Ibrahim Meguid - No One Sleeps in Alexandria

Magd al-Din fell down on his backside, and Dimyan’s chest hit the wall, and both felt great pain where they fell. But a few moments later after they overcame the shock of the fall, they were now facing each other, and they both laughed happily: two solitary men in a huge open space laughing without an echo. They both got up, leaning on their hands, and started looking for their shoes. Neither of them had looked around nor seen anything until now. The first thing they saw was the vast, open space and the sun rising strong to their left and the faraway blue sky. But the land appeared dreary, lime and sand and little rocks, two old and rusty rails, beyond which stretched land covered with thorny plants and short cactus, then a few rails, between which were pebbles and evaporated fuel oil that appeared to have separated from the soil, its black color turned gray by the eddies of dust. At intermittent distances they could see a few small thickets of unkempt thorny plants.

They walked to the right. Dimyan was quite surprised at how vast the land was as it opened up before him. How could he have missed all of this even though he had lived for many years in Ghayt al-Aynab? Why had he never thought of going beyond the wall so close to Ban Street, separated only by two alleys? This vast open space to the south was matched only by the vast sea to the north.

Some of the railroad tracks seemed to end at new bumpers attached to short concrete columns. There were many cars lined up on more than one line. They appeared to have been lined up carefully, for on every line there were for the most part cars of one kind only: the flatbed cars on one line, the boxcars on another, and the semi-closed ones on a third. All the cars were dull brown, with the exception of the boxcars, which were dark gray. The floors of the flatbed cars were covered with thick wooden boards, planks attached together by wide, thick iron tics nailed to the boards. But despite all the obvious care taken in storing the cars, the place appeared deserted. Magd al-Din thought that perhaps they had been duped, that Adam, peace be upon him, when he descended from heaven must have descended to a place like this one, that God who sent Adam to earth in the care of providence, would forsake them here. There was not one single bird in the sky, but they saw in the distance a pipe rising from the ground, with an oilcloth hose that almost reached the ground, attached to it. Next to the pipe a man sat next to a big green mulberry tree under a canopy made of bare tree branches.

“So there are people here,” exclaimed Dimyan, who must have been thinking along the same lines as Magd al-Din.

“Come on. Let’s go ask him.”

The man was about their age, but his clothes were tattered and he was barefoot. He was so dejected that he seemed not to have heard their footsteps. When they got close to him both of them thought they probably should just keep going and leave him alone, for he seemed totally oblivious. But in the way that one sometimes thinks of doing something, changes his mind, yet still does it, Magd al-Din asked him, “Where do we find Post Number Three?”

He pointed with his index finger, indicating that they were headed in the right direction. But Dimyan, who did not like the man’s silence, exclaimed,

“What’s with you, man? Speak, the day’s just begun!”

The man looked at him for a long time, and Dimyan was at a loss and began to shrink back in fear. Magd al-Din almost burst out laughing, not believing what was happening to his friend.

“Get out of here,” the man said in a faint voice.

“Yes, sir,” said Dimyan meekly and walked despondently in silence as Magd al-Din tried to muffle his laughter.

After they were far enough away Dimyan said, “That was a jinn, Sheikh Magd.”

A big wooden kiosk appeared, its walls made of wooden planks planted close together in the ground. On top of them was another row of planks, attached to the lower row by broad metal strips, and on top of it all was a pitched roof of corrugated iron.

Next to the kiosk a man was crouching over a little fire holding a big tankard with a long handle made of braided wire. “Greetings,” they both said. The crouching man raised his head. He was making tea, which had begun to boil in the tankard. They could smell its pleasant aroma.

“You must be the new workers, Magd al-Din and Dimyan. I’m Hamza. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Today should be considered a feast day. Zahra went to the market at Sidi Karim, behind the police station, and bought a pair of pigeons for five piasters and a chicken for ten piasters. Sannusi, the butcher on Fawakih Street, slaughtered them for her. She cleaned them and boiled the chicken and the pigeons, then she stuffed them with southern Egyptian hulled wheat, which she had bought from Bishri, the grain and spice dealer on Raghib Street.

The pleasant aroma filled the second-floor hallway and also the first floor. So Lula too went out quickly and bought pigeons and chicken and came back and started cooking them. She did not forget to go up to the second floor and tell Zahra that she could not resist the delicious aroma of her cooking and so had to do like her. She asked Zahra, who was quite surprised, to forgive her. Zahra insisted that Lula taste the chicken gizzards. All the while Sitt Maryam followed the exchange smiling, for she understood the intricate meanings of women’s little games!

Zahra’s little girl, Shawqiya, was playing in the hallway between the two rooms, and Camilla was teasing her from behind the open door and their laughter could be heard. A kitten came up from the first floor and stood in front of the hallway meowing and looking around. This frightened Shawqiya and made her run to her mother, and as she did she stumbled on the door’s low threshold. Her mother held her up to her bosom, patting her on the back and calming her down.

Shawqiya had screamed, which made Camilla hurry into the hallway. She figured out what was happening and shooed the cat away. The sun bathed Camilla, who stood there in a tight, short, light dress. Her strong, svelte body was bursting with femininity. She had a small frame that was filled with yearning to rebel and break free like a mare, and a body that imposed itself on your eyes so that when it approached from a distance you could not see anyone else. The fragrance of that body, like the aroma of aged wine, filled the nostrils and stirred the soul. Anyone who spoke with Camilla had to fight a real desire to take her in his arms without any preliminaries. Her slender waist and unbound, inviting chest appeared like a natural harbor for every hungry ship. Little, gentle Camilla had a body sanctified by an aura of warm allure. Zahra saw Camilla under the sun and exclaimed to herself, “Praise the Creator, she’s a gazelle!” Camilla heard her and did not say anything because the sound of drums and brass and wind instruments playing a military march drowned out everything else.

“The cinema!” Camilla shouted and ran to the window of their room. Zahra followed her, smiling. Quiet Yvonne gave up her place at the window to Zahra and went into the inner room to watch from its window. Sitt Maryam stayed in her place behind the sewing machine, working quietly now.

The cinema cart was a large wooden box with posters on its four sides. It was pushed by a man wearing a military uniform, which in fact was the uniform of all the popular street musicians, most prominent of whom was a man who carried a huge drum about one meter across that hung from his neck by a leather strap and rested on his belly. In his hands he had two drumsticks covered with cloth with which he beat the drum on both sides. Around him was the rest of the band beating smaller drums or cymbals or playing the same military march on their saxophones. Around everyone was a group of children dancing and laughing.