Arafa spoke calmly but resolutely. “I’ve decided to get out of here.”
Hanash was so surprised that his hands stopped working. He looked around warily, and although the workroom was locked, he looked afraid.
Arafa ignored his surprise and went on, his hands working busily. “This prison just makes me think of death. I feel as though parties and drinking and dancers are the overtures of death. I smell the odor of graves in every garden of flowers.”
“But real death is waiting for us in the alley,” said Hanash uneasily.
“We’ll go far away from the alley.” He looked him straight in the eye. “And someday we’ll come back victorious.”
“If we can get out!”
“The bastards trust us. We can get out of here.”
They worked on in silence for a while.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Arafa asked.
“I had almost forgotten,” Hanash murmured timidly. “But tell me. What made you decide that today?”
Arafa smiled. “My ancestor let it be known that he was pleased with me, even though I attacked his house and killed his servant.”
The surprise came back into Hanash’s face. “Will you risk your life for a vision you saw when you were on drugs?”
“Call it what you want, but I am positive that when he died he was pleased with me. Neither the attack nor the killing angered him, but if he saw the way I live now, the world couldn’t hold all his anger.” He lowered his voice. “That’s why he reminded me that he used to be pleased with me!”
Hanash shook his head, marveling at this. “You never used to speak of him with respect.”
“That was before, when I was so doubtful. Now that he’s dead—the dead deserve respect.”
“God rest his soul.”
“God forbid I should forget that I was the cause of his death. That’s why I must restore him to life if I can. If I’m able to succeed, we will never know death.”
Hanash stared at him dejectedly. “All magic has given you so far are some stimulant pills and destructive bottles.”
“We know where magic begins, but we cannot even imagine where it ends.” He looked around the room. “We’ll pack up everything but the notebook, Hanash—that’s the treasure of our secrets, I’ll carry it in my shirt. Getting out of here won’t be as hard as you think.”
Arafa went as usual to the overseer’s house that evening, and came back to his house a little before dawn. He found Hanash awake and waiting for him. They stayed in the bedroom for an hour, until they were sure the servants were asleep, then slipped out to the terrace together, very lightly and cautiously. The snoring of the servant sleeping on the balcony over the terrace rose regularly, so they stole down the steps and headed for the gate. Hanash went to the gatekeeper’s bed and lifted his arm that held a cane, and brought it down, but it struck only a lifeless cotton form and made a sound that disturbed the stillness of the night. So the gatekeeper was not in his bed. They were afraid that the sound might have woken someone, and stayed behind the door with pounding hearts. Arafa lifted the bolt and slowly opened the gate, then went out. Hanash followed him. They reclosed the gate and moved out through the silent darkness, toward Umm Zanfil’s building, staying close to the walls. Halfway down the alley they met a recumbent dog that stood up curiously and ran toward them, sniffing. It followed them for a few steps, then stopped and yawned.
When they reached the entrance of the building, Arafa whispered, “Wait for me here. If you hear anything, give a whistle and go to Muqattam Marketplace.”
Arafa went into the building and crossed the hall to the stairway. He climbed up to Umm Zanfil’s room, and knocked at the door until he heard his wife’s voice asking who was there. He spoke rapidly, with feeling. “It’s Arafa. Open up, Awatif.”
She opened the door, and he saw her face, wan with sleep, in the light of the small lantern in her hand.
“Follow me. We’re going to escape together,” he said immediately.
As she stood looking at him dazedly, Umm Zanfil appeared behind her shoulder.
“We’ll escape from the alley. We’ll be the way we were before. Hurry.”
She hesitated a little, then spoke with a hint of exasperation. “What made you think of me?”
“You can blame me later,” he said with frantic longing. “Time is too precious now.”
There was a whistle from Hanash, and confused sounds.
“The dogs!” he cried. “We’ve lost our chance, Awatif.”
He jumped to the head of the stairs and saw, in the building’s open hall, lights and human forms. He stepped back in despair.
“Come in,” said Awatif.
“Don’t come in,” said Umm Zanfil roughly, in self-defense.
What was the point in going in? He gestured to a small window in the room and asked his wife quickly, “Where does it go?”
“The skylight.”
He reached into his chest for the notebook, went for the window, pushing Umm Zanfil out of his way, and tossed it out. He hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him, and leaped up the few stairs that led to the roof. He looked over the front wall down to the alley. It was swarming with people and torches, and he heard the racket of people coming up toward him. He ran to the side wall abutting the next building on the Gamaliya side, but saw people getting there before him, led by someone carrying a torch. He went to the other wall, adjacent to one of the Rifaa buildings, only to see the lights of torches coming out of the door that opened onto that roof. He imagined that he could hear Umm Zanfil’s cries. Had they attacked her place? Had they taken Awatif? He heard a voice coming from the door of the roof.
“Surrender, Arafa!”
He stood submissively, not uttering a word. No one came near him, but the voice spoke again.
“If you throw a bottle, we’ll shower you with bottles.”
“I have nothing on me.”
They came at him and surrounded him. He saw among them Yunis, the overseer’s gatekeeper, who now approached him, shouting, “You criminal! Bastard! Ingrate!”
In the alley he saw two men shoving Awatif along before them.
“Leave her alone,” he begged passionately. “She has nothing to do with me.”
But he was silenced by a blow to his temple.