Naguib Mahfouz: Midaq Alley

He was renowned for his self-assertive manner and defiance toward everyone. When a dispute flared up between him and another person, as often happened, he would address his adversary in English. If the man should complain at his using a foreign language unnecessarily, Darwish would shout in great scorn, "Go off and learn something before you argue with me!"

Eventually reports of his bad disposition reached his superiors, but they were always lenient out of sympathy and out of fear of his temper. Therefore he was able to carry on without severe consequences, except for a few warnings and the loss of one or two days' salary. As time went on, however, his blustering egotism increased. One day he decided to write all his official correspondence in English. His explanation for this was that he was an artistic man, not like the other clerks.

He now neglected his work to such a degree that his supervisor decided to deal with him in a firm and severe manner. Fate, however, was quicker than the supervisor, for he insisted on seeing the Deputy Minister himself. Darwish "Effendi," as he was then still known, entered the Deputy Minister's office looking very serious and respectful, greeted him in a man-to-man fashion, and addressed him in a manner filled with confidence and self assurance.

"God has chosen his man, sir!"

The Deputy Minister asked him to explain what he meant and Darwish continued respectfully and with dignity: "I am a messenger to you from God and I bring you a new mission!"

Thus his career at the ministry ended, as did his connections with friends and relations who had been close to him. He deserted his family, friends, and acquaintances and wandered off into the world of God, as it is called. The only memento he now had of his past life were his gold-rimmed spectacles. He had passed into his new life without a friend, money, or a home. His life showed that some people can live in this world, festering as it is with its bitter troubles, without either home, money, or friends, and know neither worry, grief, nor need. Never for a day did he hunger; he never went without clothing, nor was he ever driven away.

He had moved into a state of peace, contentment, and beatitude such as he had never known before. Even though he had lost his house, the whole world had become his home. Even though he had lost his salary, gone, too, was his dependence on money. Though he had lost his own family and friends, everyone he met became his family. If his gown wore out, someone would bring him a new one; if his tie became ragged, someone brought him a new one of those too. Everywhere he went people made him welcome and even Kirsha, despite his apparent absentmindedness, would miss him if he should be absent for a day from the cafe. He could not, despite what simple folk said, perform miracles or predict the future. He was either distracted and silent or extremely talkative without ever knowing particularly what he was saying.

He was loved and honored, and everyone always welcomed his presence among them as a good sign and said that he was a fine and holy man of God, to whom revelation came in two languages, Arabic and English!

She gazed into the mirror with uncritical eyes, or rather with eyes gleaming with delight. The mirror reflected a long, thin face; cosmetics had indeed done wonders with her eyelashes, eyebrows, eyes, and lips. She turned her face to the right and to the left while her fingers stroked the plaits of her hair. She muttered almost inaudibly, "Not bad. Very nice. Yes, by God, very nice!" The fact was, her face had gazed upon the world for close to fifty years and nature never leaves a face unharmed for over half a century. The body was slim, even thin, as the women of the alley described it, and her bust meager, although her nice dress hid it from sight.

This lady was Mrs. Saniya Afify, the owner of the alley's second house, on the first floor of which lived Dr. Booshy. She had got herself ready on this particular day to visit the middle flat of her house, where Umm Hamida lived. She was not accustomed to visiting tenants and, indeed, probably the only times she had been in the flat were at the beginning of each month to collect the rent. Now, however, a new and deep impulse made visiting Hamida's mother an absolute necessity.

She walked out of the flat and down the stairs, mumbling hopefully to herself, "O God, please fulfill my wishes."

She knocked on the door with a perspiring hand and Hamida opened it. The girl gave her an insincere smile of welcome, led her into the sitting room, and then left to call her mother.

The room was small, with two old-fashioned sofas facing one another and a battered table on which rested an ashtray. On the floor was a straw mat. The visitor did not wait long; soon Hamida's mother rushed in, having just changed from her housecoat. The two women greeted one another warmly, exchanged kisses and sat down. Umm Hamida said, "Welcome, welcome. Why, it's as though the Prophet himself had come to visit us, Mrs. Afify!"

Umm Hamida was a well-built woman of medium stature, in her mid-sixties. Still fit and healthy, with protruding eyes and pockmarked cheeks, she had a rough and resonant voice. When she talked she almost screamed. Indeed her voice was her most effective weapon in the frequent quarrels between her and her neighbors. She was, of course, not at all pleased with the visit, as any visit from the landlady could have unfortunate consequences and might even spell real trouble. However, she had accustomed herself to be ready at all times for any eventuality, whether good or bad, and she was able to deal with both with complete equanimity.

By profession she was a bath attendant and a marriage broker, and was both shrewd and talkative. To be sure, her tongue was hardly ever still and she scarcely missed a single report or scandal concerning anyone or any house in the neighborhood. She was both a herald and a historian of bad news of all kinds and a veritable encyclopedia of woes.

As usual, she went to great pains to make her visitor feel welcome, praising her extravagantly. She gave her a resume of the news of the alley and the surroundings. Had she heard of Kirsha's new scandal? It was just like the previous ones and the news got back to his wife, who had a fight with him and tore his cloak. Husniya, the bakeress, the day before struck her husband so hard that blood had flowed from his forehead. Radwan Hussainy, that good and pious man, had rebuked his wife most strongly, and why would he treat her in this way, the good man that he was, if she were not a vile and wicked hussy! Dr. Booshy had interfered with a little girl in the shelter in the last air raid and some upright citizen had struck him for it. The wife of Mawardy, the wood merchant, had run off with her servant, and her father had informed the police. Tabuna Kafawy was secretly selling bread made of pure flour — and so on.

Mrs. Afify listened with disinterest to all this, her mind busy with the matter about which she had come. She was determined, no matter what the effort cost her, to broach the subject which had been simmering within her for so long. She let the woman talk on until the right opportunity came, as it did when Umm Hamida asked, "And how are you, Mrs. Afify?"

She frowned a little and replied, "The truth is that I am tired out, Umm Hamida!"

The older woman arched her eyebrows as though really troubled. "Tired? May God lighten your load!"

Mrs. Afify made no reply while Hamida, her tenant's daughter, who had just come into the room, placed a tray with coffee on the table and left again. Then she said indignantly, "Yes, I am tired, Umm Hamida. Don't you think it's exhausting, collecting the rent from the shops? Imagine a woman like me standing in front of strange men asking for rent…"

Umm Hamida's heart had missed a beat at the mention of the rents, but she said sympathetically, "Yes, you are quite right. May God come to your aid."