84

At the opening of Watawit Alley, Sadeq joined them. At the end of it they found Agrama, Abu Fisada and Hamroush around a four-wheeled horse-drawn cart. They all got in, and the horse galloped off, driven by the cabman’s whip. Despite the darkness, the cart raced along, giving off rattling and clopping sounds in the stillness of the night like a string of small explosions, and they looked back, fearful and apprehensive.

“They’ll head for Bab al-Nasr,” said Sadeq in an attempt to reassure them. “They think you’ll hide in the desert, near the graveyards.”

“But they know that you don’t live in the graveyards.”

The speed of the cart made the difference, however, and it gave them the feeling they really were far from danger.

“You did a very good job of organizing everything,” said Qassem with relief. “Thanks to you, Sadeq. If it hadn’t been for your warning, I’d be among the dead now.”

Sadeq pressed his hand in silence. The cart sped on until Muqattam Marketplace appeared in the starlight, shrouded in solitude and darkness, except for the lamplight shining from Yahya’s hut. They cautiously drove the cart to the middle of the square, left it, and walked to the hut. Almost immediately the old man’s voice sounded, asking who was there; Qassem answered, and the voice rose again, in thanks. The two men embraced warmly.

“I owe you my life,” said Qassem.

“It was just a coincidence,” said the old man, laughing, “but it happened in a way that saved the life of a man who is the most deserving of life. Hurry to the mountain—it will be the best base for you.”

Qassem grabbed his hand and looked gratefully and affectionately at his face by the light of the lamp.

“Today you are like Rifaa or Gabal,” the old man said. “I will return to our alley when you have triumphed.”

They headed east from the hut, penetrating deep into the desert, toward the mountain. They were led by Sadeq, who knew the route better than any of them. There was a glow mingled with the darkness that heralded the approach of dawn, and the dew was falling from the sky. From afar came the crowing of a cock, a newcomer’s screech at the birth of a new day. They reached the foothills, and followed them south until they found the narrow passage that led up to their new dwelling place on top of the mountain. They climbed behind Sadeq in a line, one by one, because of the narrowness of the path.

“We prepared a house for you in the middle of our houses,” Sadeq told Qassem. “Ihsan is sleeping there now.”

“We built our houses with sheet metal and burlap,” said Agrama.

“They’re not a lot worse than our houses in the alley,” Hassan joked.

“It’s good enough having no overseer or gangsters among us,” observed Qassem.

They heard voices.

“Our new alley has woken up—they’re waiting for you,” said Sadeq.

They looked up and saw rays of light pursuing the remnants of darkness, and Sadeq shouted at the top of his lungs, “Here we are!” and men’s and women’s heads appeared, there were shouts and trills of joy, and people began to sing, “Put henna on the sparrow’s tail!”

“Look at them all!” said Qassem admiringly, lighthearted with joy.

“It’s a new civilization on the mountain,” said Sadeq proudly. “The population grows every day. All the emigrants from the alley have joined us, with Yahya’s guidance.”

“The only trouble is that we have to make our livings in faraway neighborhoods, for fear of being discovered by someone from our alley.”

When Qassem got to the top, the men greeted him with hugs, the women shook his hand and all voices were raised in welcome, cheers and cries of “God is great!” Sakina was among them, and told Qassem that Ihsan was asleep in the hut that had been prepared as their home. They all walked to the new neighborhood, which was comprised of a square area of huts on a mountain clearing. They cheered and sang, and the horizon was brilliant with exuberant light, like a lake of white roses.

“Welcome to our protector, Qassem!” a man called out.

Qassem’s face changed, and he shouted angrily, “No! God’s curse on all protection gangs! There is never peace or safety wherever they are found!”

All the new faces were turned to him.

“We will raise clubs the way Gabal did, but to achieve the mercy that Rifaa called for. We will use the estate for everyone’s good, until we make Adham’s dream come true. That is our mission—not gang rule.”

Hassan pushed him gently toward the hut that had been prepared for him, and called out to the crowd, “He didn’t close his eyes all last night. Let him get some of the rest he’s earned.”

Qassem lay down on a burlap sack beside his daughter, and was quickly overcome by sleep. He woke up between noon and the early afternoon, his head heavy and his body weary. Sakina brought Ihsan to him, and placed her in his arms. He began to kiss her lovingly, and the woman offered him a jug of water.

“This water was brought to us from the public pump—the same way Gabal’s wife used to fetch it!”

The man smiled; he loved anything that linked him to the memories of Gabal or Rifaa. He looked around his new house to examine the walls, which were covered with burlap and nothing else, and clasped Ihsan to his chest even more tenderly, then stood up and handed his daughter to Sakina. He went out and found Sadeq and Hassan waiting for him, sat between them and said, “Good morning.” He looked over the neighborhood, but he saw only women and children.

“The men have gone to al-Sayida and Zainhum to look for work,” Sadeq explained, “and we stayed behind to look after you.”

His eyes followed the women as they cooked or did washing in front of the huts, and the children as they played here and there.

“Do you think these women are happy?”

“They dream of owning the estate, and the comforts that Lady Amina enjoys,” said Sadeq.

He smiled broadly, and then looked slowly from one of them to the other. “What’s going on in your heads about our next step?”

Hassan lifted his head over his brawny shoulders and said, “We know exactly what we want.”

“But how?”

“We’ll wait for our moment, and then attack.”

“We should be patient, until most of the people of the alley join us, then attack,” Sadeq protested. “That way we can ensure victory on the one hand and low casualties on the other.”

“Yes!” said Qassem, his features jubilant.

They sank into a dreamy repose, which was interrupted by a shy voice. “Food!”

Qassem looked up and saw Badriya carrying a platter of beans and loaves of bread. She gazed at him with her laughing eyes, and he could not help smiling.

“Welcome to my little lifesaver.”

She placed the platter in his hands. “God give you long life.”

She went back to Sadeq’s hut, which was next to his. He felt a tenderness and contentment in his heart, and began to eat heartily.

“I have a good amount of money that will help us when we need it,” he said as he ate. After a moment he added, “We have to go after everyone in the alley who seems ready to join us. There are so many oppressed people who want us to win, and only fear keeps them from joining us.”

The two men shortly left to go where the other men had gone earlier, and he found himself alone. He stood and set out to walk around the place, as if inspecting it. He passed playing children; none of them took any notice of him. The women, however, all greeted him with blessings, and he noticed a very elderly woman with pure white hair, eyes clouded with age and a trembling chin, so toothless that she looked as if she had nearly swallowed her jaws. He greeted her, and she returned his greeting.

“Who are you, mother?” he asked politely.

“Umm Hamroush.”

“Welcome, mother of us all—how did you decide to leave our alley?”

Her voice was like the rattle of dry leaves. “The best place is near my son.” Then, as if remembering something: “And far from those gangsters.” Encouraged by his smile, she said, “I saw Rifaa when I was a girl!”

“Really?” he asked her, very interested.

“Yes, by your life. He was sweet, and handsome, but it never crossed my mind that a neighborhood address would be named for him, or that they’d be telling stories about him to music!”

“Didn’t you follow him, like all the rest?”

“No, no one knew about us in our neighborhood. We ourselves didn’t know who we were. If it weren’t for you, no one would be talking about the Desert Rats at all.”

He looked at her closely, and wondered: What must our ancestor look like by now? But he smiled gently at her still, while she said prayers for him for a long time, and then he left. He continued walking until he stood at the top of the passage, at the foot of the mountain. He looked out at the desert below, and then at the horizon. Far off were the roofs and domes, scattered landmarks that now looked like one place. He said that they should be one thing, and that it looked so small from above: Rifaat the overseer and Lahita the gangster seemed meaningless from here. There seemed to be no difference between Rifaat and his Uncle Zachary. It would be nearly impossible to make your way from where you are to that turbulent alley if it weren’t for the mansion, which can be seen from anywhere: our ancestor’s house, with its strange wall and tall trees. But he is discredited by age, and dread of him has declined like the sun now sinking toward the horizon. Where are you? How are you? Why is it you no longer seem to be yourself? Those who falsify your commandments are a mere arm’s length from your house. These women and children, far away in the mountain—aren’t they the closest people to your heart? You will regain your standing when you enforce the terms of your charter without overseers’ assassinations or the violence of gangsters; like the return of the sun tomorrow to the highest point in the sky. Without you we would have no father, no world, no estate, no hope.

A sweet voice woke him from his drowsy thoughts. “Coffee, Qassem, sir.”

He turned around to see Badriya holding out a cup in her hand, and he took it.

“Why the trouble?”

“Going to trouble for you is like a vacation, sir.”

God rest your soul, Qamar, he thought, and sipped the coffee companionably. Between sips their smiling eyes met. How delicious the coffee tasted on the mountainside, overlooking the desert.

“How old are you, Badriya?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she murmured.

“But you know what brought us to this mountain?”

“You!”

“Me?”

“You want to strike the overseer and the gangsters, and make the estate ours. That’s what my father says.”

He smiled. He saw that he had finished the coffee but had not returned the cup to her, so he handed it to her.

“I wish I could give you part of the thanks you deserve.” She blushed, turned away with a smile and ran off.

“Be safe,” he managed to say.