The Harafish by Naguib Mahfouz
Muhammad was glad at her obvious pleasure and felt somewhat reassured. She was genuinely grateful to him for making her into a property owner, grateful too that he had implicitly acknowledged her strength and regretted provoking her. But she still despised him and thought constantly about Aziz and Nuh al-Ghurab. Aziz was rich, Nuh powerful. Aziz had power too, while Nuh’s wealth was increasing all the time. Aziz had one wife and Nuh had four, and a troop of children. You couldn’t do without power or money. One created the other. How would things turn out? She believed she had hardly started yet. Her mind wandered, envisaging the various scenarios as she lay next to Muhammad, listening to his regular breathing.
50.
Muhammad Anwar decided to safeguard his happiness through Nuh al-Ghurab. He paid him a formal visit at his house and sat before him in the guest hall like a boy in front of his schoolteacher. Without a word he handed him a promising bundle of notes. The chief took it and began counting it. “You’ve already paid your dues,” he said, “so why this enormous sum?”
“I need your protection,” said Muhammad.
“Do you have enemies?”
“It’s just a preventive measure!”
Casually Nuh returned the money. He smiled. Muhammad’s heart began to beat violently and his eyes widened in fear.
“Fate has beaten you to it,” murmured Nuh.
He groaned inwardly. Raifa had played her cards well, or so he imagined, since it did not occur to him that Nuh was acting on his own account.
“I was about to send for you…” began Nuh.
“What’s going on?” interrupted Muhammad, his mouth dry.
“…to advise you to divorce your wife,” finished Nuh, odiously calm.
His heart plunged in his chest and he felt the touch of death. “Divorce her?” he demanded in amazement. “There’s no reason why I should.”
“Divorce your wife,” pronounced Nuh conclusively.
51.
Muhammad left Nuh’s house robbed of his five senses. Was it his turn to be treated like Abd Rabbihi? Had a respectable merchant ever endured such treatment before? Were his life, his happiness, his honor, to be disregarded as if they were worth nothing?
A desperate anger seized him, blowing away his indecision, concentrating his thoughts. “I’ll do what nobody around here’s ever done before,” he vowed, beside himself with rage.
52.
Gibril al-Fas, the alley’s sheikh, approached Nuh at one of his regular sessions in the café. He greeted him. “The inspector wants to see you at the police station.”
Nuh looked startled. “Why?” he demanded, frowning.
“I don’t know. I’m just delivering the message.”
“What if I refuse?” asked Nuh aggressively.
“Perhaps he wants to enlist your services in some matter of security,” said the sheikh amicably. “You shouldn’t be unnecessarily hostile.”
The clan chief shrugged his shoulders scornfully and said nothing.
53.
The police inspector, Fuad Abd al-Tawwab, gave the clan chief a cordial reception. Nuh sat facing him across his desk, smiling as pleasantly as he could. The smell of leather filled his nostrils.
“I’m delighted to meet you, inspector,” he said.
The inspector smiled. He was stout, of average height with a bushy mustache and handsome features.
“Delighted to meet you too. The clan chief is really one of us!”
“Thank you, inspector.”
“The clan chief is the brave knight and protector of the alley, the embodiment of chivalry and honor, the hands and eyes of the police in his domain…that’s how the Ministry of the Interior regards you.”
“Thank you, inspector,” repeated Nuh, his anxiety mounting.
With a firmness which belied his flattering comments, the police inspector went on, “Therefore, I expect Muhammad Anwar to be safe with you.”
“Has he complained to you about me?” asked Nuh, flushing with anger.
“I have my ways of finding out what’s going on. And suppose he did come to me for help? He’s entitled to. And it’s my duty to guarantee his safety, but I’m quite happy to let you do that for me!”
A silence descended between them. He recognized the threat in the inspector’s friendly manner.
“What do you say?” asked the inspector after a long pause.
“We’re the first to respect the law,” answered Nuh, suspiciously calm.
“I consider you responsible for him.”
54.
Nothing like this had ever happened in the alley. The police only came near it in extreme emergencies. The clan chief’s numerous crimes were usually unattributed, thanks to the testimony of false witnesses. Was Inspector Fuad Abd al-Tawwab going to do what nobody had done before him if Muhammad Anwar’s body was discovered on the path or under the archway? How had Muhammad had the insolence to go to the police for help, and why had the inspector been ready to challenge Nuh in this underhand way? It seemed that for the first time a police inspector was measuring himself up against a clan chief, and challenging his elaborately contrived prestige.
But there was an aspect which people were unaware of, and that was the personality of Fuad Abd al-Tawwab. He was a fearless, stubborn man. In the countryside of Upper Egypt, before his transfer to Cairo, he had been known as The Killer. Had he not been hindered by the interior ministry and its long established policy toward clan chiefs, he would have embarked on a bold initiative to wipe them out altogether.
So as soon as he heard that Muhammad felt threatened, he decided on a show of strength which shut people’s mouths and made their hearts tremble violently. One morning the alley woke up to find itself invaded by a detachment of armed men with the inspector at its head. Military orders rang out and people rushed to look. Gibril al-Fas appeared, surrounded by police officers, then came the officer in charge of the local station, the inspector in his official uniform, and, bringing up the rear, a huge column of soldiers bristling with arms. The procession moved forward slowly and determinedly through the archway and into the monastery square. There they performed some noisy maneuvers before returning slowly the way they had come. The street was lined with people as if it was the day the pilgrims left for Mecca. The inspector showed no interest in them, but every now and then his eyes strayed to the windows crowded with women’s faces. A little way from the fountain Sheikh Gibril went up to him and drew his attention to Zahira, the focus of the quarrel, standing in her window.
Nuh al-Ghurab did not move from his customary seat in the café, while Muhammad Anwar crouched petrified in his shop, fearing the worst. Abd Rabbihi followed the procession in astonishment, remarking to those around him, “The Day of Judgment’s on its way!”
55.
Zahira often noticed the inspector contriving to meet her apparently by chance on New Street, as she came back from al-Husayn mosque. His eyes bored into her, fierce, defiant, hungry.
“Even the inspector,” she murmured to herself.
The big square at the end of the alley mocked her, full of temptations, like a magician’s bag, writhing with cats and mice and snakes. Her body swayed to the music of pride. It seemed to her that she was astride an eagle that was beating its wings powerfully, inspired by the spirit of creation. Aziz…Nuh al-Ghurab…Fuad Abd al-Tawwab. Enchantment, love, the glorious summit crowned with stars. Her heart pounded, strong and regular, and with every beat a shining image formed, transcending anything she had ever seen before.
56.
The inspector summoned Muhammad to a meeting in absolute secrecy. He sat him down and said, “I gave them a demonstration of the strong arm of the law like they’ve never seen before. Do you feel safer now?”
Muhammad shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t know.”
“You’re right,” said Fuad Abd al-Tawwab. “I feel the same. The truth is, I’m frightened for you.”
“Life isn’t worth a penny around here,” said Muhammad apprehensively.<
“You’re right. Any miserable thug could come along and kill you. What good would it do you then if we crushed the chiefs and wiped out the whole clan system?”
“What good indeed!”
“Can I give you some advice, even if it sounds odd?” asked the inspector.
“What is it?”
“Divorce your wife.”
“Is that really what you advise?” muttered Muhammad in amazement.
“I find it as distasteful as you do. But I fear for your life.”
“I think I’m going crazy, inspector.”
“It’d just be a temporary measure, to give me time to deal with the tyrant,” said the inspector slyly.
“A temporary measure?”
“Then everything would return to normal.”
“I’ll give it serious thought,” said Muhammad, after a long pause.
57.
He returned home confused and despairing. But from the depths of his despair inspiration came to him.
“Gather up anything valuable that’s light enough to carry,” he said to Zahira. “We’re going to run away tonight when everybody’s asleep.”
“Run away!”
“Even the inspector advised me to divorce you.”
“The inspector!”
“He admitted he was powerless to protect me. Our only hope is to run away.”
She guessed what was behind the police inspector’s advice, but could not think how to act toward her husband. “Where would we go?” she asked in alarm.
“The world’s a big place and I’ve got plenty of money. We’ll start a new business.”
She swore to herself. He was about to scatter all her dreams in one go. To make her a fugitive and bind her to him forever, compel her to bury her newborn power, her new existence. Melt into the darkness of hardship and misery like Samaha. Who could tell? Maybe she would be forced to do manual work again like a beggar. Let the coward run by himself, get out of her life forever!
“There’s no time to lose.”
“Why don’t you think about it a bit more?”
“I’ve thought about it a hundred times, and there’s nothing else we can do.”
“No!”
“What do you mean, no?”
“It’s impossible.”
“It’s quite possible. As you’ll find out before the sun rises.”
“No!” she repeated obstinately.
He looked at her in astonishment.
“We’d be tramps. It would be the end of us,” she said.
“I’ve got enough for us to live on,” he said suspiciously.
“No.”
“Don’t you understand my life’s in danger?”
“You did wrong and you know it.”
“There was nothing else I could have done.”
“Why should I suffer for it?”
“A wife has to go where her husband goes,” he said, a frenzied note coming into his voice.
She appeared hard, antagonistic, ready to dodge out of his reach, full of hatred simmering just below the surface.
“You don’t have the strength to protect me,” she said.
“You snake!” he shouted, beating his chest with his fist.
She stepped back to the window instinctively.
“You want to play the same game you played with the baker!”
She read death in his pale, desperate face, his clenched fists, his taut muscles, and screamed through the window at the top of her voice as he sprang toward her like a tiger.
58.
The door was broken open. Nuh, Aziz, and Gibril rushed in. Muhammad retreated. Zahira fell unconscious to the floor. The children’s cries rose in the air.
The men busied themselves with reviving Zahira. Muhammad had vanished without trace. Nuh looked pointedly at Gibril.
“Attempted murder and evading arrest!” pronounced the sheikh in official tones.
“Let him go,” muttered Aziz.
“What about the crime he’s committed?” asked Nuh.
“It was as clear as day, and we’re witnesses,” said Gibril.
“You must spend the night with my mother,” said Aziz, turning to Zahira.
59.
Muhammad Anwar had disappeared without divorcing her. She went back to her own flat the next day. At first she was drunk with the sense of freedom, but she quickly realized that she was still bound to her husband by the ties of marriage. She longed to break away. The breath of golden dreams swept over her. She was determined not to lose a moment of her life. She visited Aziz al-Nagi.
“He’s taking his revenge on me by keeping me imprisoned from a distance,” she complained.
Aziz realized what she meant and it was like sweet magic stirring in him. His head spun with delight and hope.
“How will you manage?” he asked.
“The income from the house will give me just enough to live on.”
“You’re not alone. I assure you of that.”
She inclined her head gratefully. “Thank you. But I want to protect the children’s future.”
“What do you have in mind?” he asked, his heart pounding.
“I want to ask for a divorce on the grounds of attempted murder and desertion,” she declared boldly.
So it was that the door of the unknown opened to him and his life was thrown into turmoil.
“We’ll have to think about that,” he said.
60.
Aziz made it his business to follow Muhammad Anwar’s trial in absentia and engage a divorce lawyer for Zahira. He was still anxious, torn between his desire and his reputation, his emotions and his respect for Ulfat and his friend Muhammad. Meanwhile the events which heralded the unleashing of wild, heated passions were unfolding behind the scene.
61.
The first night visitor arrived. She opened the peephole in the door, saw a shape, and smelled a smell which aroused both yearning and disgust. “Who’s that at this time of night?” she inquired suspiciously.
“Abd Rabbihi the baker,” came the familiar voice.
Her insides moved with desire and anger at the same time. “What do you want?” she asked sharply, to hide her weakness.
“For us to try again,” he begged drunkenly.
“You’re drunk, and you’re out of your mind.”
“I’m your only real husband.”
“Go away, or I’ll shout for help.”
She shut the little window, her chest heaving with anger and determination.
62.
That same night Gibril al-Fas slunk up to her door. He entered, cloaked in apprehension and fear. As soon as he sat down, he announced, “God protect me from the devil. I’m obliged to give you a message.”
“What is it?” she asked, guessing the reply, and guessing also why he was so afraid.
“The inspector wants to marry you.”
She was right. And he was frightened that Nuh al-Ghurab would suspect him of being the go-between. But what was the inspector? What would he give her except a new name and a new look, both meaningless? Aziz was probably the best of the three but Nuh was a force to be reckoned with. He had the real power and unlimited authority.
“What’s your answer, Zahira?”
“Won’t Nuh al-Ghurab have something to say?”
“The inspector’ll take care of him!”
“I’ve got two children,” she ventured slyly, “and a miserable income, and the inspector’s married with children of his own.”
“He knows what he can handle.”
“And I know what I want,” she declared after a moment’s hesitation.
“So you’d rather be al-Ghurab’s lover than the inspector’s wife?”
“I’m the most respectable woman in the alley,” she returned ferociously.
63.
Before Gibril was out of the way, Umm Hashim the midwife arrived. Zahira ushered her hurriedly into another room.
“There’s nothing to stop us now!” exclaimed the old woman when th
“It has to be Nuh al-Ghurab. But he’s got four wives already.”
“You can replace one of them.”
“Zahira doesn’t share her husband with other women,” she said with angry pride.
“You mean he should divorce all four?” asked Umm Hashim in astonishment.
“That’s for him to decide,” answered Zahira stubbornly.
64.
Nuh al-Ghurab divorced his four wives.
The neighborhood was convulsed by the news, the families of the four women were shattered, and Zahira’s name was on everybody’s lips, a byword for tyranny and heartlessness. The inspector bit his lip in rage. Aziz was amazed but kept his grief to himself.
By chance, news of Rummana’s death in prison arrived on the day of the wedding, and Raifa was so distressed that she committed suicide hours afterward by setting herself alight.
Nuh al-Ghurab had a huge wedding procession which progressed through the surrounding quarters of the city, protected, so it was thought, by his alliances with neighboring chiefs. However, in Darasa the chief of the Atuf clan and his men attacked the cortege out of the blue, violating all pacts and treaties.
How this happened and why, nobody knew, but a bloody fight flared up, and the police quickly intervened, as if they had been waiting for just such an opportunity.
They broke up the disturbance without pity.
A bullet hit the bridegroom and he was killed instantly.
65.
The alley was set ablaze with news of the event and they gave their chief a grand funeral. Zahira was more frightened than sad, worried that this horrific event should be linked to her wedding, and sorry that she had only enjoyed her new position for a few hours. The envious—and there were many of them—pointed out that her marriage had coincided with the twin disasters of Rummana’s death and Raifa’s suicide, and decided she had the evil eye. Muhammad Anwar’s disappearance, Nuh al-Ghurab’s quadruple divorce, and his death were all connected directly with her. What other bad luck would this beautiful woman bring with her insatiable desires? This speculation depressed her, but she banished it from her mind with her iron will, and under her shell of mourning joyfully calculated the riches which would come to her. Her sense of shock quickly passed and she felt pleased with life again. She could enjoy the prestige associated with the clan without paying the price for it to a man for whom she felt no affection. She acknowledged gratefully to herself that he had been killed at the right moment, before he had violated the sanctity of her beautiful body. He had received the punishment a filthy despot like him deserved. Imagine the disgrace for the great al-Nagi if his beautiful descendant had submitted to a corrupt criminal in chief’s garments. You could not blame a proud wind for uprooting a dead, worm-eaten tree.