Gabal succeeded in ridding the alley of snakes, before the very eyes of all its people. Every time a snake obeyed him, the cheers and delighted trilling resounded, until the alley’s goings-on could be heard from the mansion to Gamaliya. When he finished his task and went home, youths and small boys surrounded him and sang, clapping rhythmically, “Gabal, defender of the poor! Gabal, conqueror of serpents!”
The singing and clapping continued even after he left, and this produced a violent reaction in the gangsters’ souls; in no time Hammouda, al-Laithy, Abu Sari and Barakat went out to the celebrants and began cursing and abusing them, slapping and kicking them until they broke up and fled to their homes, leaving the street to its dogs, cats and flies. The people wondered what was the secret of this attack—how could they repay Gabal’s good deed by attacking his supporters? Would Effendi keep his promise to Gabal, or was the gangsters’ attack the beginning of an arrogant new campaign of revenge? These questions ran through Gabal’s mind, and he sent for the men of Al Hamdan to come to the house where he was staying, so that they might deal with the matter together.
At that very same time, Zaqlut, consumed with fury, was meeting with the overseer and his wife. “We won’t leave one of them alive,” he was insisting.
The delight was plain on Effendi’s face, but the lady asked, “What about the word of honor the overseer gave?”
Zaqlut scowled until his face became uglier than any human face. “People obey strength, not honor,” he said.
“They will always say that we—” she began angrily.
“They can say whatever they want—when have they ever kept quiet about us or about you anyway? Every night their hashish dens are loud with their wisecracks and jokes against us, but when we go out in the streets they stand up submissively. They submit out of fear of our clubs, not out of admiration for our honor.”
Effendi glared at her exasperatedly. “Gabal is the one who masterminded the snake plot so that he could force his conditions on us. Everyone knows that! Who is going to ask me to respect a promise I made to a sneaking, deceitful swindler?”
“Remember, my lady,” said Zaqlut tonelessly, his face obstinately hideous, “if Gabal succeeds in getting the Al Hamdan’s rights to the estate, no one in the alley will rest until he’s got his rights too, and if that happens the estate will be lost, and we’ll all lose.”
Effendi gripped the worry beads in his hands so tightly that the beads crackled. “Don’t leave one of them alive!” he shouted at Zaqlut.
And so the gangsters were summoned to Zaqlut’s house, and were followed by their close associates. Word got around in the alley that something terrible was in store for the Al Hamdan; the windows filled with women, and the streets jammed up with men. Gabal had prepared his plan. The Al Hamdan men crowded into the courtyard of the middle house, armed with clubs and baskets of stones, while the women were posted on the roof and in various rooms. Each of them had an assigned task, and any slip in the planning or any error in carrying out the plan would mean nothing less than their eternal ruin. So they took their places around Gabal with the utmost anguish and tension. Their state of mind did not escape Gabal’s attention, so he reminded them of Gabalawi’s support and his promise that the strong would triumph. He found their spirits trusting, some from faith and others from fear.
Ridwan the poet leaned over to Hamdan’s ear and said, “I am afraid our plan will not suceed. I think the best plan would be to close the gate and fire away from the roof and windows!”
Hamdan shrugged irritably and said, “We’d just condemn ourselves to a siege until we’d die of starvation!” He went over to Gabal and asked him, “Wouldn’t it be better to leave the gate open?”
“Leave it as it is, otherwise they’ll get suspicious.”
A cold wind whipped up, howling and chasing the clouds across the sky, and they wondered whether it would rain. There was an outcry from the throng outside that drowned out the meowing of the cats and the dogs’ barking. Tamar Henna called out in warning, “The devils are here!”
Zaqlut had, in fact, left his house surrounded by gangsters and followed by their hangers-on, their clubs in hand. They strode along slowly to the mansion, then turned toward the Al Hamdan neighborhood and were met by cheers and applause. Those who cheered and applauded were different groups: a small number were delighted at the prospect of a battle and longed to see bloodletting, while others hated the Al Hamdan because they claimed a status that no one else conceded to them. Most resented the gangsters and hated injustice, but hid their feelings and pretended to support them out of fear or hypocrisy. Zaqlut ignored them; he kept walking until he stood before the building where Hamdan lived.
“If there is any man among you, let him come out!”
“Give us a new promise,” came Tamar Henna’s voice from behind the window, “that you won’t deceive the one who comes out.”
This reference to the promise enraged Zaqlut. “Don’t you have anyone in there but that slut?”
“God have pity on your mother, Zaqlut!” shouted Tamar Henna.
Zaqlut barked the order for his men to attack the gate. Some men attacked the gate, and others threw stones at the windows so that no one would dare to open them and use them for defense. The attackers massed at the gate and pushed against it with their shoulders with strength and determination. They kept pushing hard until the doors began to shake, redoubled their energy until the doors quaked and rocked, then retreated briefly to throw themselves powerfully against it, slamming against it once so hard that it burst into pieces. The courtyard could be seen at the end of the long extended passage, and there stood Gabal and the men of the Al Hamdan, their clubs upraised. Zaqlut waved his hand in an obscene gesture and emitted a derisive laugh, then charged down the passage with his men behind him. Scarcely had they gone halfway when the ground suddenly gave out under them, and they fell to the bottom of a deep pit. With startling speed, windows on both sides of the passage flew open and water flooded out of jugs, pots, basins and waterskins as the men of the Al Hamdan advanced speedily and loosed their baskets of stones into the pit. For the first time, the alley heard shrieks issuing from their gangsters, saw blood spouting from Zaqlut’s head and clubs crushing the heads of Hammouda, Barakat, al-Laithy and Abu Sari as they thrashed around in the muddy water. Seeing what was happening to their bosses, their followers fled, leaving the gangsters to their helpless fate. The cascades of water and stones intensified, and the clubs beat down unmercifully. The people heard cries for help coming from throats that had never uttered anything but curses and threats.
“Don’t leave one of them alive!” yelled Ridwan the poet as loudly as he could.
The muddy water was now mixed with blood; Hammouda was the first to perish, though al-Laithy’s and Abu Sari’s wails were loud. Zaqlut’s hands clutched at the wall of the pit as he tried to spring out, and hatred gleamed in his eyes. He was beginning to overcome his weakness and exhaustion, and the moans he puffed out were like the lowing of cattle, but the clubs rained blows on him and his hands released the walls; he fell back and collapsed face up in the water, each of his fists clutching mud. Silence reigned over the pit, from which there was no movement or sound; its surface was colored with mud and blood. The men of Al Hamdan stood panting and watching. The gathering of people crowded around the entrance to the passage, staring bewilderedly into the pit.
“This is the punishment for oppressors!” shouted Ridwan the poet.
The news spread like fire throughout the alley. The crowds said that Gabal had destroyed the gangsters just as he had destroyed the serpents! Everyone hailed him in voices like thunder. Their fervor warmed their bodies; they paid no attention to the cold wind, and acclaimed him as the new leader of Gabalawi Alley. They demanded the gangsters’ bodies so that they might mutilate them; they clapped, and some even danced, but Gabal never for a moment stopped thinking. Everything was arranged in his head.
“Now, to the overseer’s house!” he shouted to his people.