In his one-room flat he could subject himself to scrutiny. There, the meaning of his life took shape before him. He lived with his senses always on the alert and with heightened awareness, constantly seeking to provide himself with every possible weapon. From his small window he could see the place where he was born: al-Husayni Alley, an extension of his body and soul. A long back street with a sharp bend, famous for its parking area for carts and its watering trough for donkeys. The house where he had been born and brought up had been demolished. In its place there was now a little plot for pushcarts. Few of the natives of the alley ever left it for good except for the grave. They went to work in various quarters: al-Mabyada, al-Darrasa, al-Sikka al-Jadida, or even beyond, but they came back at the end of the day. One of the characteristics of the alley was that it knew no murmurs or whispers. Voices here were very loud, sometimes crude, sometimes full of wisdom. Among them was one very close to him, a strong, coarse voice which age had not weakened, the voice of Omm Husni, the landlady. Dreams of eternity were wearisome indeed. But what had he been yesterday, and what was he today? He would do well not to recoil from the impossible. He would do well not to surrender himself to the current without a definite plan. An exact plan. He often dreamed that he was urinating, but always woke up at the right moment. What did that mean? Omm Husni had been a workmate of his mother’s. A lifetime friend and confidante. Both were married to cart drivers and both had slaved away with the patience and persistence of ants for a few piastres with which to help their husbands and keep their homes together. They had worked as peddlers, hairdressers, marriage brokers, and so on. His mother was still working when she died. As for Omm Husni, she went on slaving away with great zeal. She had more luck and earned more than his mother and thus was able to save up enough money to build her three-story house: a timber store on the ground floor and two flats above. She lived in one and Othman in the other. As for her son Husni, the days of war and hardship had led him to distant lands where he settled down, and all he had left behind was his name.
Did he not have the right to dream? Dream he did, thanks to the holy flame burning in his breast. Thanks to his small room too. He got used to his dreams just as he got used to the bed, the settee, the chest, the mat, and, for that matter, the sound of his own voice, sometimes shrill, sometimes melodious, which echoed against the dark, solid walls.
What had he been yesterday? His father had wanted to make of him a cart driver like himself, but the sheikh of the local Qur’an school said to him, “Put your trust in God, Mr. Bayyumi, and enroll the boy at the primary school.”
His father did not seem to comprehend.
“Has he not learned enough Qur’an for him to perform the prayers?” he asked.
“The boy is clever and intelligent. One day he could make a civil servant,” replied the sheikh.
Mr. Bayyumi guffawed incredulously.
“Try the charity schools. He might be accepted free,” the sheikh said.
Mr. Bayyumi had hesitated for a while, but eventually the miracle took place. At school Othman achieved astonishing success until he finally obtained the Primary Certificate. He drew ahead of his barefooted playmates from the alley and was acutely aware of the first holy spark from his throbbing heart. He was certain that God had blessed his footsteps and that the gates of infinity lay open before him. He joined a secondary school, also free, and achieved greater success than anyone in al-Husayni Alley could believe. But when he was still in the second form, his father contracted a terminal illness. He felt miserable at what he had “done” to his son.
“I am leaving you behind a helpless schoolboy,” he said to him. “Who will drive the cart? Who will provide for the family?”
His father died a sad man. But his mother worked twice as hard, hoping that God would make a great man of her son. Was not God all-powerful? If it had not been for the unexpected death of his mother, Othman would have completed his higher education. His anguish was great, all the more so because of his heightened awareness of his ambition and the sacred aspirations throbbing within him. Sacred too was the memory of his parents. And on every religious occasion he would visit their grave, a paupers’ grave which lay in an open piece of land amid a host of the forgotten. Now he was alone. A branch cut off a tree. His elder brother, who had been a policeman, had been killed in a demonstration. His sister had died of typhoid in the fever hospital. Another brother had died in prison. The memory of his family was painful to him, and how he mourned for his parents! He linked these happenings with an exalted drama which he contemplated with respect and awe. For fortunes were determined in the alley through conflicting wills and unknown forces and then consecrated in eternity. By this token his belief in himself was boundless, though in the end he depended on Almighty God. And for the same reason he would never miss a prayer, least of all the Friday service at al-Husayn Mosque. Like the people of his alley, he made no distinction between religion and life. Religion was for life and life for religion, and a glittering jewel like the position of Director General was only a sacred station on the divine and infinite path. Living among his colleagues with his senses alert and shining, he picked up the sort of ideas and maxims that seemed important to him. He then devoted himself to laying out a precise plan for the future, which he translated into a working schedule to be studied every morning before going out to work:
Program for Work and Living
1. fulfillment of duties with care and honesty;
2. study of the Financial Bill as if it were a holy book;
3. studying for a university degree as an external student;
4. a special study of English and French, as well as Arabic;
5. acquisition of general knowledge, particularly of the kind beneficial to a civil servant;
6. demonstration, by every proper means, of piety and rectitude as well as diligence in work;
7. efforts to gain the confidence and friendship of seniors;
8. seizing useful opportunities without the sacrifice of self-respect. For instance: helping out someone in a position of influence, making useful friendships or a happy marriage conducive to progress.
He often looked at a small mirror which was nailed to the wall between the window and the clothes stand to examine his appearance and reassure himself on this point. Certainly his appearance would not be an obstacle. He was well built like the people of his alley. He had a dark, longish face with a high, clear forehead and well-trimmed hair. On the whole, his physique would qualify him to fill any position, no matter how important.
He drew courage and strength from the depths of his soul and thought to himself: Not a bad start—and the road is endless.