No One Sleeps in Alexandria (33 page)

“What do you think, Sheikh Magd?” the poor father asked after Magd al-Din’s long silence. Magd al-Din looked at the boy, then reached out his hand to the boy’s shoulder and pulled him to his chest. The boy rested against Magd al-Din’s chest as the latter began to recite verses from the Quran. The mother sobbed outside, and the father prayed for a cure for his son in silence. Magd al-Din was the only one who realized that the boy had been preordained to feel this agony, that his end was near, and that he was no match for this age. He lifted the boy’s face from his chest and began to dry his tears with his handkerchief, saying, “If I were to ask God for anything, Ustaz Rushdi, it would be for a boy as intelligent and wise as you.

“Listen Shahin,” he said to the father, “Islam permits Muslim men to marry non-Muslim women, Christian or Jewish. The Prophet enjoined Muslims to treat Egypt’s Copts well. He was the husband of Maryam the Copt, mother of his son Ibrahim. But the problem, Ustaz Rushdi, is that you are at the beginning of your life and you need time. You’ve also chosen the tightest path. Neither your father nor your mother will object to your marrying the Christian girl.” The mother was heard muttering outside. Magd al-Din continued, “But do you know what her family is like? There are good Christians and there are bad Christians, exactly like all human beings in this world. If the girl has disappeared, as you say, then it is your duty to disappear also, to give her the opportunity for a normal life. I have learned from your father, Ustaz Rushdi,
that you are in the last year of secondary school, that you are a poet, that you forgo food sometimes to buy books and learn languages, that you are preparing yourself to travel to Europe where, God willing, the war will be over this year, and you may become a genius like Taha Husayn. Love and marriage now would put a stop to all of that. Besides, Ustaz Rushdi, don’t be afraid for the girl. We have a proverb that says ‘Break a girl’s rib, she’ll grow two,’ and women usually forget quicker than men. They rush to love and rush to forget.”

Everyone was silent for a long time, until Rushdi said suddenly, “I will go to her family to tell them that I’ll stay away from her.”

The mother came into the room in panic, saying, “No! Don’t go! Nobody’s going anywhere! Everything will end on its own.”

Noticing the anguish on the boy’s face, Magd al-Din said to him, “Let me go in your place. Give me her address and her name, and I’ll make sure she’s all right and put an end to the problem.”

After some reluctance Rushdi said, “Her name is Camilla. She lives on Ban Street, house number eighty-eight. She once told me that a man who worked for the railroad lived in their house, but she didn’t tell me his name.” Magd al-Din said nothing. He got up, his face pale. His hands shook as he gripped the boy’s hand and patted him on the back. Shahin walked with him to the Mahmudiya canal, but Magd al-Din was oblivious to his presence.

Magd al-Din hurried away as if something were chasing him. Was it the boy’s languid eyes or his pale, tormented face?

He sauntered along the dark street by Mahmudiya Canal, barely seeing his way, since there were no street lights, just the feeble glow of a little moon, sneaking through the occasional gaps in the clouds, reflected faintly on the small, shallow ponds on the unevenly paved road—just enough light to enable him to either jump over or walk around them. On the canal itself, there were some faint lights from a few torches on the barges and ships anchored far apart in the dark, with the white sails of the ships furled on the masts. The ships looked like giants, made only of
darkness. The factories on the other hank were also dark, though their high windows gave off muted violet rays. The smokestack emitted white smoke that was quite visible in the dark, even though it was intermittent and thin. The streetcar moving on the other bank also cast pale yellow lights that enabled him to see a man climbing up from the canal. He must have been relieving himself, or perhaps he was an inhabitant of that godforsaken area. He could not quite make the man out, but saw him as a mass of black moving upwards. To Magd al-Din’s right were the big warehouses of Bank Misr, which extended for a long stretch. He saw one of its gates was open; he could tell only because the area beyond it was darker than the sections on either side of it. Then he saw two cigarettes glowing for a moment, revealing two indistinct faces. They were almost certainly two guards from the Territorial Army.

“Greetings,” said Magd al-Din.

There was no response. The cigarettes glowed again for a few moments, two little circles of fire in front of two circles of translucent skin. He hurried on until he was beyond the warehouses, and there he was in total, absolute, pitch dark. No houses, no lights; thick clouds must have completely blocked out the moonlight. On the canal there were no more ships, and on the other bank, no factories and no streetcars. Then to his right there rose an uneven, very dark wall that smelled of grease and soap. He could barely make out thousands of barrels, very close to him, stacked very high—was it possible that they would come tumbling down into Mahmudiya Canal right in front of him?

In every space, no matter how big or small, packed in between the mounds of barrels, were piles of scrap metal that smelled of solder. In the midst of these heaps were gleaming strips of brass, aluminum, steel, chrome, and zinc. He could not exactly see the metals, but they must be the ones gleaming, he thought. Then he saw a wooden kiosk, painted bright yellow, revealed by a ray escaping from the clouds. As he approached it, he heard muffled voices and what sounded like someone snorting, then a nervous female voice saying, “Easy,” and a man’s voice saving, “It’s easy—what could be easier?” then the sound of intermittent laughter, so he hurried away, praying for God’s protection
against Satan’s work. His footsteps must have been audible, for he heard a long laugh in which the man’s and the woman’s voices were intermingled. Then he saw in front of him something huge, a real giant, standing there with a lit cigarette in his mouth, blocking his way. Where did this giant come from, and what did he want? The giant took the cigarette from between his lips and said in a harsh voice, “Don’t be scared. You can join him—it’s only one piaster.” Magd al-Din felt brave enough and strong enough to reach out his hand and push the giant aside. The latter stumbled and almost fell to the ground. Magd al-Din heard him saying, “Watch it! I curse your house! You think you’re some hero, some Antar ibn Shaddad?”

Magd al-Din, who had been terrified only a few moments earlier, smiled as he started to walk briskly again, then all at once had the sensation that he was stumbling over many colorful, tangled rubber threads. Several balloons became caught between his legs, impeding his movement. He remembered the story of the man who went down to Mahmudiya Canal to perform his ablutions and got the rabbits caught in his underpants. His heart started pounding hard, but then the white stones of a long, low, neglected fence provided some light for him and reminded him that he was on a well-known street that led somewhere. Had it not been for that fence, fear would have completely unnerved him, and he might have started to run screaming down the street. He hurried along the fence, and Karmuz Bridge loomed closer. There were four metal lampposts, two on either side of the bridge, topped by a lamp with a shade of dark blue glass. And although they did not illuminate the place, at least he could see them, and he fixed his gaze on them until he arrived at the bridge, and there he breathed calmly for the first time. Next to the bridge, he noticed many push carts with goods left over from the day, covered with tarpaulins or cardboard. Children sleeping under the carts were covered in pieces of blanket, and he realized that he had stayed a long time at Shahin’s house. He walked down the slope to the right, which would take him to Ban Street, which would take him home.

Where had he been exactly? He had a growing feeling that he had just come from hell, or nothingness. Was the boy really telling the truth, or was he just humoring him to end the meeting? In any
case, Magd ai-Din could not forget that sense of an ending in the boy’s eyes. He belonged to an era different from ours and he won’t be long for this world, Magd al-Din thought. His poor father! He walked on Ban Street—’Willow’ Street—thinking of that happy person who had given that and the other streets around it the names of trees and flowers. They were named Narcissus, Jasmine, Sweet Basil, Vine, and Carnation, when in fact, they were shabby, sickly streets filled with tired, lost people whom no one realized belonged to the big city, where everything moved except this place. Alexandria, the white, gay, provocative city, was oblivious to them, the refuse discarded by faraway towns and villages. When did anyone ever pause for the sake of refuse? And who ever believed that from such refuse could come lovers, poets, lunatics, and saints? Only murderers and criminals deserved to stay in this rotten southern part of the city.

“Why are you so late, Magd al-Din?”

“Tuck me in, Zahra. Take my shoes off. Cover me over.”

The gods perceive future things, ordinary people perceive

things in the present, but the wise perceive things

about to happen.

Philostratos

20

“I’ve chosen Magd al-Din and Dimyan for al-Alamein,” said Usta Ghibriyal during the break. Everyone fell silent and looked at the floor. True, it was not their doing, but none of them had stepped forward, to move to al-Alamein. So it was only fair for Usta Ghibriyal to choose those two workers who had not yet completed one year on the job. Magd al-Din and Dimyan were sitting next to each other at the time. They had been expecting to be chosen. Magd al-Din said to himself that now Zahra had to go back to the village. As for Dimyan, he smiled, but his face still looked ashen.

“Al-Alamein, Sallum, it’s all in Egypt,” he said, pretending contentment.

There was news of the arrival of a large German force in Libya, that the Axis was regrouping its troops and had started attacking Benghazi. Thus it seemed that the desert war would not end as everyone had predicted, following Graziani’s defeat. After Usta Ghibriyal made his announcement and the break was over, everyone went back to work. Magd al-Din went over to Shahin and asked him about his son.

“He disappeared for three days,” the man told him, tears in his eyes, “then came back for one day, but then yesterday he disappeared again. I don’t know where he goes or what he’s doing to himself.”

“Did you tell him what I told you?’

“I did, and since then he’s stopped speaking to anyone.”

Earlier that week, Magd al-Din had gathered up his courage and gone upstairs to Khawaga Dimitri, who opened the door for him, surprised. Magd al-Din asked him to go with him to the café for a little while. Dimitri welcomed the idea right away, but could not hide his anxiety.

At the café Magd al-Din told him, “Nobody chooses his own religion, right, Khawaga Dimitri?”

“Right, Sheikh Magd.”

“Please pardon me if I tell you that I know Camilla’s story with Rushdi, the Muslim boy.”

Khawaga Dimitri said nothing for a long while, then asked, “And you also know the young man’s name, Sheikh Magd?”

“His father works with me,” he said and fell silent.

“Listen, Sheikh Magd,” Dimitri said abruptly, “your late brother lived with us for years and never felt that we were different. And you have lived almost two years with us—did you ever feel that we were prejudiced against Muslims?”

“No.”

“Not only that, but sometimes we pay for the mistakes of some Muslim tenants. Lula, for instance, was a Muslim, and she lied to us and brought shame upon us.”

“You’re right, Khawaga Dimitri.”

“I know that nobody chooses their religion, and I’m not surprised that my daughter has fallen in love with a Muslim boy, She is rash, and he is rash, and with a little wisdom everything can settle back in its place.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“We tried to make the girl come back to her senses, but we failed—me, her mother, and the priest. We had no choice but to send her back home to keep them away from each other for a while. The girl will lose a school year but that’s better than losing herself. She’s my daughter, Sheikh Magd. Would you agree to your daughter marrying a Christian?”

Taken by surprise at the question, Magd al-Din thought for a while then replied, “If he converted to Islam, I would have no objection.”

“And if this young man converts to Christianity, neither I nor anyone else would have an objection. Can he convert?”

“He’d be killed, Khawaga. In our religion this is apostasy.”

“Are we wrong because we don’t kill those who abandon our religion?”

They were both silent, until Dimitri finally said, “How could I beget my daughter, raise her, and then have some young man just come and take her and cut off all her relations with us? When a girl gets married, of course it deprives her of her family’s kindness, and deprives her family of her tenderness. So can you imagine if she’s married to someone from a different religion? How can anyone ask me to be deprived of my daughter forever, Sheikh Magd?”

Magd al-Din nodded, thinking how sincere Dimitri was.