertheless, she did not hesitate to advise him to give up a habit which she felt would eventually have serious consequences for his health. As she grew older, her patience decreased and her sensitivity about the matter increased. She now complained quite openly and would even leave home, apparently to visit her children. But actually, she was fleeing her husband.
Salim Alwan had naturally been annoyed and had accused her of frigidity and of being sexually exhausted. Their life was filled with constant friction, and yet her husband did not alter his passionate habits or show sympathy for her obvious weakness. He had come to consider her rebelliousness, as he called it, a good excuse to start a new married life.
Alwan shook his head sadly and muttered, sure that Umm Hamida would be quite aware of what he meant, “I’ve warned her I might marry someone else, and with God’s permission, I intend to…”
Umm Hamida’s interest was genuinely aroused and her professional instincts stirred. She gazed at him like a merchant examining a particularly important customer. However, she merely said, “You are thinking of going as far as that, Mr. Alwan?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to call for a long time and I was about to send someone to look for you. What’s your opinion?”
Umm Hamida sighed, overcome with an indescribable delight. As she herself said later, she had merely gone to buy some perfume and had stumbled upon a treasure instead! She smiled and answered, “Well, Mr. Alwan, you are a very important person indeed. Men like you are rare these days. Whomever you choose will be a very lucky woman. I am entirely at your service; I have virgins and widows and divorcées, young and middle-aged, rich ones and poor ones. Choose whomever you like.”
Alwan sat twisting his thick mustaches and feeling a little embarrassed. He turned toward her and said quietly, a smile on his lips, “There’s no need for you to bother to conduct a search. The woman I want is in your own house!”
“In my house?” muttered Umm Hamida stupidly, her eyes opening wide in astonishment.
Alwan enjoyed her surprise and went on: “Yes, in your house, nowhere else. And of your own flesh and blood. I mean your daughter Hamida!”
She simply could not believe her ears. She sat dumbfounded. Yes, she had heard, from Hamida herself, that Mr. Alwan stared at her when she went out for walks, but to be attracted and to want marriage are two very different things. Who would ever believe that Mr. Salim Alwan, the owner of the company, wanted to marry Hamida?
“But we are not of your class, sir!” she said, her voice near hysteria.
Alwan replied politely, “You are a good woman and I am attracted to your lovely daughter. That’s all there is to it. Are only the rich worthy of one’s choice? What need have I for money when I have more than enough already?”
Umm Hamida’s astonishment remained complete as she sat listening to him. Then she suddenly remembered something she had quite forgotten until now. She realized that Hamida was engaged. She let out a cry, which led Alwan to ask her, “What’s wrong?”
“Forgive me. I forgot that Hamida is engaged! Abbas Hilu asked her to marry him before he went to Tell el-Kebir!”
Alwan’s face fell and he turned red with rage. As though speaking the name of some vile insect, he shouted, “Abbas Hilu!”
“And we even recited the Qur’an to confirm it!” let out Umm Hamida in a wail of regret.
“That simpleton barber?” scowled Salim Alwan.
“He’s working for the Army to earn more money. He left after we confirmed the engagement.”
Alwan’s anger at his exploded dream, and at Abbas as the cause, increased and merged into one. He com
“Well, I just remembered it. We never dreamed that you would do us such a great honor and so I had no reason to refuse his offer. Don’t be angry with me, Mr. Alwan. You’re the kind of man who only has to issue a command when you want something. We had no idea we’d be so privileged. Please don’t be angry with me. Why are you so angry?”
Salim Alwan relaxed the expression on his face as he realized that he was angrier than he should be, as if Abbas was the aggressor and not the person against whom he intended to aggress. However, he went on: “Haven’t I every right to be angry?” He paused suddenly and his face went pale. With deep emotion, he asked, “And did the girl agree? I mean, does she want him?”
“Oh, my daughter had nothing to do with it,” answered Umm Hamida quickly. “All that happened was that Abbas came to me one day, with Uncle Kamil, and then we recited the Qur’an to seal the engagement.”
“It’s fantastic the way these young men act. Why, they scarcely have a penny to their names, yet they see no reason why they shouldn’t get married and populate the whole alley with children who get their food from garbage carts. Let’s forget the whole matter.”
“A very good idea indeed, sir. I’ll go now and be back soon, with God’s help.”
Umm Hamida stood up and bowed low over his hand in farewell. She picked up her perfume and went out.
Salim Alwan remained seated and perplexed, his face full of gloom, the steely glint in his eyes reflecting his annoyance and anger. So his first step had resulted in his stumbling. He spat on the floor as though expelling Abbas himself. Imagine a simple penniless barber trying to compete with him! He could hear the gossips now, with more than their usual venom, while his wife accused him of trying to abduct a girl hairdresser from a barbershop in Midaq Alley. Yes, that’s what she would say, again and again, and everyone else would say the same. Eventually, the matter would reach his children, his friends and his enemies. He sat thinking of all this, although he never wavered for a moment. The battle had been fought before today and he had now set out to accomplish the matter, placing his trust in God. He sat twisting his mustaches and shaking his head in defeat. He would have Hamida and whatever people said would make no difference to him. Had they ever kept their tongues from gossiping about him before? Their filthy fable about his bowl of green wheat, for instance. Let them think what they liked. He would do as he pleased.