The Harafish

by Naguib Mahfouz

  Aziza fought back the tears proudly. She was unconvinced by their kind words and the meeting brought her no comfort. She kept in contact with Wahid and her father, and did not allow despair to sap her will. The days passed and Qurra melted into oblivion.

  44.

  Publicly Qurra was said to have been the victim of a highway robbery, but in the bar and the hashish den most of the suspicions were focused on Rummana. People said he had got rid of his brother before he could divide up the business and make Rummana a bankrupt. Now he was running the grain merchant’s, disposing freely of his own money and his nephew’s. He had given up riotous living and gambling so that people wouldn’t say he was wasting an orphan’s money, and was careful not to cross Wahid, the chief of the clan. All the same the business was not the giant success it had been; Rummana put it down to his lack of commercial skill and expertise. “I can’t do any better than I am doing,” he complained to his brother. “I’d be happy for you to come in with me if you want.”

  “You know I have no experience in such things,” returned Wahid coldly.

  45.

  Aziza paid little attention to the declining fortunes of the grain shop. She dreamed of the day Aziz would take his father’s place, break away from his uncle, and restore the business to its former glory. To this end she devoted herself to his education, sending him to the Quran school at an early age and having him tutored privately in accounting and commerce. She told him tales of his maternal forbears and even, out of loyalty to Qurra, extolled the heroic deeds and legendary glories of Ashur al-Nagi. Consciously and unconsciously she taught him to be wary of his uncle and aunt and avoid their company, and plied him with accounts of the hostility between his father and uncle and the suspicious nature of his father’s disappearance.

  Qurra was forgotten, living only in Aziza’s heart, and to a lesser extent in Aziz’s imagination. Aziza had a daydream which she loved to replay in her mind; she would roam the world in search of him, and either find him, or establish beyond doubt who had killed him; then she would take revenge to restore justice to the world and peace in his heart, and recover her own peace of mind.

  46.

  When Aziz turned ten Aziza asked if he could become an apprentice in his father’s business. Rummana agreed at once. “Welcome to the dear son of my dear brother,” he enthused.

  Shortly after that Aziza’s father died and she inherited a considerable sum of money. She decided to keep it for Aziz to invest in his business when he was free of his uncle.

  Eighteen months later Unsiyya died and the house was empty of loved ones. Only Rummana and Raifa were left, and Diya if she could be counted. She was no longer capable of her daily promenade through the alley and lived in total isolation in her apartments. Every day shortly before sunset she would hang the censer out through the wooden latticework at her window, dry-eyed; even the tears no longer came to her aid.

  47.

  In his free time Rummana watched attentively. Aziz now sat in his father’s place in the manager’s office. He walked with firm steps, showing remarkable composure for one just approaching adolescence. He was a handsome boy, full of life, tall and slender with pleasant features and eyes which were thoughtful, sometimes anxious. Uncle and nephew were outwardly courteous to one another, without showing any real affection. Behind the polite words and sweet smiles lurked antipathy. The deceptive sweetness of a bitter April. He was full of his mother’s poisoned breaths, and could be a dangerous enemy one day! He kept telling himself that the boy could be his son, even though he looked like an exact mixture of Aziza and Qurra. But what did it matter? His spirit was the decisive factor, not his blood. He was his brother’s son, and his enemy. He couldn’t love him, even if he did think he might be his—which he probably wasn’t anyway. If the boy had known what was in his mind, he would most likely have hated him more.

  “You’re turned in on yourself, Aziz. Why?” he asked him one day.

  The boy stared blankly at him as if he hadn’t understood.

  “Where are your friends?” persisted Rummana. “Why don’t I see you around with them?”

  “I invite them to the house sometimes,” he replied uncertainly.

  “That’s not enough.” Rummana laughed. “I never hear you calling me uncle.”

  Aziz looked embarrassed.

  “I’m your uncle, and your friend.”

  Aziz smiled obligingly. “Of course.”

  Rummana assuaged his fears with a neat plan: he decided to begin taking his nephew along to male gatherings, in order to draw him out of his defensive shell and prise him from his mother’s grip.

  He returned to his accounts but was quickly distracted by overwhelmingly powerful images: he saw Aziz at death’s door after an accident or illness.

  48.

  He revealed his misgivings to Raifa. “I’ve always warned you that snake was planning something,” she said.

  “I don’t need you to warn me,” he said irritably.

  “And you don’t need someone to tell you what you ought to do,” she returned.

  They had quarreled about the same thing so often. There was the devil looking through her beautiful eyes again.

  “We might not always be so lucky,” he grumbled.

  She laughed scornfully. “All right. Let’s just wait and see what happens!”

  “He’s begun to discuss business with me, so there’s hope!”

  “Do you imagine you’ll be able to snatch him from his mother’s arms, when she’s so fired up with hate?”

  “He still doesn’t know the pleasures that exist in the world!”

  “The snake has burrowed deep inside him.”

  He exhaled bad-temperedly. The silence crackled with murderous thoughts. From the alley came the sound of boys shouting, followed by a pattering on the wooden lattice.

  “It’s raining again,” muttered Raifa.

  Idly, he prodded at the coals in the stove with an iron poker. “How cold it is!” he shivered.

  Breaking in on his thoughts, she said suddenly, “There’s a remote chance…”

  “What?”

  “It’s not impossible that a boy like him would be tempted by the thought of restoring the past glories of the Nagis.”

  “Aziz?”

  “Yes. He’s a dreamer like your father.”

  He gazed at her, bewildered. He feared her as much as he admired her. But he said listlessly, “He doesn’t trust me.”

  “You can prime him without him knowing you’re doing it.” She sighed pleasurably. “Then Wahid can be warned of his intentions at the appropriate time!”

  What was the point of it all? He sometimes felt a deep dissatisfaction. But he enjoyed passing the time with his bloodthirsty daydreams.

  49.

  Rummana took his nephew to male gatherings on the pretext of introducing him to the employees, and Aziza could not object.

  The water pipe was passed around but he never invited the boy to partake. “It’s obligatory for men on these occasions,” he told him, “but you should keep away from it. It’s not suitable for you.”

  Aziz got to know a great number of people. It pleased him that they still remembered his father with genuine affection.

  “He was the most gentle and reliable of men.”

  “He always put morals first and business second.”

  “He had the same attitude to business as his ancestors had to being clan chief!”

  “Too bad the glorious age of the Nagis has gone!”

  “One day someone will put them back where they belong.”

  Such sentiments were repeated at every gathering. On the way home Rummana would say to him, “These people never stop dreaming.” Or, “If it weren’t for your uncle Wahid, we’d count for nothing around here.”

  Once Aziz replied, “But Wahid isn’t like Ashur.”

  “Nobody’s like Ashur. The age of miracles is past. We should be proud that a Nagi is chief again.”

  He wanted to look into his hea
rt. When they were sitting with the men he would steal a glance at him and feel a sort of delight at the enthusiasm shining in his eyes.

  50.

  One evening Aziza said to Aziz, “The time has come.”

  He realized what she meant, but he waited, and she went on. “You can stand on your own two feet now. You’re not a child any longer. Go into business on your own. I’ve got enough money to guarantee you’ll be as successful as your father.”

  He nodded, but not with the enthusiasm she had anticipated.

  “Get away from your father’s enemy,” she urged. “He’s had enough of your money.”

  “I’ve said I’ll do it.”

  “You don’t seem too keen.”

  “I am. I’ve waited for this day for a long time.”

  “You’ll do it at once?”

  “Of course.”

  “You seem preoccupied. I’ve noticed it a lot recently, and put it down to problems at work.”

  “That’s it.”

  “Come on, Aziz,” she said skeptically. “I can tell from your eyes that there’s something else.”

  “Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill,” he laughed.

  It was as important to keep his secret from her as from his uncle Wahid. He knew exactly what her attitude would be.

  “Don’t hide anything from me, Aziz,” she said anxiously. “We’re surrounded by enemies. You must tell me everything.”

  “I’ll do what we’ve agreed,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “The rest is just a dream.”

  “What do you mean? I’ve had enough of these fatal dreams.”

  He shuddered at her perception, born of a mother’s instincts and love and fear together.

  “It’s nothing,” he mumbled evasively.

  “Don’t drive me crazy!” she cried passionately. “I’m perpetually sad. I’ve had to put up with more than a faithful wife should. You’re my only hope. The one who’s going to console me for my years of waiting. Wake me up from the long nightmare. We’ve been forced to live in this vile, underhand atmosphere. Our poison will always be fed to us in sweetmeats. You’ve no need to fear overt hostility. But what you must be on your guard against are the sweet smiles, the pleasant talk, the false remedies, the interminable masks of sincerity.”

  “I’m not stupid, mother,” he said, squirming under the impact of this onslaught.

  “But you’re innocent and innocent people are the natural prey of rogues.”

  “He’s got nothing to do with it.” The words slipped out, before he realized what he was saying.

  “Rummana?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what it is. Have I become so cut off from my heart and soul that all I know about the most vital matter is random snippets of information that come my way?”

  “I don’t want to keep anything from you, but I know you have misgivings.”

  “Be honest with me. This is killing me!”

  He sighed and began pacing up and down the room, then came to a halt in front of her.

  “Don’t I have the right to think about glory?” he demanded.

  Fearful thoughts assailed her. “Think of the consequences. That’s what counts. Your grandfather Samaha dreamed of glory and now he’s wandering the country like a tramp and nobody knows what’s become of him. Tell me what your ideas of glory are, Aziz.”

  In confessional tones he told her about his encounters with the employees. She listened to him, her face pale at first, yellow as death by the time he had finished.

  “Your uncle Wahid will see it as deliberate provocation,” she observed in a faltering voice.

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “I can tell Rummana’s in this somewhere.”

  “He hasn’t said a thing,” interrupted Aziz. “He’s on Wahid’s side. He’s always cautioning me.”

  “Don’t trust him. The men are just repeating stuff that he’s fed them. Have you talked to them about your plans?”

  “Of course not, I told you before, I’m not stupid. I told them I wouldn’t betray my uncle Wahid.”

  “That’s good. Did you say anything different to Rummana?”

  “No. I pretended to agree with him.”

  She gave a deep sigh and her eyes filled with tears. “Thank God.” Then fiercely, “They’ve given me some rope to play with. Now what you have to do is concentrate on your work. Get free of your father’s enemy—his murderer!—and devote yourself to your work. They’ve given me some rope…”

  51.

  There was a lull presaging a storm. The expression in Aziz’s eyes boded ill. Since his nephew had left childhood behind, Rummana had been waiting for the blow to fall. He had not succeeded in winning his confidence. Aziz had been friendly only as a polite response to his attempts at communication. Despite all his efforts to soften him up, he had progressed without faltering, and now he was ready to take his revenge.

  “Uncle!” he addressed him one day.

  This was the first time he had used the title and Rummana was convinced it was a bad sign.

  “What, nephew?”

  With an offensive calm which reminded him of his brother in some of his moods, Aziz said, “I think it would be a good idea if we split the business.”

  Although he had expected this, expected it for a long time, his heart sank. “Really?” he stammered. “Of course you’re free to do so. But why? Why fritter away our strength?”

  “My mother wants to go into partnership with me.”

  “She can. And we can still preserve the existing arrangement.”

  “My father wanted it, as you know.”

  “So he said one day, out of the blue, but he wasn’t set on it, otherwise nothing would have stopped him.”

  “What stopped him was his mysterious disappearance,” remarked Aziz coldly.

  Rummana’s heart missed a beat but he pretended not to notice the barb and said, “He could have delayed his trip.” Then, patently irritated, “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  With more boldness than he had shown previously, Aziz retorted, “I believe whatever’s worth believing.”

  “I repeat you’re free to go,” said Rummana despondently, “but it’s bad for both of us.”

  “Not for me.”

  This was another painful twist of the knife; he burned with resentment and thought to himself that if Aziz had really been his son, he would never have reached the point of being so scathing and hurtful to him. What could he do to restrain the devil in his heart that was bent on revenge? “The way you’re talking doesn’t become you,” he said aloud. “Won’t you think about it for a bit?”

  “It’s all decided,” Aziz answered, as gently as he could.

  “Even if I were to beg you to change your mind?” said Rummana despairingly.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “Is it because of your mother?”

  “She wants to go into partnership with me, as I’ve said.”

  “All this suspicion breeds a dislike which is based entirely on illusions.”

  Aziz hesitated a little. “They’re not illusions. The accounts are hardly convincing, and the partnership arrangements aren’t favorable to me.”

  “From now on you’ll have as much power as you want!”

  “You’re wasting your time,” murmured Aziz in annoyance.

  “This is hatred!” cried Rummana in a fury. “Vicious spite! The curse which has hounded the Nagi family!”

  52.

  Rummana went back home shattered to Raifa, and told her everything. “The seed of hatred has brought forth its poisoned fruit,” he concluded.

  “Wahid’s our only hope,” said Raifa, her face gripped by venom.

  “But the cunning little devil hasn’t fallen into the trap yet.”

  “Don’t wait for him to fall.”

  “It’s not as easy as you seem to think.” Then, coolly, “Your legacy is the only thing that can save us.”

  “My legacy!”

  “Aziza
’s going to give hers to her son.”

  “That’s because she’s been priming him for revenge.”

  “With what you inherited I can make a new start.”

  “What about your money?” she demanded in surprise.

  “There’s not enough left to set up a respectable business,” he answered hopelessly.

  “So it’s all gone on gambling!” she exclaimed.

  “This isn’t the time for recriminations.”

  “I didn’t hoard my legacy like that snake, and you want me to squander what’s left of it just so that I can end up on the streets with you?”

  “I’ll turn over a new leaf,” he said defiantly.

  She laughed scornfully and his anger flared. “So I’ve no choice but to tell him he’s my son.”

  “Talk sense!” she shouted, enraged herself now. “Haven’t you accepted that you’re sterile yet?”

  “You’re the one who’s sterile.”

  “The midwife found nothing wrong with me.”

  He went to strike her but she was ready to defend herself, like an angry lioness. Not convinced that he had backed down, she continued her invective. “Our enemies must be gloating. Perhaps it was your stupid fantasies about being a father that stopped you getting rid of him all these years!”

  Shaking his head in amazement, he answered, “You think murder is some kind of pastime!”

  At this point the maidservant entered to announce Sheikh Muhammad Tawakkul.

  53.

  Rummana waited for him in the reception room on the first floor. The man entered in an anxious flurry and Rummana’s heart jumped uneasily.

  He sat down and asked without preamble, “Have you made Wahid angry?”

  “We’re on excellent terms,” answered Rummana, shocked.

  “I saw him just now in the bar, raging drunk, cursing and swearing and accusing you of setting Aziz against him.”

  “That’s a complete fabrication!” shouted Rummana in sudden panic.

  “You’d better go and convince him of it as fast as you can.”

  “How do you mean?” queried Rummana aggressively.

  “If you don’t hurry, there’s no telling what might happen to you!”

  “But he’s my brother!”

  “It’s not unusual for brother to kill brother in this alley,” replied Tawakkul innocently.