Santuri met his followers in the Al Qassem coffeehouse. Agag learned of this, and met with his followers in the Al Rifaa coffeehouse. The alley was aware of these meetings, and grew very tense. The peddlers, beggars and children lost no time in evacuating the area between the Al Qassem and Al Rifaa neighborhoods, and the shops and windows were locked up. Santuri and his men came out into the alley, and Agag and his men came out too. Evil emblazoned the air, and its sickening odor spread; only a nudge was needed for a flaming inferno to explode.
“What has made our men so angry?” a good man called out from his roof. “Think, before the blood flows!”
Agag stared at Santuri and broke the terrified silence. “We are not angry. We have no cause for anger.”
“You went too far,” said Santuri bluntly. “No gangster can approve what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“You protected a man who was challenging me,” raged Santuri, the words coming from his mouth and his eyes alike.
“All the man did was marry a solitary girl after her father died. I witness the marriage of every Rifaa person.”
“He has nothing to do with Rifaa,” said Santuri contemptuously. “No one knows who his father is, not even himself. You could be his father, or I could be, or any beggar in the alley.”
“But today he lives in my territory.”
“All he did was rent a vacant basement!”
“So what!”
“Do you know that you went too far?” shouted Santuri.
“Don’t shout,” said Agag. “There is no need for us to fight like roosters.”
“Maybe there is a need.”
“Don’t get me started!”
“You watch it, Agag!”
“Damn you, oaf!”
“Damn your father!”
Their clubs were raised, but were frozen by a bellowed command: “For shame!”
Their heads turned toward the source. There was Saadallah, protector of the alley, moving through the crowd of Rifaa until he stood in the area between the two neighborhoods.
“Put down your clubs,” he said.
All the clubs were lowered, like the heads of men at prayer. Saadallah looked at Santuri and then at Agag.
“I don’t want to hear what any of you have to say. Go home quietly. A massacre over a woman? What kind of men are you?”
The men broke up in silence, and Saadallah went back to his house.
Arafa and Awatif were in their basement, unbelieving that the night would pass in peace. They were listening to what was happening outside with pounding hearts, pale faces and dry mouths. They heard Saadallah’s commanding, unanswerable voice, and Awatif sighed deeply. “What a life,” she said.
He wanted to breathe some comfort into her heart. He pointed at his temple and said, “I work with this, just like Gabal, and the sly devil Qassem.”
She swallowed with a little difficulty. “Will our safety last?”
He drew her to his chest, outwardly amused. “I wish every couple were as happy as we are.”
She laid her head on his shoulder, catching her breath, and whispered, “Do you think that’s the end of that?”
“No gangster is ever sure of his flank.”
She raised her head. “I know that, but I have a wound in me that will never heal until I see him dead.”
He knew whom she meant, and looked thoughtfully into her eyes. “For you, revenge is a duty, but it won’t lead to anything decisive. Our safety is threatened, not because Santuri wants to attack us, but because the safety of our whole alley is threatened by the attacks of all the gangsters. Even if we beat Santuri, who can guarantee us that Agag won’t turn on us tomorrow—or Yusuf the day after tomorrow? It’s either safety for everyone, or safety for no one.”
She smiled weakly. “Do you want to be like Gabal or Rifaa or Qassem?”
He kissed her hair and breathed in its clove-scented smell, but did not answer.
“They were put to work by our ancestor, Gabalawi.”
“Our ancestor, Gabalawi!” he said irritably. “Everybody, when he’s down, cries out, ‘Gabalawi!’—like your late father. But haven’t you heard of grandchildren like us who have never seen their ancestor, and they live all around his locked mansion? Have you heard of any estate owner who lets criminals manipulate his estate this way, and he does nothing about it, and says nothing?”
“It’s old age!” she said simply.
“I have never heard of any old man who lived this long,” he said distrustfully.
“They say there’s a man in Muqattam Marketplace who’s more than a hundred and fifty years old. With God, anything is possible.”
He was silent, then murmured, “With magic, anything is possible too!”
She laughed at his vanity, and traced her fingers on his chest. “Your magic can heal eyes.”
“And do lots of other things.”
“What fools we are!” she sighed. “We have such fun talking, as if nothing were threatening us.”
He ignored her interruption. “Maybe someday it will be able to get rid of the gangsters themselves, and build buildings, and provide livings to all the people of this alley.”
“Do you think that might happen before Judgment Day?” She laughed.
His sharp eyes took on a dreamy look. “If only we were all magicians!”
“If!” She continued: “It didn’t take long for Qassem to establish justice, without your magic.”
“And it didn’t stay established long. But magic never wears off. Don’t underrate magic, my honey-eyed dear, it’s just as powerful as our love. It creates new life in the same way. But it can’t do its work unless most of us are magicians.”
“And how will that happen?” she joked.
He thought a long while before answering. “If justice is achieved, if Gabalawi’s conditions are implemented. If most of us could dispense with hard labor and devote ourselves to magic.”
“Do you want an alley of magicians?” She laughed lightly. “How can the Ten Conditions be implemented when our ancestor is bedridden, and it looks like he is no longer able to get any of his family to do it for him?”
He gave her a curious look. “Why don’t we go to him ourselves?”
“Can you get into the overseer’s house?” she asked, laughing again.
“No, but maybe I can get into the mansion.”
“That’s enough joking,” she said, slapping his hand. “Let’s concentrate on staying alive for now.”
“If I liked jokes,” he said with a mysterious smile, “I wouldn’t have come back to this alley.”
Something in his tone of voice frightened her, and she stared at him in alarm. “You mean what you said!” she cried.
He looked at her in silence.
“Imagine if they caught you in the mansion!”
“What’s so unusual about a grandson in his grandfather’s house?” he asked serenely.
“Tell me that you’re joking. Lord! How can you look so serious? Strange. Why do you want to go to him?”
“Isn’t meeting him worth the risk?”
“This is just your talk—how has it become an awful fact?”
He rubbed the palm of her hand to calm her thoughts. “Ever since coming back to our alley, only I have thought of unthinkable things.”
“Why can’t we live the way we are now?”
“I wish! They won’t let us live the way we are now. And a man has to take care of his own life.”
“So we’ll escape from the alley.”
“I won’t escape, when I have magic!”
Tenderly he pulled her close until she was pressed against him, and he stroked her shoulder. “We’ll have lots of opportunities for talk,” he said. “For now, just rest.”