Children of the Alley

by Naguib Mahfouz

  “A sensible man like you is the last person to need consoling,” she said.

  Male and female visitors came, but the place got too confining for him and he went up to the roof. Women’s voices floated out of the windows of the buildings, curses mingled with peddlers’ cries from the street, and a child’s crying, which at first he took to be Ihsan’s, until he saw the child wriggling in the dust on a neighboring roof. Darkness was falling slowly. A flock of pigeons flew back to their dovecote, and a solitary star winked on the horizon. He pondered the meaning of the strange look in Qamar’s eye—it was as if she could not see—the twitching of one side of her mouth, the blue tint that had come over her lips, and his overwhelming feeling of anguish. He stayed there for a few hours and then went down, meeting Sakina in the hall, holding Ihsan in her arms.

  “Go in softly so she doesn’t wake up,” she whispered.

  He lay down on the sofa facing the bed, in the dim light shed by a lamp on the windowsill. There was no sound outdoors but the lament of the rebec, followed by the voice of Taza the poet.

  “The grandfather said calmly, ‘I have decided to give you a chance no one from outside here has ever had: to live in this house, to marry into it and to begin a new life in it.’ Humam’s heart beat in a rapture of joy, and he said, ‘Thank you for your kindness.’ ‘You deserve it.’ The boy’s gaze alternated between his grandfather and the carpet before he asked anxiously, ‘My family?’ ‘I have clearly told you what I want,’ Gabalawi reproached him. ‘They deserve your forgiveness and your affection,’ Humam pleaded.”

  Qamar, asleep, made a sudden movement, and he jumped off the sofa to her. He saw a new luster in her eyes instead of the cloudy look, and asked her what was wrong.

  “Ihsan!” she cried in a strong voice. “Where is Ihsan?”

  He sped out of the room, and returned with Sakina, who was carrying the sleeping baby in her arms. Qamar pointed to Ihsan, and Sakina brought her near so that she could kiss her cheek. Qassem sat at the foot of the bed, and she looked down at him.

  “Mine’s greater,” she whispered.

  He leaned over her. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve given you great pain but mine’s greater.”

  He bit his lip. “Qamar, I’m so sad, because I can’t do anything to lighten your pain.”

  “I’m afraid for you, after.”

  “Don’t talk about me,” he said, intensely sad.

  “Qassem, go. Be with your friends. You’ll be killed if you stay behind.”

  “We’ll go together.”

  “Not the same way,” she said with some difficulty.

  “You don’t want to give in to me the way I’m used to.”

  “Oh, that was in the past.”

  It seemed as if she were resisting some great pressure, and she beckoned with her hand. He leaned more closely over her, until he felt her breath; she squirmed and strained forward as if appealing for help. Her chest fell in, and exhaled a harsh, rattling sigh.

  “Sit her up, she wants to sit up!” shouted Sakina.

  He took her in his arms to sit her up, but she emitted a moan, like a mute farewell, and her head dropped against his chest. Sakina rushed the child out of the door, and then the silence was shattered by her screams.

  82

  In the morning, Qassem’s house and the street in front of it were crowded with mourners. The ties of kinship commanded a deep-seated respect in the alley (which, however, enjoyed not one of its many benefits), so Sawaris had to come to offer condolences, and the Desert Rats were quick to follow behind. The overseer, Rifaat, had to come to offer condolences, and he was immediately followed by Lahita, Galta and Hagag, and everyone in the alley followed them. The funeral was joined by huge throngs such as the alley had never seen before except at gangsters’ funerals. Qassem showed a wise man’s composure despite his hidden agonies. Even at the moment of the burial, all of his senses and his faculties wept, but not his eyes. All of the mourners left until only Qassem, Zachary, Uwais and Hassan remained at the burial site.

  Zachary patted Qassem on the arm. “Be brave, nephew,” he said sadly. “God be with you.”

  Qassem slumped slightly and sighed deeply. “My heart is buried in the earth, uncle,” he murmured.

  Hassan’s face contracted sympathetically, and the graveyard was perfectly silent.

  “We should be going,” said Zachary, taking a step.

  But Qassem stood where he was, and protested, “Why did they come?”

  Zachary understood what he meant. “We should thank them anyway.”

  “Make a new beginning with them,” Uwais added, encouraged. “They’ve taken a step, and it calls for steps from you. Fortunately, what’s been said about you outside our neighborhood is not taken very seriously here!”

  He was immersed in silence and sorrow, and did not want a discussion with him. At this point a group led by Sadeq appeared, as if they had been waiting for the mourners to leave; it was a large group but Qassem knew them all, and they hugged him until tears came into his eyes. Uwais rolled his eyes at them irritably, but they ignored him.

  “Now there’s nothing to keep you in the alley,” Sadeq told Qassem.

  “His daughter, his house and his property are there,” Zachary objected sharply.

  “I had to stay in the alley,” said Qassem meaningfully, “and thanks to that, your numbers have grown!”

  He looked at the faces turned to him, as if citing their multitude to prove the truth of what he said. He had persuaded most of them to emigrate and join his companions when he had slipped out of his house every night after the alley was asleep to visit those in whom he recognized friendship and a good preparedness to accept what he told them.

  “Will we have to wait long?” Agrama asked.

  “Until you have enough people.”

  Agrama turned to him, aside, and said, “My heart bleeds for you. No one understands your terrible loss better than I do.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” said Qassem emotionally. “It is very hard.”

  “Hurry and join us, because you’re alone now,” he said, watching him sympathetically.

  “Everything in its good time.”

  “We should be getting back,” said Uwais loudly.

  The friends embraced, and Qassem and the others went home. For days he was alone in his house, so depressed that Sakina worried about the harmful consequences of his sorrow. But he continued his secret nightly excursions with unflagging energy. The number of persons disappearing continued to mount, and people wondered about them, bewildered. Everyone in the rest of the alley ridiculed the Desert Rats and their protector even more; they said that Sawaris’ turn to flee would come any day now.

  “This makes me very nervous,” Zachary warned him one day. “The consequences could be frightening.”

  There was no choice but to wait, however. These were busy and dangerous days, in whose scowling passage Ihsan provided the only smile. She was learning how to stand by grabbing on to the arms of chairs, looked at him with her innocent face and spoke to him in the language of the sparrows and nightingales. He enjoyed watching her face lovingly, and said to himself, “She will be a beautiful girl, but it is more important to me that she be as good and loving as her mother.” His delight was the dark eyes in Qamar’s round face, which would remain a lasting sign of the loving relationship that fate had ended. He wondered whether he would live long enough to see her be a beautiful bride; or would it be her fate to have only painful memories of the house of her birth?

  One day there was a knock at the door, and when Sakina asked who was there, a youthful voice called, “Open up, Sakina.”

  She opened the door to see a girl of twelve or more, oddly muffled up in a cloak and wearing a veil over her face. Surprised, Sakina asked her what she wanted, but she hurried to Qassem’s room.

  “Good afternoon,” she said rapidly, and removed the veil to reveal a brown, moon-round face with lovely features that exuded sprightliness.
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  “Welcome—sit down—welcome, welcome,” said Qassem, amazed.

  “I am Badriya. My brother Sadeq sent me,” she said, sitting down on the edge of the sofa.

  “Sadeq!” said Qassem attentively.

  “Yes.”

  He watched her curiously, then asked, “What made him do something so risky?”

  “No one would ever recognize me in this cloak,” she said with an earnestness that made her seem even prettier.

  He saw that her body was mature for her age, and nodded, reassured. She resumed speaking, even more earnestly.

  “He wants to tell you to leave the alley immediately. Lahita, Galta, Hagag and Sawaris are plotting to kill you tonight.”

  He frowned, alarmed, and Sakina groaned.

  “How did he find that out?”

  “Yahya told him.”

  “But how did Yahya know?”

  “A drunk let the secret out in a bar where there was a friend of Yahya’s. That’s what my brother said.”

  He looked at her silently, until she got up and began to pull her cloak over her nubile body, and then he got up too.

  “Thank you, Badriya. Hide yourself carefully, and give my regards to your brother. Go in peace.”

  She drew the veil across her face. “What should I tell him?”

  “Tell him that we’ll meet before morning.”

  She shook his hand and left.

  83

  Sakina’s face was pale, and her eyes expressed panic. “Let’s get out of the house now!” she shouted, and jumped up to get going.

  “Bundle up Ihsan and wrap her in your cloak. Go out as if you have an errand, but go to Qamar’s grave and wait for me there.”

  “What about you, sir?”

  “I’ll follow along at the right time.”

  Her eyes wavered between concern and confusion.

  “Hassan will take you to the place where we’ll stay,” he reassured her.

  In seconds, she was ready to leave. He kissed Ihsan again and again.

  “We entrust you to the safekeeping of Him who never dies,” the woman told him as she headed for the door.

  He stood at a crevice in the window blinds to keep an eye on the road, and watched the slave walk toward Gamaliya until she disappeared in the curve of the street. His heart pounded as he gazed at the crook of her arm that contained the precious bundle. His eye moved over the neighborhood, and saw some men who were followers of the gangsters, some sitting in the Dingil Coffeehouse and others standing idle here and there; he could barely make out their features in the steadily falling darkness. All indications were that they were preparing, but were they waiting for him to go out for his nightly excursion, if they had discovered that secret, or would they attack his house when the night was nearly over? Now they were carefully spreading out, lest their mission be discovered. They were creeping through the dusk like insects, their very breath exhaling the smell of crime. Would he meet Gabal’s fate, or Rifaa’s? This was the situation in which Rifaa had found himself that dark night: he had hidden in his house with a heart full of good intentions, while the lower floor was invaded by heavy feet, whose owners’ very skin smelled of blood lust. When will you have shed enough blood, miserable alley? He paced back and forth in the room until he heard a tap at the door and Hassan’s voice calling him.

  Hassan entered with his powerful body and eyes reflecting unease. “There are strange, suspicious movements in the alley,” he said.

  “Has my Uncle Zachary come home from his walk?” Qassem asked, ignoring his remark.

  “No, but I was saying that there’s something suspicious out there. Look out of the window blind.”

  “I saw what you’re worried about, and I know what’s going on. Sadeq warned me in time by sending his little sister to me. If he’s right, the gangsters will try to kill me tonight, and that’s why I sent Ihsan away with Sakina. They’re waiting for you at Qamar’s grave. Go get them, and then all of you go to our brothers’ headquarters.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll escape and follow you.”

  “I will not leave you alone,” said Hassan resolutely.

  “Do what I told you, now,” said Qassem urgently, with a hint of vexation. “I’ll escape using a trick, not force. Your strength won’t help me if we should meet any resistance, and by going, you’ll protect my daughter, and you’ll be able to put some of our men at the beginning of the roads from Gamaliya up to the mountain. They may be able to help me, if I need them when I escape.”

  Hassan acceded to his wishes, shook his hand firmly. “No one has a brain like yours. You probably have a good plan,” he said.

  He was answered with a smile of reassurance, and Hassan went away gloomily. It was not long before Zachary arrived, panting; Qassem was sure that he was on his way back from Yahya’s with the news. He spoke first. “Sadeq sent me word of the news.”

  “I just found out a little while ago, when I passed by Yahya’s, and I was afraid you hadn’t heard,” the man said, plainly upset.

  “I’m sorry for being the cause of all these upsets,” said Qassem contritely, and made him sit down.

  “I’ve been waiting for something like this. I had noticed a change in how Sawaris was acting toward me, but I deceived myself. Now I see all those devils everywhere, like locusts. And you’re all alone and have no way of escaping.”

  Qassem straightened up determinedly and said, “I will try, and if I fail, there are men on the mountain who will not be beaten.”

  “What’s that compared to your life or your child?” asked Zachary morosely.

  “I’m surprised that you’re not leading my followers!”

  “Come with me to Sawaris,” he went on, as though he had not heard. “We’ll negotiate with him, and promise him what he wants,”

  Qassem laughed briefly to deride his uncle’s suggestion without answering it. Zachary turned to the window to look out to the street, which seemed dark and dreadful.

  “Why did they choose tonight?” Qassem asked him.

  “The day before yesterday, one of the Al Gabal announced that your cause would be a good thing for everyone, and it’s said that one of the Al Rifaa said the same thing. Perhaps that’s what made them decide to move quickly.”

  “See, uncle? Qassem beamed. “I am the enemy of the overseer and the gangsters, but the friend of our alley, and everyone will see that.”

  “Think now of what is in store for you.”

  “Here is my plan. I’ll escape over the rooftops as far as your house, leaving my lamp burning to mislead them,” said Qassem earnestly.

  “Someone might see you.”

  “I won’t go until it’s dark and people aren’t sitting out on their roofs.”

  “And if they attack your house before then?”

  “They won’t do that until everyone in the alley is asleep.”

  “They may have become more reckless than you think.”

  “In that case, I’ll die.” Qassem smiled. “Who can postpone his appointed time?”

  The man raised a face that bespoke urgency, but it met a calm and confident smile that was like determination personified. “They might search my house,” he said in despair.

  “Luckily, they aren’t aware that news of their plots have reached us, and I’ll escape first, God willing.”

  They exchanged a long gaze, more eloquent than tears, then embraced. When Qassem found himself alone, he shook off his emotions and went to the window to watch the street. Everything was as usual in the neighborhood, with children playing around the handcart lanterns, the coffeehouse packed and sociable, the roofs resounding with women’s conversations; the coughing of smokers, interspersed with their insults and obscenities, and the rising lament of the rebec. There was Sawaris, in the doorway of the coffeehouse, with the messengers of death occupying the corners. Scions of treachery, thieves of men, ever since Idris’ burst of cold laughter, you have been passing on a legacy of crime and sinking the alley in a sea of d
arkness. Isn’t it time the captive bird is freed? Time passed slowly and heavily, but it eventually drew the soirees to an end. The roofs were silent, the street was empty except for the carts and the children, the coffeehouses were abandoned and for a time there were the voices of shadowy shapes heading home. Hallucinating drunks came back from Gamaliya and hashish dens put out their fires, leaving only the companions of death out in the dark. “It is time to act,” he told himself. He hurried to the steps and climbed to the roof, then went to the dividing wall between his roof and the roof of the neighboring house, crossed it easily, and was about to run on when a figure stood in his way and said, “Stop.” He realized that the roofs were occupied by killers; that his encirclement was complete. He turned to retreat, but the other man pounced at him and seized him in his powerful arms. Qassem summoned all of his strength, which was redoubled by fear, and surprised him with a punch in the stomach that released the arms around him. A kick in the stomach doubled him over, and then he collapsed, moaning, and did not rise again. There was a muffled cough from the third or fourth roof down, and he changed his mind about advancing. He withdrew, worried, to his roof, and stood at the steps, listening; he could hear footsteps coming up. They were massing at the door of his apartment; they smashed against it. It flew open and was almost ripped from the frame, and they rushed inside. He went down quickly, not losing a second, ending up in the courtyard. He hurried to the door, and saw a figure moving outside the house, jumped on him and grabbed him around the throat, butted him with his head, kicked him in the stomach and shoved him away. He fell on his back, motionless. Qassem headed for Gamaliya, his heart thumping. Now they saw that the house was empty, and they might go up to the roof, where they would find their supine friend; others might be on their way down to follow him. He passed his uncle’s house without stopping, and when he neared the end of the alley he began to run. Where the alley opened into Gamaliya, a figure jumped out into his path and shouted in a voice like thunder to alert others, “Stop, son of a bitch!” He raised a club before Qassem could get out of the way, but a second figure appeared from around the bend, bashed the man over the head with a cane, and he dropped, screaming.