Qassem sat near the window, watching the festival in the alley. How wonderful feast days are in our alley!
The water carriers had sprayed the ground using waterskins; the donkeys’ necks and tails were adorned with artificial flowers. The space danced with the vivid colors of children’s clothes and balloons, little flags flew from the handcarts, and shouts, cries and cheers mingled with the sound of pipes. Donkey carts tilted by with men and women dancing on them. The shops were closed, and the coffeehouses, bars and drug dens were crowded. Everyone, everywhere, was smiling brilliantly and wishing one another a happy holiday. Qassem sat in new clothes with Ihsan standing cradled in the crook of his arm, exploring his features with her small hands and clutching at his cheeks with her fingernails.
“What entangled me first with my love were my eyes,” sang a voice under the window.
He suddenly recalled his joyous wedding procession, and his heart softened. He was a man who loved music and entertainment; how Adham had longed for the leisure to sing in that garden of song! And what was this man on the feast day singing? “What entangled me first with my love were my eyes.” The man was right. Since his eyes had looked up in the darkness to Qandil, his heart, mind and will had not been his own. Here was the courtyard of his house, turned into a club for strengthening minds and purifying souls. Like the rest of them, he lifted weights and was learning fencing. The muscles of Sadeq’s arms filled out, as his leg muscles already had, thanks to his coppersmithing work. Hassan was huge, a giant, anyway. And the others, how splendid was their enthusiasm; Sadeq had wisely advised him to invite the unemployed and beggars to his club, and in no time they were as enthusiastic about the exercises they did as they were about the things he said. Perhaps there were not many of them, but they were so eager that they were stronger than any force twice their number. “Ad! Ad!” cried Ihsan, and he gave her a series of kisses. The edge of his galabiya was damp underneath her. From the kitchen he heard the rapping of the mortar and pestle, the voices of Qamar and Sakina and the meowing of the cat. A donkey cart passed under the window, loaded with clapping singers.
Recite a prayer for the soldier boy.
He threw off his fez for a job as a saint!
Qassem smiled, remembering the night Yahya had sung this hymn stoned on hashish. Oh, if things would only straighten themselves out, all you’d have to do is sing, alley of mine! Tomorrow the club will be filled with strong and reliable helpers; tomorrow, with them, I will challenge the overseer, the gangsters, and all obstacles, so that there will be nothing in the alley but a merciful ancestor and his dutiful grandchildren. Poverty, filth, beggary and tyranny will be wiped out. The vermin, flies and clubs will disappear. A feeling of safety will prevail, with gardens and singing. He awoke from his daydreams to the sound of Qamar’s voice scolding Sakina in an angry outburst. He listened for a moment, surprised, and then called his wife. The door quickly opened, and Qamar came out, pushing the slave in front of her.
“Look at this woman! She was born in our house, like her mother before her, but she’s not afraid to spy on us!”
He looked disapprovingly at Sakina until she cried out in her coppery voice, “I’m not a spy, master, but my lady is so mean!”
There was a panic in Qamar’s eyes that she failed to hide. “I saw her smile and tell me, ‘God willing, by the time the feast comes next year, Qassem will be master of the whole alley, just as Gabal was in Al Hamdan Alley.’ Ask her what she meant by that.”
Qassem frowned, worried. “What do you mean, Sakina?”
“I mean what I said,” the slave answered with her natural daring. “I’m not a servant like the rest of them, working here today and somewhere else tomorrow. I’m a daughter of this house, and it was not right to hide a secret from me.”
The man and his wife exchanged a look; he motioned at the child, and she came and took her away from him. He ordered the slave to sit down, and she sat at his feet.
“Is it right to tell strangers to this house your secret, while I was kept in the dark?”
“What secret are you talking about?”
“Qandil’s talk with you at Hind’s Rock!” she said with the same boldness.
Qamar gasped, but Qassem motioned the slave to continue.
“The same as happened with Gabal and Rifaa before. You aren’t any less than they are, sir, you are a master. Even when you were a shepherd, you were a master. I was the go-between that brought you together, don’t you remember? I should have been told before anyone else. How can you trust outsiders and not trust your Sakina? God forgive you both, but I pray for your victory, yes, I pray for your victory over the overseer and the gangsters. Who doesn’t want that for you?”
“You had no right to spy on us!” shouted Qamar, rocking the baby in nervous jerks. “We won’t forget about it either.”
“I didn’t mean to spy, God is my witness,” Sakina insisted with genuine heat. “But I heard, from behind the door, some talk that I listened to. I couldn’t help it. No one could have closed their ears to that. What breaks my heart, ma’am, is that you don’t trust me. I’m not a spy. You’re the last person I’d ever betray, and who would I be spying for anyway? God forgive you, ma’am.”
Qassem was watching her very closely, with his eyes and heart. When she was finished, he spoke calmly. “You are loyal, Sakina. I don’t doubt your loyalty.”
She stared at him, curious and hopeful, and said, “Long life to you, sir, I am loyal.”
“I know loyal people,” he said softly. “Treason will never grow in my house, as it did in the house of my brother Rifaa. Qamar, this woman is as loyal as you are. Don’t worry about her. She is ours, and we are hers, and I will never forget that she was my messenger of happiness.”
“But she was eavesdropping,” said Qamar in a voice that sounded a little mollified.
“She wasn’t eavesdropping. Our voices were carried to her by God’s will,” Qassem said, smiling. “The same way Rifaa heard his ancestor’s voice without trying. Bless you, Sakina.”
The slave snatched his hand and covered it with kisses. “I’d die for you, sir. By God, may you triumph over your enemies and our enemies until you reign over the whole alley.”
“Reigning isn’t what we want, Sakina.”
She laid out her hands in prayerful supplication. “May God give you everything you want!”
“Amen.” He smiled at her. “You’ll be my messenger, if I need a messenger, and that way you can be part of our mission.”
The woman’s face gleamed with joy, and her eyes spoke clearly of her pride.
“If God wills that the estate should be shared, as we want, no woman will be deprived, whether she be a lady or a servant.” As she was still tongue-tied with surprise, he added, “Gabalawi said that the estate is everyone’s, and you, Sakina, are a granddaughter of Gabalawi, just like Qamar, equally.”
The woman’s face beamed with delight, and she looked gratefully at her mistress. From the alley came the tune of a dancer’s pipe. Someone shouted, “Lahita, happy holidays!” Qassem turned toward the street and saw a procession of gangsters riding fine horses all adorned, being welcomed by people’s shouts and cheers. They headed toward the desert to compete, in accordance with their holiday custom, in races and fencing matches. No sooner had their procession passed by than Agrama appeared in the alley, staggering drunkenly. Qassem smiled at the sight of the boy, whom he considered one of the most faithful members of the club, and followed him with his gaze as he stood exactly in the middle of the Desert Rats’ neighborhood and began to shout, “I’m tough!”
“Prince of the Desert Rats!” called a jeering voice from a nearby building in Rifaa.
Agrama turned his two bloodshot eyes up at the window. “It’s our turn now, bitch!” he shouted drunkenly.
A crowd of boys, drunks and swaying drug addicts gathered around him, loudly singing, trilling, drumming and piping in a loud uproar.
“Listen!” a voice shouted. “It’s the Desert Rats’ turn. Don’t you want to hear that?”
“One grandfather for everyone!” Agrama called, staggering. “One estate for everyone. Goodbye to gang rule.”
Then he vanished in the crowd, and Qassem jumped up, grabbed his cloak and ran out of the room, saying, “God damn alcohol!”