The Harafish by Naguib Mahfouz
As a result, Galal was forced into one fight after another. He would have preferred things to be different. He had an affectionate nature and tried to be on good terms with everybody. The other boys despised this outlook and picked quarrels, so he grew hard in the face of their provocation, stood up to impossible challenges, and cultivated harsh defenses which were alien to his nature. He responded to a word with a blow, became involved in more and more punch-ups, and was always certain to win. He was transformed and became known as a devil. Power raised him up and silenced his adversaries, so he grew drunk on it and worshiped it.
11.
At Quran school he met up again with his brother Radi. He was the murderer’s son, but also his victim, a gentle, polite, weak child. The other boys taunted him and called him “Zahira’s son” too, and he burst into tears. Galal sprang to his defense and dealt with his tormentors. The boy grew fond of him.
“You’re my brother and I’m proud of you,” he announced. Radi did not have Galal’s strength and beauty, but he had good manners.
“I want you to come to lunch with me,” he said one day.
12.
That was how Galal found himself visiting the house of the late lamented Aziz. Madame Aziza, old and patrician, was there, and Ulfat. He kissed their hands, and they greeted him cordially, marveling at his health and good looks. Aziz’ youngest daughter, Qamr, was there too. She was beautiful and vivacious and he watched her enraptured throughout the meal and afterward. When he was alone with Radi he asked, “Don’t you think Qamr is as beautiful as our mother?”
Radi shook his head uninterestedly and Galal said, “You’re lucky to live in the same house as her.”
“The only thing I like about her is her voice,” replied Radi.
13.
Galal approached puberty. He had discovered all aspects of his background, good and bad. He persisted in believing that his mother was the greatest woman the alley had known, and that he was a descendant of the famous al-Nagi whose disappearance remained a mystery to that day. He had not been a clan chief like Samaka al-Allaj, but a saint, a friend of the great Saint al-Khidr. In his dreams, Galal battered heads full of evil obsessions, befriended angels with golden wings, knocked at the monastery gate and was welcomed inside; anxiety stalked him wrapped in the shadows of night, and Qamr beckoned to him from behind the carved wooden lattice.
“What did my mother do wrong?” he asked himself confidently. “She was looking for a man like me, but she had no luck in her short, miserable life.”
14.
Abd Rabbihi made him a partner in the bakery and he proved his worth, with his intelligence and enthusiasm. His father was so pleased with him that he gradually handed over all responsibility to him, abandoning himself to the calabash in Sanqar’s bar. He went downhill rapidly, the huge sums of money he spent accelerating his decline. He observed his son with pride and admiration, as he dominated the bakery workers through the strength of his personality, earning their respect in spite of his mother’s bad reputation. He watched his muscles hardening, his limbs growing strong, his frame filling out, until his whole body exuded vitality and his face glowed with extraordinary beauty.
The bakery was all that Galal had left, and painful memories of the past. He was not deceived by ingratiating smiles, knowing for sure that there were malicious whispers about his beautiful mother jostling angrily behind them. But the future augured well for someone so handsome and strong, and Qamr’s image inspired the sweetest hopes.
15.
After work he would sit in front of the bakery watching the cockfighting, betting on his own bird. This was his favorite pastime. Occasionally he cast passionate glances at Qamr as she went by in the carriage with Ulfat, and remembered his childhood and going to play at Madame Aziza’s with Radi and Qamr. Happy times that ended abruptly when he sensed that Aziza and Ulfat would rather he stayed away. Why did they make this distinction between him and Radi, both of them Zahira’s sons? No doubt out of respect for Aziz’ last wishes, but also because he developed such a marked resemblance to his mother and reminded the two women of someone they loathed and would prefer to forget.
From then on a huge gulf stood between the baker with a bad reputation and Aziz’ radiant, well-bred daughter. But he still loved her with a love that dominated his reason and his senses, and found a response in her glowing eyes. Was he going to be afraid, like cowards were, when good luck came his way?
16.
He soon realized that his father had squandered his inheritance, and he was bitterly angry. He forbade him to have anything to do with the business.
“I’ll make sure you have enough to live decently,” he assured him.
But his father was an endless source of annoyance. His addiction to alcohol was ruining his health and dignity. He spent every evening in the bar, amusing himself by broadcasting complaints about his son.
“He treats me as if I was the son and he was the father,” he said. “He blames me for everything.”
Or, chuckling, he would ask, “Have you ever heard of a son telling his father off for having a few too many?”
He talked affectionately, without malice.
“Has he forgotten our Lord’s commandment about honoring your parents?”
Galal failed to make a respectable man out of his father, something he had wanted to do out of love for him, but also to remove one of the obstacles standing in the way of his love for Qamr. Abd Rabbihi was sorry he had unintentionally caused offense to his handsome son.
“It’s your mother’s fault,” he said apologetically one day. “Look what became of the other men who loved her.”
Galal frowned protestingly but Abd Rabbihi went on, “Muhammad Anwar was hung, Nuh al-Ghurab murdered, the inspector banished. Aziz died of grief. I’m the luckiest of the lot.”
“Don’t speak badly of my mother,” implored Galal.
“Don’t get upset,” murmured Abd Rabbihi. “But think about it. You want to marry Qamr. I’m not the problem, son. It’s your mother. How do you think Ulfat could give her daughter to Zahira’s son?”
“Don’t rub salt into the wound!” cried Galal.
“I advise you not to marry a woman you love,” said his father sympathetically. “And not to love the one you marry. Be content with companionship and affection, and steer clear of love. It’s a trap.”
17.
One night Galal learned that his father was causing a commotion in the monastery square. He rushed there at once and found him imitating the anthems in an atrocious voice. He took his arm and led him home.
“That’s the one thing the alley won’t put up with,” he said.
When his father was asleep, Galal felt a fierce desire to return to the square. He had never been alone at the monastery gate before. The night was pitch-black. The stars were hidden by thick wintry clouds and it was bitingly cold. He drew his cloak tightly around him and pulled his headcloth over his face. The anthems washed over him in warm, slow waves. He thought about the Nagis who had frequented the place, since the first one who had vanished mysteriously into thin air. A voice whispered to him that men only gain distinction by challenging difficulties and he felt his limbs bursting with inspiration at the thought of human beings and their achievements. He made a pact of friendship with the darkness, the chanting voices, the cold, the whole world, resolving to soar above the obstacles like a mythical bird.
18.
Radi bought the cereal business with the money he had inherited from his mother and married Naima, Nuh al-Ghurab’s granddaughter. Encouraged, Galal approached Madame Aziza.
“Noble lady, I want to marry your granddaughter,” he said determinedly.
Her tired eyes regarded him at length, then she said with the frankness of old people, “I once suggested that Radi should marry her, but Ulfat refused.”
“It’s Galal asking to marry her this time,” he said with confidence.
“Don’t you know why she refused?”
He was sile
“I’m not a pauper,” he said angrily, “and what’s more, I’m a Nagi.”
“I’ve told you what I know,” she said irritably.
“Tell her mother that I asked,” he persisted stubbornly.
“That’s for you to do.”
He left, his disappointment choking him like a mouthful of earth.
19.
But there was a surprise awaiting the late Aziz’ household: Ulfat refused Galal’s request, whereupon Qamr hid herself away as if she was ill.
“Do you want to marry him?” asked Madame Aziza.
“Yes.”
“He’s Zahira’s son!” shouted Ulfat, flying into a rage.
Qamr shrugged her shoulders indifferently. However, her mother ignored her wishes with cruel obstinacy and accepted a suitor for Qamr from her own family, the Dahshuris. Qamr refused him without a moment’s hesitation.
Ulfat heaped blame and recriminations upon her daughter but she replied obstinately, “I won’t get married at all.”
“You’ve got the spirit of that devil Zahira in you!” shouted Ulfat.
Qamr wept, but Ulfat showed no signs of softening and said, “Don’t get married then. That’s the best solution as far as I’m concerned!”
20.
Madame Aziza’s health declined suddenly due to sadness and old age. She withered away, her color faded, and she was soon paralyzed and confined to bed. Ulfat did not leave her side. She was alarmed at the loneliness threatening her in the big house.
“Don’t be afraid,” Aziza said. “God will grant me a cure.”
She believed her as she always had done, but then her mother-in-law muttered as if she was a completely different person, “This is the end, Ulfat.”
Her sight grew weaker until she could no longer see. All the same she stared into the void and called out for Qurra and Aziz. Ulfat shuddered and felt that death had stormed into the bedchamber and was waiting ready in a corner, the most powerful presence there.
“God have mercy on us,” she muttered tearfully.
“How I’ve suffered,” moaned Aziza. “The Almighty is my last hope.”
“O God! Spare her too much suffering!”
“I have two requests,” began Aziza.
Ulfat stared attentively at her and the old woman went on, “Don’t be cruel to Qurra’s granddaughter.”
She paused and sighed deeply, then finished, “Or to Aziz’ daughter.”
Then death came and her soul departed, crowned with love and nobility.
21.
Six months of the year of mourning went by. Ulfat wished the year would never end, but she respected Aziza’s dying wish. She allowed herself to entertain the vague hope that Qamr would change of her own accord, but this hope came to nothing.
Radi summoned his brother Galal. “Congratulations. You’ve been accepted,” he said.
A tide of heavenly joy swept through him, leaving him speechless.
Radi suggested that the engagement should be announced immediately but the wedding delayed till after the mourning period.
This moment would remain embedded in Galal’s memory forever.
22.
Scarcely two months later, Galal begged that the marriage should be allowed to take place, and the contract signed, promising that he and Qamr would delay the celebration and not live together as man and wife until the year’s mourning was up. It was as if he wanted to have control of his peace of mind, stamp out his forebodings, and forestall any untoward twists of fate. He became the very picture of happiness and his praiseworthy characteristics developed to the full. He no longer called his drunkard of a father to account. He spoiled his employees and their families and hummed to himself while he was working or watching the cockfighting. He blossomed and grew immensely strong, and stayed up at night in the monastery square, listening to the singing and praying his own prayers.
Nearly every day he visited his bride and took her presents. From her he received a rosary of cornelians set on a gold chain, sweetly scented. She became his life, his hope, his happiness, his golden dream. To him she was the most beautiful creature on God’s earth, although many thought him more striking. But in her there was an incomparable sweetness.
Madame Ulfat stopped being so unenthusiastic and expressed some satisfaction and friendliness. She called him her good son and began drawing a new picture of the future, suggesting that he used Qamr’s money to go into partnership with Radi in the cereal business.
“The Nagi family’s greatness has come out in many ways. This time it’s love,” said Galal to Qamr one day.
She smiled coquettishly. “Love makes miracles happen.”
“Don’t forget my part in making this miracle happen!”
He held her close, beside himself with passion.
23.
He brought his father to visit Madame Ulfat and Qamr. He was sober, but he seemed drunk, his eyes heavy and unfocused, his voice unsteady, his head shaking. He realized he had to act the part of a respectable citizen, a role which was quite alien to him. He looked at Madame Ulfat in awe and felt as if he was undergoing a metamorphosis, amazed that once upon a time he had possessed beauty that made all this look paltry.
“You know what I am, madame,” he began, “but my son’s a jewel.”
“You’re a good man,” she murmured graciously.
Such respect had never come his way before, and it shook him.
“He deserves to be happy,” he said, indicating Galal, “as a reward for all his kindness to his father.”
He laughed loudly, for no reason, then regained his composure, embarrassed.
“Why didn’t you give the bride her present?” Galal asked his father as they left the house.
He thought of the present Galal had given him to give the bride, and said nothing.
“Did you forget?” persisted Galal, annoyed.
“I needed that jewelry much more than your bride,” he said gently.
“Have I ever failed to give you what you needed?” demanded Galal reprovingly.
His father patted him on the back. “Never. But life makes a lot of demands on us.”
24.
The year of mourning ended in a fair autumn of surpassing sweetness. The gauzy clouds were puffed up with dreams. Qamr caught a cold but carried on with her energetic preparations for the wedding. The cold took an unexpected turn. Her temperature rose, she had difficulty breathing, she was in greater pain. The blooming rose withered as if a vicious pest had mounted a cunning, treacherous attack. She had no strength to get out of bed. The light died in her eyes, her face grew waxen, and her voice weak. She lay there moaning, hidden by piles of covers, fed on lemon and caraway tisanes, vinegar compresses on her forehead. Ulfat lay awake at night, her head twitching with uneasy thoughts. Galal was anxious, tired of waiting for the illness to pass.
A strange feeling hung over the house, of something waiting, never quite ready to reveal itself. Memories of the last moments of Aziz and Aziza floated in Ulfat’s mind. Almost frantic, she felt that an unknown creature had taken up residence in a hidden corner of the house with no intention of leaving.
One night Galal dreamed that his father was singing in his mocking, uneducated fashion in the monastery square. He woke up with a heavy heart, then noticed a noise in the street. A singular kind of noise, unconnected to the chanting in the monastery. A clamor in the depths of the night, announcing the ascent of a soul to its final resting place.
25.
Galal felt that some monster had taken over his body. He possessed other senses and saw an unfamiliar world. His mind worked according to new laws. The blinding reality revealed itself to him. He gazed at her body prepared for burial. He pulled back the cover from her face. It was like a memory, not reality. It existed and did not exist. Still and remote, separated from him by an unbridgeable gap. Quite unfamiliar, coldly denying all knowledge of him. I
“No,” he murmured, shocked, resisting.
A hand replaced the cover and closed the door of eternity. The world collapsed around him. A voice was mocking him. An enemy moving in to fight him. He would not cry out. He did not shed a tear, say a word. His tongue moved again. “No.”
He saw his mother’s shattered head, a vision that came and went, then remained imprinted on the fringes of his consciousness. He saw the cock gouging out its adversary’s eyes with its pink beak; the skies alight with the fires of damnation; the blessing of red blood. The unknown promised him he would understand everything if he pulled the cover back once more. He stretched out his hand, but a hand grasped it and a voice intoned, “There is no god but God.”
Lord, was there someone with him? Were there other people in the world? Then who said the world was empty? Empty of movement and color and sound. Empty of reality. Of grief, sorrow, and regret. In fact, he was liberated. No love, no sadness. He could never suffer again. Peace had come. His insolent powers had had a cruel friendship imposed upon them. A salutary gift for one who wanted the stars as friends, the clouds as soul mates, the wind as drinking companion, the night as comrade.
“No,” he murmured for the third time.
26.
Galal left the work to his manager. He found peace in walking. He strolled through the alley, the quarter, around the gates in the city walls and the citadels, or sat alone in the café, smoking a water pipe.
At night he stood looking at the monastery. The melodies floated past him. He knocked contemptuously at the door, not expecting a reply. He knew they never replied. They were death everlasting, which never stooped to reply.
“Don’t they know about being good neighbors?” he wondered.