The Harafish (38 page)

66
.

He changed his style of life. He began to eat, drink, and smoke to excess. Whenever a whore flirted with him, he responded discreetly. Zaynat soon lost her hold over him and became no more
than a pretty rose in a garden full of roses. Reports of his escapades reached her ears and she was consumed by a frenzy of jealousy and loss. In the mirror of the future she saw her face fading away in the murky gloom of oblivion. She had always seen him as an innocent child with some unorthodox beliefs. His innocence had opened the doors for her to a faraway hope: she was sure of love and hoped for marriage. Perhaps it would be easier to give up life itself than to lose him, the embodiment to her of strength, beauty, youth, and boundless glory. But his year's isolation had made a different person of him: a creature smitten with power and beauty, and terrified of change, of madness, of being treated with contempt, of having to acquire wisdom the hard way. She felt herself growing small, thin, feeble, almost ceasing to exist in the face of his dreadful, mysterious domination. She could only confront him with weakness, pleading, and a sense of failure. But he met her with haughty gentleness, exulting in his arrogance, clothed in cold tenderness, fortified by a bottomless sense of superiority.

“Be content with your lot,” he told her. “Many would envy you.”

She saw him blossoming as she withered, and realized they were going opposite ways. Her heart swelled with love and despair.

67
.

Abd Rabbihi had a son, Khalid, and tore himself away from the bar once and for all. He found happiness in prayer and meditation, and Sheikh Khalil al-Dahshan became his friend and confidant.

He was desperately anxious about Galal, and even more so about the terrible minaret. It seemed to him that his relationship with his son was destroyed, that he had become a stranger unconnected to him. He was an alien presence among the people of the alley, like the minaret among its buildings: strong, beautiful, sterile, and incomprehensible.

“I shan't rest easy until you marry and have a family,” he told him.

“There's plenty of time, father.”

“And until you revive the glorious covenant of the Nagis,” he entreated.

Galal smiled without answering.

“And repent and follow God.”

Remembering his father's distant and not so distant past, Galal let out a guffaw like a drum roll.

68
.

The passing days and changing seasons held no fears for him. His inflexible will dominated the aggressive forces of nature. The unknown no longer scared him.

In the pit of despair and sorrow, Zaynat the Blonde received a summons to love. She had been waiting for it, yearning for it all along, preparing for it in her battered heart.

Now he was granting her one of his precious nights. She made her way to his house, outwardly pleased at the way she was being treated. She removed the drapes, flung open all the windows in her old rooms to allow the May breezes to circulate, and met him cheerfully, hiding her sorrows. She had learned to treat him with caution, apprehensive of his reactions. She prepared a tray with drinks and glasses.

“Drink up, my love,” she whispered in his ear.

“How kind you are!” he said, gulping down the wine.

She observed to herself that he had lost his heart along with his innocence and that, like winter, he gloried in his power, oblivious to his cruelty. She also acknowledged that she was willfully destroying herself.

He stared at her, already fairly drunk. “You're not your usual self,” he murmured.

“It's the solemnity of love,” she said gently.

He laughed. “Nothing is solemn.” Playing idly with a lock of her golden hair, he went on, “You're still in a very powerful position. But you're such an ambitious woman!”

“I'm just a sad woman,” she cried impetuously.

“Remember what you said about seizing life's pleasures while you can…”

“That was in the days when you loved me.”

“I'm following your advice, and I'm grateful for it.”

He did not know what he was saying, she thought. She was much better acquainted with the mystery of life than him and knew that evil raised a man against his will to the ranks of the angels. She gazed at him passionately, restraining a desire to cry. Lulled by the breeze, she thought what a treacherous month this was. Soon the khamsin winds would blow, transforming it into a demon which would wreck the spring. He took her in his arms and she clasped him to her with frantic strength.

69
.

He freed himself from her arms and began stripping off his clothes until he stood naked, like a statue of light. He walked around the bedroom, laughing at his unsteady progress.

“You've drunk a whole sea,” she said.

“I'm still thirsty.”

“Our love's over,” she murmured, as if to herself.

He staggered a few more steps, before collapsing onto a divan, shaking with laughter.

“You're drunk.”

He frowned. “No. It's more than that. It's as if I'm sleepy.” He tried to rise to his feet, without success. “I'm falling asleep just when I don't want to,” he muttered.

She bit her lip. The world would end like this one day. The most pitiful people were those who sang victory songs in their hour of defeat.

“Try to stand up,” she said hoarsely.

“There's no need,” he answered, languorous yet dignified.

“Are you sure you can't, my love?”

“Quite sure. There's a burning like the fires of hell, and I'm sleepy.”

She leapt to her feet and stepped back into the center of the room, staring wildly at him, all the softness gone. She was a mass of taut muscle, ready to spring, but there was an air of bitterness and
sorrow about her. He looked at her dully, then his eyes swam out of focus.

“Why am I falling asleep?” he said thickly.

She spoke in the tones of someone making a sacred confession. “It's not sleep, my love.”

“So it must be the bull that carries the world on its horns.”

“It's not the bull either, my love.”

“You're acting the fool, Zaynat. Why?”

“I've never been more serious. I'm killing myself.”

“Huh?”

“It's death, my love.”

“Death?”

“You've swallowed enough poison to kill an elephant.”

“You mean, you have?”

“No, you, my love.”

He burst out laughing, but quickly fell silent, too weak to continue.

“I killed you to put an end to my torment,” she said, starting to cry.

He attempted another laugh. “Galal is immortal,” he muttered.

“I can see death in your beautiful eyes.”

“Death has died, stupid woman.”

Gathering all his strength, he rose to his feet, dominating the room. She drew back, terrified, and rushed out of the room like someone possessed.

70
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It was as if he was carrying the dreadful minaret on his shoulders. Death charged at him like a bull, blind with fury, charging solid rock.

“What terrible pain!” he cried, still without fear.

He staggered outside, stark naked.

“Galal can feel pain, but he cannot die,” he muttered as he emerged into the dark alley.

He inched forward in the pitch-darkness, mumbling inaudibly, “I'm on fire. I want some water.”

He began to move slowly in the gloom, groaning faintly, believing he was filling the alley with his cries. Where was everybody? Where were his men? Why didn't they bring him water? Where was Zaynat, the criminal? This must be a terrible nightmare, weighing down on him with all its odious force, but it wasn't death. The mysterious powers would be working at full strength now to restore him to his mocking, immortal self. But what terrible pain! What unbearable thirst!

As he stumbled along, he bumped against a cold, unmoving mass. The animals' drinking trough! A wave of joy and relief swept over him. He bent over the edge of the trough, overbalanced, stretched out his arms. The water closed over them. His lips touched water full of animal fodder. He drank greedily, dementedly, then let out a cry which rang out around the alley, a sound distorted by the savage pain. The top half of his body vanished in the murky water. His knees sagged and his lower half sank down into the mud and droppings. The dark shadows of that terrible, eventful spring night closed around him.

1
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I
t took a long time for the alley to forget the spectacle of Galal's body draped over the side of the drinking trough, a giant white cadaver among the straw and excrement. The huge frame suggested immortality; its emptiness in its wrecked state confirmed death. Above it in the light of the torches the air was charged with terrible derision.

The proud strength had ended in its prime. Gone its protective shadow with a hundred eyes and a thousand fists. His father Abd Rabbihi and his brother Radi carried him into The Citadel. An immense cortege accompanied his body to the tomb of Shams al-Din. He was remembered as one of the great clan leaders, despite his demonic characteristics.

He took his good and bad deeds with him to the grave but the legends lived on.

2
.

Mu'nis al-Al took over the clan. Although Galal's death evoked a general feeling of relief, the alley lost its sense of equilibrium and
was beset by new fears. It relinquished its elevated status in the neighborhood and became just another alley, and its chief no longer reigned supreme. Mu'nis al-Al made alliances, fought battles and lost, and was again obliged to buy peace with protection money and bribes. No one in the alley expected him to honor the covenant which Galal, descendant of the Nagis and miracle of triumphant power, had himself betrayed.

3
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Abd Rabbihi and Radi were the sole inheritors of Galal's vast fortune. Galal's death was attributed to drugs and alcohol. The fact that he had ended up lying naked in straw and dung was considered a divine retribution for his arrogance and his high-handed treatment of his fellow human beings. No one inherited the minaret, and with its exaggerated structure and sterility of purpose it continued as a symbol of insolence and folly.

4
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After some time had elapsed, the herbalist Abd al-Khaliq opened his mouth. In whispers he told of Galal's strange enterprise, his association with demons, the role played by the mysterious Shawar. The secret was out, and Zaynat the Blonde confirmed people's suspicions by telling the tale of Galal's belief in his own immortality. Shawar and his maid vanished, escaping the general anger. Many proposed demolishing the minaret, but most people were scared that it was haunted by the devil and that its demolition would lay the alley open to undreamed of evil. So it was left standing. People gave it a wide berth, cursed it as they passed, and abandoned it to snakes, bats, and demons.

5
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The harafish declared that what had happened to Galal was a fair punishment for someone who had betrayed the great al-Nagi's covenant, and forgotten his immortal prayer that God would grant
him strength to use in the service of others. Every time descendants of al-Nagi betrayed his name, they were cursed and destroyed by insanity. Even Abd Rabbihi and Radi earned the scorn of the harafish, and their ample wealth was of no use to them.

6
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Zaynat the Blonde lived for a while in terrified anticipation, but nobody thought of accusing her. Even those who had their doubts about her part in Galal's death brushed them aside, grateful to her for her anonymous deed. Zaynat did not enjoy her revenge. She lived abstemiously by herself, with no zest, no sense of repose. Sometime after Galal's death she discovered that their love had borne fruit, and guarded this germ of life with all the strength of her undying love. She was filled with a sense of pride despite the fact that the child would be illegitimate. She gave birth to a boy and, defying the traditions, boldly named him Galal.

7
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She gave him love twice over: as her son and as her dead lover's child. She brought him up in humble surroundings with no desire to return to the life of a rich woman. She never forgot that he was the true heir to Galal's fabulous wealth and pestered Abd Rabbihi and Radi to give up part of their inheritance in favor of her little boy. But they rebuffed her angrily, insinuating that they suspected her of playing a decisive part in Galal's death.

“How can a woman like her know who's the father of her child?” scoffed Radi.

8
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Galal grew up as just another alley child whose father's identity was unknown. He was taunted and called a bastard, as his father years before had been taunted and called “Zahira's son.” But as he grew older, it became obvious to anyone with eyes to see that he
was Galal's son and nobody else's. He did not possess his strength and grace, but there was no mistaking his origins.

9
.

Galal attended the Quran school for two years, then went to work for al-Gada, the carter. Zaynat had used up her savings and could not afford anything better for him. She was proud of her son and pleased with herself for holding out and living an honest life. Although she was well past forty she was still beautiful enough for al-Gada to have ideas about adding her to his harem. She did not welcome his interest, but at the same time was afraid he would take it out on her son if she rejected him. However, the man abandoned his pursuit of her when Mugahid Ibrahim, who had succeeded Gibril al-Fas as sheikh, exclaimed to him one day, “How can you trust a woman who killed her lover!”

Galal found out as time went by that he was the son of the man who had built the minaret, and grandson of the famous Zahira; that Abd Rabbihi was his grandfather and Radi, the notable, his uncle. He learned the sad story of his origins and the glorious history of al-Nagi. But he was doomed to be known as a bastard forever.

“Watch you don't start using violence,” al-Gada cautioned him one day. “Just put up with the insults. Otherwise you can look for another job.”

“Mu'nis al-Al is watching you with interest because you're a Nagi. Don't be tempted to use your strength, or you've had it,” warned Sayyid Osman, the new imam.

So Galal controlled himself and kept out of trouble, and his diligence and reliability earned him the respect of his boss.

10
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The days passed and hopes were rekindled. Encouraged by al-Gada's obvious liking for Galal, Zaynat went to ask him for his daughter's hand for her son.

The man was blunt. “He's a good lad, but I'm not marrying my daughter to a bastard.”

Zaynat wept bitterly, but Galal bore the blow with stoicism.

11
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Al-Gada died after eating a baking dish of beans with onions and tomatoes and a tray of vermicelli pastries and sweet cream. He was over seventy. Zaynat waited until the year's mourning was up, then asked his widow for her daughter's hand for Galal. She accepted because she had noticed her daughter was fond of the young man.

So it was that Afifa al-Gada married Galal Abdullah.

12
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Through marriage Galal rose from being a driver to running the carter's business, even though Afifa was not, properly speaking, the proprietor. He was a success, his living conditions improved, and his joy was complete when he became a father. In the happy time that followed, Afifa gave birth to several daughters and then a son, whom he promptly named Shams al-Din Galal al-Nagi, thereby disclosing the fierce pride that was hidden in him like fire in flint. Everyone accepted the name, although the important members of the Nagi family—such as Radi—were annoyed by it. However, nobody had forgotten that Galal was the illegitimate son of the madman who had built the satanic minaret.

“What a lot of Ashurs and Shams al-Dins there are in our alley!” exclaimed Anba al-Fawwal, the bar owner, who had taken over when Sanqar al-Shammam died.

It was true that all that was left of the immortal Nagi heritage were the names. The deeds and promises lived on in the imagination along with the legends of miracles overlaid with grief and pain.

13
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The days went by pleasantly and mundanely in the lives of Galal Abdullah and his family. He was known for his goodness, honesty, even temper, and piety. He made a good living, adored his devotions, and became a close associate of Sheikh Sayyid Osman, the imam of the alley's small mosque. He was faithful to Afifa and satisfied with her company, raised Shams al-Din well, and remained a loyal son to Zaynat despite the bad reputation and the troubles she had bequeathed to him. All the signs were that this family would lead a tranquil and uneventful life.

14
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When Galal was fifty his life was changed by a series of unexpected events descending on him from out of the blue. First his mother died. She died suddenly, aged eighty. What was strange was that although Galal was a middle-aged man and his mother an old woman, her death came as a violent shock which threw him completely off balance. He sobbed like a child at her funeral and was sunk in such deep depression for the next three months that people thought he was going into a decline. Many found his grief incomprehensible and made fun of him. He even said himself that although he had loved her a great deal he could not have imagined her death would have such an effect on him. More remarkable than that was what happened to him after the depression had lifted. A new person was there in his place, like an apparition discharged from a haunted archway. The love he had felt for his mother seemed to him an odd, misguided sentiment, as if he had been the victim of black magic. It had evaporated into the air, leaving a cold hard stone behind it. Not a trace of sorrow or loyalty was left in his heart. A voice whispered to him that she was the source of all the hostility and dislike he had encountered in his life; and that he was her eternal victim.

“Was I really sad when she died?” he wondered to himself. “It must have been some crazy, illogical reaction to death.”

He was sitting with Sheikh Mugahid Ibrahim one day. “My mother had some loathsome characteristics,” he announced suddenly, “and a bad reputation, and evil intentions.”

“I can hardly believe what I'm hearing,” said the sheikh in astonishment.

“Now I think she really did kill my father. She was a debauched, loudmouthed drug addict. I'm revolted by her memory.”

“Don't speak ill of the dead.”

“There's nothing good to be said,” he cried with uncharacteristic ill feeling. Then, his fury mounting, he added, “She had a long, happy life, which she didn't deserve.”

15
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His behavior went downhill to the point of complete collapse.

He stopped praying, abandoned the mosque, was prone to violent outbursts. One night he stormed into the bar for the first time in his life. Mu'nis al-Al and some of his men were sitting there. “At last the donkey's found its stall!” jeered the chief.

The bar erupted into laughter. Galal merely smiled, somewhat embarrassed, and raised the calabash to his thirsty lips.

“What prompted you to behave like a man?” inquired Mu'nis.

“It's the right way to be,” answered Galal cheerfully.

When the chief left, Galal began to sing:

At the gate of our alley

Sits Hasan the coffee man
.

He was thoroughly drunk. “Last night I dreamed I slipped out to my father's minaret,” he declared convivially. “A handsome creature carried me to the top and invited me to play hopscotch with him. I lost my balance and fell down the stairwell. But I wasn't the least bit hurt.”

“You should try it when you're awake,” remarked Anba al-Fawwal, the bar owner.

Galal began to sing again:

At night I hear songs

Of passionate virgins

My strength is destroyed
.

16
.

He found Afifa waiting up for him. He had never stayed out like this before. The bar smells hit her in the face. She beat her chest with the flat of her hand.