Midaq Alley by Naguib Mahfouz
His speech was not ineffective, for now Hamida felt all her cares gone and her nervous tension subsided. He drew close to her and took her hands between his, pressing them gently.
“You are the most marvelous piece of good fortune life has ever brought me…How fascinating you are…how beautiful…”
He stared piercingly into her eyes and raised her hands—still clenched together—to his mouth and kissed the tips of her fingers, two by two. Each time his lips touched her, she felt as if an electric shock had pierced her nerves. She released a long breath in a kind of passionate sigh. He put his arms around her and drew her slowly to him until he could feel her young full breasts almost digging into his chest. He stroked her back gently, his hands moving up and down while her face remained buried in his chest.
Eventually he whispered, “Your mouth,” and she slowly lifted her head, her lips already parted. He pressed his lips to hers in a long hard kiss and her eyelids drooped as if she were overcome by sleep. Picking her up like a child, he carried her toward the bed, the slippers falling from her dangling feet. He put her down gently and bent over her, resting on his palms, gazing hard at her flushed face. Her eyes opened and met his as he smiled down gently at her. Her gaze remained steady and seductive. However, he was in full possession of himself; indeed, his mind always moved faster than his emotions. He had decided on a particular course of action and he was not to be diverted from it. He got to his feet, restrained a sly smile, and said, “Gently, gently. American officers will gladly pay fifty pounds for virgins!”
She turned to him in astonishment, the languid look having quite disappeared from her eyes. A look of shock and harsh determination replaced it. She sat upright on the bed, then sprang to the floor with amazing speed and made for him like an enraged tigress. Now all her vicious instincts were roused as she slapped his face with such force that the blow crackled through the room. He stood motionless for some seconds and then the left side of his mouth formed a sardonic smile. With lightning speed he struck her right cheek as hard as he could. Then he slapped her left cheek just as violently. Her face went white and her lips trembled, her whole body quivering and out of control. She threw herself onto his chest digging her clawed fingers into his neck. He made no attempt to defend himself. Instead, his full embrace almost crushed her. Her fingers gradually lost their hold and slipped from his neck, feeling for his shoulders. She clung to him, her head raised toward his face, her mouth open and trembling with passion…
The alley lay shrouded in darkness and silence. Even Kirsha’s café had closed and the customers gone their separate ways. At this late hour Zaita, the cripple-maker, slipped through the door of the bakery, making his rounds. He went down the alley to Sanadiqiya and turned in the direction of the mosque of Hussain, almost colliding with another figure coming toward him in the middle of the road. The man’s face was barely visible in the dim starlight.
Zaita called out, “Dr. Booshy!…Where did you come from?”
Panting slightly, the “doctor” replied quickly, “I was coming to see you.”
“You have some customers who want to be disfigured?”
In a near-whisper, Dr. Booshy answered, “It’s more important than that. Abdul Hamid Taliby is dead!”
Zaita’s eyes shone in the dark. “When did he die? Has he been buried?”
“He was buried this evening.”
“Do you know where his grave is?”
“Between Nasr Gate and the mountain road.”
Zaita took him by the arm and walked with him in the direction he was going. To make sure of the situation, he asked, “Won’t you lose your way in the dark?”
“Oh no. I followed the burial procession and took particular note of the way. In any case, we both know the road well, we’ve often been on it in pitch dark.”
“And your tools?”
“They’re in a safe place in front of the mosque.”
“Is the tomb open or roofed?”
“At the entrance there is a room with a roof, but the grave itself is in an open courtyard.”
In a faintly sarcastic tone, Zaita asked, “Did you know the deceased?”
“Only slightly. He was a flour merchant in Mabida.”
“Is it a full set or just a few?”
“A full set.”
“Aren’t you afraid his family might have taken it from his mouth before he was buried?”
“Oh no. They are country people and very pious. They would never do that.”
Shaking his head sadly, Zaita commented, “The days are over when people left the jewelry of their dead in the grave.”
“Those were the days!” sighed Dr. Booshy.
They walked in darkness and silence as far as Gamaliya, passing two policemen on the way, and then drew near Nasr Gate. Zaita took a half cigarette from his pocket. Dr. Booshy was horrified by the lighted match and reminded his companion, “You couldn’t have chosen a worse time to have a smoke.”
Zaita paid no attention. He walked along, muttering as though to himself, “There’s no profit in the living and very few of the dead are any good!”
They walked through Nasr and turned along a narrow path lined on both sides with tombs, enshrouded in awesome silence and heavy gloom. After they had gone a third of the way down the path, Zaita said, “Here’s the mosque.”
Dr. Booshy looked about carefully, listening a moment or two, and then moved off toward the mosque, taking care not to make a sound. He examined the ground near a wall at the entrance until he came across a large stone. From under the stone he lifted a small spade and a package containing a candle. He then rejoined his companion and they continued on their way. Suddenly he whispered, “The tomb is the fifth one before the desert path.” They hurried on, Dr. Booshy gazing over at the graves to the left of the path, his heart pounding wildly. Presently he slowed down and whispered, “This is the tomb.” Instead of stopping, however, Dr. Booshy hurried his friend along while giving instructions in a low monotone. “The walls of the burial place overlooking this path are high and the path isn’t safe. The best thing for us to do is to skirt through the graves from the desert side and then climb over the back wall of the tomb to where the grave is in the open courtyard.”
Zaita listened carefully and they walked in silence until they reached the desert path. Zaita suggested they rest on the roadside curb, from where they could see the path. They sat side by side, their eyes searching the terrain. The darkness and desertion were complete. Behind them as far as the eye could see graves were scattered over the ground, and although this adventure was not their first, Dr. Booshy’s nerves and pounding heart were weighted with fear. Zaita remained quite calm. When he was sure the path was clear, he instructed the doctor, “Leave the tools, go to the back, and wait for me there.”
Dr. Booshy rose quickly and crept between the graves toward the wall. He kept close to it, feeling his way carefully along in the darkness that was broken only by starlight. He counted the walls until he reached the fifth. He stood still, looking about him like a thief; then he sat down cross-legged. His eyes could detect nothing suspicious nor did he hear a sound. However, his uneasiness increased and he grew more and more anxious. Soon he saw Zaita’s shape appear a few arm’s lengths away and he rose cautiously. Zaita eyed the wall for a moment and then whispered, “Bend down so I can get on your back.”
Putting his hands on his knees, Dr. Booshy did as he was told, and Zaita climbed on his back. He felt the wall, gripped the top, and sprang up lightly and easily. He dropped the spade and the candle into the courtyard, extended his hand to Dr. Booshy, and helped pull him to the top of the wall. Together they jumped down and stood at the base gasping for breath. Zaita picked up the spade and the package. Their eyes were now accustomed to the dark and they could see fairly well by the faint light from the stars. They could even see the courtyard quite clearly. There, not far from them, were two tombs side by side, and on the other side of the courtyard they could see the door leading out to the r
“On your right…” whispered Dr. Booshy, his voice so low that the sound scarcely left his throat.
Without hesitating, Zaita went to the sepulcher, followed by Dr. Booshy, whose whole body was trembling. Zaita bent down and found the ground still cold and damp. He dug his spade carefully and gently into the earth and set to work, piling up the soil between his feet. This was not new to him, and he worked briskly until he had uncovered the flagstones that formed a roof over the entrance to the vault of the sepulcher. He drew up the hem of his gown, gave it a good twist, and tied it up around his waist. Then he grasped the edge of the first flagstone and pulled it up, straining with his muscles until it stood on edge. With Dr. Booshy’s help, he drew it out and laid it on the ground. He then did the same with the second flagstone. The uncovered hole was now sufficient for the two of them to slip through and he started down the steps, muttering to the doctor, “Follow me!”
Numb and shivering with fright, Dr. Booshy obeyed. On such occasions Dr. Booshy would sit on the middle step and light a candle, which he would place on the bottom step. He would then close his eyes tight and bury his face between his knees. He hated going into tombs, and he had often pleaded with Zaita to spare him the ordeal. However, his colleague always refused him and insisted he participate in each separate stage. He seemed to enjoy torturing Dr. Booshy in this way.
The wick of the candle was burning now, lighting the interior. Zaita stared stonily at the corpses laid out in their shrouds side by side throughout the length and breadth of the vault, their order symbolizing the sequence of history, the constant succession of time. The fearful silence of the place spoke loudly of eternal extinction, but brought no echo from Zaita. His gaze soon fixed on the new shroud near the entrance to the vault and he sat down beside it cross-legged. He then stretched out his two cold hands, uncovered the head of the corpse and laid bare its lips. He drew out the teeth and put them in his pocket. Then he covered the head as he had found it and moved away from the corpse toward the entrance.
Dr. Booshy still sat with his head between his knees, the candle burning on the bottom step. Zaita looked at him scornfully and mumbled in sarcasm, “Wake up!” Dr. Booshy raised his trembling head and blew out the candle. He raced up the steps as though in retreat. Zaita followed him quickly, but upon emerging from the vault he heard a fearsome scream and the doctor yelping like a kicked dog, “For God’s sake have mercy!” Zaita stopped short and then rushed down the steps, icy with fear and not knowing what to do. He retreated backward into the vault until his heel touched the corpse. He moved forward a step and stood glued to the floor, not knowing where to escape to. He thought of lying down between the corpses but before he could make a move he was enveloped in a dazzling light that blinded him. A loud voice shouted out in an Upper Egyptian accent, “Up you come, or I’ll fire on you.”
In despair, he climbed the steps as ordered. He had completely forgotten the set of gold teeth in his pocket.
—
The news that Dr. Booshy and Zaita had been apprehended in the Taliby sepulcher reached the alley the next evening. Soon the story and all its details spread, and everyone heard it with a mixture of amazement and alarm. When Mrs. Saniya Afify heard the news, she was overcome with hysteria. Wailing in distress, she pulled the gold teeth from her mouth and flung them away, slapping hysterically at both cheeks. Then she fell down in a faint. Her new husband was in the bathtub, and when he heard her screams, panic struck him. Throwing a robe over his wet body, he rushed wildly to her rescue.
Uncle Kamil was sitting in his chair on the threshold of his shop, lost in a dream, his head resting on his chest. The fly whisk lay in his lap. He was awakened by a tickling sensation on his bald head, and he lifted his hand to brush off what he thought was a fly. His fingers touched a human hand. Angrily he seized it and groaned audibly, lifting his head to seek the prankster who had wakened him from his pleasant slumber. His gaze fell upon Abbas, the barber, and he could scarcely believe his eyes. He stared in blind confusion. Then his bloated red face beamed in delight and he made as if to get up.
His young friend protested at this gesture and hugged him tightly, shouting emotionally, “How are you, Uncle Kamil?”
“How are you, Abbas?” the man replied in delight. “Welcome indeed. You made me very lonely by going away, you bastard!”
Abbas stood before him smiling while Uncle Kamil gazed at him tenderly. He was dressed in a smart white shirt and gray trousers. His head was bare and his curly hair gave him a decidedly appealing look. All in all, he seemed extremely fit.
Uncle Kamil looked him up and down admiringly and said in his high-pitched voice, “My, my! Oh, Johnny, you do look good!”
Abbas, obviously in the best of spirits, laughed heartily and replied in English, “Thank you…From today on Sheikh Darwish is not the only one who can chatter away in English!”
The young man’s eyes roved up and down his beloved alley and rested on his old shop. He could see its new owner shaving a customer and he stared longingly in greeting. Then his gaze lifted to the window. He found it closed just as it was when he had arrived. Abbas wondered whether she was home or not, and what she would do if she opened the shutter and saw him there. She would stare at him in delighted surprise while his eyes feasted on her dazzling beauty. This was going to be the happiest day of his life…
His attention was once again drawn to Uncle Kamil’s voice asking, “Have you quit your job?”
“Oh no. I’ve just taken a short holiday.”
“Have you heard what happened to your friend Hussain Kirsha? He left his father and got married. Then they fired him and he came back home, dragging his wife and her brother along behind him.”
Abbas looked sad. “What rotten luck! They’re firing a lot of people these days. How did Mr. Kirsha welcome him home?”
“Oh, he’s never stopped complaining. Anyway, the young man and his family are still in the house.”
He sat quietly for perhaps half a minute and then, as though he had just remembered something important, said, “Have you heard that Dr. Booshy and Zaita are in prison?”
Then he related how they had been captured in the Taliby sepulcher and been convicted of stealing a set of gold teeth. This news staggered Abbas. He would not have put it past Zaita to commit the most dreadful evil, but he was amazed that Dr. Booshy was a participant in this ghoulish crime. He recalled how Dr. Booshy had wanted to fit him with gold teeth when he returned from Tell el-Kebir. He shuddered in disgust.
Uncle Kamil continued: “Mrs. Saniya Afify has got married…” He almost added, “Let’s hope you do the same.” But he stopped suddenly, recalling Hamida. In days to come he was often amazed at his frequent lapses of memory.
However, Abbas noticed no change in Uncle Kamil, as he was quite lost in his dreams. He stepped back a couple of paces and said, “Well then, goodbye for now.”
His friend was afraid the news might shock him terribly if it came too suddenly, and he asked hurriedly, “Where are you going?”
“To the café to see my friends,” replied Abbas, moving along.
Uncle Kamil rose with some difficulty and shuffled off after his friend.
It was late in the afternoon, and Kirsha and Sheikh Darwish were the only ones in the café. Abbas greeted Kirsha, who welcomed him, and he shook hands with Sheikh Darwish. The old man stared at him smilingly from behind his spectacles but did not speak.
Uncle Kamil stood to one side, gloomily obsessed with thoughts about how he could broach the painful news. At last he spoke: “How about coming back with me to the shop for a while?”
Abbas hesitated between accompanying his friend and making the visit he had dreamed of these past few months. However, he wanted to please Uncle Kamil and he saw no harm in staying with him. He accompanied him, hiding his impatience with small talk.
They sat do
He drew a small box from his trouser pocket and opened it. Inside was a gold necklace with a small dangling heart.
“It’s Hamida’s wedding present. Didn’t you know? I want to get married while I’m on leave this time.”
He expected his friend to comment, but Uncle Kamil only turned his eyes away and settled into a heavy silence. Abbas looked at him in alarm and for the first time noticed his friend’s gloominess and worried expression. Uncle Kamil’s face was not the kind that could camouflage emotions. Abbas was alarmed now. He frowned, shut the box, and returned it to his pocket. He sat staring at his friend, his happy mood extinguished by a strange emotion which he neither expected nor could account for. The gloomy look on his friend’s face was so obvious now that he asked suspiciously, “What’s wrong, Uncle Kamil? You’re not yourself. What’s made you change like this? Why won’t you look at me?”
The older man raised his head slowly and gazed sadly at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
Abbas sensed disaster. He felt despair smothering the last traces of his high spirits and suffocating all his hopes. Now he shouted, “What’s wrong with you, Uncle Kamil? What are you trying to say? Something’s on your mind. Don’t torture me with your silence. Is it Hamida? Yes, by God, it’s Hamida. Say it. Tell me. Tell me!”