Children of the Alley

by Naguib Mahfouz

  “Look at this woman! She was born in our house, like her mother before her, but she’s not afraid to spy on us!”

  He looked disapprovingly at Sakina until she cried out in her coppery voice, “I’m not a spy, master, but my lady is so mean!”

  There was a panic in Qamar’s eyes that she failed to hide. “I saw her smile and tell me, ‘God willing, by the time the feast comes next year, Qassem will be master of the whole alley, just as Gabal was in Al Hamdan Alley.’ Ask her what she meant by that.”

  Qassem frowned, worried. “What do you mean, Sakina?”

  “I mean what I said,” the slave answered with her natural daring. “I’m not a servant like the rest of them, working here today and somewhere else tomorrow. I’m a daughter of this house, and it was not right to hide a secret from me.”

  The man and his wife exchanged a look; he motioned at the child, and she came and took her away from him. He ordered the slave to sit down, and she sat at his feet.

  “Is it right to tell strangers to this house your secret, while I was kept in the dark?”

  “What secret are you talking about?”

  “Qandil’s talk with you at Hind’s Rock!” she said with the same boldness.

  Qamar gasped, but Qassem motioned the slave to continue.

  “The same as happened with Gabal and Rifaa before. You aren’t any less than they are, sir, you are a master. Even when you were a shepherd, you were a master. I was the go-between that brought you together, don’t you remember? I should have been told before anyone else. How can you trust outsiders and not trust your Sakina? God forgive you both, but I pray for your victory, yes, I pray for your victory over the overseer and the gangsters. Who doesn’t want that for you?”

  “You had no right to spy on us!” shouted Qamar, rocking the baby in nervous jerks. “We won’t forget about it either.”

  “I didn’t mean to spy, God is my witness,” Sakina insisted with genuine heat. “But I heard, from behind the door, some talk that I listened to. I couldn’t help it. No one could have closed their ears to that. What breaks my heart, ma’am, is that you don’t trust me. I’m not a spy. You’re the last person I’d ever betray, and who would I be spying for anyway? God forgive you, ma’am.”

  Qassem was watching her very closely, with his eyes and heart. When she was finished, he spoke calmly. “You are loyal, Sakina. I don’t doubt your loyalty.”

  She stared at him, curious and hopeful, and said, “Long life to you, sir, I am loyal.”

  “I know loyal people,” he said softly. “Treason will never grow in my house, as it did in the house of my brother Rifaa. Qamar, this woman is as loyal as you are. Don’t worry about her. She is ours, and we are hers, and I will never forget that she was my messenger of happiness.”

  “But she was eavesdropping,” said Qamar in a voice that sounded a little mollified.

  “She wasn’t eavesdropping. Our voices were carried to her by God’s will,” Qassem said, smiling. “The same way Rifaa heard his ancestor’s voice without trying. Bless you, Sakina.”

  The slave snatched his hand and covered it with kisses. “I’d die for you, sir. By God, may you triumph over your enemies and our enemies until you reign over the whole alley.”

  “Reigning isn’t what we want, Sakina.”

  She laid out her hands in prayerful supplication. “May God give you everything you want!”

  “Amen.” He smiled at her. “You’ll be my messenger, if I need a messenger, and that way you can be part of our mission.”

  The woman’s face gleamed with joy, and her eyes spoke clearly of her pride.

  “If God wills that the estate should be shared, as we want, no woman will be deprived, whether she be a lady or a servant.” As she was still tongue-tied with surprise, he added, “Gabalawi said that the estate is everyone’s, and you, Sakina, are a granddaughter of Gabalawi, just like Qamar, equally.”

  The woman’s face beamed with delight, and she looked gratefully at her mistress. From the alley came the tune of a dancer’s pipe. Someone shouted, “Lahita, happy holidays!” Qassem turned toward the street and saw a procession of gangsters riding fine horses all adorned, being welcomed by people’s shouts and cheers. They headed toward the desert to compete, in accordance with their holiday custom, in races and fencing matches. No sooner had their procession passed by than Agrama appeared in the alley, staggering drunkenly. Qassem smiled at the sight of the boy, whom he considered one of the most faithful members of the club, and followed him with his gaze as he stood exactly in the middle of the Desert Rats’ neighborhood and began to shout, “I’m tough!”

  “Prince of the Desert Rats!” called a jeering voice from a nearby building in Rifaa.

  Agrama turned his two bloodshot eyes up at the window. “It’s our turn now, bitch!” he shouted drunkenly.

  A crowd of boys, drunks and swaying drug addicts gathered around him, loudly singing, trilling, drumming and piping in a loud uproar.

  “Listen!” a voice shouted. “It’s the Desert Rats’ turn. Don’t you want to hear that?”

  “One grandfather for everyone!” Agrama called, staggering. “One estate for everyone. Goodbye to gang rule.”

  Then he vanished in the crowd, and Qassem jumped up, grabbed his cloak and ran out of the room, saying, “God damn alcohol!”

  77

  “Avoid appearing drunk in public,” said Qassem earnestly, frowning, as he sat by Hind’s Rock, looking into the faces of his close friends, all members of the club: Sadeq, Hassan, Agrama, Shaaban, Abu Fisada and Hamroush. The mountain loomed loftily behind them, the portents of night descending on it. The desert was empty except for a shepherd leaning on his staff, far off to the south.

  Agrama’s head was bowed. “I wish I had died before doing that,” he said sadly.

  “It was a mistake that apologies can’t fix,” said Qassem coolly. “The important thing for me now is to find out how much of an impression your folly has had on our enemies.”

  “Everyone heard him, that much is sure,” said Sadeq.

  “I saw that for myself in the Gabal Coffeehouse, where one of my Gabal friends invited me to meet some people,” said Hassan gloomily. “I heard a man talking loudly about what Agrama did—yes, and he was laughing mockingly, but I think it’s possible his story will make people suspicious, and I’m afraid it will be told and retold until one of the gangsters hears it.”

  “Don’t exaggerate, Hassan,” sighed Agrama.

  “Exaggerating is better than ignoring it, otherwise we might not be ready for them!”

  “We swore that we wouldn’t fear death!” said Agrama.

  “The same way we swore to keep the secret!” said Sadeq sharply.

  “If we perish now, all our great hopes will be squandered,” said Qassem.

  Their depression mounted as darkness fell, until Qassem spoke again. “Well, let’s make a plan.”

  “Let’s make a plan assuming the worst,” said Hassan.

  “Which means fighting,” said Qassem gloomily.

  They all nodded and exchanged looks in the shadows. The stars gradually appeared over their heads, and a wind blew in whose billows traces of the day’s heat lingered like evil intentions.

  “We will fight to the death,” said Hamroush.

  “And things will be the way they’ve always been!” said Qassem crossly.

  “They would beat us in no time,” said Sadeq.

  “Luckily, you’re related to Sawaris,” Abu Fisada said to Qassem, “and your wife is related to the overseer’s wife. Besides, Lahita was a friend of your father’s when they were young.”

  “That might postpone fate, but it won’t stop it,” said Qassem coolly.

  “Don’t you remember that at one time you were thinking of getting a lawyer?” asked Sadeq hopefully.

  “And we were told that no lawyer would dare challenge the overseer and the gangsters.”

  “There’s a lawyer in Bait al-Qadi known for his courage,” said Agrama,
trying to mitigate his sin.

  “The thing I’m most afraid of is that we’d be proclaiming our hostility with a suit. Maybe our fears of the consequences of what Agrama said are premature,” said Sadeq, as if he had changed his mind.

  “Let’s consult the lawyer about it,” said Agrama. “We’ll arrange with him to delay filing the suit until we’re forced to. We’ll find someone to take care of it for us, even if it’s someone from outside the alley.”

  Qassem and the others agreed to this as a precautionary measure, and immediately got up and went to the office of Shanafiri, the lawyer in Bait al-Qadi. The sheikh met with them, and Qassem explained their case, telling him that their intention was to postpone filing the suit for a time, and in the meantime he could study the subject and prepare to take all the necessary steps. Contrary to their expectations, he agreed to take the case, and collected an advance on his fee, and they left him highly satisfied. They went their different ways, the friends going back to the alley while Qassem went to see Yahya. They sat in the entryway of the hut, smoking and chatting. Yahya seemed sorry at what had happened, and advised Qassem to be cautious and alert.

  After that Qassem went home, and when Qamar opened the door to him, there was something in her face that alarmed him. He asked her what was wrong.

  “His excellency the overseer has summoned you!”

  “When?” His heart was pounding.

  “The last time was ten minutes ago.”

  “The last time!”

  “He’s sent three messengers in the last few hours!” Her eyes swam with tears.

  “That isn’t what I expect from you,” he said.

  “Don’t go,” she sobbed.

  He pretended to be calm. “Going is safer than disobeying, and remember, those thieves never attack people in their own homes.”

  Ihsan began crying within, and Sakina rushed to her. “Don’t go until I can talk to Lady Amina.”

  “That would not be worthy of us,” he said firmly. “I’ll go right now. There’s no reason to be afraid—none of them know anything about me.”

  She held him. “He’s summoned you, not Agrama. I’m afraid some of them have informed on you.”

  He pulled away from her tenderly. “I’ve told you from the beginning that our days of peace are over. All of us know that we’ll have to face harm sooner or later. Don’t be so sad. Take care until I come back.”

  78

  The gatekeeper came back out of the overseer’s house and told Qassem, with mild rudeness, “Come in.”

  He walked ahead and Qassem followed, making every effort to master his emotions. The sweet smell of the garden wafted to him, but he did not look around until he found himself in front of the reception hall. The gatekeeper moved to the side, and Qassem entered, firm-hearted to a degree he had never seen in himself before. He looked ahead of him and saw the overseer sitting on a sofa at the far end of the hall. There were two other men seated on chairs, one on the overseer’s right and the other to his left. He could not see who they were, and it did not occur to him to pay attention to them. He approached the overseer where he sat until he stood an arm’s length away, and raised his hand in greeting.

  “Good evening, Your Excellency the overseer.”

  He noticed, unintentionally, that the man at his right was Lahita; he meant only to glance at the other, but stared in spite of himself, for the shock nearly paralyzed him: the man was none other than Sheikh Shanafiri, the lawyer! He understood the gravity of the situation, that his secret was discovered, that the despicable lawyer had betrayed his trust and that he had stepped into a trap. Despair struggled in his heart with rage and exasperation. He knew that cunning and deceit would not save him, so he decided to be strong and defiant. He could not retreat a single step; he had to advance, or at least hold his ground. He remembered this situation in the days that followed; he dated from this day the birth of a new person within himself, whose existence he had never imagined. He was pulled from the whirlpool of thoughts by the overseer’s coarse voice.

  “You are Qassem?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, and sounded natural.

  “Are you surprised to see this learned man here?” he asked, without inviting him to be seated.

  “No, sir,” he said in the same tone of voice.

  “Are you a shepherd?” the overseer asked mockingly.

  “I haven’t been a shepherd for more than two years.”

  “What is your job now?”

  “I manage my wife’s property.”

  A brief, sarcastic nod was his answer, and then the overseer gestured for the lawyer to speak.

  “You might be surprised to see me here, since I’m your lawyer,” the sheikh said to Qassem, “but the overseer’s rank supersedes all such considerations. My conduct gives you an opportunity to repent, which is better than getting mixed up in some antagonism that would lead to your ruin. His excellency the overseer has permitted me to inform you that I have interceded with him on your behalf for a pardon, if you ask his forgiveness. Please appreciate my good intentions. Here is the advance fee—I’m returning it to you.”

  Qassem stared at him harshly.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the truth when I was in your office?”

  The lawyer was surprised at his boldness, but the overseer stepped in. “You are here to answer questions, not ask them.”

  The lawyer stood up and asked permission to leave, then went out, pulling his cloak around him to hide his agitation.

  The overseer fixed Qassem with a cruel stare and spoke as if cursing. “How did you allow yourself to be seduced into trying to sue me?”

  He was being trapped into either fighting or being killed. He did not know what to say.

  “Talk. Tell me what you are doing. Are you crazy?”

  “Praise God, I am sane,” said Qassem despondently.

  “That certainly isn’t obvious to me. Why did you dare to do such an evil thing? You haven’t been poor since that crazy woman decided to accept you as her husband. What did you want from your deed?”

  Qassem took the offensive, the better to control his anger. “I don’t want anything for myself.”

  The overseer glanced at Lahita as if to call his attention to the strange things he was hearing, then redirected his eyes angrily back to Qassem. “Then why did you do what you did?” he shouted.

  “All I wanted was justice,” said Qassem.

  The man’s eyes narrowed with hatred. “Do you think that your wife’s kinship with my lady can protect you?”

  “No, sir,” said Qassem, lowering his eyes.

  “Are you a gangster, capable of challenging all the other gangsters in the alley?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Admit that you are crazy, and get out!” the man yelled.

  “Praise God, I am sane.”

  “Why did you dare to file a suit against me?”

  “I wanted justice.”

  “For whom?”

  “For all,” answered Qassem, his eyes thoughtful.

  The overseer looked searchingly, skeptically at Qassem’s face. “What business is that of yours?”

  “It would satisfy Gabalawi’s conditions,” said Qassem, almost drunk with courage.

  “You Desert Rat!” screamed the overseer. “You speak of Gabalawi’s terms!”

  “He is our ancestor, the ancestor of all of us.”

  The overseer jumped to his feet in a rage and whipped Qassem across the face with his fly whisk, using all his strength. “Our ancestor!” he shouted. “Not one of you even knows who his own father is, but you have the insolence to say ‘our ancestor’! You thieves! You rats! You trash! You persist in your insolence, and depend on this house to protect you and your wife, but even a dog in this house loses his protection when he bites the hand of his benefactors.”

  Lahita stood up to calm the overseer’s agitation. “Have a seat, sir. It is not right for this insect to spoil your peace of mind.”

  Rifaat sat down, his lips t
rembling with rage. “Even the Desert Rats have designs on the estate, and have the insolence to say ‘our ancestor.’ ”

  “It’s clear that what people say about the Desert Rats is right,” said Lahita, taking his seat. “Unfortunately for our alley, it is going straight to Hell.” He turned to Qassem. “Your father was one of my oldest friends—don’t make me kill you.”

  “He deserves something more terrible than death for what he’s done!” shouted the overseer. “If it weren’t for my lady, he’d be among the dead already!”

  Lahita resumed questioning Qassem. “Listen to me, my boy. Tell me who’s behind you.”

  “Who are you talking about, sir?” asked Qassem, whose face still stung where the fly whisk had lashed it.

  “Who pushed you to file that suit?”

  “No one but myself.”

  “You were a shepherd before fate smiled on you. What more do you want?”

  “Justice. Justice, sir.”

  “Justice!” shrieked the overseer, grinding his teeth. “You dogs, you trash, that’s your password whenever you decide to rob and plunder.” He turned to Lahita. “Make him confess!”

  Lahita addressed Qassem in a tone of mingled solemnity and menace. “Tell me who is behind you!”

  “Our ancestor,” said Qassem with unseen provocation.

  “Our ancestor!”

  “Yes. Read his conditions and you will see that he is the one behind me.”

  Again Rifaat jumped to his feet. “Get him out of my face!” he shouted. “Throw him out!”

  Lahita stood up and took Qassem by the arm. He walked him to the door, grasping his arm in an iron fist, which Qassem bore patiently, and then whispered in his ear, “Do yourself a favor and come to your senses. Don’t force me to drink your blood.”