Midaq Alley by Naguib Mahfouz
She chose a chair and, without taking off her cloak, leaned back enjoying the comfortable cushions. In a tone of warning, she murmured, “I must not be too late…”
He went to an elegant table in the middle of the room on which a thermos flask stood and poured iced lemonade into two cups. He handed one to her, saying, “Oh, the taxi will take you back in a couple of minutes.”
They both drank and he then put the cups back on the table. While he was doing this Hamida gazed at him closely. She appraised his tall, slim body, and her eyes rested for a long time on his hands, noting with astonishment how beautiful they were. They were delicate and graceful; the long fingers gave an impression of strength as well as beauty. They had a strange effect on her, giving her a sensation she had never before experienced. He stood looking down at her, smiling gently as though trying to give her reassurance and courage. The fact was, however, that she felt no trace of fear, although her nerves were tingling with anticipation, apprehension, and excitement. She remembered the voices she heard when they entered the apartment and she was amazed that she had forgotten them till now. She asked, “What’s all that noise in the apartment?”
Still standing facing her, he replied, “Oh, some of the family. You will get to know them at the appropriate time. Why don’t you take off your cloak.”
When he had invited her to his home, she thought he lived alone, and she was surprised that he brought her to a house with people in it. She ignored his last question and sat looking up at him calmly and challengingly. He did not repeat his request but came closer until his shoes touched her slippers. Then he leaned forward toward her, stretched out his hand to hers, gripped it, and pulled her gently, saying, “Come, let’s sit on the sofa.”
She obeyed, and they moved to sit side by side on a large sofa. All this time Hamida fought an inward battle for the attraction she felt for this man whom she loved in the face of the hostility she felt for his thinking he could make fun of her. He moved slowly toward her until he was touching her. Then he put his arms around her waist, and she submissively permitted this, not knowing when to start resisting him. He moved his right hand up to her chin and raised her mouth toward him, searching for it slowly and carefully with his own, as though he was thirsty, drawing water from a stream. Their lips met and they remained close together a long time, lost in a dream of love. He tried hard to summon all his strength and passion to his lips to accomplish what he wished. She was in a state of intoxication, though still alert and on her guard. She felt one of his hands leave her waist and travel up to her shoulder, lifting off her cloak. Her heart beat wildly and she drew her head away from him to replace the cloak in one nervous movement. She said harshly, “Oh no…”
He looked at her in amazement to find her staring back with an expression of stubborn and defiant determination on her face. He smiled sheepishly, saying to himself, “Just as I thought, a difficult one. No, a very difficult one.” He spoke quietly to her: “Please, don’t be angry with me, my darling. I forgot myself.”
She turned her head away to hide her smile of triumph. However, the smile did not last long, for just then her eyes fell on her hands and she immediately noticed the immense contrast between his delicate hands and her own coarse ones. She felt overcome with shame. Finally, she said to him viciously, “Why did you bring me here? This whole business is absurd!”
“This is the most wonderful thing I have ever done in my life,” he insisted forcibly. “Why should you feel strange in my house? Is it not your house too?”
He gazed at her hair which could be seen under her cloak and, drawing his head close, kissed it, saying, “Oh God, how beautiful your hair is. It’s the loveliest hair I have ever seen.”
He said this sincerely, despite the smell of kerosene that filled his nose. His compliment delighted her, but she asked, “How long will we stay here?”
“Until we know one another. Surely there must be many things we have to say to one another. Are you afraid? Impossible! I can see you aren’t afraid of anything.”
This pleased her so much she could have kissed him. He had been watching her closely and, having seen how his remark delighted her, said to himself, “Now I understand you, you tigress.” He spoke out loud, his voice full of emotion: “My heart has chosen you and my heart never lies. Nothing can separate two people brought together by love. You are mine and I am yours.”
He drew his face toward her as though in supplication, and she bent her neck toward him. They met in a violent kiss. He could feel the magical pressure of her lips pressing upon his so hard that they were almost crushed. He whispered in her ear, “My darling…my darling…”
She sighed deeply and then turned away to regain her breath. He continued politely in a near-whisper: “This is where you belong. This is your home. No”—he pointed to his chest—“this is where you belong.”
She laughed shortly and said, “You are reminding me that I must now go home.”
He had, in fact, been following a planned course and he now said in disbelief, “Which home? That house in the alley! What is there that so pleases you about that alley? Why are you going back there?”
“How can you ask me that?” she asked, laughing. “Isn’t my home where my family is?”
“That’s not your home nor is it your family,” he insisted scornfully. “You are made of different stuff, my beloved. Why, it’s nothing less than sinful for a lively, healthy, blooming body to live in a graveyard of decaying bones. Didn’t you see all the beautiful women strolling along in their fine clothes? You are more beautiful and enchanting than any of them, so why shouldn’t you strut about like them, wearing fine clothes and jewelry? God has sent me to you to restore your precious jewel of a self, your stolen rights. That’s why I say this is your house.”
His words played on her heart like the strings of a violin. Her mind had become almost numb, her eyelids half closed, and a dreamy look came into her eyes. However, she was still capable of asking herself what he meant. All this her heart yearned for, but how to achieve these hopes and dreams? Why didn’t he explain what he wanted and what his intentions were? He was certainly expressing all her hopes, dreams, and desires as if she had stated them herself. His words revealed to her what had been obscure and hidden, giving form to it all, so that she could almost see everyting she desired before her eyes. There was only one thing he did not mention, or even hint at, for that matter. She fixed her bold, beautiful eyes on him and asked, “What exactly do you mean?”
The man realized he was now entering a difficult phase of his planned course. He gazed at her in a seductive and charming manner and said, “I mean that you should stay in a house more suitable for you and that you should enjoy the finest things life has to offer.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, laughing, in a state of bewildered confusion.
He gently smoothed her hair, taking refuge in silence while he collected his thoughts. Then he said, “Perhaps you are wondering how I can possibly want you to stay in my house. Let me ask you, in my turn, why you should go back to the alley. To wait, like all those other poor girls until one of the wretched alley men is kind enough to marry you, to enjoy your beauty in its bloom and your glorious youth and then cast you out in the garbage can? I know I’m not talking to one of those empty-headed girls. I know for sure that you are a very rare girl indeed. Your beauty is exquisite, but it is only one of your many gifts. You are daring personified. When someone like you wants something, you just have to say, ‘So be it,’ and so it is.”
Her color faded and the lines of her face were set. Angry now, she said, “This is just flirting and you should not flirt with me. You started off joking and you now seem almost serious!”
“Flirting! Oh no, by God, I respect you too much for that. I never flirt when I should be serious, especially with someone like yourself who has filled me with respect, admiration, and love. If my guess is right, you have a big heart and will disregard all else to fill it. You cannot stand in its way. I nee
“What partner?” she cried wildly. “If you’re really serious, then what do you want? The path is obvious if you want to…”
She almost said “marry me” but stopped herself in time, looking at him with angry suspicion. He knew very well what she had meant, and mocked her inwardly. However, he could see that there was nothing to be gained by withdrawal at this point and went on speaking with theatrical fervor: “I want a lover and partner with whom I can plunge headlong through life, a life filled with gaiety, prosperity, dignity, and happiness; not a life of household drudgery, pregnancy, children, and filth. I want a life for us like the film stars we were talking about earlier.”
She opened her mouth in horrified amazement and an awful look darkened her eyes as her face went white with rage. Fury overcame her as she shouted, her back straight, “You are trying to corrupt me. What an evil, wicked seducer you are!”
He smiled sarcastically and said, “I am a man.”
She interrupted, shouting, “You are not a man; you are a pimp!”
He laughed out loud, asking, “And are pimps not men too? Oh yes, my lovely young woman, they are real men but not like others, I agree. Will ordinary men ever give you anything but headaches? Why, pimps are stockbrokers of happiness! But in any case, don’t forget that I love you. Please don’t let anger finish our love. I’m inviting you to happiness, love, and dignity. If you were just a foolish girl I would have seduced you, but the fact is that I respect you and have preferred to be sincere and truthful with you. We are made from the same metal, you and I. God created us to love and work with one another. If we join forces, then love, wealth, and dignity will be ours, but if we part there will be hardship, poverty, and humiliation—for one of us, at any rate.”
She remained staring at him, asking herself in confusion how anyone could possibly be like this. Her breast heaved with outrage. It was amazing how, hurt though she was, she still did not despise him and had not ceased loving him for a single moment. Her emotional stress became almost too much to bear, and she stood up in one quick violent movement, saying in angry indignation, “I am not the sort of girl you think.”
Doing his best to seem upset, he sighed audibly, although his businessman’s confidence was undiminished. Full of regret, he commented, “I can scarcely believe I could have been so disappointed in you. Oh God, are you one day to become one of those alley brides? Getting pregnant, having children, giving birth to children on the sidewalk, with flies everywhere, only beans to eat, your beauty fading away, and getting fat? No, no, I don’t want to believe that.”
“That’s enough!” she shrieked, unable to control herself any longer. She moved toward the door and he got up and caught her, saying gently, “Not so fast!”
However, he did not block her way. Instead he opened the door for her and they went out together.
She had arrived full of joy and fearless, and now she was leaving miserable and confused. They stood in front of the building while a boy brought them a taxi; then they got in, each by a separate door. It drove away swiftly. She was quite lost in thought. Sitting silently, he glanced at her and thought it wiser not to break the silence. So the journey passed until the taxi arrived halfway down Mousky, where he ordered the driver to stop. She awoke at his voice and looked out. She moved as though to get out and he put his hand up to the door as if to open it for her, but hesitated and, turning toward her, kissed her shoulder, saying, “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow.”
She drew away from the door, saying angrily, “Oh no!”
Opening the door, he repeated, “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow my darling, and you will come back to me.”
Then, as she left the taxi, he said, “Don’t forget tomorrow. We will start a wonderful new life. I love you…I love you more than life itself.”
He watched her as she walked quickly away, a sardonic smile on his lips. He told himself, “Delicious, no doubt about it. I’m quite sure I’m not wrong about her. She has got a natural gift for it…She’s a whore by instinct. She’s going to be a really priceless pearl.”
“Why were you late?” her mother asked Hamida.
“Oh, Zainab invited me over to her house and I went with her,” she replied, quite unconcerned.
Her mother then told her the news that they were soon to attend the wedding of Mrs. Saniya Afify. She also announced that the lady was giving Hamida a dress so that she could attend the wedding reception. The girl did her best to appear delighted and sat for a whole hour listening to her mother’s prattle. Then they had supper and retired to the bedroom. Hamida slept on an old sofa while her foster mother stretched out on a mattress on the floor.
The older woman was sound asleep in a few minutes, filling the room with her snores, while Hamida lay staring at the closed window, its shutters letting in a little light from the café below. She lay there, recalling all the events of the bewildering day, and she remembered every single word and action that had taken place. She relived it all over again, wondering how such fantastic adventures could have happened to her. Despite her state of confusion, she was happy and unafraid, her happiness fed by her satisfied vanity and her instinctive love for adventure. She remembered how, entering the alley, she had wished she had never seen the man, but this thought found no echo in her heart. The truth was that she had learned more about herself in that one day than she had known in her whole life.
It was as if that man had crossed her path deliberately to uncover what was buried inside her, spreading it all before her eyes as though reflected by a mirror. She had said, “No,” when she left him, but she really had had no other choice. Anyway, what did her refusal mean exactly? Did it mean that she must keep hidden in her house waiting for the return of Abbas, the barber? Oh God, no! There was no longer any place for him in her life. His memory was erased and she would never let it return. All the barber could possibly give her was one of those wretched marriages and the inevitable pregnancies and children, giving birth to them on the sidewalks among the flies, and with all the other hateful ugliness of the picture she could see so clearly. Yes, she had no desire for motherhood as was the case with so many other girls she knew. In fact, the alley women were far from slandering her when they accused her of hardness and abnormality. What was she to do, then? Her heart beat fast and she bit so hard on her lips that they almost bled. She knew what she wanted and what her soul yearned for. Before today she was in a state of uncertainty, but now the veil was lifted and her goal stood before her clearly.
It seemed extraordinary that, lying there, she saw no serious difficulty in choosing the path she would follow. There was simply her dull past and an exciting future. The truth was that without realizing she had chosen her path. She had chosen this man when she was in his arms in his flat. Outwardly she was angry, while inwardly she danced with joy. Her face had gone pale with rage while her dreams and hopes breathed new life and happiness. Apart from this, she felt no scorn for him for a single instant; he had been, and still was, her life, her hope, her strength, and her happiness. Her hate had only been aroused by his self-confidence when he said, “You will come back to me!”
Yes, she would go back. But he would pay a high price for this conceit of his. Her love was neither worship nor submission, but rather a constant heated battle. How long she had suffocated in that house and in the alley! How she yearned for release into the light, to dignity and to power. Was there any other way of slipping the noose of the past except with this man who had lighted such a fire within her? But she would not go crawling to him, shouting, “I am your slave forever. Do with me what you will.” Her love was not like this. Neither would she speed off to him like a bullet and yell, “I am your lady mistress; submit to me!” No, she had no wish either to be or to have a passive lover. She would go to him, her heart filled with hopes and desires, and say, “I have come with all my strength, so give me all of yours too. Let us fight until death. Give m
Nevertheless, her night was not entirely free from thoughts that detracted from her resolution a little. She asked herself what people would be saying about her on the street the next day. Their answer came back in two words: “A whore!” Her mouth went dry at the thought and she remembered the quarrel she had once had with one of her factory girlfriends, when she had shouted, “You streetwalker! Prostitute!”, reproaching her for working like a man and wandering in the streets. What then would be said of her? The thought made her toss and turn in distress. However, nothing in the world could have altered her decision. She had made her choice with all her strength and it was the one she really wanted. She was sliding down her chosen route and all that blocked her way to the pit were a few pebbles.
Her thoughts suddenly turned to her mother and once again she heard her snoring, which she had been quite unaware of in the last long hour. She could imagine her state the next day when she would despair after her long period of waiting. Hamida remembered how the woman had sincerely loved her. So much so that she had only rarely felt a sense of not having a real mother. She recalled how she loved her too, despite their frequent quarrels. It was as if these feelings of affection were hidden deeply within her and only now beginning to move.
She told herself, “I have no father and no mother; he is all I really have in the world.” Thus she managed to put the past behind her and set her thoughts on the future and what it might bring. Insomnia possessed her and her head and forehead burned with fatigue. She lay wishing that the torment would cease and that she could close her eyes and only open them in the light of tomorrow. She tried to kill all thoughts swarming in her mind. For a time she succeeded. However, the sound of voices coming from Kirsha’s café disturbed her even more and she lay cursing them and accusing them of deliberately driving sleep from her.