When he reached the corner of al-Khurunfush, his eyes were attracted by rays of light flashing in the darkness. He looked along the street and saw a lantern carried by another soldier driving before him an uncertain number of figures. He wondered whether the soldiers had been given orders to capture all the men they came across at night. Where were they leading them? What punishment would be meted out? He wondered about these things for a long time with astonishment and alarm, although the sight of tb ese new victims provided some consolation and relief for hisheart. At least he was not the only one, as he had thought. He had found some mates to share his affliction. They would keep him from feeling so lonely and would share his fate. He was a short distance ahead of them.
He began to listen to their footsteps with the relief a person lost in a desert feels on hearing human voices carried to him by the wind. His dearest wish was for them to catch up with him so that he could join their group, regardless of whether he knew them or not. Let their hearts beat in unison as they marched briskly to an unknown destination. These men were innocent. He was innocent. So why had they been captured? What special reason could there be for taking him captive? He was not one of the revolutionaries and was not involved in politics. He was not even young. Were the English privy to the secrets in men'shearts or capable of scrutinizing their emotions? Were they going to arrest members of the general public after arresting all the leaders? If only he knew English so he could ask his captor…. Where was Fahmy to interpret for him?
He was stung by painful homesickness. Where were Fahmy, Yasin, Kamal, Khadija, Aisha, and their mother? Could his family imagine his disgraceful state? Their only image of him was one of venerable and exalted power. Would they be able to imagine that a soldier had shoved him in the back almost hard enough to make him fall on the ground and herded him along like livestock? When he remembered his family, he felt such painful homesickness that tears almost came to his eyes.
On the way, he passed shadowy houses and stores whose ownershe knew and coffeehouseshe had frequented, especially when he was younger. It made him sad to walk past them as a prisoner with no one coming to his aid or even offering their condolences for his situation. He really felt that the most distressing form of humiliation was that suffered in his own district.
He looked up to the heavens to transmit his thoughts to God, who could see into hisheart. He sent his prayers to Him without saying anything with his tongue, not even under his breath. He was ashamed to mention God's name when his body had not been cleansed of the vapors of wine and the sweat of lovemaking. His fear increased, because his polluted state might interfere with his salvation. He might meet a fate that suited his debauchery. Pessimism and dejection gained control of his emotions. He was on the verge of despair when, approaching the lemon market, he heard unintelligible sounds, instead of the silence broken only by footstep:;. Staring into the darkness, he listened intently, alternating between fear and hope. He could hear a clamor but did not know if it came from men or beasts. Before long he could tell it was shouting. He could not keep from exclaiming to himself, “Human voices!”
As the road turned, he saw lights moving. At first he thought they were more lanterns, but it became clear that they were flaming torches. By their light he saw one side of Bab al-Futuh. There were British soldiers standing under this ancient city gate. Then he caught a glimpse of Egyptian policemen. The sight of them quickened his pulse.
“Now I'll know what they want with me,” he thought. “It's only a few more steps. Why are the English soldiers and the Egyptian policemen crowded together at the gate? Why are they rounding up citizens from all areas of the district? I'll know everything shortly. Everything? I'll seek God's protection and submit my destiny to Him. I'll remember this dreadful hour for the remainder of my life, if there is a remainder…. Bullets, the gallows, not to mention the brutal injustice the English inflicted on the villagers at Dinshawai…. Am I going to join the roster of martyrs? Will I become an item of news about the revolution to be passed on by Muhammad Iffat, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Ibrahim al-Far the way we've been discussing such things at our evening sessions? Can you imagine one of our parties with your place empty? God's mercy on you…. ‘He's gone and done for.’ How they'll weep for you. They'll remember you for a long time. Then you'll be forgotten. How upset I am. Submit your fate to your Creator. O God, encompass us, don't oppose us.”
Ashe approached the British soldiers they looked at him in a stern, cold, threatening manner. He had a sinking feeling along with intense pain in his chest. Was it time for him to stop? He dragged his feet and hesitated uncertainly.
“Enter,” an Egyptian policeman shouted to him, pointing to the area inside the great portal. Al-Sayyid Ahmad looked inside questioningly but also ingratiatingly and pitifully. He passed between the English soldiers, barely able to see what was in front of him, he was so scared. He wished he could hide hishead in his arms in response to his instinctive fear. What he saw under the gateway explained, without any need for questions, why he was wanted. He saw that a deep pit like a trench had been dug there to obstruct the road. He likewise saw a swarm of citizens working nonstop to fill the hole under the supervision of the police. They were carrying baskets of dirt, which they emptied into the trench. Everyone was working zealously and quickly while their eyes glanced stealthily and fearfully at the English soldiers stationed at the entrance to the gate.
A policeman came up to him and threw him a basket, telling him in a gruff voice that sounded threatening, “Do what the others are doing”. Then he added in a whisper, “Be quick so you don't get hurt.”
This final sentence was the first humane expression he had encountered during his terrifying journey, and it felt like air in the throat of a man close to asphyxiation. Al-Sayyid Ahmad bent over the basket to pick it up by the handle and asked the policeman in a whisper, “Will I be set free when the work's completed?”
The policeman whispered, “God willing.”
He sighed profoundly and felt like crying. It seemed he had been born anew. With his left hand he lifted the bottom of his cloak and tucked it into the belt of his caftan so it would not impede his work. He took the basket to the sidewalk where dirt was piled. Putting the basket at his feet he filled his hands with dirt and emptied them into the basket. When it was full, he carried it to the hole and threw the dirt in before returning to the sidewalk. He kept on with this, surrounded by groups of men, both old and young, some in modern dress and others wearing traditional turbans. They all worked with a high degree of energy stemming from their desire to live.
He was refilling his basket when an elbow nudged him. He turned to see who it was and recognized a friend named Ghunaym Hamidu, the owner of an olive-oil-pressing firm in al-Gamaliya and a guest at some of al-Sayyid Ahmad's parties. They were delighted to see each other and soon were whispering together.
“So you got caught too!”
“Before you. I arrived a little before midnight. I saw you getting your basket, so as I went back and forth with my basket I began to follow a path that would gradually bring me over to you.”
“Welcome … welcome. Aren't any more of our friendshere?”
“You're the only one I've found.”
“The policeman told me they'll let us go when we finish the work.”
“I was told that too. May our Lord hear us.”
“They've ruined my knees, may God destroy their homes.”
“So far as I can tell, I don't even have knees anymore”.
They exchanged a quick smile. “How did this pit get here?” ”
I was told that a bunch of the boys from al-Husayn dug it at the beginning of the night to prevent the trucks from coming through here. They also say a truck fell in.”
“If that's true, then you can say goodbye to us.”
The second time they worked beside each other at the dirt pile they were somewhat more resigned to their situation. Their spirits had revived and they could not keep themselves from smiling as th
ey filled their baskets with dirt like construction workers.
Ghunaym whispered, “May God and His blessings repay us for these sons of bitches.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad smiled and whispered back, “I hope they're going to pay us the normal wage”. ”
Where did they catch you?”
“In front of my house.”
“It figures”.
“What about you?”
“I had taken some dope, but I got over it fast. The English are stronger than cocaine.”
“They're even more effective than throwing up”. By the light of the torches the men went back and forth quickly between the sidewalk with the dirt and the ditch. They stirred up the dust until it spread throughout the vaulted area of the gate, filling the air. They had trouble breathing. Sweat poured from their brows and plastered their faces with mud. They were coughing from inhaling the dust. They looked like ghosts brought to light when the hole gaped open.
In any case, he was no longer alone. There was this friend and the other men from his district. Even the Egyptian policemen were with them in their hearts. The fact that they had been stripped of their weapons was evidence of that. They no longer had swords in metal scabbards dangling from their belts.
“Be patient,” he advised himself. “Be patient. Perhaps this suffering will pass. Did you think you'd work until morning or even almost till noon? Buck up. You won't always be carrying dirt and exploited to fill the hole…. The hole refuses to fill up….There's nothing to be gained from complaining. To whom would you complain? Your body's powerful and strong and can take it, despite being impaired by the evening's inebriation. What time is it? It wouldn't be prudent to check now. If this had not happened to me, I'd be stretched out in bed enjoying a sound sleep. I would be able to wash my head and face and get a refreshing drink flavored with orange blossoms from the water jug. Congratulations to us for this participation in the hell of the revolution. Why not? The country is in revolt every day. Every hour there are casualties and martyrs. Reading the papers and passing on news is one thing, but carrying dirt at gunpoint is something else. Congratulations to all of you asleep in your beds. O God, preserve us…. I'm not meant for this … not meant for this. God vanquish those who doubt Your power. We are weak…. I'm not meant for this.
“Does Fahmy realize the dangers threatening him? He's reviewing his lessons now, unaware of what is happening to his father. He said no to me for the first time in his life. He said it with tears in his eyes, but it means the same thing. I didn't tell his mother and I won't. Should I reveal my lack of power to her? Should I seek help from her weakness after my power has failed? Certainly not…. Let her remain ignorant of the whole affair. He sayshe's not exposing himself to any danger. Really? God, hear my prayer. If it had not been for that, I wouldn't have been so easy on him. God preserve him. God preserve all of us from the evil of these days. What time is it now? Once it's morning, we'll be safe. They won't kill us in front of the people.”
“I spat on the ground to clear the dust from my throat,” his friend remarked, “and one of the policemen shot me a look that made my hair stand on end.”
“Don't spit. Do like me. I've swallowed enough dirt to fill this hole.”
“Perhaps Zubayda cursed you?”
“Perhaps.”
“Wasn't filling her hole better than filling this one?”
“It was even more strenuous!”
They smiled quickly at each other. Then Ghunaym said with a sigh, “God help me, my back's broken.”
“Me too. Our only consolation is that we're sharing some of the pains of the freedom fighters.”
What do you think? Should I throw my basket in the soldiers' faces and cry out at the top of my lungs, 'Long live Sa'd'?”
“Has the dope started working again?”
“What a loss!… It was a piece the size of the pupil of your eye. I stirred it in my tea three times. Afterward I went to al-Tambakshiya to listen to Shaykh Ali Mahmud recite poetry in the home of al-Hamzawi. On my way back, shortly before midnight, I was telling myself, ‘Your old lady's waiting for you now. There's nothing to be gained from disappointing her.’ Then that, monkey popped up and drove me along in front of him.”
“May our Lord compensate you.”
“Amen.”
Soldiers brought in more men, some from al-Husayn and others from al-Nahhasin, who were quickly incorporated into the work force. A-Sayyid Ahmad looked around. The place was almost packed full of people. They spread out around the trench in every direction, going between the sidewalk and the hole without taking a break, their panting faces illuminated by light from the torches. They looked thoroughly exhausted, humiliated, and afraid. There was blessed safety in numbers. “They won't slaughter this swarm of people,” he reflected. “They wouldn't take the innocent along with the guilty. Where do you suppose the guilty ones are? Where are those brave young men? Do they know their brothers have fallen in the hole they dug? May God destroy them. Did they think that digging a hole would bring Sa'd back or drive the Emglish out of Egypt? I'll certainly abandon my nightlife if God grants me a new lease on life. Abandon my nightlife? It's no longer safe to go out at night. Will life retain any savor? Life loses its savor in the shadow of the revolution. Revolution… in other words, a soldier takes you captive, you carry dirt in your hands, Fahmy says no to yoa. No! When will the world return to normal? A headache? … Yes, a headache and I want to throw up too. A few minutes 1:0 rest. I don't want anything more than that. Maryam's mother, Bahija, is sound asleep. Amina's waiting for me like Ghunaym's ‘old lady.’ There's no way you could imagine what's happened to your father. O Lord, the dust's filling my nose and eyes. O Master Husayn…. Fill, fill… isn't all this enough dirt for you? O grandson of the Messenger of God, Husayn…. The Battle of the Trench, that's what the revered preacher called it. The Prophet Vluhammad, God's peace and blessings on him, fought a Battle of the Trench and worked alongside the other men, digging the dirt out with his own hands. His enemies were pagans back then. Why are the pagans winning today? It's a corrupt age___The times are corrupt. I'm corrupt. Will they remain camped in front of my house until the revolution's over?”
“Did you hear the cock?”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad listened intently and mumbled, “The cock's crowing! Is it dawn?”
“Yes, but the hole won't be rilled up until morning…. The important thing is that I need to relieve myself, badly.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad's mind thought about the lower part of his body. He realized that he needed to go too. Part of his pain was no doubt related to his swollen bladder. Thinking about it seemed to make it much worse, and the pressure of his bladder was intense.
“Me too,” he said.
“What can we do?”
“There's no solution at hand.”
“Look over there at that monkey pissing in front of Ali al-Zajjaj's store….”
“Oh…”.
“Getting a little urine out of my body's more important to me now than getting the English out of Egypt.”
“Get the English out of all of Egypt? Let them get out of al-Nahhasin to begin with.”
“O Lord___Look. The soldiers are still bringing people in.”
Al-Sayyid Ahmad saw a new batch making their way toward the trench.
66
WHEN AL-SAYYID AHMAD awoke it was almost time for the afternoon prayer. News of his mishap had spread among his family and friends. Many of them stopped by the house to congratulate him on his deliverance. Despite the seriousness of the topic, he told them the whole story in a style graced by comic touches and flourishes that inspired their comments.
Amina was the first to hear the story, which he recounted while still psychologically shattered and physically weak, scarcely able to believe tie had escaped alive. She heard the terrifying aspects uacensored. Once he fell asleep, she wept profusely and began to pray to God to watch over her family with His care and mercy. She praytad so long she felt she was losing her voice.
&n
bsp; Al-Sayyid Ahmad, on finding himself surrounded by friends, especially close ones like Ibrahim al-Far, Ali Abd al-Rahim, and Muhammad Iffat, recovered his spirits and had difficulty ignoring the humorous aspects of the incident, which finally won out over everything else. His rendition turned the episode into a comedy. He might have been telling them about one of his escapades.
While the top floor was crowded with male visitors, the family gathered on the lower floor, except for the mother, who was busy with Umm Hanafi preparing coffee and cold drinks. Once again the sitting room witnessed a reunion of Yasin, Fahmy, Kamal, Khadija, and Aisha for the traditional coffee hour. Khalil and Ibrahim Shawkat had been with them all day long but had gone to the father's room shortly after he had awakened, leaving the brothers and sisters alone. Their sorrow over what had happened to their father vanished as they became reassured. Their hearts were filled with affection, and they jumped at the chance to chat and joke with each other the way they had in the past. They had felt anxious until they had seen their father with their own eyes. They had gone to him, one after the other, kissed his hand, and prayed he would have a long and peaceful life. Then they had left his room with military order and discipline.
Although the father had merely held his hand out to Yasin, Fahmy, and Kamal without saying a word, he had smiled at Khadija and Aisha, asking them tenderly how they were doing and if they were in good health. They had been treated to this tenderness only after they got married. Kamal had noticed it with delighted astonishment, as though he were the recipient. In fact, Kamal was the happiest of anyone whenever his sisters visited. On those occasionshe enjoyed a profound happiness tarnished only by anticipation of the visit's end. The warning would come when one of the men, Ibrahim or Khalil, stretched or yawned. Then he would say, “It's time for us to leave”. The phrase was a command to be obeyed, not rejected.
The Cairo Trilogy Page 56