“The cinema!” Camilla shouted and ran to the window of their room. Zahra followed her, smiling. Quiet Yvonne gave up her place at the window to Zahra and went into the inner room to watch from its window. Sitt Maryam stayed in her place behind the sewing machine, working quietly now.
The cinema cart was a large wooden box with posters on its four sides. It was pushed by a man wearing a military uniform, which in fact was the uniform of all the popular street musicians, most prominent of whom was a man who carried a huge drum about one meter across that hung from his neck by a leather strap and rested on his belly. In his hands he had two drumsticks covered with cloth with which he beat the drum on both sides. Around him was the rest of the band beating smaller drums or cymbals or playing the same military march on their saxophones. Around everyone was a group of children dancing and laughing.
“Look at Clark Gable!” Camilla said to Zahra.
“Who?”
“Clark Gable.”
“Is that the man or the woman?”
Camilla laughed. “The man, of course. The woman’s name is Joan Crawford.”
Zahra fell silent for a few moments then, washing her hands of the whole affair, said, “These are difficult names.”
“The name of the film is The Sinful Desire” Camilla told her.
“Behave, girl!” Sitt Maryam shouted from behind her.
Everyone fell silent. Zahra thought about this indomitable girl who had been so sad the past few months and who had cried when the Germans entered Paris. What was it that made her regain her gaiety? She must have gotten out of her predicament. Zahra suddenly realized that she should not have looked at these posters for the movies this time. She had decided that the last time, when she saw in the picture an almost-naked woman jumping into the sea. This time she saw the actor with the trimmed mustache embracing the actress, boldly bending over her and almost kissing her. How could they take these wanton pictures and display them in the streets for every woman and girl to see? She backed up from the window and said, “Come with me, Camilla.”
Camilla walked behind her to Zahra’s room. Zahra had been holding her daughter by the hand all that time. She let go of her hand and uncovered the pot and with a ladle took out the chicken liver, put it on a saucer, and offered it to Camilla. Camilla was surprised but did not turn it down. Zahra told her, “Your uncle Magd al-Din has started a new job today.”
“Congratulations! So that’s what you’re celebrating!”
After a few moments Camilla asked, “Does every wife love her husband the way you do, Sitt Zahra?”
“The way I do? No. But who else does a wife have besides her husband? Do you learn something else in school?”
“We learn that exactly in school, and then some.”
“What is it that you like about that actor with the difficult name?” Zahra asked her suddenly.
Camilla was chewing the hot chicken liver fast and blowing on her hands. After she was done she answered, “His eyes—his eyes are so deep, Sitt Zahra.”
They both fell silent. Zahra thought about the age difference between them, only five years. Zahra was twenty-one, but Camilla was too daring for a sixteen-year-old girl. What would they do to a girl like that in the village?
“I’m afraid for you, Camilla.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. I’m just afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid. The mischievous live longer,” Camilla laughed and left the room.
The end of the school year was the reason Camilla had regained her gaiety. The ordeal was over. Perhaps she had needed no more than one other meeting to fall forever. How could she permit herself to get into this relationship, doomed to end in failure or death from the very beginning? Whoever said that one could joke about matters of love? But they were good days anyway. It all began in a contest between the boys of Abbasiya and the girls Nabawiya Musa held at Ras al-Tin school. Whose fiendish idea was it? The headmistress of Nabawiya Musa School was challenging society. She was a woman of liberal ideas, though she was strict with the girls. She asked for the impossible and was confident that she would get it. She would have the girls compete against the boys and was confident that the girls would hold their own. What happened was that he was paired with her. The literary and scientific questions were hard, but he was amazingly capable. He recited verses from Keats in English and Baudelaire in French, helped his teammates out, and was the reason the boys of Abbasiya school scored such a stunning victory that the Nabawiya Musa girls cried in agony. She could not deny that she thought about him for a few moments that night. She was haunted by his sad, pale face, by his simple clothes, clean but suggesting poverty, as did his slightly yellow face. His eyes were always moist, almost tearful the whole time, sad but contented eyes. That was what attracted her. He was a truly charming young man.
She went to sleep thinking that she would not see him again. But the following day she saw him standing on the sidewalk opposite the gate of her school. She froze for a moment. She realized that he had come to meet her. She held onto Yvonne’s arm and would not let go. When she got off the streetcar at Karmuz Bridge she saw him getting off from the other car. He stood for a little while, watching them as they walked down the slope leading to Ban Street in Ghayt al-Aynab, then he walked along the Mahmudiya canal in the direction of Kafr Ashri.
He started stopping by her school everyday, just to look at her. Whenever she changed her route on her way home, he would be there. Finally she stood at some distance from the school and looked back at him. Yvonne was sick that day. It was as if he had prepared everything in advance. He came over to her right in the middle of the street with a necklace of white jasmine and in front of the passers-by, he slipped it over her head and around her neck. She stood totally still and he took her by the hand, and they walked to the Shallalat gardens.
“Where did you get the courage to do that on the street?”
“Poetry. I love all the crazy poets. Do you know the love story of Yesenin and Isadora?”
“No, I don’t know Yesenin. I know that Isadora was an extraordinary dancer.”
“Do you know anything about the French surrealists?”
“A little.”
“Well, those surrealists do whatever they want, without fear.”
They sat under the old, thick, tall laurel trees.
“I don’t know how I gave in to you,” she said.
He was looking at this meek hen with wide eyes and could believe neither what was happening nor what he was saying.
“But—” she added.
“I know, you’re Christian—you’re wearing a cross. I’m a Muslim. That’s how it is. Where will it lead? I don’t know.”
That day he read to her some of the poetry of Baudelaire, Rimbaud, and Éluard, of whom she was hearing for the first time.
He said to her, “My beautiful one, we must see the rose of your white milk bloom. My beautiful one, hurry, be a mother and give me a child in my image.” When he saw that she was embarrassed, he said, “All the flowers of the fruits light up my garden, the trees of beauty and the trees of fruits. I work alone in my garden as the sun burns, a dark fire on my hand.” He told her that what he had just said were verses from a poem entitled “Poems for Peace” that Éluard had written after the Great War and in which he was celebrating the soldiers’ return home. That they were not love poems. She was surprised at herself: how could she be listening to this sad lover of poetry when she herself was a merry free spirit, he the Muslim and she the Christian? But she knew that the end was near at hand and that she herself had better end it.
She gave in more. They went together to the gardens of Nuzha and Antoniadis in the midst of the winter flowers. Yvonne now knew the story and begged her sister to spare her and to spare herself. Camilla would hide for a while, then find herself looking for him when she got out of school. As they were walking among the camphor, oak, towering Indian palms, and the bare acacias that would come into full bloom with the advent of spri
ng, he asked her, “How old are you?” “Sixteen,” she said. He told her that he was seventeen, that his life’s dream was to finish secondary school and university, then go to the Sorbonne. Taha Husayn’s educational journey was what he wanted to model his life on. It was not particularly important that he get a doctorate—what he most cared for was to walk in the Latin Quarter, visit the Louvre, Orsay, the Pantheon, the Eiffel Tower, and Montmartre, and on the banks of the Seine, to read poems that soared in the air. In the gardens that day, she let him give her a quick kiss, after which she asked that they go back without delay. The naive lover did not realize that her body almost burst free and held on to him, almost betrayed her and defeated her ability to control it.
For a week after, she did not go to school. She fell ill and had no will to move or eat. In the few moments that they were alone, Yvonne cried and told Camilla that she had pleaded with him to put an end to the relationship, to disappear from Camilla’s life. She told him, “You’re from northern Egypt, Rushdi—you don’t know what southern Egyptians are like. Besides, in this case it’s a compounded problem, a difference in religion, and violation of southern Egyptian customary behavior.” She asked Camilla to forgive her for her desperate action. Rushdi disappeared. He no longer stood in front of the school to wait for Camilla, who now started going more frequently to the school library to borrow the books of French poetry translated into English. She read Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables three times and memorized the streets of Paris, forgetting that that was a century and a half ago.
She soon recovered and laughed as she remembered how madly she had gone along with Rushdi. She also found that as soon as he disappeared, she was rid of any feeling of closeness with him. Was it the difference in religion that helped her to forget? He reappeared during exam period. She saw him waiting for her, holding a red carnation. He told her that after the exams he was going to his village, that his family was originally from the countryside. He also told her that he was sad that the Germans were attacking France viciously, that he was afraid that Paris might fall and Hitler would destroy it as he had destroyed Warsaw. Then he said, as if to himself, that Hitler could not destroy Paris; no one in the world could do that, even if they occupied it. Paris possessed a spiritual force that would stop the worst possible evil in the world; Paris had the power of beauty. He said he had come to say good-bye, to shake her hand quickly, as Yvonne was standing, tensely, at a distance. He apologized for any unease he had caused.
Camilla shook his hand. She remembered him only when Paris fell. She cried because she imagined him in his village, crying over the city that he loved. She had said she wished to visit Pans only because he had said that himself. Then she soon forgot everything. But she asked her mother to give her permission to learn French at the Berlitz School on Saad Zaghloul Street. The mother said she did not mind, on the condition that she went in the mornings, accompanied by Yvonne, who also wanted to learn the language.
When the foreign teacher was explaining the French verbs, she wrote ‘aimer’ on the board and, addressing one of the girls, she said, “Je t’aime.” Camilla found herself involuntarily repeating to herself, “Je l’aime.”
He said, “Sit on the throne and I will present everything to
you.” I did, and he presented
everything to me.
al-Niffari
12
Magd al-Din came back from work, as he did every day since he had started the new job, his hands stained with fuel oil, his back, arms, and legs exhausted, and aching all over. As usual he sat down on the bed, his feet dangling, as Zahra sat on the floor and pulled off his shoes and placed his feet in a small washbasin filled with hot water and salt.
“Are you going to bathe now?”
“Yes. Give me some kerosene, too, to clean my hands.”
She poured some kerosene from a can into a small jug and gave it to him. She also handed him a bar of soap and put the towel on his shoulder and his slippers outside the door of the room. The bathroom was in the hallway for common use. When the water from the shower hit the floor tiles, it was audible to all, but there was no way around it; he had to bathe, since he came back so dirty he could not stand his own skin. He could neither eat nor sleep until he had washed away all the day’s fatigue and dirt.
That day, like all other days, he had to dig into the hard earth under the old crossties, remove the old tracks and ties and, with his co-workers, install new ones—all for for more than one railroad line that needed maintenance or replace-ment. The many trains coming to the harbor left loaded with equipment and troops. The trains coming from Suez carried the African, Australian, and Indian soldiers of the empire all the way to the desert. The trains stopped in front of the pipe with the hose attached, next to which sat the silent man that he had seen the first day. There was an underground water reservoir to supply the steam locomotive; the pipe and the hose were connected to the reservoir, separated by a huge round knob that when turned would release water to the pipe and hose and ultimately to the locomotive. This whole apparatus was called ‘the Raven,’ no one knew why. As for the man sitting there, Hamza, Magd al-Din’s co-worker said he was an insane man who had planted the mulberry tree a long time ago and sat waiting for little birds that never came.
Magd al-Din and Dimyan saw their co-workers leave their jobs and approach every train as it stopped to get fuel and come back carrying little cardboard boxes filled with chocolates, tea, and cookies. The Indian soldiers, with big turbans and long rifles, were more generous than the others. Hamza said of them, “Even though the Indian soldier is Indian, he is smart. I tell him ‘English is good,’ and he says ‘Indian is very good’ and gives me more cookies.”
The workers would laugh at the way Hamza pronounced the English language and wondered where he had learned the many words he used with the soldiers. As soon as they moved away on the trains, Hamza would stand in the middle of the tracks and speak in verse:
The punishment meted out
To humans, big and small,
Is deserved. Many a sin and cruelty they commit
And the angels, they write it all down.
Then he would look at the cookies and the chocolate or whatever he had gotten and exclaim,
If it were just one worry I could handle it,
But I am assailed by three kinds of worries:
One inside, one outside, and
One at the door waiting for me.
The long iron rail is dislodged at a leisurely pace; it rises in a deliberately slow manner, tearing up the wooden flesh of the crossties, raising the long, spiral-shaped nails that leave behind deep round, glowing holes filled with splinters of wood. The rail elevates itself for a short distance then extends and expands, and out of it to one side come other, less thick rails that keep extend into space, shiny brown. Then they turn into large coils that quickly shrink but increase in number, as does the original rail. Then it rears its head and sticks out a forked tongue, stinging Magd al-Din’s leg. He leaps up, into space, but does not come down. He settles on the roof of a train hurtling forward at a crazy speed as the wind makes his hair fly and tears away his jacket, undershirt, and pants. He holds on fast to the train’s shiny roof, with nothing on except his underpants, but he slides down the side of the train and clings to the high edge and cries out, but no one can hear him. The train slows down gradually until it comes to a complete stop in the middle of two rows of people with unfamiliar features. They are laughing hysterically, ceaselessly and their bulging eyes never stop rolling. He falls in their midst. Some of them grab him and scrutinize him viciously, still laughing. The train keeps going, spewing its blue smoke. He sees Zahra in a panic behind the train, calling out to him, “Magd al-Din! Magd al-Din! Sheikh Magd!” while he is hoisted behind her on the hands of the people with strange faces and eyes, who are laughing ceaselessly and viciously. He screams, but his voice is lost in the hundreds of laughing faces. Zahra falls on the crossties and the fuel oil and turns back in pain, limping as the
departing sun hurries to leave and the darkness hurries forth. The men with strange features leave him crouching in the dark, moaning faintly and long, feeling like an orphan. Then torrents of rain come down, with successive claps of thunder, as he shakes violently.
“Magd al-Din! Magd al-Din! Wake up! There’s a raid!”
Zahra was shaking him hard. He leapt up, frightened and swearing, “I bear witness that there is no god but God and that Muhammad is His prophet! Zahra, you’ve saved me from a horrible nightmare!”
Actually Zahra had not heard his moaning but was awakened when Sitt Maryam knocked on their door and told her about the air raid and that they had to go downstairs at once.
“I take refuge in God from Satan the damned. This is the sound of real cannons!”
During the past few weeks, the city of Alexandria had built a number of open shelters in the poorer neighborhoods, but the inhabitants used them to relieve themselves. That forced the municipality to assign policemen to guard the shelters, and stopped the building process. The military court in Alexandria, under the emergency law, held a session to try a poor girl who was practicing prostitution without a license. She was fined three Egyptian pounds. A house in Karmuz was raided for being an unlicensed brothel. When the police surrounded the house, the owner shouted, “Where’s Goebbels? Where’s the Gestapo? I am Hitler!” But the valiant policemen were not fooled. They arrested him and gave him a sound beating on the back of his neck. The newspapers received a great number of letters asking about the beautiful Hollywood actress Norma Shearer and whether she would remarry after the death of her husband. The answer was in the affirmative, that the prospective husband was the actor George Raft, with whom she had a close relationship while her husband was still alive. People were also wary and cautious, as the Italians were a stone’s throw away from Alexandria. That was why, when the air-raid sirens were heard several times in the daytime, they realized immediately that these were no longer drills, and when they saw anti-aircraft guns blasting away, they were certain that the time of drills was gone.
No One Sleeps in Alexandria Page 14
