The Yacoubian Building

by Alaa Al Aswany

  The credit for this is due to God, Great and Glorious, and next to God, to Sheikh Shakir who has provided him whenever they meet with increased faith in God and knowledge of Islam. Taha has come to love him and cling to him and has become one of those who are so close to him that after a while the sheikh granted him permission to visit him at his home at any time, an intimate status the sheikh grants to only his most trusted associates.

  Only one thing remains of the old dispensation in Taha’s soul—his love for Busayna. He has tried hard to subject his feelings for her to his new way of thinking, and failed. He has striven to convince her of the need to follow God’s Law. He took her the book Dress Modestly Lest Ye Be Judged and pressured her to read it and kept on at her until he got her to accompany him to the Anas ibn Malik mosque, where she listened with him to Sheikh Shakir’s sermon. To his astonishment and disappointment, however, she was not impressed. Indeed she told him frankly that it was boring, which led to a quarrel. They have started quarreling a lot when they meet, with her always provoking him so that he gets angry and goes away each time determined to make a final break with her, seeing in his mind’s eye the calm, beaming smile that Sheikh Shakir gives him whenever he speaks to him of Busayna, and of his words, “My boy, you will never guide to righteousness those whom you love, but God will guide to righteousness those whom He wills.” The sheikh’s words reverberate in his thoughts and he promises himself never to see her again, then he goes back on his word after a few days, distressed and yearning for her. But every time he comes back to make up with her after a quarrel, her coldness toward him increases.

  Today, though, he did not go to the university, specifically so that he could see her. He waited for her at the entrance to the building as she came out in the morning and accosted her, saying, “Good morning, Busayna. I want a word with you, please.”

  “I’m busy.”

  Such was her uncivil answer as she ignored him and proceeded for a few steps. He, however, could not control himself and pulled her by the hand, though she resisted for a moment before yielding and whispering in panic, “Let go of my hand! No scenes!” The two then walked silently and warily among the people in the street till they got to their favorite place in Tawfikiya Square. As soon as they sat down, she burst out angrily, “What do you want from me? Do you have to make problems every day?”

  Strangely, his own anger disappeared rapidly, as though it had never been, and he waited for a moment. Then he said in a voice that he tried hard to make calm, as though he wanted to conciliate her, “I beg you, Busayna, don’t be angry with me!”

  “I’m asking you, what do you want from me?”

  “I want to confirm something I heard.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning everything you’ve heard is true.”

  She was challenging him and pushing the conversation to the edge.

  “You’ve left Talal’s store?”

  “I left the job at Talal’s and I’m working for Zaki el Dessouki. Is that bad, or a sin, Your Reverence?”

  In a weak voice he said, “Zaki el Dessouki has a bad reputation.”

  “Sure, he’s got a bad reputation and he likes women, but he pays me six hundred pounds a month. And seeing that I have a family to support and seeing that your good self can’t pay me the cost of schools, food, and drink, it’s none of your business!”

  “Busayna, fear God! You’re a good person. Take care you don’t make Our Lord angry! Do what’s right and leave it to God to provide!”

  “I agree, it’s up to God to provide. Unfortunately, we just aren’t finding enough to eat.”

  “I can find you a respectable job.”

  “Find yourself a job, sweetheart! I’m perfectly happy with mine.”

  “That’s how you want it?”

  “Yes, that’s how I want it. Anything else?”

  She asked him this sarcastically, then irritation swept over her again, so she got up and stood in front of him and said, arranging her hair in readiness to depart, “Listen, Taha. I’m telling you—bottom line, it’s over between us. Each one goes his own way. And there’s no call for us to meet again, if you don’t mind.”

  Then she smiled ambiguously and said as she moved away, “You’ve even grown your beard and become observant, and I wear short skirts and go about uncovered. We don’t look right together.”

  Sheikh Shakir’s apartment is cramped and humble. The house consists of two stories built of red brick in a narrow alley in Dar el Salam. In the two bedrooms and a parlor live Sheikh Shakir, his two wives, and his seven sons and daughters, who are at different stages of their schooling. The sheikh and his student visitors have agreed on a signal by which he can recognize them—three knocks with spaces in between.

  This was the knock that Taha el Shazli used, and he heard the voice of the sheikh saying from inside, “Coming!” Then he heard a sound which told him that the women had gone into the farther room and the slow, heavy footsteps of the sheikh and the sound of him clearing his throat were audible. After a short while the sheikh opened the door, saying “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate” as he did so.

  “Taha! Welcome, my boy.”

  “Sorry to disturb you but I want to talk to you a little.”

  “Come in, please. You didn’t go to the university today?”

  Taha sat on the sofa next to the window and recounted what had happened with Busayna. He told everything and described his feelings to the sheikh, who listened carefully, playing with his prayer beads. The talk was interrupted for a few minutes when the sheikh got up to bring the tea tray, after which he continued to listen until Taha had finished talking. He thought for a while, and then said, “My boy, the True Religion does not forbid love so long as it is legitimate and does not lead to disobedience to God’s Law. Indeed, the noblest of God’s creations, the Chosen One—blessings and peace be upon him—loved the Lady Aisha and spoke of this in sound reports whose validity is generally accepted. The difficulty lies in choosing the woman deserving of your emotions. What should the specifications of this woman be? The Prophet—God bless him and give him peace—said, ‘A woman may be taken in marriage for her beauty, her wealth, or her religion. Take you the religious woman, and, God willing, wealth will follow’ (God’s Prophet has spoken truly). A proper Islamic upbringing would have prevented you from falling into a difficulty such as that from which you are now suffering. You and all the children of your generation did not receive an Islamic upbringing because you grew up in the secular state and received a secular education. Thus you grew accustomed to thinking in a way that excludes religion. Now you have returned to Islam with your hearts, but your minds will take a while before they rid themselves of secularism and are purified for Islam. Learn, as I have said to you so many times, how to love in God and hate in God, for otherwise your Islam will never be complete. The distress from which you are now suffering is a natural and inevitable result of your distance from God, even though this be in only one aspect of your life. If you had asked yourself at the beginning of your relationship with this friend of yours how observant she was, if you had made her adherence to Islam a condition for your having a relationship with her, you would not find yourself where you are now.”

  The sheikh poured out two glasses of tea and offered one to Taha. Then he placed the pot on the metal tray, whose color had been transformed by age, and said, slowly sipping his tea, “God knows how much I love you, my boy, and I hate you to come to your sheikh in sorrow only for him to give you a lecture instead of consoling you. But, by God, my sincere advice to you is this: forget this young woman, Taha, because she’s gone astray. You are an observant young man, a believer, and a girl who is a Muslim like you would be better for you. Force yourself to forget and seek help in prayer and the recitation of the Qur’an. It will be difficult at the beginning but will get easier for you later, God willing. Then again, have you forgotten your religion, Taha? What’s become of gihad, T
aha? What’s become of your duty to Islam and the Muslims? Yesterday the filthy war began, with our rulers allowing themselves to be forced into fighting Muslims and under the command of unbelievers. It is the duty of all young Muslims in Egypt to rise up against this unbelieving government. Are you willing, Taha, to hang back in aiding the Muslims, who are being killed in their thousands every day, and occupy yourself with an erring young woman who has deserted you in favor of abomination? God, Mighty and Glorious, will not ask you on the Day of Resurrection about Busayna, but He will hold you to account for what you did to support the Muslims. What will you say to God on the day of the Great Gathering?”

  Taha hung his head and appeared moved. Then he said in grief and shame, “I have promised God more than once that I’d forget her, but unfortunately I start thinking of her again.”

  “Satan will not give your soul up easily and you will not achieve true devotion in one go. The gihad of the soul, Taha, is the Greater Gihad, as the Messenger of God—God bless him and give him peace—called it.”

  “What should I do, Master?”

  “You must pray and recite the Qur’an. Apply yourself constantly to them, my boy, until God brings you relief and promise me, my boy, that you will not see this young woman again, whatever the circumstances.”

  Taha looked at the sheikh and said nothing.

  “This is an undertaking between you and me, Taha, and I’m confident that you’ll keep it, God willing.”

  The sheikh then rose, opened the drawer of the old desk, took out some pictures from foreign newspapers and threw them in Taha’s lap, saying, “Look at these pictures. Examine them well. These are your Muslim brethren in Iraq whose bodies have been torn apart by the Coalition’s bombs. Look at how the bodies have been rent apart, including those of women and children. This is what they do to Muslims and their children, and our traitorous rulers participate with the unbelievers in their crimes.”

  Then the sheikh picked out a photo and held it in front of Taha’s eyes and said, “Look at the face of this Iraqi child, ripped open by American bombs. Is not this innocent child as much your responsibility as your sister and your mother? What are you doing to aid her? Is there still a place in your heart for sorrow over your erring friend?”

  The photo of the disfigured child was extremely upsetting and Taha said bitterly, “The children of Muslims are slaughtered in this hideous way, while Egyptian television is crawling with scholars from el Azhar affirming that the Egyptian government’s position is sound in Islamic Law and claiming that Islam supports the alliance with America to strike Iraq.”

  For the first time the sheikh showed excitement and his voice rose. “Those scholars are hypocrites and evildoers. They are the pet jurists of the sultans and their sin in God’s eyes is great. Islam absolutely forbids us to participate with unbelievers in the killing of Muslims, whatever the reasons. Any schoolchild doing their first class in the Law knows the authorities for this.”

  Taha nodded in agreement with the words of the sheikh, who suddenly said, as though he had just thought of something, “Listen. Tomorrow, God willing, our brothers are organizing a big demonstration at the university. I hope you won’t stay away.”

  He was silent for a moment, then went on, “I shan’t be able to lead the demonstration myself, but your brother Tahir will be your commander tomorrow, God willing. The assembly point is in front of the auditorium after the noon prayer.”

  Taha nodded, then stood up and asked permission to leave, but the sheikh asked him to wait and disappeared inside for a little. He returned smiling and said, handing him a small book, “This is the Islamic Action Charter. I’d like you to read it, then we can discuss it later. This book, Taha, will make you forget, God willing, all the bad thoughts that haunt you.”

  The animals were slaughtered on the Friday morning—three huge bullocks that had spent the night next to the elevator in the lobby of the Yacoubian Building. At the call to the dawn prayer, five butchers fell on them, trussed them, and slit their throats; then they spent hours flaying them, cutting them up, and loading the meat into bags, ready for distribution. No sooner had the noon prayer come to an end than the crowds in Suleiman Basha swelled with troops of people making their way to the Azzam stores. They were extremely poor: beggars, privates in the police force, barefoot boys, and women garbed in black carrying or dragging behind them their small children. All came to take their share of the sacrificial meat that Hagg Azzam was giving away to mark the occasion of his victory in the elections. In front of the main entrance to the store stood Fawzi, Hagg Azzam’s eldest son, in a white gallabiya, taking the bags of meat and throwing them to the people, who had formed a surging crowd and were shoving one another to get at the meat. Fights broke out and injuries occurred, and the store’s employees were obliged to make a cordon and beat the surging people back with their shoes to keep them away from the glass display windows before they broke under the weight of their bodies. Inside, Hagg Azzam sat at the front wearing a smart blue suit with a white shirt and a crumpled red tie, his face beaming with joy.

  The results of the elections had been announced officially on Thursday evening, Hagg Azzam winning the People’s Assembly Workers’ seat for Kasr el Nil and scoring a sweeping victory over his opponent Abu Himeida, who obtained only a very few votes (El Fouli had decided that his defeat should be overwhelming and ringing, as an example to anyone else who might disobey his instructions in the future). Hagg Azzam felt a genuine, deep gratitude to God, Almighty and Glorious, who had supplied him, of His bounty and His support, a clear victory. He performed more than twenty prostrations in thankful prayer the moment he heard the news and issued his instructions for the slaughter of the bullocks. He also secretly distributed more than twenty thousand pounds to poor families whose needs he himself took care of and gave a further twenty thousand to Sheikh el Samman to be spent on charitable purposes under his supervision, not to mention the twenty golden guineas he donated to Sheikh el Samman on this occasion.

  A different feeling toyed with Hagg Azzam’s heart when he thought of Souad: how should he celebrate his fabulous win with her that night? He reviewed the details of her soft, warm body in his mind’s eye and felt that he truly loved her. He said to himself that the Messenger of God—God bless him and give him peace—was right when he described women as bringers of good fortune. There were indeed some blessed women whom a man had only to take as a partner for him to be inundated with good fortune, and Souad was one of them. She had brought victory and blessing and here he now was, triumphant and about to enter the People’s Assembly. Verily, there was nothing more wonderful than divine providence! He was now the People’s Assembly member for the residents of the constituency of Kasr el Nil, who at one time had held out their shoes to him for him to clean, and looked down on him from above, and generously given him their pennies. Now he was the Honorable Member, enjoying legal immunity, which prevented anyone from taking action against him without the Assembly’s permission. From now on his picture would appear in the press and on television and he would meet every day with the ministers and shake their hands, equal to equal. He was no longer merely a rich businessman, he was a statesman and he would have to deal with everyone on that basis. Starting from now, he would begin the great work that would catapult him to the level of the giants. The next step would take him to the summit; he would be one of the five or six movers and shakers in the whole country provided the deals he was planning in order to move him from the millionaire to the billionaire bracket went through. He might in fact become the richest man in Egypt and become a minister. Yes indeed! Why not? When God is willing, nothing is impossible; hadn’t he dreamed of becoming a member of the People’s Assembly? Money makes short work of problems and brings the distant goal within reach. One day he might achieve a ministry, just as he had the Assembly.

  He remained sunk in his ponderings until the call to the afternoon prayer rang out and he led the store’s employees in prayer as usual, even though (and he aske
d God’s forgiveness for this) his mind did wander more than once as he was praying to Souad’s body. As soon as he had finished the prayer and said his beads, he hurriedly left, entered the Yacoubian Building, and rode the elevator to the seventh floor. What deliciously insistent, burning desire he felt as he turned the key in the door and found before him Souad, exactly as he had imagined her, waiting for him in the red robe that showed off her stunning charms, and that smell of perfume that stole into his nose and tickled his senses! She came toward him with a vampish gait and passion took possession of him as he listened to her footsteps and the rustling of the robe on the floor. Then she took him in her arms and whispered, her lips brushing his ear, “Congratulations, my darling! A thousand congratulations!”

  At rare and exceptional moments Souad Gaber appears as she really is. A look suddenly flashes from her eyes like a spark and her face recovers its original appearance, exactly as an actor returns to his own character on finishing a role, takes off his costume, and wipes the makeup off his face. On such occasions, a serious, slowly awakening look suggestive of a certain degree of hardness and determination appears on Souad’s face and reveals her true nature. This may happen at any time—while she’s eating with the Hagg or chatting with him of an evening; even while she’s with him in bed, she may be twisting and turning in his arms as she does her best to rouse his feeble virility and that spark will flash in her eyes confirming that her mind never stops working, even in the heat of passion.

  Often she astonishes even herself with her newfound capacity to take on fake roles. She was never a liar before. All her life long she has been used to saying whatever’s on her mind—so where did all this acting come from? She plays with skill the role of the jealous, compassionate, yearning, loving wife and like a professional actor has learned to control her emotions perfectly: she cries, laughs, and gets angry whenever she decides to do so. Right now, in bed with Hagg Azzam, she is playing out a scene—that of the woman who, taken unawares by her husband’s virility, surrenders to him so that he may do with her body whatever his extraordinary strength may demand, her eyes closed, panting, and sighing—while in reality she feels nothing except rubbing, just the rubbing of two naked bodies, cold and annoying. With that sharp, lurking, unblinking awareness of hers, she contemplates Hagg Azzam’s exhausted body, whose brief last hurrah came to an end and whose feebleness manifested itself after one month of marriage, and averts her eyes from the whiteness of his old, wrinkled skin, the few, scattered hairs of his chest, and his small, dark nipples. She feels nauseated whenever she touches his body, as though she were putting her hand on a lizard or a revolting, slimy frog and each time she thinks of the slim, hard body of Masoud, her first husband, with whom she knew love for the first time.