He didn’t finish because the soldiers guarding them stopped him from chattering on by waving their rifles at him. He put his hand over his mouth. Trembling, he said, “Military Excellency, there’s no need for rifles. I’ve silenced my tongue for good. Life shouldn’t be squandered.”
CHAPTER 25
The five were crammed into a single cell at the prison. They slept all night in their exhaustion. When day came, Mabruk got up before the others. He began to look around the place and check out all the angles. He found high up in a corner a window like a projecting tower and figured out how to hoist himself up there. He looked out between the bars and saw a courtyard. He gazed around it. There, in the center, a trapeze had been erected, with a set of wooden parallel bars beside it. Perhaps they had been placed there so the officers and soldiers could train at gymnastics. But Mabruk didn’t know that. As soon as he saw these things, he dropped down and shouted, “They’ve put up the gallows!”
The honorary president Hanafi opened his eyes at once on hearing that. He shook himself in alarm. Then he sprang to his feet and exclaimed, “The gallows! It’s got to be the gallows! They’re going to hang us! No. That talk doesn’t make sense!”
He looked at Abduh, Muhsin, and Salim, who were sleeping or pretending to sleep in complete tranquility. He shook them and shouted, “Get up! Get up, boys! We’re in big trouble without even knowing it.”
No one answered him. Enraged, he said, “You mean sleep is sweet at a time like this?”
He heard nothing but the echo of his voice from the asphalt. So he said, as though speaking to himself and bemoaning his luck, “Oh . . . you can tell what a day’s going to be like from its dawn. By God, you hooligans, it’s turned out that you’ve dragged me down with you, you’ve brought me to the gallows.” Then he was silent for a little. It seemed that the word gallows when he said it made him realize that the situation might be serious and nothing to joke about. He trembled. “No. This isn’t a laughing matter.”
He was silent for a time, brooding with terror about what awaited them. Suddenly, as though he couldn’t bear even thinking about it, he jumped at his sleeping comrades and began pleading in a frightened voice, “Find us a way, brethren! Do me a favor! God reward you! Get up, Salim. You’re a captain and understand this topic. Don’t you have a pal or fellow officer here, a good man who will find a way out for us? But no, then you’d really be discharged. You’d really be in the mud! So what can we do, Lord? Abduh! Abduh, get up. Devise some plan for us, some stratagem to get us out. Still sleeping! Shame on you. So that’s how it is! You’re no good at anything except fooling around.”
He gave up on them and turned to Mabruk, whose head was lowered while he too thought of the afterlife. His body language suggested he was saying to himself, Your death has arrived, you prayer skipper.
President Hanafi quickly interrupted him and asked urgently, “Are you certain, Mabruk, it’s really a gallows?”
The servant raised his head sorrowfully and replied, “Oh . . . a real gallows . . . what else?”
As though to himself, Hanafi said, “Here’s a disaster for sure! But will they hang us before they hear our case? Even if only before a military tribunal, Muslims? What kind of gallows is it, Mabruk?”
Mabruk said with his head lowered, “A good one!”
President Hanafi fell silent and began to pace back and forth in the cell nervously. He was thinking, reflecting, and arguing with himself. He said from time to time, “It doesn’t make sense! It doesn’t make sense at all!”
Finally he stopped. He turned to Mabruk and asked him to climb up a second time and describe what he saw outside in detail.
The servant obeyed. He looked again at the tall trapeze that had been erected and then at the low parallel bars beside it. He said, “To put it bluntly, they’ve erected a large gallows with a small one beside it.”
Hanafi asked with some doubt and agitation, feeling that Mabruk was kidding, “What do you mean small and large? A large gallows and a small one. . . . What kind of talk is that? Come down, shaykh, none of this foolishness.”
Mabruk cast a final glance at the small parallel bars. Then he said to convince and explain, “By the life of the Prophet’s beard, is that so? This small one must be, no offense intended, for Mr. Muhsin.”
At that moment laughter reverberated through the cell. The three, who had been asleep or pretending to sleep, sat up on their haunches, each in his cot. They were laughing at what Mabruk had said and at Hanafi’s fear. Salim turned to Muhsin and said to him, while laughing, “Hear that? They’ve set up a kiddie gallows for you, just your size.”
The youth replied, smiling, “I thank them in any case, but I would prefer to be hanged with all of you on the big gallows.”
President Hanafi snapped back, “Will you swap with me? By God, I’m content with the little one.”
* * *
• • •
The first thing Zanuba did after the folks were arrested was put on her wrap and go to the telegraph office. She sent a message to Muhsin’s father in Damanhur about what had happened. The communication links had been repaired, at least the Cairo-Alexandria line, and travel the length of this line was possible, but with conditions. Tickets were issued on a personal basis by the government. The news descended on Muhsin’s father and mother like a thunderbolt. His mother began to bewail her calamity, which had begun the day she agreed to send him to Cairo with his uncles.
Yes, there was no secondary school in Damanhur, but she ought to have thought of some other way, instead of trusting his uncles. It was all his father’s fault. He had a good opinion of his brothers in Cairo and imagined they would take care of his son. She began striking her face, giving her husband and his brothers at least their fair share of blame and censure. She was yelling, “Bring me my son! Bring me my son!”
Muhsin’s father did not wait till morning. Instead he packed his suitcase and took the first train he could get to Cairo. There he went like a madman, meeting influential contacts, asking and imploring to no avail. Finally it occurred to him to go to the English irrigation inspector he knew. Perhaps he would assist him with the higher authorities. The idea met with success. The man received him in a way that inspired hope. He took a personal interest in the matter, because the inspector remembered seeing young Muhsin the day of the banquet at the farm. He had been impressed by him and the ease with which he spoke English. But after some inquiries it became clear to him that it was a delicate question, because it was in the hands of the military authorities. For that reason it could not be resolved in one stroke. Muhsin’s father desperately entreated him to intervene, if only to release Muhsin and not the others, who could wait till things quieted down. The inspector agreed to look into it.
The father then got permission to visit the folks at the Citadel prison. When he saw them, and Muhsin among them, he was astonished at their calm and cheerful appearance. After he had questioned them about everything that had happened, when the visit was coming to a close, he took Muhsin aside and told him to be brave and patient for just a day or two, since efforts were being made now to get him released, by himself. As soon as the young boy heard this he backed away. His face was flushed with anger and rage. He shouted, “Do you think I would accept to be released and leave my uncles here?”
The father was bewildered and anxiously turned to the others in confusion. He informed them it was impossible to free them now and that all he might be able to arrange was possibly to get Muhsin out alone. He asked their help in convincing the young boy, since his age and health weren’t suitable for prison life. They all gathered around Muhsin, asking him to allow himself to be freed, with warm and sincere voices. He should obey and consent to leave, because he was young and not their age . . . and . . . and . . .
But Muhsin at times, and especially with regard to this issue, could be very stubborn. The visit ended that way. The father left; an idea that
had just occurred to him made him smile. When the order to release Muhsin came down, whether or not he agreed would not matter, for it would be carried out by military force.
Following that visit, Muhsin became depressed. He expected the door to open at any moment and to be separated by force from his companions. He waited anxiously in this manner and at times with secret embarrassment when he remembered he would be released as a result of his father’s efforts, while his uncles and Mabruk were left with no one to assist them. What pleasure would there be to life by himself in Damanhur, or in any other place, when he had felt the joy of sharing with his colleagues, the folks, in all variety of circumstances and times?
Pain, no matter how great, diminished when they all shared it. Bearing it seemed easy when they bore it together. Indeed it was transformed at times into solace that delightfully refreshed them. What did his father and mother want for him except isolation and egotism? From his inner depths he prayed secretly to God that his father’s efforts would fail.
God apparently answered this fervent prayer. The English investigator returned sad and regretful, because after making a genuine effort, he had only been able to accomplish one thing for now. The young prisoner, or he and those with him, would be transferred to the prison hospital, where treatment was milder and living conditions were better.
He told the distraught father, “Calm down. In the prison hospital it will be just as though they were in a hotel or at home. This is the best place for them to pass the time in comfort, far from the strife in the city, until the day comes when they can be released. Naturally the question is sensitive now since the situation in the country is still critical. But after a few more days, who knows? You can be sure they’ll be the first to be released, just as soon as the situation is stabilized. They are only detained temporarily for a set period of time. I won’t abandon them. You can be sure of that. You can return to your community with your mind at rest, satisfied that you can depend on me.”
Muhsin’s father quieted down a little in response to the inspector’s noble sentiments. Then he said hesitantly, “You mean I should go home? What will I tell his mother?”
The inspector answered him decisively in a confident and assured tone, “Go! I’m here!”
The folks were transferred to the hospital. The same day, Muhsin’s father, accompanied by the inspector, went to visit Muhsin and his comrades in their new abode. The father began to stare around him at how beautifully everything was arranged. The beds were clean and in a row. There was a garden where anyone who wanted could go for a stroll—that is, anyone convalescent. There was a library, which contained a handsome array of books, as well as waiting and visiting rooms with leather chairs and couches.
He felt relieved. The inspector noticed and put his hand lightly on his shoulder. He said, “It seems to me that we can feel more at ease about their being here than at home. Here at least they are far removed from the disturbances and danger. The hospital is responsible for them.”
Hamid Bey, Muhsin’s father, was totally reassured and decided to return to Damanhur in order to calm his anxious wife and to let her know that Muhsin was surrounded by security, comfort, and peace. After he thanked the English inspector for his gallantry, he left him to get his bag. He would take Zanuba with him to Damanhur, since there was no reason for her to stay on alone amid the turmoil of Cairo.
Zanuba wrapped up the parcels containing her possessions but didn’t want to travel before seeing her brothers and Muhsin in the hospital. Hamid Bey consented and the next morning accompanied her there. They found them in the ward, where they slept with their five beds lined up one beside the other. She stopped for a moment in surprise at this sight. They looked the same, just as though they were in their communal bedroom in the house on Salama Street!
Her eyes fell on Mabruk, who was stretched out on the bed next to Hanafi’s. He was lolling under his covers in new, spotlessly clean white sheets. Zanuba couldn’t keep herself from exclaiming, “Mabruk, you’ve got it made now! You waited patiently and struck it rich. Finally you’re sleeping in a real live bed.”
Mabruk looked at her without rising from his prone position. He said with a smile, “You see?”
Then he rose halfway in bed, leaning on his elbow, and said, “I’m going to tell you something. My body’s gotten used to sleeping on beds, and that’s that. By your honor and that of my mother, I will never sleep on a wooden table again. You all, all kidding aside, made a fool of me and had me thinking it was a bed.”
Meanwhile Hamid Bey, Muhsin’s father, was in the corridor outside, where he stopped a physician he knew and began to converse with him. He had already directed Zanuba to the ward where her brothers were so she could go straight to them and not wait for him.
After talking with Mabruk, Zanuba began to converse with the others. She learned from speaking with President Hanafi that he was happy with the hospital and especially with sleeping in this ward. The quiet was total and all-encompassing. The folks did not dare make a row or raise a ruckus, because they were subject here to the orders of the head nurse, not to the honorary president.
Salim asked about goings-on in the district and especially for news of effects of the recent events on its inhabitants or their neighbors.
Zanuba understood what he was getting at and smiled pallidly. With a sigh, she said in an insidious tone, “May you have such a happy wedding! The betrothal has taken place for sure, and the festivities will come soon.”
He kept silent and did not reply. Muhsin turned over on his left side to look toward Abduh’s bed and exchange some pleasantry with him in order to conceal the sorrow of his heart. Abduh for his part responded to this pleasantry with feigned attention. The bitterness in his eyes was mixed with indignation, even anger. He did not want to remember.
* * *
• • •
Yes, the marriage contract of Mustafa Raji and Saniya Hilmi became a reality. Mustafa had come to Cairo the day that communications were reopened with Cairo, a day he had been awaiting impatiently. He met with Saniya’s father, Dr. Ahmad Hilmi, and they agreed to conduct the wedding the day the situation calmed down, the day the mighty exile returned to an unsettled Egypt.
Thus, the day Muhsin and his comrades were released from the prison hospital coincided with the day of Saniya’s wedding to Mustafa.
* * *
• • •
By a curious coincidence, the doctor whom Hamid Bey stopped in the corridor and whom he had known since he had a practice in the rural areas around Damanhur al-Buhayra was the same doctor who had made a house call on the folks at Salama Street when they were all ill with influenza. At that time the physician had been amazed to see them all grouped together in one room, one bed beside the next, as though they were in a military barracks or a hospital ward. This physician had not been able to keep from shouting at them, “No . . . this isn’t a house. It’s a hospital!”
He had smiled with surprise to see they had Mabruk, the servant, with them on the dining table, which by night became a bed. He had asked himself in amazement what induced them to squeeze together this way into a single room: Do you suppose they’re peasants who grew up in the country and became accustomed to living together, along with their livestock, in one room?
* * *
• • •
Muhsin’s father, Hamid Bey, during his conversation with the doctor, asked why he was there and learned he was now a doctor in the hospital. He seized the opportunity to ask him to look out for his son and brothers.
The doctor entered the ward and cast his eyes on the folks, who were lying down, one next to the other. He looked at their expressions and faces and remembered them. He remembered the ward in their home. He stood there in astonishment for a moment. Then he shouted good-humoredly, “Is it you? And here again too, each beside the other; each next to his brother!”
Paris, Gambetta, 1927
Glossa
ry
Abbas Bridge: The Roda-to-Giza bridge, built in AD 1907 for Khedive Abbas II.
Abduh al-Hamuli: Egyptian singer and composer, lived ca. AD 1845–1901.
abla: Older sister; a respectful way for a young person to address an older woman.
battaw: Rustic corn or sorghum bread.
Champollion, Jean-François (1790–1832): French archaeologist and Egyptologist who deciphered the Rosetta stone.
cottage cheese (gibna arish): Fat-free salted white cheese.
diwan: A poet’s collected works.
farik: Green wheat that is roasted, cracked, and stewed.
Fatima: Daughter of the Prophet Muhammad.
Feast of the Sacrifice, Great Feast, Eid al-Adha, Id al-Adha, Id al-Kabir: Major Islamic holiday that takes place during the month of pilgrimage to Mecca.
fino: French-style white bread.
flu: 1918 flu pandemic, also known as Spanish flu or Spanish fever; worldwide health crisis between June 1918 and December 1920 that killed 50 million to 100 million people.
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