Midaq Alley by Naguib Mahfouz
Radwan, a smile still on his lips, commented, “Oh, you are not to be blamed; may God give you peace and strength. Remember God often, for it is by doing so that our hearts learn contentment. Never let despair overcome your faith. True happiness denies us, exactly as we deny our faith.”
Alwan gripped his chin hard and said, angry again, “They envied me. They resented my fortune and my good health. They envied me, Radwan!”
“To be envious is worse than to be ill. It is distressing how many people envy their brothers’ good luck and transient fortune. Do not despair and do not be sad, and make your peace with your most merciful and forgiving God.”
They talked for a long time and then Radwan Hussainy said goodbye and left. Alwan remained quiet for a while, but soon returned to his previous scowling ill temper. He was tired of sitting so long, and rose, walking slowly to the door of the office. He stood at the entrance, his arms folded behind his back. The sun was still high in the sky and the air was warm and fresh. At that time of the day the alley was nearly empty, except for Sheikh Darwish, who sat sunning himself in front of the café. Salim Alwan remained there a minute or two and, as he had always done in the old days, looked up toward the window. It was open and empty. He felt uncomfortable standing there and returned scowling to his chair.
“I won’t return to the café, so no one will be suspicious…” That was what he had said when they had parted, and Hamida, on the morning following their meeting in Darasa Street, remembered his words. She felt full of life and happy at the thought of him. She wondered whether she ought to meet him today. Her heart immediately answered, “Yes,” but she felt obstinately, “No, he must first come back to the café.” And so she refrained from going out at her usual time. She crouched behind her window waiting to see what would happen.
The sun set and night spread its wings. Soon she saw the man coming up the alley, his eyes fixed on the gap in the shutters of her window. On his face she could see a slight smile of resignation as he sat in his usual chair. As she watched him she felt the delights of victory and revenge for the way he had punished her by appearing unexpectedly in Mousky. Their eyes met and stayed fixed on one another for a long time. She neither looked away nor moved. His smile broadened and she smiled too, although she was unaware that she did. What could he want? The question seemed idle to her, for she could see only one reason for his continuous pursuit of her. The same thing that Abbas wanted earlier and Salim Alwan too before fate struck him down. Why shouldn’t this fine young man be after the same goal? Why else would he say, “Aren’t you on this earth to be taken? And I’m just the one to take you!” What could this possibly mean if not marriage? There seemed to be no obstacle in the way of her dreams, for her ungovernable vanity gave her a feeling of power and enormous self-confidence. So she remained looking out at him from behind the shutters, returning his intense looks without shyness or hesitation. His eyes spoke to her with depth and feeling, sharpening all her senses and igniting all her instincts. Perhaps it was this strange and deep feeling that she had experienced without even knowing it when their eyes met that first time and he smiled at her victoriously. She was drawn to him as she had always been drawn by a challenge to battle. The truth was that his eyes revealed a great deal of herself. She had always wandered aimlessly through life and her confusion persisted before Abbas’ humble gaze and the great wealth of Salim Alwan. She felt, however, that this man had been searching for her, and this excitement and attraction drew her nearer to him. She felt drawn like the needle of a compass to the poles. She also knew that he was not just a penniless beggar who would make her endure want and poverty; his appearance and his bank notes proved that. Her eyes remained fixed on him, reflecting desire and delight. She did not move from her position until he left the café, bidding her goodbye with a faint smile. Her eyes followed him as he went down the alley and she murmured as though in farewell, “Tomorrow.”
On the following afternoon she left the house, her heart filled with anticipation, desire for battle, and delight with life. She had scarcely left Sanadiqiya Street when she saw him standing some distance away at the junction of Ghouriya and New Street. A light gleamed in her eyes and she felt strange, obscure sensations stirring within her, that mixture of pleasure and a bestial desire to fight. She imagined he would follow her when she passed him until they were alone together in Darasa Street. So she went slowly on, feeling no anxiety or shyness, and approached him as though she had not noticed he was there. However, as she passed him something completely unexpected happened. He walked beside her and, with indescribable boldness, stretched out his arm and gripped her hand. Paying no attention to the people walking by or standing about, he said quietly, “Good evening, my darling.”
She was taken unaware and tried vainly to release her hand but was afraid if she tried again she would attract too much attention and so she boiled with frustration. She was in a dilemma. If she were to release her anger, there would be a disgraceful scandal and the whole affair would come to an end. If she were to give way, she would hate him because he had forced himself upon her and defeated her. Fury filled her as she hissed, trembling with emotion, “What do you think you are doing? Let go of my hand at once!”
Walking at her side as though they were two friends out for a stroll together, he replied quietly, “Patience, patience…friends shouldn’t fight.”
Seething with rage, she stuttered, “But the people, the street…”
“Don’t worry about the people of this street. They are all interested only in money. You wouldn’t find a thing in their minds except bills. Come on, let’s go over to a goldsmith’s so that I can select something to match your beauty.”
Her rage increased at his lack of concern and she said threateningly, “Are you trying to show that nothing bothers you?”
“I didn’t intend to annoy you,” he replied quietly, still smiling. “I was just waiting for you so that we could walk together. Why are you angry?”
Still irritated, she replied, “I hate your accosting me like this, and I warn you that if I lose my temper…”
Her face showed she was serious and so he asked hopefully, “Promise me we can walk along together?”
“I won’t promise anything. Let go of my hand.”
He did so, but moved no further away from her and said, flattering her, “Oh, what a stubborn self-willed person you are. Then take your hand, but we are not going to part company. That’s true, isn’t it?”
“What a conceited oaf you are!” she spat out in rage.
He accepted the insult in smiling silence, and they walked away, with Hamida making no attempt to move away from him, aware of how she had lain in wait for him so recently in the hopes of walking with him along this very street. However, now her thoughts centered on the fact that she had forced him to let go of her hand. Perhaps if he were to try again, she would not prevent him; after all, hadn’t she left her house for the sole purpose of meeting him? Anyway, it annoyed her that he should show more daring and self-confidence than she did and so she walked by his side, unconcerned about what passersby might think. She could scarcely wait to see the envious astonishment his appearance would cause among the factory girls. The thought filled her with feelings of superiority and a desire for life and adventure.
The man spoke again, “I would like to apologize for my rudeness, but really, what am I to do in the face of your stubbornness? You seem determined to punish me, when all I want is your sympathy for my sincere feelings toward you and my never-ending concern for you.”
What could she say to him? She wanted to talk to him but she did not know how, especially since the last thing she had said had been an insulting rebuke. Now her thoughts were disturbed by the sight of her factory friends coming toward her. In mock confusion she exclaimed, “Oh, my friends…”
He looked up and saw the girls approaching, staring at him with great curiosity. Disguising her delight, Hamida spoke again, her tone full of reproach, “You have disgraced me!”
Pleased that she remained by his side speaking to him as one friend to another, he replied scornfully, “Have nothing to do with them. Don’t take any notice of them.”
The girls were very close now, exchanging meaningful glances with Hamida, who recalled some of the adventures they had told her. Whispering and giggling, the girls passed, and the man continued with mischievous cunning: “Are those your friends? No, you are not a bit like them, nor are they like you. It amazes me that they enjoy their freedom while you stay cooped up at home. How is it they can swagger about in nice clothes while you have to wear this shabby black cloak. How can this be, my dear? Is it just fate? What a patient, tolerant girl you are!”
Her face went quite red, and she seemed to be listening to her heart talking. Her eyes flashed the fire of the emotions burning within her. He went on, with complete confidence: “Why, you are as beautiful as the stars.”
She seized this opportunity to say something back to him. With all her natural boldness, she smiled and asked, really not knowing what he meant, “The stars?”
He smiled gently and answered, “Yes, don’t you go to the cinema? They call beautiful film actresses stars.”
She occasionally went to the Olympia cinema with her foster mother to see Egyptian films and now she understood what he meant. His words delighted her and her cheeks flushed.
Silence reigned for a few steps, then he asked, “Tell me, what’s your name?”
Without hesitation, she replied, “Hamida.”
“And this lovelorn fellow you see before you is called Ibrahim Faraj. In cases like ours, names are the last things known, usually exchanged only after the two people are quite sure they are really one. Isn’t that so, my lovely friend?”
If only she were as skillful with words as she was in battle, for example. He was speaking tenderly but somehow she was unable to talk back that way. This annoyed her, for, unlike some girls, she was not satisfied with a merely negative role. Her nature craved something more than waiting in humble silence. Since she found it so difficult to express her obscure feelings, her emotional stress increased and all she could do was stare at him. To add to her frustration they were approaching the end of the street. She had lost track of the time and suddenly ahead was Queen Farida Square. Hiding her regrets, she said, “Now we will go back.”
“Go back?” he answered in astonishment.
“This is the end of the road.”
“But the world doesn’t come to an end with Mousky Street,” he protested. “Why can’t we stroll around the square?”
“I don’t want to be late, as my mother will be worried.”
“If you’d like, we can take a taxi and cover a great distance in a few seconds,” he pointed out temptingly.
A taxi! The word rang strangely in her ears. In her whole life she had only ridden in a horse-drawn carriage and the magic of the word “taxi” took time to die away. But how could she possibly ride in a taxi with a strange man? She was overcome by a powerful desire for adventure. She was amazed at her capacity for reckless adventures, and it was difficult to say what most influenced her thoughts at this moment, whether it was the man who so stirred her or the adventure itself. Perhaps the two were really one. She glanced at him looking cunningly in her direction, a trace of that infuriating smile of his on his lips. Her feelings changed abruptly. “I don’t want to be late.”
Slightly disappointed, he asked, trying to appear sad, “Are you afraid?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she replied indignantly, her anger increasing.
His face lit up, as though now he understood many things. Gaily he said, “I’ll call a taxi.”
She made no objection and fixed her gaze on the approaching taxi. It stopped and he opened the door for her. Her heart pounding, and clutching her cloak, she bent down and entered. The man followed her, saying to himself delightedly, “We have saved ourselves two or three days groundwork already.” Hamida heard him say, “Sharif Pasha Street.” Sharif Pasha! Not Midaq Alley, or Sanadiqiya, Ghouriya, or even Mousky, but Sharif Pasha Street! But why this particular street?
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“We will have a little run around and then go back,” he said, his shoulder touching hers.
The taxi started and she tried to forget everything for a while, even the man sitting so close to her. Her eyes were bewildered by the dazzling lights as a splendid, laughing new world appeared through the windows. The movement of the taxi had an effect on both her mind and her body and a delightful feeling of intoxication stole over her. She seemed to be riding in an airplane, high, high above everything. Her eyes shone with delight and her mouth dropped open.
The taxi moved slowly, making its way through the sea of carriages, motorcars, trams, and people. Her thoughts traveled with it. Now her willpower deserted her and her emotions were as intoxicated as her heart, her blood, and all her feelings danced within her. She was suddenly aware of his voice whispering in her ear, “Just look at the fine ladies in their superb clothes!” Yes, they were swaying and dancing along like luminous stars…how beautiful they were, how wonderful.
Only now did she remember her own old cloak and slippers and her heart sank. She woke from her sweet dream as though at the sting of a scorpion. She bit her lips in annoyance and was overcome by a fighting spirit of rebelliousness. She noticed he had snuggled close to her, and she began to sense the effect of his touch creeping over her. This enraged her, and she pushed him away more forcibly than she intended. He glanced at her to see what was the matter and then took her hand and gently placed it between his own. He was encouraged by her permissiveness and searched for her lips with his mouth. She seemed to resist and drew her head back slightly. However, he did not find this a sufficient restraint and pressed his lips to hers. She trembled violently and felt an insane desire to bite his lips until they bled. The same insane desire, indeed, as whenever she got into a fight. However, he drew away before she could obey her instinct. Rage burned within her, urging her to throw herself at him and dig her nails into his neck, but suddenly she was soothed by his polite voice. “This is Sharif Pasha Street…and that’s my house a little way ahead. Would you like to see it?”
Her nerves on edge, she looked where he pointed and saw several blocks of skyscraper apartments, and she had no idea which one he meant. He told the driver to stop and said to her, “It’s in this building…”
She could see a towering building with an entrance wider than Midaq Alley. Turning away from it in bewilderment, she asked almost inaudibly, “Which floor is it on?”
“The second,” he replied, smiling. “You won’t suffer any hardship by condescending to visit it.”
She shot him a critical, angry look and he went on: “How quickly you get angry! Well, anyway, do let me ask you why it would be wrong. Have I not visited you many times since I first saw you? Why can’t you visit me, just once?”
What did the man want? Did he think he had fallen on easy prey? Had the kiss she had permitted given him an appetite for better, more dangerous things? Had his conceit and self-confidence blinded him? And was it love that made her lose her senses? Fury flamed within her, and she gathered all her strength for the challenging battle ahead. She wished she could obey her instinct to go wherever he wished just to show him how mistaken he was and bring him back to his senses. Yes, her rebellious nature told her to plunge straight onto the battlefield. Could she possibly make the challenge and then refuse to accept it? What angered her were not the moral issues involved or her shyness; these could never infuriate her. No, what hurt was the slight to her pride and her belief in her own strength and her uncontrollable desire to use insulting language and have a good fight. Indeed, the desire for adventure which had led her to enter the taxi was still with her. The man looked at her closely, saying to himself thoughtfully, “My darling girl is that dangerous type that explodes when touched. I must be very careful in handling her.”
He spoke again, politely expressin
“Just as you wish,” she muttered, looking at him in a stern and challenging fashion.
He stepped from the taxi, very pleased with himself. She followed boldly with apparent indifference and stood examining the building while he paid the driver. Her thoughts recalled the alley she had just left, and she felt amazed at the unexpected adventure that brought her to this massive building. Who would ever believe it? What would Radwan Hussainy say, for example, if he were to see her entering this apartment block? A smile played over her lips, and she had a strange feeling that today was certain to be the happiest one in her whole life.
The man hurried to take her by the arm and they entered the building together. They walked up a wide staircase to the second floor and turned into a long corridor until they stopped at the door of an apartment on the right. The man drew out a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, saying to himself, “I’ve saved at least another day or two!” He pushed the door open wide for her and she went in, while he followed, locking the door behind them. She found herself in a long hall with rooms leading off on both sides and lit by a strong electric light. The apartment was not empty, for besides the light that was on when they entered she could hear sounds from behind one of the closed doors; people were talking, shrieking, and singing inside.
Ibrahim Faraj went to the door opposite the entrance, pushed it open, and asked her to come in. She found herself in a medium-sized room furnished with leather-covered couches somewhere between armchairs and sofas in shape. In the middle was an embroidered rug. Facing the door inside the room a mirror stretched to the ceiling above a long table with gold-painted legs. He was delighted to see the look of amazement in the girl’s eyes and he now spoke to her gently: “Do take off your cloak and sit down.”