The alley awoke early the next morning to a startling outburst of screams. Windows flew open and heads popped out, and people ran toward the building where Hagag, the protector of the Rifaa community, lived, where a numerous crowd had gathered. Wails of mourning were interrupted by shouts, and the hall of the building was filled with men and women making comments and asking questions; eyes red with weeping warned of truly perilous mischief. The people of Rifaa ran from every building, every house and basement, and before long Galta and his men came. People made way for them until they reached the hall.
“This is the most horrible thing!” Galta shouted. “If only it could have been me instead, Hagag!”
People who were crying stopped crying, the shouters stopped shouting and the morbidly curious stopped asking questions, but he did not hear one kindly word.
“Despicable plots!” he resumed. “Gangsters don’t betray one another, but Qassem is a shepherd, a beggar, not a gangster, and I will never rest until I’ve thrown his corpse to the dogs.”
“Congratulations, Galta, you’re the new gangster of the alley!” shouted a grief-stricken woman.
His features contracted angrily, and the people near him fell silent, but farther back there was a wave of grumbling.
“Let women keep their mouths shut on this tragic day!”
“Let everyone who’s got a mind understand!” the woman said.
The grumbling rose into a lively babble, and Galta waited for this storm to die down before speaking again. “This is a sly conspiracy, carried out at night, to sow dissension among us!”
“Conspiracy!” said another woman. “Qassem and his Desert Rats are on the mountain, and Hagag was killed in his house, among his own people and his neighbors, who want to take over!”
“Crazy bitch! All of you are crazy if you think like that, and if you do, we’ll all be killing one another the way Qassem plotted we should!”
A jug landed and shattered at Galta’s feet, and he and his men stepped back.
“The son of a whore knew how to sow dissension among us,” he said.
He left for the overseer’s house, but the clamor only grew after he was gone. Two men—one of Rifaa, the other of Gabal—got into a violent argument, and were immediately imitated by two women. Boys from both neighborhoods started fighting, people began swearing matches from the windows and riot spread through the alley until each neighborhood’s men massed with their clubs. The overseer came out of his house, surrounded by his men and servants, and strode out to the dividing line between the two districts.
“Come to your senses!” he shouted. “Anger will blind you to your real enemy, Hagag’s killer!”
“Who told you that?” shouted one of the men of Rifaa. “What Desert Rat would dare enter this alley?”
“How could they kill Hagag today, when they needed him so much?” Rifaat shouted.
“Ask the criminals, don’t ask us.”
“The people of Rifaa will not obey a gangster of Gabal.”
“They will pay dearly for his blood.”
“Don’t serve the conspiracy,” said the overseer, “or you’ll be seeing Qassem come in here like a plague!”
“Let him come if he wants, but Galta will not rule us as protector.”
The overseer wrung his hands. “We are finished! We will be ruined.”
“Ruin is better than Galta!” they yelled.
A brick was thrown from Rifaa and landed among the assembled men of Gabal. Someone from Gabal responded in kind, and the overseer quickly withdrew. Bricks began to fly in both directions, and in no time a bloody battle had broken out between the two neighborhoods. Cruel blows were struck, and fighting spread to some roofs, where women pelted each other with bricks, stones, dirt and pieces of wood. The clash lasted a long time, despite the fact that the people of Rifaa were fighting without their gangster; but they lost many casualties to Galta’s lethal blows. Women’s voices now shrieked from windows, a noise that could not be heard above the chaos of the battle, though they could be seen pointing in terror, now to the east end of the alley, now to the other end. The people turned to see what the women were pointing at, and saw Qassem in front of the mansion, leading a band of men with clubs. At the other end was Hassan, leading more men; the place rang with screams of warning, and then everything happened very quickly. As if paralyzed, people stopped throwing punches. On a spontaneous impulse, they intermingled and re-formed, the fighters and the fought, and divided up into two detachments to confront the newcomers.
“I said it was a plot, and you didn’t believe me!” shouted Galta furiously.
They prepared for battle, though they were now in the worst state of strain and hopelessness. But Qassem suddenly halted, and so did Hassan, as if they were executing a single plan.
“We do not want to harm anyone,” cried Qassem as loudly as he could. “We want no winner and no loser. We are all a people with one alley and one ancestor, and the estate belongs to all.”
“It’s a new plot!” shouted Galta.
“Don’t push them to fight to defend your gang rule. Defend it yourself, if you want to.”
“Attack!” bellowed Galta.
He charged at Qassem’s men, and his men followed. Others attacked Hassan and his men, but many held back. Some who were wounded or exhausted slipped into their houses, and were followed by the hesitant others. Only Galta and his band of men were left, but even so they plunged into a ferocious battle and fought a desperate defensive fight, battering one another with clubs, heads, feet and hands. Galta concentrated his attack on Qassem with blind hatred. They exchanged violent blows, but Qassem met his adversary’s blows with his club, nimbly and cautiously. With their superior numbers, his men surrounded Galta’s gang, who fell under dozens of clubs. Hassan and Sadeq set upon Galta as he fought with Qassem; Sadeq struck his club, and Hassan landed his club on Galta’s head, then a second time, and a third. The club dropped from his hand, and he bounded up like a slaughtered bull, then collapsed on his face like a gate slamming shut. The battle was over. The crack of clubs and shouts of men fell silent. The victors stood up, out of breath, wiping the blood from their heads, faces and hands, but their mouths were bright with smiles of victory and peace. Wailing could be heard from the windows, Galta’s men were scattered on the ground and the brilliant sun shed its fierce rays.
“You have won,” Sadeq told Qassem, confident and assured. “God gave you victory; our ancestor does not err when he chooses. Our alley will never mourn again after today.”
Qassem smiled serenely and turned resolutely to look at the overseer’s house, but all their heads were turned to him.