Ibrahim Meguid - No One Sleeps in Alexandria

“It’s difficult for me, Sheikh Magd. I don’t observe the Jonah fast either. It’s not intentional — I’m just not used to it. I’ve also told you that all our days are not much different from fasting days. I fast more than I’m supposed to.”

Dimyan fell silent for a short while, then asked suddenly, “Are all the stories of the prophets in the Quran?”

“Yes.”

“They’re also in the Old Testament. Praise the Lord. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know about my fast so you wouldn’t be restricted to my food.”

“I’ll fast with you, Dimyan. I’ll eat what you cat and abstain from what you abstain from.”

As usual, time passed. Magd al-Din wrote a letter to Zahra and sent it with the abonne Radwan Express. He asked him to put it in the nearest mailbox in Alexandria. Dimyan asked him to pass by his family in Ghayt al-Aynab to see if they were all right after the heavy raids of the last few days. Dimyan laughed as he told Radwan, “Finally you’re getting a job and customers.” He gave him a box filled with tea, cookies, cheddar cheese, corned beef, and chocolate to deliver to his family. He and Magd al-Din also gave Radwan some tea, corned beef, and cheese, and he was very pleased. True, they would not be able to send things with him every day or even every week, but at least it was something to do instead of this abject idleness. He did not meet any passengers after Magd al-Din and Dimyan, only a few Bedouin. If a Bedouin saw him sitting in the car, he looked at him suspiciously, then left the car for another one. If a group of them came into the car, they sat together and spoke so fast that he could not follow or understand their conversation, even though, before the war, when the trains were crowded, he could understand and speak the Bedouin dialect. So what had happened to him? Since the beginning of the war he had begun to succumb to idleness and fell asleep on his seat alone in the big car.

Dimyan’s appearance had changed considerably. His face had a dark tan from the heat and the sun. He took off the railroad uniform and replaced it with a soldier’s summer uniform: khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. His legs looked very thin above his heavy black military shoes. Dimyan asked the stationmaster to do the same, and the following day Hilal was in a military uniform and so was Amer.

Magd al-Din, however, did not change. What astonished Dimyan was that Magd al-Din, who had a fair complexion just like him, did not tan, but his face grew ruddier. And if it had not been for the fact that the two of them lived in the same house, he might have said that he used a magical lotion on his face or that he drank a lot of alcohol. Yes, drinkers always have ruddy faces, like most Greeks and Italians in Alexandria, although it was also true that sometimes they lost their luster, as happened to many Cypriots. But the latter drank too much and did not eat well. They were the poorest foreigners in Alexandria, surpassed in poverty only by the Jews. But the Jewish girls were always beautiful, said Dimyan to himself, proud of all this knowledge rushing in his head. He felt a strong longing for his wife.

“Sheikh Magd, are we going to stay like this without women?” he asked suddenly.

Magd al-Din was truly taken aback by the question, but he said calmly, “It’s God’s will. Besides, at least you can go to your wife.”

“And leave you here?”

“I can do your work until you come back. As you can see, we almost always work together. You can go to Alexandria and spend as much time as you like there. Nobody comes to check on us.”

“How about Officer Spike?”

“He’s an Englishman, after all. He’s not going to address the Egyptian government about two workers. Besides, as I told you, I’ll do your work.”

“But I was thinking about something else. They gave the soldiers recreational parties. The ATS women come once a month to give them recreation. What do you say we ask Spike to provide us with two Jewish women for recreation?”

Magd al-Din laughed hard and said that if he made such a request, Spike might kill him. They both laughed. Dimyan thought how easy it would be for him to go to Alexandria, and that way he would not have any sexual problems. That Magd al-Din is a marvelous sheikh — he offers solutions to the toughest problems so easily. How was it that Dimyan himself had not figured this solution out when it was so obvious?

This was the difference between him and Magd al-Din. If Magd al-Din were not a peasant railroad worker, he would have been a politician, perhaps a military commander. But Dimyan realized that he would not be able to go. It was not easy for him just to leave Magd al-Din alone in this wilderness. What a beautiful feeling he had for his friend. He realized that every time he went to Alexandria to get their salary every month. He could stay only for one night despite his longing for his wife. But he also could not stop seeing Brika. Perhaps she was the real reason for his staying put. But his love for Magd al-Din was a strong reason, there were no two ways about it.

At night, on the eve of the Feast of the Virgin, after the last day of the fast, Dimyan awoke from his sleep to a soft sound echoing in the room. Magd al-Din had put out the kerosene lamp and it was pitch dark, but Magd al-Din’s eyes were gleaming in the dark and the sound of his breathing was getting louder. He heard Dimyan’s voice from the other side, “What’s wrong, Sheikh Magd?”

“Nothing, Dimyan.”

“But you’re crying. Are you thinking of Zahra and the kids?”

Magd al-Din did not reply. That night he felt the terrible injustice visited upon him. How could he bear not to see Zahra after the delivery of his baby son? Why could he not travel? How did he allow himself to be a victim of all this injustice without fighting back? What in his chest was attracting him away from the village and accepting it, as if leaving the village was his own desire? In truth he had done himself an injustice as grave as the mayor’s.

“Yes, Dimyan. I remembered Zahra and the kids, but I thanked God. I cried for a few moments, then I praised and thanked God for his grace.”

“You know Sheikh Magd,” said Dimyan, breaking the silence. “I sometimes think that we’ll go crazy here. I’m in love with a young woman, I don’t know where she comes from or where she goes, and I forget my family, and you remember your family but don’t think of going to them. Was Qays, the man who went crazy over Layla, living in a desert like this one? If that were the case then he was right to go crazy.” Magd al-Din found himself laughing as Dimyan continued, as if to himself, “Yes. If it happened that one of us went crazy, he must be right, and soon people will find excuses for you and me, Magd al-Din.”

Magd al-Din smiled at Dimyan’s quirky effusions, so clearly the thoughts of one who had just awakened.

“You mean it’s the desert that will make us go crazy?”

“No, it’s the dark around us. Nobody else in the whole world is talking in the dark except the two of us. Go to sleep, Sheikh Magd. I’m going to sleep myself. Tomorrow is the Feast of the Virgin. There must be some foreign soldiers celebrating it. In the morning I’ll walk toward the barracks for the first time. Maybe I’ll find a mass to take part in. Listen, Sheikh Magd, recite some verses from the Quran to help you sleep calmly.”

They both were silent for a while, then Magd al-Din asked, “What do you say in the mass about our Lady Maryam?”

“We say many things, but I remember only a few lines.”

Then he began to chant in a deep voice:

Mary’s glory is growing

East and west.