Naguib Mahfouz - Midaq Alley

Abbas was delighted at this unexpected conclusion and said enthusiastically, "What a great idea! You're a very clever fellow!"

Hussain was pleased at this praise. He wondered how he could carry out his plan, spurred on by the anger inspired by his sense of honor, his natural aggressiveness, and his greed for money. He muttered viciously, "Sunday isn't far off."

When they reached Queen Farida Square, they stopped and Hussain suggested, "Let's go back to Vita's bar."

Abbas hesitated and said, "Wouldn't it be better to go to the tavern where we'll meet him on Sunday, so that you'll know where it is?"

Hussain lingered a bit and then walked off with his friend, stepping out more quickly now. The sun was about to set; only a few light shadows were now being thrown by its light. The whole sky was quiet and inky black, as it always was when the first shadows fell. The streetlamps were lit, and traffic flowed on, indifferent to the change from day to night. The whole surface of the earth seemed to echo and resound with ceaseless noise. Streetcars rumbled by, auto horns blew, vendors shouted their wares, and street musicians blew their pipes, while people bustled all around. Coming in from the alley to this street was like a translation from sleep to noisy wakefulness.

Abbas felt elated, and his bewilderment dispersed. Now, with the help of his brave and strong friend, he could see his way clearly before him. As for Hamida, he was content to let the unknown circumstances decide things. He felt unable to settle anything himself, or perhaps he was simply afraid to make a final decision about her. He wanted to talk to his friend about this but took one look at Hussain's black face and the words choked in his throat. They continued on their way until they reached the scene of Abbas' last dramatic encounter with Hamida. The barber nudged his friend and said, "This is the flower shop where we talked."

Hussain looked silently at the shop and asked with interest, "And where is the tavern?"

Abbas nodded to a nearby door and muttered, "That must be it."

They walked slowly toward it, Hussain's small sharp eyes looking carefully all around. As they walked by, Abbas looked inside the tavern and an extraordinary sight met his eyes. He let out a gasp and the muscles of his face set hard. From then on things happened so quickly that Hussain was left in a daze. He saw Hamida sitting amidst a crowd of soldiers. One stood behind her pouring wine into a glass in her hand, leaning toward her slightly as she turned her head toward him. Her legs were stretched on the lap of another soldier sitting opposite her, and there were others in uniform crowding around her, drinking boisterously. Abbas stood stunned. His anger foamed within him and blinded his vision, and he quite forgot that he had any enemy other than her. He charged madly into the tavern, roaring out in a thunderous voice, "Hamida…"

The girl was struck with terror and her face went white with fear. She bellowed angrily in her coarse, harsh voice, "Out! Get out of my sight!"

Her anger and shouting acted like gasoline on flames, and Abbas' rage turned to sheer fury. His normal hesitancy and reserve disappeared as he felt all the sorrow, disappointment, and despair he had suffered in the past three days boil up within him to burst forth in a mad frenzy. He noticed some empty beer glasses on the bar, took one, and, not really aware what he was doing, hurled it at her with all the force of the anger and despair within him. He acted so quickly that no one, neither the soldiers nor any of the tavern employees, could stop him, and the glass struck her in the face. Blood poured in a stream from her nose, mouth, and chin, mixing with the creams and powders on her face and running down onto her neck and dress. Her screams mingled with the enraged shouts of the drunks in the tavern, and angry men fell on Abbas from all sides like wild animals. Blows, kicks, and glasses flew in all directions.

Hussain Kirsha stood at the door watching his friend pelted with blows from fists and feet, just like a ball and quite defenseless. Each time he was struck, he yelled, "Hussain… Hussain." His friend, however, who had never before in his life drawn back from a fight, remained glued to the ground, not knowing how he could cut his way to Abbas through all the angry soldiers. Rage swept over him, and he began searching left and right to find some sharp object, some stick or knife. He failed and stood there impotently with the passersby now gathered at the door staring at the battle taking place, their fists clenched and their eyes filled with horror.

The morning light filled the alley and rays from the sun fell on the upper walls of Alwan's office and the barbershop. Sanker, the young cafe waiter, appeared and filled a bucket with water, which he sprinkled on the ground. The alley was turning another of the pages of its monotonous life, its inhabitants greeting the morning with their usual cries. Uncle Kamil was extraordinarily active for this early hour, standing in front of a dish of sweetmeat, serving it out to boys from the elementary school and filling his pocket with the small coins they gave him.

Opposite him the old barber was stropping his razors, and Jaada, the baker, went by bringing dough from houses nearby. Salim Alwan's employees were arriving now, opening doors and storerooms and disturbing the peace and quiet with their noise, which would continue all day long. Kirsha was squatting behind his till dreaming, splitting something between his front teeth, chewing it, and then washing it down with coffee. Near him sat Sheikh Darwish, silent and lost to the world. Early though it was, Mrs. Saniya Afify appeared at her window, to say goodbye to her young husband as he made his way down the alley, off to work in the police department.

This was the normal pattern of life in the alley, disturbed only occasionally when one of its girls disappeared or one of its menfolk was swallowed by the prison. But soon such bubbles subsided into its lakelike surface, calm or stagnant, and by evening whatever might have happened in the morning was almost forgotten.

The early morning, then, found the alley enjoying its quiet and peaceful life as usual, but at midmorning Hussain Kirsha arrived, his face filled with gloom and his eyes red with loss of sleep. He came slowly and heavily up the alley, went over to his father, and threw himself into a chair facing him. Without a greeting he said hoarsely, "Father, Abbas has been killed…"

Kirsha, who was just about to reprimand him for spending the whole night away from home, made no reply. He sat staring in astonishment at his son, shocked and motionless. Then, suddenly, in an annoyed tone, he demanded, "What did you say?"

Hussain, sitting staring fixedly ahead, replied huskily, "Abbas has been killed! The British murdered him…"

He moistened his lips and repeated all Abbas had told him the previous day on their walk. His voice full of emotion, he said, "He took me to show me a tavern that bitch had told him about. As we passed it, he saw her in the midst of a crowd of soldiers. He went wild, lost his temper, charged inside, and hurled a glass into her face before I knew what he was doing. The soldiers got mad and dozens of them beat him till he fell down senseless."

He clenched his fists tight and, gnashing his teeth in angry hate, went on: "It was hell… I couldn't help him. There were just too many damned soldiers… If only I could have gotten my hands on one of those damned soldiers."

"'All power and strength are in God's hands,'" quoted Kirsha, slapping his hands together. "What did you do with him?"

"The police arrived too late and put a cordon around the tavern. But what good could that do? They carried his body off to Kasr el-Aini Hospital and took the whore off for first-aid treatment."