The men abandoned the ledge and ran toward the southern side of the square. Qassem commanded the defenders at the passage to be even more alert, ordered Khurda to have capable women join the defenders of the passage, then ran, with Sadeq and Hassan on either side of him, to the center of his men in the square. Lahita was visible to all of them, leading a large gang of men coming from south of the mountain.
“He distracted us with his men, so that he could make his way around the mountain, to attack us by the southern road,” raged Qassem.
“He is walking into his own death!” shouted Hassan, his massive body swelled up with enthusiasm.
“We must win, and we will win,” said Qassem.
His men spread around him like two strong arms as the advancing force came closer, clubs in the air, looking like a patch of thorns. As they came nearer into view, Sadeq said, “Galta isn’t with them. Neither is Hagag!”
Qassem realized that Galta and Hagag were leading the siege below the mountain, and guessed that they would attack the passage no matter what it cost them, though he confided his suspicions to no one. He took a few steps forward, brandishing his club, and his men gripped theirs.
Lahita’s crude voice rang out. “You’ll never get a burial service, you sons of whores!” he shouted.
Qassem and his men sped forward to attack, and the others flung themselves forward like a hail of stones, until their clubs clashed together, and raging and clamor grew loud. At the same time, bricks were launched at attacks below by the women defending the opening of the passage, but every one of Qassem’s men was locked in battle with an enemy attacker. Qassem and Dingil fought hard and artfully. Lahita’s club landed on Hamroush’s collarbone, breaking it. Sadeq and Zainhum fought long and hard, but Hassan lashed out with his furious club, and Zainhum dropped. Lahita struck Zuqla, knocking him over. Qassem was able to wound Dingil on the ear, and the man screamed and retreated, then slumped over. Zainhum made a fierce lunge at Sadeq, but Sadeq speedily made a thrust at his belly that stopped his hands, then made a second thrust that dropped him. Khurda fought off Hafnawi, but Lahita crippled his arm before he could savor his victory. Hassan aimed a blow at Lahita, but he dodged it nimbly and raised his club to strike back. Before he could, Qassem swung his club, and their clubs clashed; like the wind, Abu Fisada came in to deliver a third blow, but Lahita butted him with his head and broke his nose; Lahita looked like a force that could not be resisted. The fighting grew fiercer, with the clubs batting one another relentlessly, a flood of curses and obscenities, and blood spurted in the fiery sun. Each side in turn lost men who dropped to the ground. Lahita burned with rage at this heroic resistance, which he had never expected, and redoubled his forays, his blows and his cruelty. On the other side, Qassem ordered Hassan and Agrama to seize the opportunity to join him attacking Lahita, to destroy the backbone that gave the attackers strength.
One of the women defending the opening of the passage suddenly came to shout, “They’re coming up with dough boards for shields!”
The mountain men’s hearts froze.
“You’ll never get a burial service, you sons of whores!” shouted Lahita.
“Win before the criminals come up!” Qassem shouted to his men.
He went for Lahita, flanked by Hassan and Agrama. The gangster met him with a terrible blow he deflected with his club. Agrama wanted to anticipate him with a blow, but the gangster hit him on the chin, and he sprawled out on his face. Hassan jumped in front of him and they exchanged two blows; Hassan threw himself on him, and they were locked in a deadly struggle. The women at the passage began to scream, and some of them started to flee, endangering the position. Qassem quickly sent Sadeq and several men to the mountain ledge, then charged at Lahita, but Zihlifa blocked his way, and they engaged in violent combat. Hassan pushed Lahita back with all his strength, and he took one step back. He spat in Lahita’s eye, roared and kicked him, crippling one of his knees. With lightning speed, Hassan attacked him, hunched low, and butted him in the stomach like a raging bull; the tyrant lost his balance and fell backward. Hassan knelt over him and slammed his club over his neck with both hands, pushing it down with all his strength. Men hurried over to defend their gangster, but Qassem and some of his men fought them off. Lahita kicked his feet, his eyes bulged and his face was bright with blood. He began to choke. Suddenly Hassan leaped up to stand over his powerless adversary, and swung his club in a wild, furious blow, smashing Lahita’s skull, killing him.
“Lahita is dead!” he thundered. “Your protector is dead! Look at his corpse!”
Lahita’s unexpected death had a violent effect, as the fighters’ resolution either flared up or waned, and hope and despair drove the bitter fighting. Hassan joined Qassem in his struggle, and not one of his blows failed. Men sprang out and stood firm, and clubs were swung and then brought down. The dust rose and blew away, and combatants were seized by a bloody daze. Their lungs spewed curses, screams, obscenities, moans and menacing yells. Every few moments a man staggered and fell, or retreated and fled. The field was covered with the fallen, and blood glistened in the sunlight. Qassem turned aside to look over at the opening of the passage, which preyed on his mind, and saw Sadeq and his men passing down stones in baskets with a fervid tension that indicated the approach of mounting danger. He heard the women, his wife among them, as they screamed for help. He saw some of Sadeq’s men hefting their clubs in preparation for meeting the enemies who would ascend through the downpour of stones. He assessed the danger, at once started toward Lahita’s body, for the battle had moved away from it as the men from the alley had pulled back, and dragged it behind him toward the opening of the passage. He shouted for Sadeq, who hurried to him, and they both took up the corpse and carried it to the beginning of the passage. They heaved it together and threw it, and it landed, then rolled down and stopped at the feet of the climbers holding the boards, throwing them into confusion.
Hagag’s voice reverberated as he shouted in rage. “Forward! Climb! Death to the criminals!”
“Forward!” shouted Qassem scornfully, with strange self-control. “This is your protector’s corpse, and your other men’s corpses are behind me. Forward! We are waiting for you!”
He gave the men and women a sign, and rocks flew like rain until the attackers’ vanguard halted and then began to retreat slowly, despite the urging of Hagag and Galta. Qassem could hear the babble of argument, protest and complaint.
“Galta!” Qassem called. “Hagag! Come forward—don’t run!”
“Come down, if you are men!” Galta bawled hatefully. “Come down, you women, you bastards!”
Hagag, standing amidst a wave of retreating men, shouted, “I won’t live any longer without drinking your blood, you stinking shepherd!”
Qassem picked up a stone and threw it with all his might. The rain of stones continued, and the retreating wave moved more quickly, until almost everyone was carried along. Hassan came up and wiped the streaming blood from his forehead.
“The battle’s over,” he said. “The survivors have fled south.”
“Call the men to follow them!” said Qassem.
“You’re bleeding from the teeth and chin!” Sadeq pointed out.
He wiped his mouth and chin with his palm, spread it out and saw that it was bright red.
“They killed eight of us,” said Hassan sadly. “Our survivors are badly wounded and won’t be able to move.”
He looked down through the hail of stones to see his enemies racing through the end of the passage.
“If they had kept coming, they wouldn’t have found anyone to resist them here,” said Sadeq. He kissed Qassem’s bloody chin and said gratefully, “Your brain saved us!”
Qassem ordered two men to stand guard at the top of the passage, and sent others to pursue the retreating force and to reconnoiter, then walked back, between Sadeq and Hassan, as they limped wearily and heavily to the square, on whose surface nothing was left but corpses. It had been a massacre, and what a mas
sacre! Eight of his men had been killed, and ten of his enemies, not counting Lahita. None of his living men had been spared a broken bone or wound. They had made their way back to their huts, where the women began to bandage their wounds, while the huts of the dead were loud with shouts and sobs. Badriya came, grief-stricken, and had them come into the hut so that she could wash their wounds, then Sakina came carrying Ihsan, who was shrieking with tears. The sun, at its zenith, flung its fire below as the kites and crows circled and dipped in the hot air, which reeked of blood and earth. Ihsan did not stop crying, but no one paid attention to her. Even the giant Hassan seemed to be tottering.
“God have mercy on our dead,” murmured Sadeq.
“God have mercy on the dead and the living too,” said Qassem.
Suddenly awakening to a kind of rapture, Hassan said, “Soon we will have victory, and our alley will say farewell to its age of blood and terror.”
“Down with terror and blood,” said Qassem.
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The alley had never known a catastrophe like this. The men returned silent, dazed and feeble, their eyes cast down, as if studying the surface of the ground. They found that news of the defeat had preceded them to the alley, and that their homes resounded with wailing and the smacking of cheeks in mourning. The news spread through every lane and alley, making the alley’s imposing reputation the gloating gossip of every vengeful tongue. It came to light that the Desert Rats had entirely evacuated their neighborhood from fear of revenge: the houses and shops were empty, and no one doubted that they had all joined their victorious compatriot, increasing his numbers and strength. Sorrow descended over the whole mourning-dulled alley, but its hot breath dripped with resentment, loathing and lust for revenge. The men of Gabal wondered who would be the next protector of the alley, and everyone in Rifaa wondered the same thing. Distrust spread like dust in a gale. The overseer, Rifaat, learned what mutters were circulating, and summoned Galta and Hagag to a meeting. They came, each surrounded by his toughest men, so that the overseer’s reception hall was overcrowded. Each group occupied one side of the hall, as if neither felt safe mixing with the other any longer. The overseer was not slow to see the significance of this, and it made him even more worried.
“You know that we have suffered a catastrophe, but we have survived,” he said. “It has not stopped us. We are still capable of achieving victory with our own hands, as long as we maintain our unity. Otherwise we are finished.”
“We will strike the last blow,” said one of the men of Gabal, “and then we will never have this problem again.”
“If they had not taken refuge on the mountain, they would all be dead,” said Hagag.
“Lahita engaged them after a long, terrible journey that would have brought a camel to its knees,” said a third man.
“Tell me about your unity—how united are you?” asked the overseer irritably.
“We are brothers, by God’s grace, and always will be,” Galta said.
“That’s what you say, but the way you came here in these numbers is a sign of the distrust that divides you.”
“That’s because of the revenge that we all want,” Hagag said.
The overseer stood tensely, and gazed at the rows of somber faces.
“Be frank. You are all watching each other with one eye, and have the other on Lahita’s empty position. The alley will never be safe as long as this is the case. The worst thing would be for the thing to be settled with clubs. You would all be ruined, and Qassem would eat you for breakfast.”
“God forbid—never!” many of them shouted.
“The alley has only two neighborhoods now, Gabal and Rifaa. We can have two protectors. There is no need to have just one. Let us commit ourselves to that, so that we can act as one against the rebels.”
Dreadful moments of silence passed, then several voices spoke in tepid agreement.
“Yes…yes.”
“We will go along with that,” said Galta, “even though we have been the elect of this alley since earliest history.”
“We will accept, but no one is doing us a favor,” protested Hagag. “There are no masters or servants here, especially since the Desert Rats are gone. Who could deny, after all, that Rifaa was the noblest man this alley ever saw?”
“Hagag!” objected Galta resentfully. “I know what you’re getting at.”
One of the Al Rifaa was about to say something, but the overseer began to shout angrily. “Tell me! Have you made up your minds to act like men, or not? If any word of your weakness gets out, the Desert Rats will march down the mountain like wolves. Tell me, are you able to agree and stand together, or should I make other plans?”
The answer was scattered.
“Shhhhhh!”
“Shame!”
“The alley is going to lose everything!”
Eventually they all looked at him resignedly.
“You still have better numbers and greater strength, but don’t attack the mountain again.” Their faces were questioning. “We will imprison them up there on the mountain. We will occupy the two roads that lead to the mountain, and they will either starve to death or be forced to come down to you, and you will kill them.”
“Good idea,” said Galta. “I pointed that out to Lahita, God rest his soul, but he considered sieges cowardly and insisted on attacking.”
“That’s the idea,” said Hagag. “But we have to delay doing it until the men are rested.”
The overseer asked them to commit themselves to brotherhood and cooperation, and they all shook hands and swore they would. In the days that followed, it became clear to anyone who could see that Galta and Hagag were much harder on their followers, to hide the effect of the defeat they had suffered. They spread the word in the alley that if it had not been for Lahita’s stupidity, they could have destroyed Qassem easily; his insistence on going up the mountain had exhausted the men and strained their strength and courage—they had met the enemy in terrible shape. The people believed what they were told, and anyone who showed skepticism was cursed, insulted and beaten. No one was allowed to get into discussions about the leading position in the alley, at least publicly, but many people—of both Gabal and Rifaa—debated, in the drug dens, who would replace Lahita after the victory. Despite the agreement and all the oaths, an atmosphere of secret suspicion had taken root in the alley. Every gangster kept himself surrounded, and never went far from his base without a crowd of his men. But preparations for the day of revenge never stopped for a moment. They agreed among themselves that Galta and his men would camp at the Muqattam Road, at the marketplace, Hagag and his men would camp at the Citadel Road, and neither group would leave their positions at all, even if it meant spending the rest of their lives there. Their womenfolk would take over the buying and selling, and would bring them food. In the evening of the day before they were supposed to head out, they gathered in all the drug dens. They brought flasks of wine and liquor, and drank and smoked hashish until late that night. Hagag’s men said goodbye to him in front of his building in Rifaa; he was in a state of superb pleasure and relaxation. He pushed open the door and walked down the hallway, humming “First we—” but he never finished. A figure seized him from behind, clapped a hand over his mouth and with the other hand drove a knife into his heart. The body shuddered powerfully in his arms, but, not wanting to let it drop and make a sound, he laid it down gently on the floor, where it did not move in the gloomy shadows.
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The alley awoke early the next morning to a startling outburst of screams. Windows flew open and heads popped out, and people ran toward the building where Hagag, the protector of the Rifaa community, lived, where a numerous crowd had gathered. Wails of mourning were interrupted by shouts, and the hall of the building was filled with men and women making comments and asking questions; eyes red with weeping warned of truly perilous mischief. The people of Rifaa ran from every building, every house and basement, and before long Galta and his men came. People made way for them unti
l they reached the hall.
“This is the most horrible thing!” Galta shouted. “If only it could have been me instead, Hagag!”
People who were crying stopped crying, the shouters stopped shouting and the morbidly curious stopped asking questions, but he did not hear one kindly word.
“Despicable plots!” he resumed. “Gangsters don’t betray one another, but Qassem is a shepherd, a beggar, not a gangster, and I will never rest until I’ve thrown his corpse to the dogs.”
“Congratulations, Galta, you’re the new gangster of the alley!” shouted a grief-stricken woman.
His features contracted angrily, and the people near him fell silent, but farther back there was a wave of grumbling.
“Let women keep their mouths shut on this tragic day!”
“Let everyone who’s got a mind understand!” the woman said.
The grumbling rose into a lively babble, and Galta waited for this storm to die down before speaking again. “This is a sly conspiracy, carried out at night, to sow dissension among us!”
“Conspiracy!” said another woman. “Qassem and his Desert Rats are on the mountain, and Hagag was killed in his house, among his own people and his neighbors, who want to take over!”
“Crazy bitch! All of you are crazy if you think like that, and if you do, we’ll all be killing one another the way Qassem plotted we should!”
A jug landed and shattered at Galta’s feet, and he and his men stepped back.
“The son of a whore knew how to sow dissension among us,” he said.
He left for the overseer’s house, but the clamor only grew after he was gone. Two men—one of Rifaa, the other of Gabal—got into a violent argument, and were immediately imitated by two women. Boys from both neighborhoods started fighting, people began swearing matches from the windows and riot spread through the alley until each neighborhood’s men massed with their clubs. The overseer came out of his house, surrounded by his men and servants, and strode out to the dividing line between the two districts.
Children of the Alley Page 36
