The alley learned of Gabal’s homecoming. They saw him strolling with his bag, and they saw his wife going to Gamaliya to do her shopping. They talked about his new trade, which no one in the alley had ever plied before. He performed his magic act, however, in every neighborhood but his own. He avoided using the snakes in his act, so no one realized that he was an expert with snakes. He passed by the overseer’s house many times, as if he had never gone there in his life, enduring deep inside a terrible longing for his mother. Gangsters—Hammouda, al-Laithy, Barakat and Abu Sari—saw him, but did not slap him as they did the other Al Hamdan, but they did crowd him off the sidewalk and mocked his bag. One day he encountered Zaqlut, who stared at him coldly, then blocked his path.
“Where have you been?” Zaqlut asked.
“Somewhere in the wide world,” replied Gabal in a dream.
“This is my turf,” the man said, as if trying to start a fight. “It is my right to ask you whatever I want, and you have to answer me.”
“I answered you.”
“Why have you come back?”
“The same reason any man comes back home!”
“I wouldn’t have come back if I were you,” said Zaqlut menacingly.
He pounced forward suddenly, and would have ended up on top of him had Gabal not quickly stepped aside, restraining his own rage. Then came the sound of the overseer’s gatekeeper calling him; Gabal, surprised, turned that way and went to him. They met in front of the house and shook hands warmly. The man asked him how he was, and informed him that the lady wanted to see him. This was an invitation Gabal had expected since his reappearance in the alley. His heart had told him it was coming, no question about it. For his part, he could not visit the house, because of the circumstances of his leaving it; even apart from that, he had decided not to request a meeting in order not to raise any suspicions before it took place—suspicions in the heart of the overseer or among the gangsters. In any case, he no sooner entered the house than the news was all over the alley. As he walked up the terrace, he shot a quick glance at the garden, at the sycamores, the high mulberry trees, the flowers and rosebushes that filled every corner. The usual fragrances had disappeared in winter’s grip, and a calm light as peaceful as dusk filled the air, as if diffused from the scattered white clouds. He went up the stairs, resolutely resisting the flock of memories in his heart, and entered the hall, in the center of which the lady and her husband were sitting and waiting. He looked at his mother and their eyes met; deeply moved, she stood up to receive him, and he knelt at her hands and kissed them. She kissed his forehead lovingly, and he stood, overcome with love and happiness. He turned his head to the overseer and saw him sitting draped in his cloak, watching them with icy eyes. He extended his hand, and the overseer rose halfway to shake it, then sat down quickly. Huda’s eyes searched Gabal with mixed surprise and panic: he looked handsome in a rough galabiya, drawn in at his thin waist with a thick belt, and worn-out red leather slippers on his feet. His luxuriant hair was covered by a dark skullcap. Her eyes were brilliant with sorrow, and spoke wordlessly of her sorrow at his appearance and the sort of life he had settled for, as if she were gazing at a brilliant hope that had collapsed into wreckage. She motioned for him to be seated. He sat on a chair by her, and she sat down looking almost ill. He realized what she must be going through, and spoke to her in a strong voice about his life in Muqattam Marketplace, about his trade and his wife. He spoke happily of that life in spite of its crudeness, and told her that he was content. This made her angry.
“Live whatever life you want, but how could my house not be the first house you visited when you came back to the alley?”
He almost told her that going to her house was the main purpose of his return, but he postponed that because the moment was not ripe yet and because he still had not overcome his emotions at this meeting.
“I did want to come to your house, but I couldn’t find the courage to intrude after what—”
“Why did you come back if life was so sweet abroad?” Effendi asked coldly.
The lady directed a look of rebuke at her husband, which he ignored.
Gabal smiled. “Perhaps, sir, I came back in the hope of seeing you!”
“Yet you didn’t visit us until we invited you, you mean thing,” Huda scolded him.
“Believe me, my lady,” said Gabal, bowing his head, “that whenever I remembered the circumstances that compelled me to leave this house, I cursed them from the bottom of my heart.”
Effendi stared at him distrustfully, and was going to ask what he meant, but Huda spoke first.
“You have learned, of course, how we pardoned the Al Hamdan for your sake?”
Gabal knew that it was time for this pleasant family scene to end, as he had known from the outset it would have to, and that it was time for the struggle to begin.
“The truth, my lady, is that they are suffering a disgrace worse than death, and that it has killed some of them.”
Effendi gripped his worry beads tightly and exclaimed, “They are criminals, and they got what they deserved.”
“Let’s forget all about the past,” pleaded Huda with an urgent gesture.
“It would not have been right for Qidra’s blood to have been spilled in vain,” Effendi insisted.
“The gangsters are the real criminals,” said Gabal firmly.
Effendi stood impulsively and turned rebukingly to his wife. “Do you see the result of my giving in to you and inviting him to our house?”
“Sir,” said Gabal in a voice that proclaimed all of his strength, “I intended to come to you anyway. Perhaps my awareness of the favor I harbor for this house is what made me wait until I was invited here.”
The overseer showed a look of apprehensive distrust. “What do you expect from this visit?”
Gabal stood bravely to face the overseer, knowing perfectly well that he was opening a door that would admit howling storms, but he had derived unshakable courage from his meeting in the desert. “I have come,” he said, “to claim the Al Hamdan’s rights to the estate and to a peaceful life.”
Anger darkened Effendi’s face, and the lady’s mouth gaped in despair. The man fixed his burning gaze on Gabal. “You actually dare to revive this conversation? Have you forgotten the tragedies that befell you after that ridiculous old man of yours dared to advance these impossible demands? I swear, you must be crazy, and I have no time to waste with lunatics.”
“Gabal,” sobbed Huda, “I was going to invite you and your wife to live with us.”
“I am only repeating in your hearing the wish of one who may not be refused: your ancestor and ours, Gabalawi!” said Gabal in a resounding voice.
Effendi looked searchingly at Gabal, amazed. Huda got up, looking worried, and placed her hand on Gabal’s shoulder. “Gabal, what has happened to you?”
“I’m fine, my lady,” said Gabal, smiling.
“Fine!” Effendi was thunderstruck. “You are fine? Where is your mind?”
“Listen to my story and judge for yourself,” said Gabal very serenely.
He told them the story he had told the Al Hamdan, and when he had finished, Effendi, who had been studying his face distrustfully the whole time, spoke. “The lord of the estate has never left his house since he isolated himself.”
“But I met him in the desert.”
“Why didn’t he inform me directly of his wishes?” he asked mockingly.
“That is his secret and he knows what he is doing.”
Exasperated, Effendi laughed. “You truly are a snake charmer, but you aren’t satisfied playing tricks with snakes—no, you want to trifle with the whole estate!”
“God knows I have not lied,” said Gabal, losing none of his calm.
“Let’s take it to Gabalawi himself for his judgment, if you can arrange that, or else the Ten Conditions.”
Effendi’s anger exploded. His face turned pale and his limbs shuddered as he screamed, “You thief! You fraud! You will not escape from your black fate, not even if you hide on the mountaintop!”
“Oh, how terrible!” exclaimed Huda. “I never expected you to bring me so much misery, Gabal.”
“Is all this happening only because I have demanded legitimate rights for my people?” asked Gabal incredulously.
“Shut up, you fraud!” shouted Effendi as loudly as he could. “You hashish addict! You alley of hashish addicts, you sons of dogs! Get out of my house, and if you ever rave like this again you’ll be condemning yourself and your people to be slaughtered like sheep!”
“I warn you,” said Gabal, glowering, “you are going to feel the wrath of Gabalawi.”
Effendi attacked Gabal and struck his broad chest as hard as he could, but Gabal bore it with patient immobility. Then he turned to the lady. “I will show him respect for your sake,” he said, and turned his back on them and left.