The Harafish

by Naguib Mahfouz

  33.

  When his mother disappeared from the house and the alley, total darkness eclipsed his world. In the face of this disaster he was helpless. He soon found out that she had taken all her money and run off with a young water carrier. It nearly broke him. He washed his hands of her and did not even bother to find out where she had gone, taking refuge behind his dossiers and frequent business trips.

  Atris sought him out to offer his help. He hated the sight of him, but masked his feelings with a grateful smile. “Thanks for the offer,” he said, “but let’s leave her to her own devices.”

  The world appeared gray as ashes, shading into a bloody red. “Why do we love life and cling on to it so eagerly?” he wondered. “Why do we submit to its harsh will? Surely we deserve to have the scum of the earth as our leaders? To hell with Ashur al-Nagi and his false mystique! To hell with the crazy dervishes and their incessant singing!”

  Something had gone monstrously wrong but he didn’t know what.

  34.

  One evening Sulayman al-Nagi sent for him. He remembered he hadn’t visited him for months and felt embarrassed. Sulayman had been paralyzed for ten years now and had spent the last year in bed, cared for devotedly by Fathiyya. Bikr went in to him, kissed his hand, and sat down by his bed, apologizing for having been too preoccupied to come more often.

  “I haven’t got much longer, Bikr,” said Sulayman.

  Bikr protested weakly and his father went on, “I dreamed of your grandfather Shams al-Din three times on three successive nights.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything, father.”

  “It means everything. He told me that life was worthless if you didn’t give your soul to it.”

  “God have mercy on him.”

  “What’s past is past,” he said regretfully, “but I want to ask you which of your sons would be suitable?”

  Realizing that he was talking about the clan chief’s position, Bikr hid a smile and replied, “They’re still young but they’ll never be right.”

  “What about one of your stepsisters’ sons?”

  “I don’t know, father,” he said hesitantly.

  “Because you don’t know a thing about them.” He sighed deeply, then said, “I’m leaving this world like a prisoner. I leave you in the care of the Everlasting!”

  35.

  That same night Sulayman died. Despite his lengthy seclusion, the whole neighborhood turned out for his funeral, even Atris and his men, and he was buried beside Shams al-Din.

  Bitter sorrow was reawakened in the hearts of the Nagi family and the harafish and painful memories flooded over them.

  36.

  A new, unaccustomed burst of activity, emerging suddenly to disrupt the routine flow of events and interchangeable days, like a meteor blazing across a pale sky.

  “What’s the man doing?” Radwana asked herself, perplexed.

  Bikr took her by the hand in an uncharacteristic gesture and led her all around the great house, floor by floor. He was serious and preoccupied, as if he was preparing for a business trip or some important deal.

  “What are you doing, for God’s sake?”

  He didn’t answer, or even smile, but led her from room to room, gallery to gallery, great hall to great hall, circling choice pieces of furniture and rare artworks, examining carpets, curtains, rugs, candelabras, lamps, ornaments, looking into the children’s bedrooms.

  “I’m tired of this,” she muttered irritably.

  He turned to a mirror framed in solid gold occupying an entire wall. “There’s not another like it in the country,” he said. Then he gestured in the direction of a chandelier of vast proportions, encrusted with stars. “One of only three in this entire city.” Then to a multicolored glass dome with the light pouring through. “That took a whole year to make and the cost would have supplied an army!” Then with an expansive movement, palms outspread, to a huge carpet covering the floor. “Exported specially for me from Persia!”

  He sang the praises of every piece of furniture, made obeisance to every gem and precious stone. At last Radwana ran out of patience, and detaching her hand from his, she asked, “What’s this all about?”

  He folded his arms on his chest and gave her a strange look, then said, “I’m adored by fate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Fate loves me passionately and cares for me day and night.”

  “You seem to be in a very strange mood.”

  “Have a good look at me. Study me for as long as you can. I am the world, no more and no less.”

  “My nerves can’t stand any more of this.”

  He smiled for the first time and said, “What it’s all about, my beloved, spoiled Radwana, my dear little rebel, is that Bikr Sulayman Shams al-Din al-Nagi is bankrupt!”

  37.

  She couldn’t take it in; she refused to believe the impossible. She banged her head against the furniture. The world appeared to her in the guise of a woman winking her left eye spitefully. Radwana prepared herself for the flight to never-never land. Bikr’s face appeared unnaturally beautiful, impossibly miserable. A sob escaped from her lips and immediately took on the shape of a scorpion.

  “It’s the truth, Radwana,” muttered Bikr.

  He watched her turn to stone, the image of stupefaction, and cried in a despairing, angry tone, “I’m not clan chief. I’m not rich. I’m not happy.”

  Her mouth dry, she asked, “How did it happen?”

  “Like a stroke, a scandal, death. Why are you so surprised? It was just a venture that went wrong.”

  “People were always warning you,” she whined.

  He answered contemptuously, “People who know nothing about business like to criticize and hand out expert advice mainly because they’re envious. To hell with them!”

  Silence fell. Terrifying specters danced in the shadows. Impossible dreams crashed against the walls of a somber, unyielding reality.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  “The business will go into liquidation. They’ll auction off the assets. And after that…”

  He stopped and she prompted, “After that?”

  “After that we’ll join the beggars and scroungers!”

  “I suppose you’re trying to frighten me.”

  “I’m trying to make you aware of what’s going on, that’s all.”

  “It’s the price of folly.”

  “It’s just business,” he mocked. “Fate’s the partner you don’t see.”

  “You took the risks, not fate.”

  “And you always refused to show interest. But that didn’t affect the market.”

  The tears rained down her cheeks. “Now I know how my father died!” she moaned.

  “He was lucky,” he said bitterly.

  “What will happen to the children?”

  “Let’s leave them to sleep in peace.”

  38.

  Normal activity came to a halt as people flocked to see the auction of goods belonging to a man who had been the richest of them all before he slid into ruin.

  There were clouds racing across the face of the sun. Bikr stood surrounded by former business partners lately become his creditors. Polite smiles were frozen on their lips; their cheeks were pale with anxiety, embarrassment, and anticipation but their clenched jaws betrayed their determination.

  Sheikh Said leaned toward Uthman al-Darzi, the bar owner, and remarked scathingly, “I wonder why he didn’t have a dream showing him the way to salvation like his famous ancestor!”

  “When you eat too much you only have nightmares!” Uthman whispered back.

  Just before the auction was due to start there was a loud jingling of bells. All eyes turned to the alley entrance: a carriage was approaching. Could it be a prospective bidder from outside the area? The carriage came to a halt near the crowd and a young man in a black coat and turban stepped down. He was tall and graceful and looked strangely familiar.

  Several voices shouted almost simultaneously, “It�
��s Khidr Sulayman al-Nagi!”

  39.

  A wave of anticipation swept through the gathering. Whispering filled the air like the buzzing of hundreds of flies. Said al-Faqi hid a smile. Bikr turned pale and gave an involuntary shudder. Khidr raised his hand in greeting and was gratified by the response.

  “You’re just in time!” said Sheikh Said.

  “Have you come to bid in the auction?” inquired Uthman.

  “No. To save what can be saved,” replied Khidr sadly.

  Everyone noticed that he was speaking with strength and confidence and had obviously made a success of his exile, and grown wealthy. The creditors’ spirits revived and a voice called, “God bless you!”

  “Let’s postpone the auction and try to come to an agreement,” said Khidr.

  “No!” shouted Bikr.

  All eyes turned to him in surprise. “Time will never erase your crime,” he screamed at his brother. “Get the hell out! You’re not welcome around here.”

  He was pelted with a flurry of objections like a squall of rain.

  The galloping clouds had caught up with each other and joined to form a canopy of darkness.

  “Let me do my duty,” begged Khidr.

  “I’d rather be ruined than saved by you,” raved Bikr.

  “One shouldn’t squander a gift from on high,” intoned Tulba al-Qadi, imam of the mosque.

  “He’s only come to gloat and have his revenge,” protested Bikr.

  The creditors surged around Bikr, trying to calm him down and persuade him to listen to his brother, and Sheikh Tulba said, “Let’s postpone the auction until we reach a decision we won’t later regret.”

  40.

  Bikr finished his account of the events and looked at Radwana. “That’s the story,” he said.

  He waited eagerly for her comments but she was embarrassed and subdued and could find nothing to say. She sat trapped by his fierce, inquisitive gaze.

  “What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you say something?” demanded Bikr.

  She retreated deeper into silence, regaining her self-possession. “Tell me what you think,” insisted Bikr, the irony in his voice becoming more pronounced.

  Escaping his eyes, she stared at a text framed in gold hanging on the wall and said with a desperate energy, “What do you expect me to say when my children look likely to become beggars on the street?”

  “Tell me straight what you really think.”

  Some of her defiance had returned, and she said, “I think he wants to save the Nagis’ reputation.”

  “If he’d been bothered about that, he wouldn’t have been after his brother’s wife.”

  “Perhaps he’s trying to make up for it,” she said awkwardly.

  “Since he has no conscience, that’s not a possibility.”

  “Why would he sacrifice his money, then?”

  A wave of anger swept over him. “Perhaps it’s you he wants to save,” he said sullenly.

  “Never!” she protested with an angry wave of her hand.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I believe he’s trying to save his family’s name.”

  “You’re lying,” he shouted in a fury.

  “Don’t make matters worse,” she retorted, exasperated.

  “I’m justified in doubting everything, even you!”

  “You’re not in a state to discuss anything,” she cried.

  “I’m perfectly lucid,” he replied. “Perhaps wealth can make you mad, but the trials of bankruptcy give you back your reason. You’re just a slut who’s still got her eye on her old lover.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” she shouted.

  “It’s a miracle it’s taken this long, living with you. All I ever got from you was dislike, rejection, suppressed infidelity. I gave you everything and got fresh air in return. You were the curse that drove me to folly and ruin. Now it’s your turn to pay for what you’ve done.”

  She uncurled slowly and menacingly from her seat like a tongue of flame. “Hold your filthy tongue!” she shrieked in his face.

  Then he went crazy. He beat her, slapped her, kicked her until she sank unconscious to the floor. Through the anger blazing in his eyes, he stared at her in astonishment. He thought she was dead, or dying. So that was how easy it was to escape from the uncertainty that had plagued him all this time. He leapt the wall of reality and left the room, fired with deadly resolve.

  41.

  Khidr was having a meeting with the creditors in Sheikh Said’s shop when Bikr rushed in. He held a knife in his hand and was drunk with rage.

  “I’ve killed her, and now it’s your turn,” he yelled.

  He lunged at his brother. Thanks to the intervention of some of the onlookers the knife missed its target, and pierced Khidr’s turban harmlessly. They pinioned Bikr’s arms to his side, wrested the knife from him, and threw him to the floor.

  “He’s gone mad!”

  “He’s a murderer, you mean.”

  Bikr raised his head a little off the floor and shouted, “You’re just after money and you don’t care where it comes from!”

  “Let’s hand him over to the police,” said Sheikh Said.

  “He’s killed his wife,” exclaimed Khidr brokenly.

  “Get him to the police station.”

  Bikr began shouting again: “Bastards! Sons of bitches!”

  42.

  The truth soon came out: Radwana wasn’t dead as Bikr had thought. They let him go and he fled from the alley.

  Khidr settled accounts with the creditors as agreed. The business was put into liquidation but the Samari and Shubakshi houses remained in Radwana’s possession.

  Fathiyya invited Khidr to stay with her until he had organized his life. He obviously intended to stay in the alley and lost no time in taking steps to buy back the grain merchant’s and become active in business again. He also thought about buying the Samari or Shubakshi house, to provide himself with a suitable place to live, and at the same time enable Radwana and her children to live comfortably on what she made from the sale.

  “You’ve always been generous,” remarked Fathiyya.

  “I never forgot my family. They were in my thoughts all the time I was away,” he replied mildly.

  The alley too. And he had learned in his exile that the Nagi name meant something in the world outside while the Samari name was of little significance. He discovered that true heroism was like musk: it sweetened people’s lives and stimulated them, even if they never had the chance to be heroes themselves. But was this the sole reason he had come back to the alley?

  “Why haven’t you married?” asked Fathiyya.

  “I hated the idea of marrying in exile,” he answered hurriedly.

  43.

  He suddenly felt inspired to go and see Atris. The meeting took place in Atris’ luxurious house. The clan chief welcomed him effusively. “We’re honored to receive the son of a family of heroes,” he said.

  Khidr replied modestly, “I’m simply coming to pay my respects to the chief, as I intend to settle in the alley.”

  “You people are always a force for good,” said Atris, relaxing.

  This encounter ensured that suspicions were nipped in the bud.

  44.

  Was he waiting for something particular? He was working as a grain merchant again, and suffering conflicting emotions. Now the hot southerly winds of spring were lashing the alley walls once more, raising clouds of dust, muddying the hot, thick air. Soon the summer would be here with its easy majesty, honest heat, and sticky breath. Was he waiting for something to happen? Radwana had sent someone to thank him; and he had replied pleasantly. Fathiyya reported to Radwana on his behalf that he thought this use of emissaries made them seem like strangers. Finally he sent Fathiyya to arrange a meeting with her. He went at night to avoid prying eyes, so that memories of the past would not become topics of discussion once more. Although his feelings were in turmoil, he was filled with secret determination.

  Radwana re
ceived him in the salon, modestly dressed, with her head bowed and a black veil as if she were in mourning. They shook hands and their eyes met only for an instant, but in that short space they gave off sparks like two stones rubbing together. Then they sat, silent and uncomfortable, each wishing the meeting was over.

  “This is an opportunity for me to thank you in person,” said Radwana.

  Relaxing a little, Khidr said, “And for me to tell you that I’m here to help you if you need anything.”

  “What about Bikr?”

  “I haven’t forgotten my duty to him, but there hasn’t been a trace of him so far.”

  “When do you imagine he’ll come back?”

  “I know he’s very proud. I’m afraid he may stay away a long time. How are the children?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  Khidr hesitated a little, then said, “I want to buy the Shubakshi house, if you’ll let me.”

  She frowned slightly. “That’s your way of helping a bankrupt woman, I suppose.”

  “I need somewhere in a hurry,” he said uncertainly. Then, resigning himself, “We’re all in the same family anyway.”

  “Thank you for your good intentions,” she said, giving him a long look. Then after a moment’s silence she asked, “Have you forgotten my past faults?”

  “The past’ll trip you up if you let it hang around,” he answered too promptly.

  “But do you really think it’s possible to forget?”

  “Of course. When it’s for the best.”

  “I don’t know…”