Ibrahim Meguid - No One Sleeps in Alexandria

They divided themselves — actually, their foremen, who were traditional experts at that kind of work, divided them into teams. One team was assigned to level the ground. Their tools were pickaxes and shovels. Another team poured and leveled the ballast in the spots where the crossties would be placed. Their tools were baskets and shovels. A third team was charged with arranging the ties. Their tools were their shoulders, on which they carried the tics. Another team had to carry the rails and place them on top of the crossties and the plates. One team was to fasten the rails to the crossties, using the spikes, which went through the steel plates under the rails and into the crossties, and which secured the two sides of the rail from the bottom. The last team tamped the ballast under the ties. The foremen’s task was to measure precisely the gaps between the rails horizontally and the bends to make sure that the exact number of millimeters was left between sections of the same rail, so that when the rails stretched in the summer or shrank in the winter, they would not buckle. And, like all workers in the world, it was impossible to endure the hardship of long, arduous work without singing rhythmically, “Haila hop haila, haila hop haila.” This was especially true of those who carried the rails, each of which was eight meters long. Each of these was carried by ten men, who sang as they carried it, then gently lowered it to their feet, and then, all at once, let go of it on top of the plates and the crossties. Then they moved back, leaving the place to the fastening team, which placed the huge screws that went through the crossties, using a long key in the shape of a tube, at the bottom of which was a square cavity the size of the screw head. All the while they sang to the saints about the pain in their backs, about their children, and about the English, who abducted the women. Then they would laugh as Hamza watched.

Hamza was always among the rail carriers, despite his being shorter than his colleagues. As Hamza watched the fasteners spread around the rails, they seemed to him like desert hornets, as they hovered close together and moved their arms all the time. He sometimes imagined that they had sprouted wings and flew in the sky, holding the rail then riding it as if it were a magic carpet. Then he would laugh. From time to time, Dimyan would stop tamping the ballast under the crossties and look at Hamza in the middle of the line of men carrying the rail. He would realize, in surprise and admiration, that his short colleague was very smart, that he did not carry anything since the rail supported on the shoulders of his tall colleagues barely touched his shoulders. Hamza must have realized the meaning of Dimyan’s occasional glances at him, so he would sing:

I am a hardy camel,

my only trouble is the camel driver,

A grouchy man who’s not up to his task.

Or:

An orphan whose family is lost

Is lost in this country.

Or less loudly but with more feeling:

A prisoner of war in time

Can he sold to the nobility

But the people of a free country

Employed him as a servant.

“Bravo, Hamza. May God inspire you,” the workers would say, only to be silenced by the downpour and run to take shelter in the cars.

The workers did not have fixed duties, but changed them every two days. Usta Ghibriyal was of the opinion that they should change every day, as that was more restful for the body and did not tax the workers’ abilities. But Usta al-Bayya, foreman of Post Number Two, said the change would be better every two days. Al-Bayya was an old foreman, and his recklessness was so widely known that the workers nicknamed him ‘the crazy one.’ So no one could argue with him. Al-Bayya said, “Two days is better for the workers — they are as strong as donkeys.” When he spoke, al-Bayya sprayed, a fact that made anyone speaking with him end the conversation as quickly as he could. In reality, all the jobs were equally hard, despite the apparent differences. Dimyan was of the opinion that all the jobs were so horrible that he prayed silently to Mari Girgis, the Martyr, who had given him that job, to fill the sky with black clouds so the rain would never stop, and the rails would come undone, and the trains would overturn, and the Allies would stop fighting the Axis. Then he would find time to learn reading and writing, subjects in which he had not made much progress, even though he had to take a test in a few weeks, otherwise he would not get a raise the following year. He would say to himself, “Lord, Most Holy, who created us and put us in heaven, but we disobeyed you by the counsel of the serpent and fell from life everlasting. But you did not abandon us but sent us saints and prophets to look after us. Then one day you appeared to us, who sat in the dark, with your only son, our savior Jesus Christ, who died that we may live. Make us worthy, Lord, to partake of your holiness to purify our souls and our bodies. Have mercy on us, God the Father, Kyrie eleison. Kyrie eleison.”

Other workers were quite content with the area, which resembled paradise in its expansivcness and seclusion. No matter how tiring the work was, all it took was a few moments of rest, in which they would stretch out and take in the mysterious expanse, for them to forget everything: the world beyond, which might actually be better, or their homes and families. The passing trains loaded with soldiers and weapons and other things looked as if they had descended from the sky and were going back there. The moments of excitement and talk about soldiers and receiving their gifts soon gave way, vanishing into another imperceptible world and time, far more mysterious than either. All their thoughts of the world were centered on the vast open space, which gave them an exhilarating sense of eternal contentment.

The black clouds, low and heavy like German planes when they attacked the city at night, approached. The weary sun moved and hid behind the massive black clouds, promising rain. One moment later the downpour began, and everyone left everything and hurried to the cars. Merely seeking shelter beside one of the cars would do no good, for the rain did not come from any one direction, so groups of workers looked for empty, closed cars. Dimyan said to himself, “Have I really become that close with Mari Girgis?” His eyes welled up with tears as he felt serenity flowing into his soul. Did the Lord really love him that much? Dimyan got into a nearby caboose, where he found al-Bayya, Hamza, Usta Ghibriyal, Magd al-Din, and a number of other workers. Ghibriyal immediately sat down on a side seat, took out his notebook and indelible pencil from his upper pocket, and began writing in his elegant manner, without taking off his beret. Al-Bayya, on the other hand, removed the scarf around his neck and took off his skullcap, revealing a totally bald head that was as red as his face, probably from running for cover. The sound of a distant train was getting nearer, as was the sound of English soldiers singing and Scottish bagpipes. It was impossible for any of the workers to leave the cars where they had taken cover, as the rain was coming down in buckets, soaking the dusty ground in a few seconds. They looked from the doors and windows of the cars at the soldiers, some of whom were also looking at them through the train windows. “They’re getting drunk on the train, I swear,” Hamza said, laughing in amazement. But no one paid any attention to what he was saying as the sky suddenly darkened, then lightning was followed by incessant thunder, and it seemed that the seven heavens were going to come crashing down on the bare ground. The men were afraid and fell silent for a few moments, until al-Bayya said, “It seems the English are planning something, Usta Ghibriyal.”