Blushing, bright-eyed, smiling and with a light heart, he went into Qamar’s courtyard to fetch Naama, the ewe. “Here I am,” he called, and was untying Naama’s tether at the bottom of the steps, when he heard the door to the women’s quarters creak open, and the lady’s voice. “Good morning.”
“God give you a very good morning, ma’am,” he said earnestly.
“Yesterday you did a great thing for our alley.”
“God was my guide,” he said, dancing with joy inside.
“You taught us that wisdom is better than violence,” she said in a melodious voice that gave away her admiration.
And your love is better than wisdom, he said to himself.
“Thank you,” he said.
There was a smile in her voice when she said, “We saw you tending the men of Gabalawi the way you tend your flock. Be safe; goodbye.”
He left with the ewe, and with every building he passed he added kids, billy goats, nanny goats or sheep to his caravan. He heard many pleasantries, and even the gangsters who had always ignored him now returned his greetings. He moved down the path alongside the mansion wall, behind a wide column of sheep, on his way to the desert. He was met by a blazing sun high over the mountain, and the hot breath of the bright morning air. Some shepherds came into view at the foot of the mountain, a man in ragged clothes playing a pipe passed by and a flock of kites circled under the clear dome of the sky. With every breath he took, he smelled the pure and immaculate air; the massive mountain seemed to him to harbor great treasures of promised hopes. As he surveyed the desert with a marvelous feeling of relaxation, an expansive happiness took hold of him, and he began to sing.
Sweet, beautiful and Upper Egyptian,
My arm’s tattooed with your inscription!
His eyes moved over Hind and Qadri’s rock, the sites where Humam and Rifaa had died, and where Gabal encountered Gabalawi. Here were the sun, the mountain, the sand, grandeur, love and a heart bursting with love, and yet he asked what it all meant, both the part that was history and that which was to come; the alley with its feuding neighborhoods and puffed-up gangsters and the stories that were told in every coffeehouse—with differences.
Shortly before noon he drove his sheep toward Muqattam Marketplace, went into Yahya’s hut and sat down.
“What’s this I hear about what you did in our alley yesterday?” the old man called.
Qassem hid his shyness by taking a sip of tea.
“It would have been better for you to let them all fight and kill one another,” Yahya added.
“You don’t really mean that,” said Qassem, his eyes still lowered.
“Avoid having admirers or else you’ll provoke the gangsters,” Yahya warned.
“Do gangsters feel provoked by people like me?”
“Who would ever have imagined that a traitor would betray Rifaa?”
“What’s the comparison between the great Rifaa and me?”
When Qassem was ready to leave, the old man bid him goodbye, saying, “Always keep the amulet I gave you.”
That afternoon, he was sitting in the shade behind Hind’s Rock when he heard Sakina’s voice calling, “Naama!” He jumped up and looked around the rock, and saw the slave standing by the ewe’s head, petting her snout. He greeted her with a smile.
“I have an errand in al-Darasa,” she said in her coppery voice, “and I came this way, for a shortcut.”
“But it’s such a hot route!”
“That’s why I’m taking a break in the shadow of the rock.” She laughed.
They sat close to one another in the shade where he had left his staff.
“When I saw what you did yesterday,” Sakina said, “I knew your mother really prayed for you from her heart before she died.”
“Don’t you pray for me?” he said, smiling.
She looked away with her sly face. “I pray for a nice wife for someone like you!”
“Who will be satisfied with a shepherd?” He laughed.
“Luck works miracles, and now you’re the equal of any protector, without having to shed any blood.”
“I swear—your tongue is sweeter than a honey dew melon.”
She gave him a frank stare with her weak eyes. “Should I tell you something wonderful to do?”
“Yes,” he said, suddenly excited.
With African candor she said, “Try your luck and propose to the lady in our neighborhood.”
Everything suddenly seemed different. “Who do you mean, Sakina?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t understand. There is only one lady in our neighborhood.”
“Qamar!”
“No one else.”
“Her husband was a great man. I’m only a shepherd!” he said unsteadily.
“But when luck laughs, everyone may laugh along, even the poor.”
“What if my proposal angers her?”
Sakina stood up. “No one knows when a woman will be happy or angry. Trust God. You take care of yourself,” she said as she left.
He raised his face to the sky and closed his eyes, as if overtaken by drowsiness.