Children of Gebelaawi (46 page)

Yahiaa said, frowning:

- Rifaa didn 't die the day he was ki lled; he died the day his

successor turned into a strongman.

Qaasi m asked eagerly:

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Children of Gebelaawi

- Where was he buried, sir? His people say our Ancestor

buried him i n his garden, and Gebel's people say his body was

lost in the desert.

Yahiaa roared:

- Damn their hard hearts! They still hate him to this day.

(Then changing his tone:) Tell me, Qaasim, do you like Rifaa?

The boy looked cautiously at his uncle, but answered clearly:

- Yes, sir, I like him very much.

- Which would you prefer; to be like him or to be a

strongman?

Qaasim looked up at the old man, his eyes both smiling and

confused. His lips moved but he made no sound. Zakaria

guffawed.

- Be content with selling sweet potatoes, like me.

They fell silent, At the same time a row began in the market

place, where a donkey had thrown itself down on the ground,

pulling over the cart to which it was harnessed. The women

riding in it scrambled out while the driver flogged the donkey

violently. Zakaria stood up and said:

- We have a long walk ahead of us. Goodbye, old friend!

- Bri ng the boy with you whenever you come.

He shook Qaasim's hand and fondled his hair.

- You 're a good lad.

6 6 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In all the desert one place alone offered shelter from the

angry sun: 1-Iind's Rock. Qaasim sat there on the ground with

only the flock for company. He was wearing a clean, blue

jellaba - as clean as is possible for a shepherd - and had a

turban to protect him from the sun, and a pair of old shoes

worn through at the toes. Part of the time he was sun k i n

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Qaasim

himself, and part of it he watched the sheep and goats, the

lambs and kids. His staff lay beside him. From where he sat he

could see Jebel Muqattam close by, towering up, vast and

threateni ng. It was as if he were the only creature under the

pure dome of sky who persisted obstinately in defying the sun's

wrath. The desert stretched to the horizon, sunk in heavy

silence and stifled in hot air.

When he tired of his thoughts and dreams and p assionate

youthful desires, he turned his gaze to the sheep, watching

their pranks and antics, their quarrels and courtships, their

prancing and lazing. He paid special attention to the lambs,

which he loved. He used to marvel at their eyes and his heart

would beat harder at the sight of them, as if they spoke to him.

He in turn used to speak to them and compare the love they

found i n his care with the degradation that the people of the

Alley suffered under the arrogant strongmen. He was not

worried by the way the Alley despised shepherds, for he had

always believed that a shepherd was better than a crook, a thug

or a beggar. Quite apart from that, he loved the desert and the

fresh air, and knew well jebel Muqattam and l-Iind's Rock and

the maivelously changeful dome of sky. Besides, being a

shepherd led him constantly to visit Mr Yahiaa.

Yahiaa asked him when first he saw him as a shepherd:

- From selling sweet potatoes to watching sheep?

Qaasim answered

- Why not, sir! It's a job that hundreds of poor wretches i n

my sector envy.

- Why's your uncle left you?

- My cousi n Hassan has grown up; he has more right to go

with my uncle on his rounds. Herding sheep is better than

beggi ng.

Never a day passed wi thout his visiting his teacher. He loved

him and enjoyed his conversation. He found that he knew all

about the Alley, past and present. He knew the tales chanted

by the bards - and things that they did not know. Qaasim used

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to say to Yahiaa: 'I watch over sheep from every sector, sheep

from Gebel's and Rifaa's sectors, and sheep belonging to rich

people in our sector too. The strange thing is that they graze

together in the brotherly spirit that their hard-hearted owners

lack. ' He also said: ' Humaam was a shepherd. And who are the

people who look down on shepherds? They're beggars and

down-and-outs and poor wretches. Yet at the same time they

look up to the strongmen who are just shameless robbers and

shedders of blood. God forgive you, people of the Alley ! '

O n e time Qaasim said to Yahiaa playfully:

- I'm poor and content. I 've never harmed any man. Even

my sheep meet with nothing but love from me. Don' tyou thi n k

I'm like Rifaa?

Yahiaa looked at him disapprovingly and said:

- Rifaa! You like Rifaa! Rifaa spent his life freeing his

brothers from devils to wi n happiness for them. (Then, laughi ng: ) And you're crazy about women. You watch for girls i n the desert when the sun goes down.

Qaasi m smiled.

- Is there anythi ng wrong in that, Yahiaa?

- That's your business. But don't say you're like Rifaa.

Qaasi m thought a whi le about this, then said:

- And Gebel, wasn't he, like Rifaa, one of the good men of

our Alley? Yet he loved and married, and won his people's

rightful share of the Trust and handed it out fairly.

Yahiaa said sharply:

- Bu t he made the Trust his goal.

The young man thought for a while, then said candidly:

- No, rather community and justice and order were also his

goals.

Yahiaa was annoyed.

- So you prefer Gebel to Rifaa?

Qaasi m's dark eyes were filled with perplexity. He hesitated

for a long time, then said:

- They were both good men, and there have been so few

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Qaasim

good men in our Alley - Ad ham, Humaam, Gebel, Rifaa that's all our share of goodness. But what a lot of strongmen there have been !

Yahiaa sid sadly:

- And Ad ham died of grief, and Humaam was ki lled, and

Rifaa was killed.

'Such were the truly good men of our Alley: a blameless life

and a tragic end ! ' Thus he spoke to himself as he sat i n the

shade of the big rock. A strong desire to be like them sprang

up in his hearl. 'And the strongmen, how foully they behave ! '

A deep sadness filled him with anxiety. H e soothed himself:

'This rock has seen so many evenl.'i and people: the love of

Qadri and 1-Iind; the killi ng ofHumaam; Gebel's meeting with

Gebelaawi; Rifaa's conversation with his Ancestor. .. And now

where are those events and those people? But the memory

remains, and is worth more than flocks and flocks of sheep and

goats. This rock saw our great Ancestor too, when he roamed

here alone as far as the eye can see, taking possession of what

he wanted and scaring off brigands. I wonder how he is in his

isolation. Is he still in his right mind or is he seni le? Does he

come and go, or is he bed-ridden with age? Does he know

what's going on around him, or has he lost touch with everything? Does he remember his chi ldren, or has he forgotten even himself?'

At the end of the afternoon Qaasi m stood up and stretched

and yawned. He picked up his staff and whistled a tune, then

waved the staff and called the sheep, which flocked together

and moved off towards civilization. He began to feel hu ngry,

having eaten nothing all day except a sardine and some bread,

but a good supper would be waiting at his uncle's. He walked

faster, ti ll he caught sight of the Great House in the distance

with i ts high wall and its shu ttered windows and the tops of its

trees. What did the garden look like - that garden of which

the bards sang, and for which Adham had died of grief?

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Children of Gebelaawi

When he drew near to the Alley he began to hear its hubbub.

He fol lowed the great wall to the top of the Alley. Dusk was

shedding its gloomy light. He pushed his way through gangs of

urchins who were p laying and throwing mud. His ears were

assailed by vendors' calls, women's chatter, men's arguments

and i nsults, madmen's cries for help and the bell on the

Trustee's carriage. His nose was fi lled with the penetrating

smell of treacled tobacco, the stench of garbage, the pungent

outwear of garlic. He stopped in Gebel's sector to return their

sheep and did the same in Rifaa's sector.

He was left with just one ewe which belonged to Madam

Qamar, the only woman in the Desert Rats' sector who owned

property. She lived in a house with one upper floor and a

central courtyard, i n the middle of which stood a date-palm

and in the far corner a guava tree. Qaasim drove 'Grace' into

the courtyard, meeting the maid, Sakeena, with her curly

greying hair. They greeted one another and she smiled and

asked him in her huskyvoice: 'How's Grace? ' He told her of his

admiration for the ewe, handed her over and was about to

leave when i n from the Alley came the mistress of the house.

A chador was wrapped round her plump body, and her dark

eyes looked out affectionately over her veil. Qaasim stepped

aside for her and looked down modestly. She said to him gently

and politely:

- Good evening!

- Good evening, madam!

She stopped and studied Grace, then looked at him.

- Grace is getting fatter every day, thanks to you.

He was affected by her tender glance even more than by her

kind words.

- Thanks to God, and to your care!

Qamar turned to Sakeena.

- Bring him some supper!

He threw up his hands to decline gratefully.

- You're too good, madam .

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Qaasim

He won another glance from her as he said goodbye, then

off he went. He was much moved by her gentleness and

affection, as he was whenever he was lucky enough to meet her.

It was an affection of a kind he knew of only from what he had

heard about the mother-love that he had n ever experien ced.

If his mother had lived she would have been about this

woman 's age, about forty. How wonderful this quality seemed

in an alley that took pride in strength and violence. The only

thing more wonderful was her shy beauty and the joy it

breathed into him. It was not like the hot-blooded adventures

in the desert with their blind, burning hunger and their sad,

transient satisfaction .

He hurried towards his uncle's home, carrying his staff over

his shoulder, hardly seeing what was i n front of him for the

strength of his emotion. He found his uncle's family waiti ng

for him on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. He sat

down to table with the three of them. A supper of falafel, leeks

and melons had been prepared. Hassan was sixteen, and so tall

and well built that Zakaria dreamed that he would one day

become strongman of the Desert Rats. After supper Qaasim's

aunt cleared the table and Zakaria wen t out. The two cousins

stayed on the balcony till they heard a voice calling from the

courtyard:

- Qaasi m!

The two youths stood up and Qaasim answered:

- Comi ng, Saadiq!

Saadiq met them happily. He was abou t the same age and

height as Qaasim, but thi nner. He worked as assistant to the

tin ner i n the last shop before Gemalia. The three friends went

off to Freewheeler's cafe. As they went i n they were watched by

Taza, the bard, who sat cross-legged on his bench at the back.

Omnibus was sitti ng near to Freewheeler by the entrance and

they went over and shook hands with the strongman, meekly

in spi te of his close relationship to Qaasi m and Hassan. They

sat down side by side on one bench , and the boy brought them

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their usual orders. Qaasim loved the hookah and mint tea.

Omnibus looked contemptuously at Qaasi m and asked

rudely:

- What's wrong with you, boy, as neat and tidy as a girl?

Qaasim blushed with embarrassment and said apologeti-

cally:

- There's nothing wrong with being clean, sir.

The strongman scowled.