Naguib Mahfouz - Khan Al-Khalili

He found his parents in the lounge, his father’s arm wrapped around his mother; he looked as though he was about to collapse from sheer panic. Ahmad rushed over to them and grabbed his father by the arm.

“Come on,” he yelled, “let’s go down to the bomb shelter.”

They hurried downstairs, preceded by the servant.

“What’s that bright light?” his father asked in a quaking voice. “Is there a fire outside?”

Ahmad was busy trying to control his own breathing and make out the staircase steps in the dark. “They’re magnesium flares,” he said, “the ones we’ve been reading about in the newspapers.”

“God protect us!” his father replied.

The stairwell was crowded with people making their way downstairs, praying to God with fearful hearts as they did so. With each explosion the walls shook. That would be followed by deafening screams from the women and crying from the children. All of a sudden the flares went out and the bombing stopped; the deadly rain of bombs came to an end, and everywhere was dark. All sorts of chaos ensued as people kept slipping and bumping into each other. Everyone started to panic. Eventually after a good deal of effort they reached the shelter in the basement; it was lit by a dim lamp, and the windows were all covered with a thick, black cloth. The ceiling rested on horizontal beams and vertical steel pillars. There were piles of sand all around. In the faint glow of the lamp you could glimpse people’s faces, their expressions as pale as death itself; eyes agog, limbs aquiver, and tongues raving. The three of them stood there huddled close together, craving for a single moment of release so that they could catch their breath. But the pounding had gone on and on; in fact, it had intensified and seemed to be coming even closer to where they were.

At this point Ahmad’s distress at the memory of what had happened that night was so strong that he had to move his legs around in the bed. “What a lousy night that was!” he muttered to himself. With a deep sigh he opened his eyes. The din in the street below once again impinged upon his consciousness. He recalled that, going to bed, his intent had been to sleep, not to relive the worst night in his life. But now that was exactly what was happening, and the way the memories kept flooding back was irresistible. Yes, indeed, the bombing had come even closer; in fact, one bomb had landed so close that everyone imagined that it had actually exploded inside their very hearts and minds. They all raised their hands as though to protect themselves in case the ceiling fell in on them. There was more screaming and praying; the word “God” was on everyone’s lips. Everyone started to imagine that the next bomb would fall directly on top of them. The next bomb did indeed fall. Good God, how can anyone possibly forget that awful screeching sound — the screech of death itself — as it made its inexorable way in their direction; how the entire building had shaken and the windows had rattled before it actually landed. There had been a huge explosion, at which everything had been shattered — hearing, nerves, breathing; backs bowed in anticipation of the inevitable, total despair; everyone preferred to die instantly rather than endure the long wait for its arrival. Yes indeed, at this point all that separated them from death was a single bomb that might be leaving its slot inside the airplane at that very moment. But the bomb had never come — at this point he allowed himself a sorrowful smile; either that or else it fell somewhere else far away. The sound of explosions receded just as quickly as it had come. This time death did not come the way they had imagined it would; it had showed them its face but did not give them a taste of its impact, at least not until some other night. The explosions moved off and the noise diminished, then became intermittent, then stopped. All that was left was the sound of gunfire, then everything fell silent.

At this point everyone recovered their breath and stared at each other in a mixture of doubt and hope. Suddenly people recovered the power of speech and started raving like madmen. A hellish quarter of an hour went by before the all-clear siren sounded. For God’s mercy! Had death really passed them by? Would they really see the light of a new day? People started moving, lights were put on, and everyone headed for the outside where they found other people coming from neighboring quarters. Stories started doing the rounds: Abbasiya was in ruins, you could kiss Misr al-Gadida good-bye, and Qasr al-Nil was a pile of rubble. The trolley depot had been hit, and there were piles of workers’ bodies all around.

As Ahmad and his parents made their way back upstairs to the apartment, they all felt a tense exultation, the kind of feeling people have when they have just managed to escape death and yet their hearts remain in the clutches of fear’s sharp claws. They spent the rest of the night awake and talking to each other. Next morning the entire quarter looked as though everyone had made up their minds to leave; trucks were carrying all essential property to other quarters which people considered safer or else to villages close to the capital city. Whole buildings emptied of their occupants, and the sight of this mass emigration made the family feel even more worried, particularly Ahmad’s father whose weak heart had already been badly affected by the air raid. The notion of leaving the quarter along with everyone else took root inside him. Already influenced by Islamic propaganda, he was firmly convinced that air raids would never target a religious quarter like al-Husayn. He had conducted a thorough investigation that resulted in finding this particular apartment. Even if he managed to forget the move itself, there was no way he would ever forget the day after the air raid. The whole of Cairo could talk about nothing else; everyone engaged in nervous chatter and their laughter was a blend of happy release and fearful tension.

As far as Ahmad was concerned, this time death seemed to have been so close that he could feel its breath on his face. And there were fates even worse than death: being abandoned in the middle of the road limbless and with a severed head, for example; or perhaps become permanently disabled; or to survive death but have the house and all its contents destroyed. He and the family would have nowhere to live, no furniture and no clothes either. He started praying to his Lord and begging his Prophet to intercede. His life may have been miserable and frustrating, but it was still one that he wanted to live. Even more remarkable was the fact that he now started coddling himself a bit and making his way of life as enjoyable as he could. Suppressing his natural instincts, he bought a box of chocolate biscuits on his way home, something that he had long craved but had deprived himself of, instead putting the sum into a savings account regularly each month. But with the arrival of evening the entire family was feeling anxious and unhappy; everyone was still jumpy, and no one slept a wink. Memories of that horrendous night came back to haunt them, and everyone’s senses were on edge. Every single siren that went off, every door slam became a bomb blast; every rustle the screech of an airplane.

Now they had moved. Even so, did they feel any safer in their new location? The apartment blocks were newly constructed and sturdy; they all had bomb shelters that were models of their kind, and it was in the al-Husayn neighborhood. But then, castles could fall and mosques be destroyed! Oh my, how often we find ourselves being tortured by our love of life, and done to death by fear! But, when all is said and done, death knows no mercy. Merely thinking about it turns anything noble into mere trivia.

How often had Ahmad endured feelings of sorrow and anger that were almost intolerable? And why? With that thought he heard the radio announcing the royal good-night and realized that he had lain there awake and fearful for a good two hours. That worried him, and he started putting such thoughts aside in a quest for some sleep. But he failed, and instead the thoughts took over. He found himself inundated with this flood of memories. He recalled how he had suggested to his parents that they move to Asyut where his younger brother worked and they could be really far away from danger.