Adham and Umaima started building their hut at the western end of the mansion. They brought stones from Muqattam and gathered boards from the foot of the mountain and from the outskirts of Atuf, Gamaliya and Bab al-Nasr. It became clear to them that building their home would take much more time than they had supposed, and by this time they had run out of the stores of cheese, eggs and molasses Umaima had taken from the house. Adham decided to go out and look for a job; he would sell some of his more expensive clothes to buy a hand cart, from which he would peddle potatoes, chickpeas, cucumbers and other produce, depending on the season. Umaima became so emotional watching him collect his clothes that she burst into tears, but he did not respond. Then he said, with mingled irony and irritation, “These clothes aren’t right for me anymore. Wouldn’t it be silly to hawk potatoes in an embroidered camel-hair cloak?”
With the desert as a backdrop, he pushed his cart toward Gamaliya, Gamaliya which had not yet forgotten his wedding; his heart sank and his voice died—he stopped calling out for buyers, and he almost sobbed aloud. He quickly switched to the more remote neighborhoods, and doggedly pushed his cart and cried his wares from morning till night, until his hands were hard, his sandals were worn out and his feet and limbs were racked with pain. How hateful it was—haggling with the women, being forced by exhaustion to nap on the ground by a wall, stopping in a corner to relieve himself. This life seemed unreal, and the days in the garden, running the property, the little room that overlooked Muqattam were like fairy tales. He said to himself, “Nothing is real in this world—the mansion, that unfinished hut, that garden, this handcart, yesterday, today and tomorrow. I probably did the right thing to build the hut in front of the mansion, so that I don’t lose my past the way I’ve lost my present and future. Would it be inconceivable for me to lose my memory as I’ve lost my father and myself?” He went home in the evening to Umaima, not to relax, but to work on building the hut. One noon he sat in Watawit Alley to rest, and fell asleep. A movement woke him, and he saw boys stealing his cart. He got up and threatened them, and one boy who saw him warned his friends with a whistle; they overturned the cart to distract him from going after them. The cucumbers tumbled all over the ground while the boys dispersed like locusts. Adham was so enraged that he forgot his decent upbringing and screamed obscenities at them, then bent down to retrieve his cucumbers from the mud. His anger redoubled with no outlet, so he asked emotionally, Why was your anger like fire, burning without mercy? Why was your pride dearer to you than your own flesh and blood? How can you enjoy an easy life when you know we are being stepped on like insects? Forgiveness, gentleness, tolerance have no place in your mansion, you oppressor! He seized the handles of the cart and set out to push it as far as he could get from this accursed alley, when he heard a taunting voice.
“How much are the cucumbers, uncle?”
Idris stood there with a mocking grin, wearing a brilliantly striped long shirt, a white turban on his head. When Adham saw him smiling and scornful, not wrought up or angry, his world turned black. He pushed the cart to leave, but Idris blocked his way and spoke in surprise: “Doesn’t a customer like me deserve good service?”
Adham tensely raised his head and said, “Just leave me alone.”
Idris did a sarcastic double take. “You don’t like having your brother talk to you this way?”
“Idris,” said Adham patiently, “haven’t you done enough to me as it is? I don’t want you to know me—I don’t want to know you.”
“What kind of talk is this? We’re practically neighbors!”
“I didn’t want to be your neighbor, but I wanted to be near the house I was—”
“—evicted from,” snickered Idris.
Adham fell silent, but his bloodless face showed his anger.
“The soul yearns for the place it has been thrown out of, isn’t that right?”
Adham said nothing.
“You want to go back to that house, you shrewd thing—you really are weak, but full of cunning. But let me tell you that I’ll never let you go back and leave me here—not if the sky falls to the earth.”
“Haven’t you done enough to me?” asked Adham, his nostrils flaring with anger.
“Haven’t you done enough to me? I was kicked out because of you, and I was the brilliant star of the mansion!”
“You were kicked out because of your own pride.”
Idris shrieked with laughter. “And you were kicked out because of your own weakness—there’s no room in the mansion for strength or weakness! Look what a dictator your father is! He allows no one but himself to show strength or weakness. He is so strong that he ruins the people closest to him, and so weak that he marries a woman like your mother!”
“Let me go,” stammered Adham, frowning angrily. “If you want trouble, find someone your own size.”
“Your father starts trouble with the strong and the weak.”
Adham kept silent and glowered even more darkly.
“You don’t want to be lured into disparaging him! How clever of you! It proves that you dream of going back there.” He took a cucumber from the cart and made a face. “How did you let yourself get sucked into peddling these dirty cucumbers? Is this the best you could do?”
“I’m happy with this work.”
“You mean poverty has left you no choice—while your father lives like a king. Think about that. Wouldn’t you do better to team up with me?”
“That’s not what I was cut out for,” said Adham sullenly.
“Look at my clothes! The owner was parading around in this yesterday, as if he had any right to!”
Adham looked shocked. “How did you get it?”
“The way strong people get anything they want.”
He had committed robbery or even murder!
“I can’t believe that you are my brother Idris,” said Adham sadly.
“Why should anyone be surprised,” laughed Idris, “who knows that I’m a child of Gabalawi?”
“Now will you get out of my way!” exclaimed Adham, his patience gone.
“Whatever you say, moron.”
Idris filled his pockets with cucumbers, threw Adham a look of contempt, spat on the cart and walked away.
Umaima rose to greet him when he arrived at the hut. Shadow was enveloping the desert, and a candle guttered inside the hut. The stars flashed in the sky, and in their light the mansion loomed like a giant apparition. Umaima saw from his silence that she was better off avoiding him in this mood. She gave him a jug of water to wash in and brought him clean clothes. He washed his face and feet, changed his clothes, then sat on the ground and stretched his legs out. She approached him cautiously and said, to placate him, “I wish I could bear some of your burden for you.”
As if she had picked at a scab, he shouted, “Shut up! You’re the source of all this trouble and hardship!”
She slid away from him, so far that she became almost invisible in the darkness, but he shouted at her again.
“You’re the best reminder of my stupidity. I curse the day I first saw you.”
He heard her sobbing in the dark, but it only made him angrier. “God damn your crying! Your tears are just leaks from the wickedness that fills your whole body.”
“Nothing you say is worse than what I’m going through!” she bawled.
“I don’t want to hear another word! Get away from me!”
He wadded up his discarded clothes and threw them at her.
“My belly!” she moaned.
His anger began to cool and he began to worry about what might happen. She inferred from his silence that he was sorry and said in a pained voice, “I’ll get away from you, since that’s what you want.” She got up and started off.
“Do you think this is a good time to act like a spoiled brat?” he shouted. He started to get up, and called, “Come back. Forget it.”
He squinted into the darkness until he saw her shape coming his way. He rested his back against the wall of the hut and looked up at the sky, wishing he could be sure that her belly was unhurt, but he was too proud. He would ask her very soon; and he eased into it by telling her, “Wash some of the cucumbers for our supper.”