Authors: Naguib Mahfouz
Joz astane tovam dar jahan panahi nist
.Sare mara bejoz in dar havale gahi nist
.
Ashur listened to it sadly, then prayed for the alley with all his heart.
He drove down the long track, then made his way between the tombs, seldom closed for long these days, and out into the open country. A cool breeze enveloped him, kindly and refreshing. “Make sure you and the child are well wrapped up,” he said to Fulla.
“There's not a living creature in sight,” she complained.
“God is everywhere.”
“Where are we going to stop?”
“In the foothills.”
“D'you think we'll be able to stand the climate?”
“We'll be fine. And there are plenty of caves.”
“What about bandits?”
“Just let them try!” he joked.
As the cart drew nearer to its destination the darkness began to lift. The shadows dissolved in the rosy, translucent, liquid air and new worlds were revealed between heaven and earth. Strange colors streamed from them, blending together and staining the horizon a pure brilliant red, which merged into the clear blue of the sky's arch. The first rays of sun broke through, bathed in dew, and the mountain appeared, lofty, calm, enduring, indifferent.
“God is great!” exclaimed Ashur.
He looked at Fulla and said encouragingly, “The journey's over.” Then with a laugh he added, “The journey's just begun.”
38
.
They spent about six months in the open. Ashur only left the cave where they had settled and its immediate area to take water from the public drinking fountain in Darasa, or buy fodder for the donkey and such basic necessities as their slender means allowed. Fulla suggested they should sell her gold earrings but he refused, without
telling her why: she had worn them before he married her, so they had been bought with tainted money.
The early days in the cave seemed like a picnic, an adventure, an excursion. In the shadow of her giant of a husband she felt no fear. But very soon life appeared empty, monotonous, unbearable. Have we come here to count the seconds as they crawl steadily over our skins, the grains of sand in the day, the stars at night?
She said to Ashur, “Even heaven would be unthinkable without people or work to do.”
He did not contradict her. “We have to be patient,” was all he said.
He spent much of his time in prayer and meditation, and in thinking about the family he had left behind and the people of his alley. “I've never loved other people as much as I do now,” he confessed to his wife.
He slept part of the day and stayed up all night. He thought so long and deeply that he had a strange presentiment he would soon hear voices and see figures from the spirit world. He became the companion of the stars and the dawn. Nothing separated him from God. Why did the alley's inhabitants give in to death and believe that human beings were powerless? Wasn't this a kind of blasphemy? He was involved in endless silent conversations with figures from his past: Sheikh Afra, Sakina, Naturi, Zaynab; and in sad confidences with his three sons. Hasballah was the one he would have chosen as his friend every time; it was a pity he had missed so many chances with him. Rizqallah was a lost cause, but he was smart, while Hibatallah was so attached to his mother that it was almost unhealthy. All the same, he decided that they were better than many of their peers and prayed long and earnestly for them and their mother. His alley seemed like a jewel stuck in the mud. He loved it now with all its faults. However, it was borne in on him in the course of his devotions that people bring their sufferings upon themselves. The notables, the harafish, Darwish, all revolve around a twisted axis, bent on mastering its awkward secret. And now God is punishing them, as if he has lost patience with them. Yet the dawn still reels in rosy bliss, the rays of light dance in everlasting joy.
Soon he would hear voices, see spirits; he was about to be reborn.
39
.
The occasion arose at last to make Fulla a believer. She was a young and beautiful woman without religion. She knew nothing of God or the prophets, of virtue rewarded or sin punished. All that protected her in this terrifying world were her love and her maternal instincts. Fine, he would bend all his efforts to educating her. If she hadn't had such confidence in him she wouldn't have believed a word he was saying. With great trouble she learned some chapters of the Quran so that she could say her prayers. She would burst out laughing in the middle and interrupt herself, but she prayed obediently, trying not to provoke her husband's anger and anxious to please him.
“Why does God let death destroy people?” she asked him innocently.
“Who knows?” he answered fiercely. “Perhaps they need to be taught a lesson.”
“Don't get angry, like God!” she teased.
“When will you learn to keep a decent tongue in your head?”
“All right, so why did He create us with so much evil in us?”
He struck the sand with his palm. “Who am I to answer for the Almighty?” he demanded. Then, imploringly, “We just have to believe in Him and serve Him with all our strength.”
She abandoned the discussion. “Time's passing and this loneliness is more terrible than death,” she complained.
Silently he looked away from her. She was threatening to rebel. Would she run away, taking Shams al-Din with her? There would be nothing left in his life.
Shams al-Din at least was content. He crawled around on the sand, sat and played with pebbles, slept well, was never bored, and grew in the wind and sun, feeding abundantly on his mother's milk. The donkey too was happy, eating well, working little, swishing its tail at the flies, and roaming its kingdom with infinite patience. Ashur watched it with tenderness and respect: it was his
friend and companion and his source of income; a firm bond of affection united them.
40
.
The days went by. They came close to the edge of collapse in their relationship.
Then one day on his return from Darasa, he announced, “They say the disaster is under control.”
Fulla clapped her hands and cried, “Let's go back at once!”
“Let's wait till I make sure it's true,” he said firmly.
41
.
The cart crossed the cemetery as dawn approached. Under the pale stars its passengers' hearts overflowed with joy and trembled in gratitude for their escape. When they turned onto the path and were met by the sound of the chanting, tears sprang into their eyes; the songs said that everything would be as it always had been.
Here was their alley immersed in sleep: people, animals, and things. As strange in its lethargy as in its wakefulness, it would always tantalize Ashur. As they passed Zaynab's his heart stopped, but he didn't want to disturb them and postponed the embarrassment of seeing them again till later. In their hearts he and Fulla blew dancing, joyous kisses to the walls, the earth, the cheeks of loved ones. Death had not conquered life, or he himself would be dead, but still he felt some regret and shame.
At last they were in their own room, inhaling the odors of dust and decay. Fulla rushed to open the window. “What sort of welcome do you think you'll get, Ashur?” she asked apprehensively.
“Let them do as they think right,” answered Ashur with a defiance he did not feel.
42
.
He squatted down behind the window bars patiently waiting for the last of the darkness to disappear. Light began to settle on the buildings so that their features emerged, familiar as the faces of old friends. He wondered who would be the first to come by. The milkman perhaps, or a servant at one of the big houses. He would greet him resoundingly and take whatever sarcasm came his way. Daylight was streaming into the alley by now and the bean seller was not even open for the breakfast trade yet. He moved away from the window uncertainly.
“Government regulations seem to have changed the habits of the alley,” he said.
He pushed his feet into his leather slippers and added, “I'm off to visit the children.”
43
.
He walked along the deserted alley between locked doors and windows, stopped in front of Zaynab's, pushed the door, and went in. The room was empty and gave off an odor of melancholy. The bed was made in the normal way, but covered with a layer of dust. The single sofa was strewn with worn clothes, the wooden bench overturned; under the bed were pots and pans, crockery, the cooking stove, and half a basket of coal; in the chest a black wrap, a dress, a comb, a mirror, a towel.
They must have fled. But why had they left their clothes behind?
In vain he tried to fight off the sense of impending disaster. He struck his forehead with the palm of his hand, sighed, and began to weep silently. Then he told himself that he would hear what had happened from other people, that it was too early to lose hope, and walked unsteadily outside.
44
.
He followed the alley to the main square. How silent it was, how empty! Not a door or window open. He went forward slowly, stupefied. The bar, the caravanserai, the café, the houses, all were closed and shuttered. Nothing stirred. No sign of a cat or a dog, not a breath of life anywhere, and the dusty buildings all sunk in the same desolation.
The sun shone for nothing, the autumn wind blew aimlessly. In his hoarse voice he shouted tearfully, “Is anyone there?”
Nobody answered. No windows opened. No heads looked out. There was only the stubborn silence of despair, defiant fear, and leaden misery.
He went through the archway to the little square and the monastery rose before him, unchanged. The mulberry leaves gazed at him and he saw their nectar running like blood. The anthems were silent, cloaked in indifference. He stared for a long time, sorrow tearing his heart from its moorings, tears flowing down his cheeks.
In a voice like a roar of thunder he shouted to the dervishes in the monastery.
It seemed to him that the branches bent and swayed to his voice, but no one answered. He began to shout unrestrainedly, to no effect. He cackled like an idiot.
“Who listens to your songs every day?” he called. “Don't you know who I am?”
45
.
“There's not a soul about,” he said to Fulla, drying his tears.
From her own reddened eyes he saw that she too suspected a disaster.
“From one wasteland to another, Ashur,” she remarked with a catch in her throat.
He sighed helplessly.
“Let's go somewhere else,” she suggested.
He looked at her in silent amazement.
“Do you want us to stay in this graveyard?” she asked sharply.
“We'll move around in the cart. We won't stay here all day. But this is the only home we have.”
“An abandoned alley!” she exclaimed.
“It won't always be like this,” he cried angrily.
46
.
Neither sorrow nor joy lasts for ever.
Ashur returned to his trade as a driver. Fulla and Shams al-Din rode with him all day and part of the night, protected by this giant of a man.
He realized that the alley must have been forgotten in the tide of weightier responsibilities inundating the authorities as the plague spread far and wide. No one would suspect his presence in this desolate corner. But they would come. One day they would come. People from here and there breathing new life into the alley, dispelling its blank chill.
Whenever he went out in the early morning to fetch the cart, his eyes were drawn to the Bannan's house. Its purple dome, its awesome bulk, its air of mystery fascinated him. What treasures were left inside? Would a member of the Bannan family bother to come and retrieve them?
Temptation took root in his heart and gave rise to entrancing dreams. He was as curious as he had once been to see the secrets of the monastery. The difference was that the Bannan house was accessible and there was no one else around. A single action, entirely without danger, was all that stood between him and the fulfillment of his dream.
47
.
He shrugged his broad shoulders disdainfully, and pushed open the door. Dust covered the mosaic of the wall tiles and the marble floor. Dust was the dominant presence everywhere. He stood dumbstruck on the threshold of the reception hall. It's like a city
square, Ashur! The ceiling was higher than a jinn's head with a chandelier like the huge dome of Sultan Ghury's palace in the middle and lamps hanging from each corner. Ornately patterned rugs covered wooden couches ranged around the sides of the room. Sumptuous hangings and framed verses of the Quran illuminated in gold lined the walls.
He heard Fulla's voice calling him and ran out to her. She looked at him in astonishment. “Whatever are you doing?” she asked.
“Satisfying a whim,” he answered, shamefaced.
“Aren't you scared the owners will find out?”
“There aren't any.”
She hesitated, torn by conflicting desires, then indicated the cart and said, “We're late.”
“Come and have a look around, Fulla,” he begged shyly.
They spent the day going from room to room, exploring the bathroom and kitchen, trying out the divans and chairs and couches. A mad light sprang into Fulla's beautiful eyes. “Let's spend the night here,” she said.
Ashur said nothing. He felt weaker than ever.
“We could wash in that amazing bath, wear new clothes, sleep in this bed. Just for one night, then go back to our normal life.”
48
.
But it wasn't just for a night.
They would leave the house at dawn and slip back in as night fell. During the day they drove the cart from one district to another and ate lentils, beans, and ta'miya; at night they floated about in cotton and silk, lounged on divans on the ground floor, and slept in a luxurious bed reached by a short flight of ebony stairs. Fulla stroked curtains, cushions, carpets, and exclaimed, “Our life was just a nightmare!”