Ibrahim Meguid - No One Sleeps in Alexandria

When the siren sounded, she clung to him, and her daughter Shawqiya cried, as she sensed that the intermittent siren was bad from the way people around her panicked. She had also figured out that the long, uninterrupted all-clear was good and would clap her little hands when she heard it. Zahra hurriedly put a shawl around her shoulders, for the shelter was cold and humid, and went downstairs, followed by Magd al-Din, who carried Shawqiya. Zahra saw Sitt Maryam, the two girls, and Khawaga Dimitri going downstairs in silence. Zahra’s fear did not prevent her from seeing how Camilla was withering away like an ear of grain left in the sun too long. They all went into Bahi’s room, which was always open since no one had rented it, or Lula’s room, which was also open since the migration of people from Alexandria left behind many vacant apartments and rooms. As soon as they got into the room Sitt Maryam said, “Turn off the light, Dimitri.”

It seemed to Zahra that the woman said this because she did not wish anyone to see her daughter in her bad condition, rather than because of the raid, even though civil defense instructions clearly specified that all lights be turned off. It was the second half of the lunar month of Shawwal, and the moon had waned almost to a crescent, but its light was enough. Magd al-Din opened the window of the room to hear people’s comments and to see them. Then he suggested to Dimitri that they go out on the street and join the men. Dimitri thought it was a good idea and they went out.

Magd al-Din saw the searchlights from the harbor and Kom al-Shuqafa filling the sky. Then he heard the loud droning noise of approaching planes, and as they flew within range, the anti-aircraft artillery in Alexandria let loose a barrage of red missiles from all the highest points in Alexandria. The sounds of the guns reverberated intensely from all directions. Boys and young men on the streets cheered as they saw some planes catch on fire, but the sounds of explosions were soon heard, and smoke could be seen in various quarters of the city in the west, east, and north. Then the explosions were concentrated in the downtown area. Children could be heard crying loudly in many houses, and various people began to recite loudly verses from the Quran. Ghaffara’s voice boomed from behind his fez-mask, “That son of a bitch Graziani doesn’t like us. What really kills me is, how come the planes come over from Italy to hit us? Why don’t they go to England? Isn’t England closer?”

The voice of a young man was heard to reply, “The planes come from Libya, idiot.”

Suddenly Dimyan appeared. It looked as though he had just come from a strenuous race. His voice shook as he spoke.

“I didn’t come here to hide, Sheikh Magd. The piazza, Karmuz, and Bab Sidra are all on fire, sky-high, worse than the six-hour raid. We’ve got to run and help our brothers.”

Magd al-Din was silent, thinking how he had failed to heed the call before, that it would not be right to do that again. Then he heard Ghaffara say to the youth gathered there, “It’s a black night, young men. Come on — let’s go to Karmuz. Houses have fallen down, and people have died.”

It was a night beyond the limits of the human mind. In the dark, frantic feet trotted like horses, and eyes hung on every explosion that filled the sky with fire and showering missiles. When they approached the Mahmudiya canal, they saw only pitch dark over the water and a few barges on which sailors stood watching the battle raging in the sky. In record time they covered the distance on Karmuz Street and entered the piazza by the clock tower. Magd al-Din saw fires the likes of which he had never seen, a huge mass of red, higher than the tallest buildings and houses. He stood helplessly reflecting, “God, most merciful!”

“Kyrie eleison. Kyrie eleison,” Dimyan repeated, and Ghaffara exclaimed, “God, have mercy on your servants!”

Magd al-Din had seen many fires before in the countryside in which he could smell burning dung, straw, and firewood. This time however, he was smelling burned flesh, hearing cries from all directions, and watching as women ran through the streets in their nightclothes and men carried children from their homes to stand at a distance. Everyone was crying, the sound of planes droned ceaselessly over the city as the guns chased them and the searchlights raced all over the sky. He could hear the fire trucks coming from Kom al-Dikka and saw some parked in the distance in front of the burning houses, as the fire fighters in their helmets scrambled to the fire hydrants on the sidewalks to which they attached their huge water hose and began to put out the fires.

The bombing had moved to Mina al-Basal, and Magd al-Din could see Dimyan standing helplessly in front of him, and Ghaffara as usual wearing his fez-mask, and Hamidu and the young men running to the collapsed houses to pull out people pinned down or just lying there. There were many musical instruments lying scattered everywhere on the ground — lutes, drums, tambourines, accordions, saxophones, and flutes that looked like snakes and serpents. There were groups of almost-naked women who had been surprised by the raid, the destruction, and the fires. Some women from the houses that were not effected began to hand the others robes and gallabiyas to cover themselves. Curses poured forth against the Germans, the Italians, and the English who were behind it all. The air was filled with the smell of human sweat mixed with dust. They all began to remove the corpses from the debris. Then the all-clear sounded as the planes moved away, but the fires still lit the place, as did the headlights of the fire trucks. There were screams coming from the ruins and sounds of faint moaning as if someone was gasping a last breath. Every time someone alive was brought out, shouts of “God is great!” rang out. Magd al-Din had not expected to meet anyone he knew here, let alone find them in the ruins. He saw three men carrying a women on a stretcher and running; two were carrying it from the front and one from the back, and he heard a voice call out, “Sheikh Magd al-Din.”

They were placing the wounded next to each other on the far pavement so the ambulances could transport them. The person carrying the stretcher from the back was his friend Dimyan, who came back and told him, “We took out a woman from the rubble. She saw you and called out to you. Didn’t you hear her?”

“I heard her and didn’t believe it. I don’t know anyone here.”

“She’s right there with the wounded, anyway, so you can go over to her,”

Dimyan ran off again to help rescue others. Magd al-Din made his way to the wounded. When he drew near, he saw her looking at him with a trace of joy in her eyes. It was none other than Lula. Merciful God! She motioned him to sit next to her, and he did, “Please forgive me, Sheikh Magd, I tried to seduce your brother Bahi, but he wouldn’t give in. Dozens of times I came up to him at night, but he wouldn’t do it.”

“He’s the one to forgive you, Sitt Lula.”

“He did. But I need for you to forgive me also. I’ve thought a lot about you.”

“I ask God Almighty for forgiveness.”

“Then please forgive me.”

“God is the One who can forgive you. I forgive everything, even though I don’t think you’ve done me any wrong.”

“Even my infidelity to my husband?”

“It’s fate, Sitt Lula. Where’s the injury?”

“My legs are broken.”

He noticed that her legs were very swollen under her nightgown — a sure sign of severe internal hemorrhaging. As soon as the ambulance appeared, he lifted the stretcher at one end, and Dimyan saw him and ran over to help. They placed Lula in the ambulance, then carried over three other wounded women, and the ambulance rushed them to Muwasa Hospital. Before the ambulance had arrived, Lula was raving, “I’ve loved no one like King Farouk, nor desired anyone as I desired him. Now I won’t dance in front of him. I don’t think I’ll ever go back to dancing.”