Ibrahim Meguid - The House of Jasmine

A few weeks ago, he ended his sermon with a prayer in which he said, “May God make the armies of the Muslims victorious over the armies of the Franks and the Tartars. May God support the Caliph of the Muslims, Al-Mustakfi Billah Suliman, and bless the ‘Abbasids. May God aid our Sultan, Muhammad bin al-Malik al-Mansur Qalawun, and his soldiers. . ” and the crowds continue to come. .

What inspired me to be so daring? Was it the mystery of the house of jasmine? Did I really hope to find the girl in the window? If that were true, then I was quite unlucky. If my mother’s death were a punishment for my plans to get married, then my bad luck must have been a punishment for my mother’s death. What vicious circle from hell is this? Perhaps that was why I hesitated. But as soon as the three buses arrived at Damanhur, I made them stop. I took Usta Zinhum aside, but he spoke before I could say anything: “I do not feel comfortable about it this time.”

For a minute I was dumbfounded, then I said, “Neither do I, but let’s go back, and come what may.”

I signaled to the two other drivers to join us. Usta ‘Abbas had done this with me before, but the third driver said, “You will take two pounds from the payment of each worker, and that makes eight hundred. Do you seriously intend to give each of us a hundred pounds and keep the whole five hundred for yourself?”

“So you’re not against the plan in principle?”

“The money should be divided fairly.”

“You will take the hundred pounds or nothing at all.”

It was as if I had set myself on a suicidal course. A few of the workers were looking at us and laughing. Many of them had gone out with me before, and they were usually the ones who convinced the others. I gave each worker three pounds. The administration had decided to give them five each. When we arrived at Alexandria, the third driver took a hundred pounds, and left, laughing. I knew that he had realized that he had to accept what I gave him, and that he couldn’t rat, because there were four hundred workers and two other drivers ready to deny that any of his claims were true.

In the evening, I went to see ‘Abdu al-Fakahani.

“You bought my house, and sold it for three thousand pounds within the same year. You blackmailed me twice. I will not pay you anything more, and I will find a way to get back what I have already paid you,” I said to him, then left. I imagined that I had a torch burning in my hand and was running with it like a madman, burning down houses and stores. He trotted behind me, and when he finally caught up, he stood in front of me, his head barely level with my chest, and stretched his arms out to block my way. A knock on the head would have scattered his brains. I was puzzled to see that he was smiling. We returned back to the shop, as people watched this strange scene.

“Who did you hear bought the house for three thousand pounds?” he asked me.

“Ahmad Karioka.”

“Does he own two pennies to rub together? Do you really believe that? Besides, that was a long time ago. I haven’t asked you to pay the two hundred pounds you owe me, and I have even torn up the IOU you wrote for me.” He was smiling as he spoke very confidently. He reminded me that this Ahmad Karioka fixed kerosene stoves and probably didn’t earn much these days.

“Mr. Shagara, it was indeed I who bought the house both times. Both Holy Yahya and Ahmad Karioka, and their like, are my puppets. Garbage.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

“First, your house really wasn’t worth more than a thousand pounds. Second, you work in a government office, and know nothing about what we do. And you’ll find out in a few days anyway. Besides, I have rented out the rest of the apartments in your building for three thousand pounds each. So I was generous with you, and you may ask the rest of the tenants about it.” His smile was getting wider as he spoke. I was almost standing on the tips of my toes.

“Ha!” I said. “All the renters are in the Gulf countries.”

“Well, the oil will run out some day, and they will come back. Oil wells are not bottomless, and maybe there will be a war, and all hell will break loose. . ”

“Have you actually torn up the IOU?”

“As you wish!” He continued to smile. I threw the two hundred pounds in his face, and he pulled the IOU out of his pocket. As I grabbed it, I noticed that his fingernails were red. Then I left, and I don’t know why but I felt like laughing.

#

“How much is in your bank account now, Mr. Shagara?” The chairman of the board asked me after he stood up and came from behind his desk to stand in front of me. I looked at al-Dakruri, who looked like he had shrunk, standing by the desk and biting his lower lip.

“What account, sir? I don’t have an account,” I replied.

“You take half of what we decide to give the workers, and only take them halfway to their destination.”

I felt like swallowing my saliva, but my mouth was dry. I didn’t reply. He was moving closer to me as though he were about to slap me.

“And I got you out of your trouble with the police. I, who was a general in the army — and believe me, the Israelis never took me lightly! Now I discover that you have been cheating me. I will find a way to put you in jail.” As he spoke, he made a full circle and went back to sitting behind his desk. I looked at him closely as he sat down. I was, in fact, astounded to hear what he said, but I noticed that he was looking down at the floor and had almost closed his eyes. I was amazed, but I realized that I would come out of this a winner.

“I am innocent, and I believe that you once received a thank-you letter for my efforts. Also, al-Dakruri has taken the workers out several times, and if what you say were true, he would have known it. Al-Dakruri, did you know about any of this?” Al-Dakruri didn’t answer.

“The last trip was very difficult. No one received us, and we had to stand on the road to the airport by ourselves. It was a big mess, and nobody knows who really participates in the President’s receptions anyway.” I actually managed to go on saying all this. It must have been someone else saying it. Al- Dakruri’s face had turned yellow, and I thought that he was going to disappear. My story about the road to the airport was based on pictures and headlines I had seen in the newspapers on the day following the President’s return.

“Get out. Get out of my face!” the chairman yelled, so I left. Al-Dakruri ran after me and put his hand on my arm, but I pushed it away and ran in panic.

I kept the remaining three hundred pounds, in preparation for any punishment I might receive. Every man and woman working in the administration smiled at me or at the floor every time we met. So it became clear that the news had spread as quickly as the turning of the machines, and my disgrace was now complete. I discovered that most of the employees knew who I was, when I had thought that I was alone and anonymous in my office with only the files around me. The third driver came to swear to me that he had not said a word to anyone, and he offered to return the hundred pounds I had given him. I told him that I was the only one responsible for what had happened, and that if he expressed his thoughts to anybody, we would all get in trouble, and maybe all get fired. In the evening ‘Abdu al-Fakahani stood in my way and said, laughing, “I sold the house for ten thousand pounds.”

“Why should I care about that?” I asked.

“I told you that you would find out in a few days.”

At that moment, if I had had his neck in my grip, I would have choked the life out of him.

“Did you sell it to yourself again?”

“No. This time I sold it to another merchant. I think you understand now.”