The Harafish

by Naguib Mahfouz

  When he was finally alone with his mother she said encouragingly, “You didn’t murder your father. You were forced to defend me.” Then she added, “Don’t forget. God knows the whole truth.” Then, impassionedly, “The way he protected you is enough to atone for all his sins. He’ll meet his Lord as pure and innocent as a newborn baby!”

  Shams al-Din dissolved in tears, murmuring, “I’ve killed my father.”

  26.

  Abd Rabbihi invited Shams al-Din to The Citadel, former home of Galal, the builder of the minaret. Shams al-Din knew he was his great-grandfather and that he was about a hundred. He found an old man who no longer left his house, or even his room, but who, for his age, was astonishingly healthy, lively, and dignified, and saw, heard, and understood what went on. Shams al-Din marveled at the way he had remained in such good shape and outlived both his son and grandson, but felt not one jot of love or respect for him and did not forget how he had treated his father.

  Abd Rabbihi scrutinized him for some time, his face a few inches away from Shams al-Din’s. “My condolences,” he said at last.

  Shams al-Din responded coldly.

  “You resemble your grandfather,” said Abd Rabbihi.

  “You severed all connections with my father,” said Shams al-Din icily.

  “Things were complicated,” replied Abd Rabbihi.

  “You mean you wanted the legacy to yourself,” he said fiercely.

  “Apart from Ashur’s legacy, inherited wealth is a curse.”

  “But you’re enjoying it right up till the end.”

  “I invited you here to express my sympathy,” said the old man, troubled. “Take your share if you want it.”

  “I refuse to accept any kindness from you,” said Shams al-Din, as if expiating his sin.

  “You’re stubborn, my child.”

  “I don’t want anything to do with a man who disowned my father.”

  The old man closed his eyes. Shams al-Din left the house.

  27.

  Shams al-Din had to confront life. His features were stamped with a gravity which aged him by fifty years. He tried to behave devoutly and honorably. He took his father’s place at the head of the carting business and immersed himself in work as a means of escape. He was known in the alley as a father-killer, a curse on two legs, corresponding to that stationary anathema, the minaret. What would you expect of a young man who was the son of a bastard and the grandson of the man responsible for building the minaret? Shams al-Din resolved to brave his ill luck with a stern face and an inflexible will, nourished by the regret which filled his heart. He followed his religion faithfully, gave alms to the poor, behaved amicably to his customers, but led an outcast’s existence. His eyes wore a look of permanent melancholy. He hated all forms of merriment, singing, music, the bar, the hashish den. Since people caused him anguish, he hated them too, but he clung on to life.

  28.

  Marriage was the best remedy Afifa could come up with. Sadiqa the bean seller’s daughter pleased her and she went to propose the engagement, commending her son’s reliable occupation and illustrious forbears, but the family declined to marry their daughter to a father killer. Shams al-Din was not much interested in marriage, but this refusal rubbed salt into his wounds and he determined to marry at any price.

  There was a dancer called Nur al-Sabah al-Agami, a girl of easy virtue whose background nobody knew. He liked the look of her and visited her after dark one night, not to sleep with her as she had expected but to propose to her! The girl was amazed and assumed he must be planning to make her work for him.

  “No, I want you to be the lady of the house in every sense,” he told her sincerely.

  Her face lit up with pleasure. “You’re a fine young man, and it’s no more than I deserve.”

  29.

  Afifa was upset. “She’s a whore,” she protested.

  “Like my grandmother Zaynat,” said Shams al-Din sullenly. Then he added sarcastically, “Our distinguished family seems to be full of them!”

  “Don’t give up so easily, son.”

  “She’s the only one who’ll have me without bad feeling.”

  30.

  Nur al-Sabah married Shams al-Din Galal al-Nagi. Emerging from his seclusion he gave a party for his employees and his mother’s family, ignoring those who ignored him. The alley sneered at the marriage. The names of Zaynat and Zahira were frequently on people’s lips as they recounted snippets about the family that had descended from the heavens and was finally rolling in the mire.

  The bar owner Anba al-Fawwal declared boldly, “Ashur himself was an abandoned baby, wasn’t he? And the mother of his children worked in this very bar.”

  31.

  The marriage was destined to succeed. Nur al-Sabah metamorphosed into a housewife. Shams al-Din was happy with her and part of him was more at ease. All that clouded the serene atmosphere were the sporadic quarrels between Afifa and Nur. Afifa was stern and intolerant, Nur sharp-tongued and fiery. But these did not shatter the conjugal harmony and Nur gave birth to three girls and was finally blessed with a boy, Samaha.

  32.

  With the passage of time Shams al-Din became less aware of his worries, and the painful memories of his crime faded to the back of his mind, although melancholy had become part of his nature. Samaha did not have the good looks of his father and grandfather, but rejoiced in a more powerful physique. His mother and grandmother doted on him, guarding him like a precious treasure. He did badly at Quran school. One day he was fighting with a schoolmate and hit him in the face with a slate, almost blinding him. This landed his father in a lot of difficulty and he could only extricate himself by paying a considerable sum in compensation. Back home he thrashed the boy savagely, much to the sorrow of his mother and grandmother, then dragged him to work in the stable prematurely, saying, “Let’s hope you learn some manners from the donkeys.”

  Samaha grew up under his father’s gloomy eye and rapidly reached adolescence.

  33.

  Although the boy was never out of his sight from the moment he awoke until bedtime, he was uneasy about him, sensing a willfulness there and anticipating trouble.

  Then one day Sheikh Mugahid Ibrahim remarked spitefully to him, “Give them an inch and they take a mile!”

  He had the feeling he meant Samaha but found it hard to believe since he kept such a firm hold over him. He pressed the sheikh to be more explicit.

  “Did you know your son was Karima al-Anabi’s lover?”

  Shams al-Din was shocked. When did the boy get the chance? “He’s never out of my sight till bedtime.”

  “Then while you’re asleep he slips out of the house,” laughed the sheikh.

  Still Shams al-Din could not take it in. Karima al-Anabi was a widow approaching sixty and his son was a teenager.

  “Take care he doesn’t get used to all that sophistication and maturity!” teased Mugahid Ibrahim.

  34.

  Shams al-Din lay in wait in the darkness outside Karima’s door. He had ascertained that the boy’s bed was empty. An hour before dawn the door opened and a shadowy figure slipped out. He walked straight into his father’s arms. He was afraid at first and got ready to strike out at his assailant, but then he recognized the voice and capitulated.

  “Filthy pig!” Shams al-Din dragged him furiously after him and caught a whiff of his breath. “You’re drunk too.”

  He struck him a blow that drove the cheap brandy right out of his head. Once he had got him home he started to beat him so savagely that Nur and Afifa woke up, and learned the story through the words and blows.

  “Stop, father! My face!” shouted Samaha.

  “I should kill you! You went behind my back!”

  “I swear I won’t do it again! Please stop!”

  “She’s older than I am. Sinful creature!” snorted Afifa.

  Shams al-Din gestured toward Samaha. “He’s the guilty one. Nobody else.”

  35.

  Shams al-Din thought to
himself that such beginnings threatened much worse to come. If you began by making love to a woman old enough to be your grandmother, where did you go from there? He had seen Madame Karima on her outings around the alley, and been appalled by her youthful dress and garish makeup, coupled with her exuberantly overweight body. He was convinced, in any case, that it was a complete disaster for an adolescent youth to get used to being kept by a woman.

  At this time Mu’nis al-Al died and Suma al-Kalabshi succeeded him as clan chief. Conditions in the alley were more degrading and unjust than ever. The harafish accepted these misfortunes as the inescapable blows of fate. The whole clan system—regardless of who the chief was—had become one long-standing calamity.

  36.

  Grandfather Abd Rabbihi died and was given a big funeral which neither Shams al-Din nor Samaha attended. Afterward they learned that he had left Samaha five hundred pounds, but when the boy asked for it, his father told him to wait until he was officially an adult. He watched the boy more closely than ever and made his life miserable. One day when they were working together in the stable he happened to look over at him and caught an empty, blank expression in his eyes that made him feel dispirited. “The boy doesn’t love me,” he said to himself. He sighed. “He’s stupid. Doesn’t he realize I’m doing it for his own good?”

  37.

  Events rushed by like the dusty foam on the river. One morning as Shams al-Din sipped his coffee he detected a dreadful anxiety enveloping Nur and Afifa. His heart pounded. “Where’s Samaha?”

  He was met with an uneasy silence and his fears grew.

  “What’s he done now?” he asked sharply.

  Nur started crying and Afifa said in a tremulous voice, “He’s not in the house.”

  “So he’s started creeping around in the night again?”

  “No. He’s left us.”

  “Run away?” Heavy with apprehension, he went over to the strongbox and found the legacy gone. “He’s a thief as well,” he bellowed.

  “Don’t be hard on him, son. It’s his money,” said Afifa.

  “A thief and a runaway,” declared Shams al-Din emphatically. He shifted his eyes suspiciously between the two women. “What’s going on behind my back?” he demanded.

  38.

  He presumed he would take refuge with Karima al-Anabi. Mugahid Ibrahim made inquiries.

  “Not a trace of him anywhere in the alley,” he reported several hours later.

  Shams al-Din was convinced that God was punishing him for his crime. He’d have to pay, just as he’d already paid for the sins of others. His son would probably kill him one day. Why not? The boy was completely cynical about the world. Shams al-Din threw a ferocious glance at the minaret. “Why don’t they demolish that obscenity?”

  39.

  Not a trace was found of Samaha even though Shams al-Din charged his drivers to be on the lookout and make inquiries wherever they went. The boy was following in the footsteps of all the other men and women in the family who had disappeared leaving no clues behind them.

  The years went by. Afifa died after a long illness. Nur’s life had turned sour. Shams al-Din learned to bear his burdens, muttering, “What will be, will be,” whenever things went wrong.

  40.

  However, unlike Ashur and Qurra, Samaha did not stay away for good. He returned to the alley one day, a grown man. A grown man, who had lost many precious things forever. His body was full of brutal power. His beauty was hidden by a mask of severity and an uneven tissue of scars and bruises. Had he been hiding out with bandits? Even his own father failed to recognize him at first glance. When he realized the truth and was hit by a great wave of mingled joy and sorrow, he was uncertain whether to be relieved or resentful. He was torn between love and rage. In the stables among the bustle of drivers and donkeys they exchanged a long look.

  “What have you been doing all this time?” he asked pityingly, taking him aside.

  He repeated the question, while Samaha remained silent, his appearance speaking for him.

  “Did you spend the money?”

  Samaha bowed his head. Ah! Some make their money work for them, others fritter it away. He heaved a deep sigh and muttered, “Perhaps this has taught you a lesson.” Then, irritated by his silence, “Go and see your mother.”

  41.

  The feeble flicker of hope in Shams al-Din’s heart quickly died. He recovered from the fierce wave of paternal feeling which had swept over him. He saw in his son obstinacy, deviousness, and stupidity, united in a sort of inflexible, cruel strength he had never encountered before. Still he did not despair altogether. “Back to work, son,” he said gently. “You have to prepare to take over this business one day.”

  Nur encouraged him with her affection, her entreaties. Samaha refused to work as a driver, so his father kept him at his side letting him help in the essential running of the business. But he was restless and kept asking for more money. His father could no longer treat him like a child and he spent his evenings in the bar, the hashish den, with prostitutes, but he never went near his first mistress.

  “You ought to think about getting married,” Shams al-Din said to him in his mother’s presence.

  “There isn’t really a girl worthy of a descendant of the great al-Nagi!” he teased.

  “Do you realize what this name implies?”

  “People who perform extraordinary miracles like building a haunted minaret!” he said brazenly.

  “You’re crazy!” cried Shams al-Din in a fury. Then he gave up and walked off, muttering, “He hates me, that’s for sure.”

  He shook off his forebodings for a while but could not help thinking gloomily, from time to time, “He’ll kill me one day.”

  42.

  Shams al-Din discovered that a considerable sum of money had gone missing. He knew at once what this meant and realized he would end up going bankrupt. He went straight off to the bar. Samaha was sitting with Suma al-Kalabshi and his men as if he was one of them. He gestured to his son to accompany him but he did not move. Lost in a fog of alcohol, he stared at his father aggressively.

  Shams al-Din swallowed his anger. “You know why I’m here,” he said.

  “It’s my money just as much as yours. And I’ll spend it as I think fit,” retorted Samaha coldly.

  “Well said,” put in Suma al-Kalabshi.

  “You’ll ruin me,” said Shams al-Din, ignoring the clan chief’s remark.

  “You have to spend money to make money,” answered Samaha with heavy sarcasm.

  “This boy talks sense!” said Suma.

  Anba al-Fawwal moved close to Shams al-Din. “Count to ten,” he warned in a low voice.

  But Shams al-Din succumbed to his anger. “You are all my witnesses,” he shouted. “I’m throwing this ungrateful son of mine out of my house, and I disclaim all responsibility for him from this moment on.”

  43.

  For Nur al-Sabah this was a dreadful calamity.

  “I’ll never give up my son,” she cried.

  Shams al-Din hated her at that moment with the full force of his anger and resentment. “He won’t enter this house again as long as I live.”

  “My son! I won’t let him go!”

  “It’s your sordid background coming to the surface,” he said, beside himself with rage.

  “There are no whores or madmen in my family!”

  He struck her, knocking her to the floor. Crazed with anger, she spat in his face.

  “Get out of here! I’m divorcing you,” he roared.

  44.

  Nur and Samaha went to live in a separate flat together. Samaha joined Suma al-Kalabshi’s gang, but because he was so extravagant he was never content. He made no attempt to hide his hatred for his father and denounced the Nagi family vigorously, as if he was their worst enemy.

  Shams al-Din lived alone. He no longer felt secure and expected to end up like his father or worse. He went to enormous lengths to protect himself, heaping generosity on his employees to wi
n their hearts, keeping his doors and windows firmly locked, making donations to Suma and being as friendly as possible to him.

  45.

  One day Mugahid Ibrahim visited him. “I’m here to give you a piece of advice,” he announced.

  “What do you mean?” asked Shams al-Din with foreboding.

  “Stop being so hostile. Give him some money.”

  Shams al-Din could think of nothing appropriate to say so the sheikh continued, “Yesterday in the bar I heard him promising his companions a few good evenings, once…”

  He hesitated and Shams al-Din finished gloomily for him, “Once I die or someone kills me off.”

  “Murder wasn’t mentioned. But there’s nothing sadder than seeing a son wishing his father dead…or vice versa.”

  “But I don’t wish him dead.”

  “We’re only human,” said the sheikh, making his meaning plain.

  46.

  Shams al-Din felt fear like a bird of ill omen hovering over him. He set off to see the clan chief, resolved on a singular course of action. He saluted him respectfully, then said without further preamble, “Do me the honor of granting me your daughter’s hand.”

  The chief stared hard at him, then said, “There’s no law against a girl of sixteen marrying a man in his forties.”

  Shams al-Din bowed his head humbly and Suma continued, “You’re from good stock and you’ve got plenty of money!”

  Shams al-Din continued to look deferential, satisfied with his reception so far.

  “What would you pay for her?”

  “Whatever you ask,” answered Shams al-Din with secret trepidation.

  “Five hundred pounds.”

  “It’s a vast sum, but she’s worth more than money,” he said sagely.

  The chief held out his hand. “Let’s make that official.”

  47.

  Sanbala Suma al-Kalabshi married Shams al-Din Galal al-Nagi.

  The whole alley came to the wedding. Shams al-Din found himself in an eminently desirable and secure position. Sanbala was not beautiful but she was young and strong. She was also the chief’s daughter.

  48.