The Baby Carriage

Everything was plunged in darkness as night descended from heaven to earth. No one was walking along the corridor-like alley. Streetlights were perched at intervals like evil goblins, trying to eradicate the darkness and stop its cancer-like spread. The wind had started blowing violently, and that made some partially closed windows bang loudly against the walls. But even though the wind was blowing, it wasn’t cold; actually, it was quite warm. Even so, no one was out. It felt as if a war had started, or else winter had arrived early.

At times like these, Ibrahim would make just as much as he normally did. Passers-by would go to and fro as though wandering around a market. That may explain why he’d long since chosen this particular alley.

But tonight, things were different. No one was coming by or looking out windows, as though the world were no longer in existence. The wind was still blowing hard, but it wasn’t chilly.

“Something must be happening,” Ibrahim told himself. “This is impossible. Only three passers-by in two hours.”

He stayed silently where he was, like an inanimate object. He felt utterly confused; a sense of bewilderment overwhelmed him, body and soul.

By now, fog had started to settle in as well, and that suddenly made the entire place look like a truck carrying tons of combed cotton. Blinding white light fused with the darkness. All you could see of the streetlight poles was a foggy yellow point at the very top. Ibrahim stayed right where he was, lost in the fog, and switched his brain off for a while. If anyone happened to pass by and stub their foot on the curb, he would come to.

“Something’s got to be going on,” he thought, “so what’s the point of hanging around here?”

He felt the small baby carriage nestling by his side like a housetrained cat, then ran his hand over the piece of leather strapped to his backside, to which the bones that constituted what was left of his legs were attached. He put up his hand and felt the hat on his head; it was almost as though it didn’t belong to him and someone else was doing the begging. There he sat on the curb by the alley corner, feeling his leathered backside, or, to be more precise, his sturdy pants.

“Why stay here?” he asked himself.

Picking up the piece of cardboard in front of him, he started combing the ground for coins he might have lost; he always put any coins he got between the cardboard and ground. Occasionally he would lose the pennies that he had counted when he received them from a generous hand. In fact, he would often stumble across coins in this particular spot because it was where he used to hang out every afternoon. He would stay there till nightfall, just like now. One day he’d made up his mind to get a leather purse to keep the money in, but the entire idea had horrified him. For example, what if a thief attacked him and made off with it? For that very reason he was quite happy to put the alms he received under the cardboard he was sitting on; that way, he could avoid the risk of encountering one of the nasty crooks that the city was spawning around here.

Everything was shrouded in fog. As Ibrahim sat there, glued to the ground like a tree trunk with the top half missing, he could feel the tension in his muscles. He tried to stretch in the narrow space available, but when he moved just a little, it felt painful and uncomfortable. For a while he was lost in thought, so he did not hear the heavy steps as someone walked by, banging the ground like the tread of an exhausted soldier. It had to be a drunkard.

After a while Ibrahim noticed that, apart from himself and the outline of the trashcan facing him just a short distance away, the alley was completely empty. He thought to himself that he was no taller than the trashcan; actually, it was higher than he was. Just then a weird idea occurred to him, one that made him shudder. He cursed himself for coming up with such a notion—namely, that some scumbag would come, pick him up, take all his money, and then toss him into the trashcan. Seizing the small baby carriage resting beside him, he moved it back and forth to make sure it wasn’t broken and would be able to take him back to his shack as usual. Shrouded in his blanket of silence and gloom, all he could do at this point was to think of Kulthum. It was as though she’d never had to deal with such heavy fog, along with the wind and bitter cold that was gradually getting worse.

You’re late, Kulthum. Do you think someone else will come now and push the baby carriage if you don’t?

There he stayed, scrutinizing the features of whatever happened to stop or pass by in front of him, but all to no avail. The light-poles could no longer provide enough light even for themselves. He decided to crawl a little, leaning on his hands and pushing the small carriage ahead of him. Eventually, he reached a light-pole where the darkness was less intense. He started to take deep breaths, as though he’d just climbed a high mountain. Now, he told himself, I can watch for Kulthum’s shape to appear.

The alley remained immersed in silence. No passers-by, no motorcycles; just a few children playing around somewhere in the distance and yelling. If I were them, he thought, I’d go to bed and enjoy the warmth, rest, and sleep. You little rascals, you keep looking for trouble, no matter what.

By now there was no hope of Kulthum coming. If this had been the first time she was late, he would not have believed she was not coming; but, as it was, she had left him many times sleeping in the alley and resting his head on his small carriage. The last time it had happened, he had woken up at dawn to find himself spread-eagled in the middle of the road with no money. That tragedy was not going to be repeated tonight, but what actually would happen?

He didn’t spend much time thinking about it. Instead, he suddenly started yelling at the children who were passing by and jumping around here and there.

“Who wants to earn thirty cents?”

“Me . . . Me . . . Me,” said the children in a chorus.

“Good. There’s a job I want you to do.”

“I’m ready,” one of them said.

“You can’t do it, you’re too young. I want that older boy.”

“Me?” asked the boy.

“Yes.”

“Thirty cents isn’t enough.”

“But you don’t know what you’re going to do for me.”

“Yes, I do. But it’s very late. Night work is different.”

“I’ll give you thirty-five centimes.”

“Forty.”

“Are you out of your mind? I can take a taxi for that.”

“A taxi! I see, you want me to push your carriage.”

“Yes.”

“Fifty centimes then.”

“I can take a taxi.”

“Take it then! Let’s go.”

The children started running away. He was afraid they’d go home to sleep, so he yelled out to them again. Reluctantly he agreed to pay fifty centimes, even though his daily take had not been that high. The children helped him get on to the carriage. Once there, he looked just like a sack of potatoes.

“Can I come with you, Ali?” said a child to his friend.

“But you have to push too, okay?” Ali replied immediately.

“Okay!”

They started pushing him, while he swayed precariously from side to side.

Now he was lying there in his shack, spread-eagled in a corner. His eyes kept staring and looking around like a chameleon. Eventually he decided to move. After shifting a bit, he stopped in the middle of the shack and started rubbing his eyes, forehead, and face. Crawling over to the water jug, he filled a jam jar that he used as a mug, drank his fill, then washed his face and hands. He went back to the spot where there was a pile of threadbare rugs, and shook them out so he could locate a piece of dry bread. He started nibbling at it like a household pet that can neither speak nor express emotion. He stayed where he was, motionless and quiet; only his hands and jaws were in motion. After sitting there for a long time, he finally mumbled, “She’s late this morning, too.”

He didn’t regret her absence as much today as he had the day before. There aren’t any thieves around now, he told himself, ready to steal anything. I’m in the shack, not the street. It’s daytime, not night, and the money’s well hidden. No one knows where except me. Yesterday, the carriage was the problem, but now the situation’s different. I can leave it in the shack and crawl my way to the alley. But what if it rains, and the ground gets wet and waterlogged? It isn’t winter, but this weather may well bring some rain. It isn’t cold, either, but it’ll probably rain. That’s why the baby carriage is crucial, and I need someone to push it. Kulthum hasn’t shown up this morning to get the lunch ready, the way she usually does. We usually wait till the afternoon so we can head for the alley.

Scooting on his backside and leaning on his arms, he left his shack. Looking out from the doorway he found that the weather was reasonable; it was not threatening to rain the way he’d imagined. He decided to go to Hamadi’s place to find out if he’d seen Kulthum around either today or yesterday. As he crawled, he left behind a long trail in the dirt, just like a dog. He told himself that he could do with a cup of mint tea, and had the comforting thought that he could buy a pound of sugar from Hamadi. He still had some tea in his shack, enough for two or three days. But Hamadi wasn’t there, and the shop was closed. Maybe that morning he’d overslept.

Ibrahim went back to his shack, thinking all the while about the trail he had left behind him a short while ago.

“It looks as if I’m a plow,” he thought to himself. “Or maybe a train.”

When he reached his shack, he turned around and examined the two almost parallel lines he had drawn, one going and the other coming back. He gave a sardonic smile.

“It looks just like a train,” he thought.

He waited till afternoon, but Kulthum still did not come. It was at that point that he decided to crawl all the way from his shack to the street. But the problem that preyed on his mind till just before sunset was the following: Should he wait for Kulthum, or leave? Even if she were to come now, what would she do? Would she push the baby carriage? But I wouldn’t have it with me. Would she carry me on her back? That would be impossible.

The darkness and fog began to take hold; the night seemed just like previous ones. Ibrahim may have realized that when he didn’t have the carriage with him he didn’t need Kulthum, but he was still inclined to hang around, even for a little while. Why? He didn’t know. Perhaps Kulthum would show up, and they could go together. He would scold her for not coming and would have a lot of other things to tell her, as well.

So Ibrahim decided to wait, but all in vain. This night was like other nights: the alley was empty, and the fog shrouded street-lights and buildings. However, he wasn’t worried. He decided to crawl as far as the bus stop. Since the night was still young, he assumed buses would still be running. But once he reached the bus stop, his endless wait began. He decided to put an end to it by flagging down a passing taxi. The driver picked him up with evident disgust and tossed him inside.

When the taxi stopped by the shack, Ibrahim swore to the driver that he did not have a penny to his name. With a torrent of curses, the driver took him out, got back in the car, stuck his head out the window, spat at him, and mumbled some obscenities. That made Ibrahim feel happy. He could certainly tolerate all the insults; they were much easier to bear than having to pay money.

Just then, he had an idea. How about finding someone else to push his baby carriage instead of Kulthum? But is there anyone else in this world who would do it, he wondered? Of course there is, came his own reply. But Kulthum didn’t just push the baby carriage; she gave him warmth at night as well, and slept with him for free. That’s all fine, he thought, but she stays away a lot. What about Ahmed, he wondered. His son doesn’t go to school or do anything else. Why don’t I go and ask him if his son could push my carriage twice a day? I’ll pay him. That’s a good idea, isn’t it? But then, what if Kulthum comes back? If she does, her only function will be in bed. She’s homeless and likes to sleep a lot. We can both get our fill of sleep.

So Ibrahim went to see Ahmed and talk to him about his son. Their shacks were not far apart. Eventually they reached an agreement.

Next morning Kulthum did come back after a full two-day absence. Even though she had no home, she still managed to disappear for days on end, only to come back to the shack. Ibrahim didn’t bother to ask her about her two-day absence; the question-and-answer session had become a routine. He simply told her that from now on, she would only be sleeping with him; she wouldn’t be pushing the carriage anymore.

“Why don’t we get married?” she asked.

His response was a guffaw with no clear answer.

In the afternoon, when the time came for him to go to the alley and beg, Ahmed’s son didn’t show up to push the carriage. They both seemed to have forgotten about him. Without any comment Kulthum helped Ibrahim get into the carriage, locked the shack door, and started pushing him as usual. Not a word was spoken on the way, but the baby carriage kept on squeaking.