The days that followed shone with delight for the Al Hamdan, or the Al Gabal, as they were now called. Their coffeehouse opened its doors, and Ridwan the poet sat cross-legged on his bench to pluck the rebec’s strings. Liquor flowed in rivers, and huge clouds of hashish smoke rose to the rafters of every room. Tamar Henna danced until she was nearly thin. They thought nothing of saying outright who had killed Qidra, and lavished imaginative halos of light upon the tale of Gabalawi’s meeting with Gabal. For Gabal and Shafiqa these were the sweetest days of their lives.
“How wonderful it will be to have Balqiti live with us!” he told her.
“Yes,” said Shafiqa, who was suffering through the last months of a pregnancy, “so that he can give his blessing to his grandchild.”
“You are all my happiness, Shafiqa,” said Gabal gratefully. “Sayida will find a good husband among the Al Hamdan.”
“Say Al Gabal like everyone else does—you are the best man this land has ever known.”
“Adham was better than all of us.” He smiled. “How he yearned for a good life where a man would have nothing to do but sing. But his great dream will be realized for us.”
He saw Daabis dancing drunkenly amidst a crowd of the Al Gabal, and when Daabis saw him approaching he shook his club exuberantly. “You don’t want to be a gangster? I’ll be the gangster!”
“There will be no gangsters among the Al Hamdan,” Gabal shouted loudly enough for everyone to hear. “But they must all be tough against anyone who turns against them.”
Gabal walked to the coffeehouse and everyone followed him, stumbling from drunkenness. Gabal was delighted.
“In all this alley, you people are the most beloved of your ancestor,” he told them. “You are the undisputed masters of the alley, so let love, justice and respect prevail among you, and no crime will ever be committed among you.”
Drumming and singing could be heard from the homes of the Al Hamdan, and lights from parties of rejoicing shone throughout their nieghborhood, while the rest of the alley was sunk in its usual darkness, while its young people gathered at the outskirts of the Al Hamdan neighborhood to watch from afar. Then some somber-faced men of the alley showed up at the coffeehouse, where they were received warmly, invited to sit down and given tea. Gabal surmised that they had not come solely for courtesy, and he was proven right by the words of Zanati, the oldest of the visitors.
“Gabal, we all share one alley and one ancestor, and today you are master of this alley and its strongest man. It would be better for justice to prevail in all the neighborhoods, instead of in the Al Hamdan neighborhood alone.”
Gabal said nothing, and disinterest showed in the faces of his people. “It is in your power to bring justice to the whole alley,” the man persisted.
Gabal had never been interested in the others of the alley, and neither had his people, who had felt superior to them even in the days of their affliction.
“My ancestor entrusted me with my own,” said Gabal gently.
“But he is the ancestor of us all, Gabal.”
“There are different opinions about that,” said Hamdan. He looked at their faces carefully to see the effect of his words, and saw that they looked even more depressed. “He acknowledged our relationship with him through the meeting in the desert!”
For a moment Zanati looked as if he wanted to say, “There are different opinions about that,” but he was too demoralized to say it. He asked Gabal, “Does our poverty and shame please you?”
“No,” said Gabal without enthusiasm. “But it has nothing to do with us.”
“How does it have nothing to do with you?” insisted the man.
Gabal wondered by what right this man spoke to him this way, but he did not get angry. He found that part of him almost felt sympathy for the man; but another part of him disapproved of getting involved in new troubles for the sake of others—and who were these others?
Daabis provided the answer when he shouted at Zanati. “Have you forgotten the way you treated us in the time of our affliction?”
The man lowered his gaze for a moment before speaking. “Who was able to state his opinions, or make his sympathies public, when the gangsters ruled? Did the gangsters spare anyone who didn’t treat people the way they wanted them to be treated?”
Daabis curled his lip arrogantly to show his skepticism. “You envy us because of who we are in this alley, and you always have, even before there were any gangsters!”
Zanati bowed his head despondently and said, “God forgive you, Daabis!”
“Be grateful to Gabal for not turning against you out of revenge!”
Torn by conflicting thoughts, Gabal took refuge in silence; he was wary of offering help, but did not want to refuse openly. The men saw that they were contending with angry rebuke from Daabis, an ominous silence from Gabal and cold stares from the eyes of the others. They rose from the table in disappointment, and went back to where they had come from. Daabis waited until they had disappeared, then made a crude, gesture with his right fist and shouted, “Tough luck, you pigs!”
“Gloating is beneath our dignity!” snapped Gabal.