The eighth tale in the epic of the harafish

1.

It took a long time for the alley to forget the spectacle of Galal’s body draped over the side of the drinking trough, a giant white cadaver among the straw and excrement. The huge frame suggested immortality; its emptiness in its wrecked state confirmed death. Above it in the light of the torches the air was charged with terrible derision.

The proud strength had ended in its prime. Gone its protective shadow with a hundred eyes and a thousand fists. His father Abd Rabbihi and his brother Radi carried him into The Citadel. An immense cortege accompanied his body to the tomb of Shams al-Din. He was remembered as one of the great clan leaders, despite his demonic characteristics.

He took his good and bad deeds with him to the grave but the legends lived on.

2.

Mu’nis al-Al took over the clan. Although Galal’s death evoked a general feeling of relief, the alley lost its sense of equilibrium and was beset by new fears. It relinquished its elevated status in the neighborhood and became just another alley, and its chief no longer reigned supreme. Mu’nis al-Al made alliances, fought battles and lost, and was again obliged to buy peace with protection money and bribes. No one in the alley expected him to honor the covenant which Galal, descendant of the Nagis and miracle of triumphant power, had himself betrayed.

3.

Abd Rabbihi and Radi were the sole inheritors of Galal’s vast fortune. Galal’s death was attributed to drugs and alcohol. The fact that he had ended up lying naked in straw and dung was considered a divine retribution for his arrogance and his high-handed treatment of his fellow human beings. No one inherited the minaret, and with its exaggerated structure and sterility of purpose it continued as a symbol of insolence and folly.

4.

After some time had elapsed, the herbalist Abd al-Khaliq opened his mouth. In whispers he told of Galal’s strange enterprise, his association with demons, the role played by the mysterious Shawar. The secret was out, and Zaynat the Blonde confirmed people’s suspicions by telling the tale of Galal’s belief in his own immortality. Shawar and his maid vanished, escaping the general anger. Many proposed demolishing the minaret, but most people were scared that it was haunted by the devil and that its demolition would lay the alley open to undreamed of evil. So it was left standing. People gave it a wide berth, cursed it as they passed, and abandoned it to snakes, bats, and demons.

5.

The harafish declared that what had happened to Galal was a fair punishment for someone who had betrayed the great al-Nagi’s covenant, and forgotten his immortal prayer that God would grant him strength to use in the service of others. Every time descendants of al-Nagi betrayed his name, they were cursed and destroyed by insanity. Even Abd Rabbihi and Radi earned the scorn of the harafish, and their ample wealth was of no use to them.

6.

Zaynat the Blonde lived for a while in terrified anticipation, but nobody thought of accusing her. Even those who had their doubts about her part in Galal’s death brushed them aside, grateful to her for her anonymous deed. Zaynat did not enjoy her revenge. She lived abstemiously by herself, with no zest, no sense of repose. Sometime after Galal’s death she discovered that their love had borne fruit, and guarded this germ of life with all the strength of her undying love. She was filled with a sense of pride despite the fact that the child would be illegitimate. She gave birth to a boy and, defying the traditions, boldly named him Galal.

7.

She gave him love twice over: as her son and as her dead lover’s child. She brought him up in humble surroundings with no desire to return to the life of a rich woman. She never forgot that he was the true heir to Galal’s fabulous wealth and pestered Abd Rabbihi and Radi to give up part of their inheritance in favor of her little boy. But they rebuffed her angrily, insinuating that they suspected her of playing a decisive part in Galal’s death.

“How can a woman like her know who’s the father of her child?” scoffed Radi.

8.

Galal grew up as just another alley child whose father’s identity was unknown. He was taunted and called a bastard, as his father years before had been taunted and called “Zahira’s son.” But as he grew older, it became obvious to anyone with eyes to see that he was Galal’s son and nobody else’s. He did not possess his strength and grace, but there was no mistaking his origins.

9.

Galal attended the Quran school for two years, then went to work for al-Gada, the carter. Zaynat had used up her savings and could not afford anything better for him. She was proud of her son and pleased with herself for holding out and living an honest life. Although she was well past forty she was still beautiful enough for al-Gada to have ideas about adding her to his harem. She did not welcome his interest, but at the same time was afraid he would take it out on her son if she rejected him. However, the man abandoned his pursuit of her when Mugahid Ibrahim, who had succeeded Gibril al-Fas as sheikh, exclaimed to him one day, “How can you trust a woman who killed her lover!”

Galal found out as time went by that he was the son of the man who had built the minaret, and grandson of the famous Zahira; that Abd Rabbihi was his grandfather and Radi, the notable, his uncle. He learned the sad story of his origins and the glorious history of al-Nagi. But he was doomed to be known as a bastard forever.

“Watch you don’t start using violence,” al-Gada cautioned him one day. “Just put up with the insults. Otherwise you can look for another job.”

“Mu’nis al-Al is watching you with interest because you’re a Nagi. Don’t be tempted to use your strength, or you’ve had it,” warned Sayyid Osman, the new imam.

So Galal controlled himself and kept out of trouble, and his diligence and reliability earned him the respect of his boss.

10.

The days passed and hopes were rekindled. Encouraged by al-Gada’s obvious liking for Galal, Zaynat went to ask him for his daughter’s hand for her son.

The man was blunt. “He’s a good lad, but I’m not marrying my daughter to a bastard.”

Zaynat wept bitterly, but Galal bore the blow with stoicism.

11.

Al-Gada died after eating a baking dish of beans with onions and tomatoes and a tray of vermicelli pastries and sweet cream. He was over seventy. Zaynat waited until the year’s mourning was up, then asked his widow for her daughter’s hand for Galal. She accepted because she had noticed her daughter was fond of the young man.

So it was that Afifa al-Gada married Galal Abdullah.

12.

Through marriage Galal rose from being a driver to running the carter’s business, even though Afifa was not, properly speaking, the proprietor. He was a success, his living conditions improved, and his joy was complete when he became a father. In the happy time that followed, Afifa gave birth to several daughters and then a son, whom he promptly named Shams al-Din Galal al-Nagi, thereby disclosing the fierce pride that was hidden in him like fire in flint. Everyone accepted the name, although the important members of the Nagi family—such as Radi—were annoyed by it. However, nobody had forgotten that Galal was the illegitimate son of the madman who had built the satanic minaret.

“What a lot of Ashurs and Shams al-Dins there are in our alley!” exclaimed Anba al-Fawwal, the bar owner, who had taken over when Sanqar al-Shammam died.

It was true that all that was left of the immortal Nagi heritage were the names. The deeds and promises lived on in the imagination along with the legends of miracles overlaid with grief and pain.

13.

The days went by pleasantly and mundanely in the lives of Galal Abdullah and his family. He was known for his goodness, honesty, even temper, and piety. He made a good living, adored his devotions, and became a close associate of Sheikh Sayyid Osman, the imam of the alley’s small mosque. He was faithful to Afifa and satisfied with her company, raised Shams al-Din well, and remained a loyal son to Zaynat despite the bad reputation and the troubles she had bequeathed to him. All the signs were that this family would lead a tranquil and uneventful life.

14.

When Galal was fifty his life was changed by a series of unexpected events descending on him from out of the blue. First his mother died. She died suddenly, aged eighty. What was strange was that although Galal was a middle-aged man and his mother an old woman, her death came as a violent shock which threw him completely off balance. He sobbed like a child at her funeral and was sunk in such deep depression for the next three months that people thought he was going into a decline. Many found his grief incomprehensible and made fun of him. He even said himself that although he had loved her a great deal he could not have imagined her death would have such an effect on him. More remarkable than that was what happened to him after the depression had lifted. A new person was there in his place, like an apparition discharged from a haunted archway. The love he had felt for his mother seemed to him an odd, misguided sentiment, as if he had been the victim of black magic. It had evaporated into the air, leaving a cold hard stone behind it. Not a trace of sorrow or loyalty was left in his heart. A voice whispered to him that she was the source of all the hostility and dislike he had encountered in his life; and that he was her eternal victim.

“Was I really sad when she died?” he wondered to himself. “It must have been some crazy, illogical reaction to death.”

He was sitting with Sheikh Mugahid Ibrahim one day. “My mother had some loathsome characteristics,” he announced suddenly, “and a bad reputation, and evil intentions.”

“I can hardly believe what I’m hearing,” said the sheikh in astonishment.

“Now I think she really did kill my father. She was a debauched, loudmouthed drug addict. I’m revolted by her memory.”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

“There’s nothing good to be said,” he cried with uncharacteristic ill feeling. Then, his fury mounting, he added, “She had a long, happy life, which she didn’t deserve.”

15.

His behavior went downhill to the point of complete collapse.

He stopped praying, abandoned the mosque, was prone to violent outbursts. One night he stormed into the bar for the first time in his life. Mu’nis al-Al and some of his men were sitting there. “At last the donkey’s found its stall!” jeered the chief.

The bar erupted into laughter. Galal merely smiled, somewhat embarrassed, and raised the calabash to his thirsty lips.

“What prompted you to behave like a man?” inquired Mu’nis.

“It’s the right way to be,” answered Galal cheerfully.

When the chief left, Galal began to sing:

At the gate of our alley

Sits Hasan the coffee man.

He was thoroughly drunk. “Last night I dreamed I slipped out to my father’s minaret,” he declared convivially. “A handsome creature carried me to the top and invited me to play hopscotch with him. I lost my balance and fell down the stairwell. But I wasn’t the least bit hurt.”

“You should try it when you’re awake,” remarked Anba al-Fawwal, the bar owner.

Galal began to sing again:

At night I hear songs

Of passionate virgins

My strength is destroyed.

16.

He found Afifa waiting up for him. He had never stayed out like this before. The bar smells hit her in the face. She beat her chest with the flat of her hand.

“You’re drunk!” she cried.

He executed a few dance steps. “I’m a man, my beauty!”

17.

The news spread. People said, “He’s crazy, just like his father.”

Sheikh Sayyid Osman went up to him in the street one day. “What’s taken you away from us?” he asked.

Galal said nothing.

“Is it true what they say about you?” persisted the sheikh sorrowfully.

Galal walked off up the street leaving him standing.

18.

When he was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing, he was the prey of new temptations, as if he had developed the instincts of a stranger. He was violently attracted to adolescent and even prepubescent girls. He pestered them, flirted with them, and if he found himself alone with one of them felt as if a ravenous beast was struggling to escape from his skin. He avoided getting drunk in the daytime, fearing the consequences, and at night he slunk around waste ground and derelict buildings like a hungry wolf.

One night he ended up with a prostitute called Dalal and gave his passions their head.

19.

He became thoroughly dissolute and devoted great energy to pouring scorn on everything around him. What bound him to Dalal was probably the fact that she was young, with a face that still bore the imprint of childhood, and tolerated his strange whims, indulging them without criticism.

“I love people who are crazy and don’t give a damn what people say about them,” she declared one day.

“At last I’ve found a woman as great as my grandmother Zahira!” exclaimed Galal.

He lay sprawled on his back, relaxed and contented. “One morning I woke up drunk, even though I’d had nothing to drink,” he confessed to her. “There was a new heart beating in my chest. I hated my present and my past, even the thought of working at my trade and making money. My married daughters’ problems depressed me. So did my son’s lack of spirit. He’s quite happy to work as a driver for me. One donkey driving another! I was fed up with his mother, who protects him every step of the way, and bleeds me just like my mother used to, only using different tactics. My heart, my head, my guts, my prick, and my balls rose up in protest and I yelled out my good news to the devils.”

“You’re the sweetest man in the world,” laughed Dalal.

“I’ve heard that men are reborn at fifty,” he said confidently.

“And sixty. And seventy,” she agreed.

He sighed. “If it hadn’t been for a spiteful woman’s jealousy, my father would have lived forever.”

“If you hadn’t been a miracle, I wouldn’t have loved you at all.”

20.

The blows continued to land on Afifa’s head. Her world crumbled around her, her dreams evaporated, her happiness vanished. She was convinced her husband was under a spell, and made the rounds of saints’ tombs and fortune-tellers. She followed all the advice she was given, but Galal persisted in his erring ways and showed no signs of repenting. He neglected his work, was always rowdy and drunk, clung to Dalal, and damaged his reputation running after girls.

Had she not been scared of the consequences she would have complained about him to Mu’nis al-Al. But in her isolation she only had her son, and she turned to him to tell him of her distress. “Talk to him, Shams al-Din,” she said. “Perhaps he’ll be more ready to listen to you.”

Shams al-Din and his mother had a surprisingly close relationship. He was sad for her reputation and her honor, and summoned the courage to tell his father openly. His father grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently. “Are you trying to tell me what to do, son?” he demanded in a fury.

After that the boy kept his worries to himself. In his physical strength, pleasant manner, and good character he resembled his father before his abrupt transformation. He was at a loss. His feelings were in a state of turmoil: his respect for his father and his mild nature were both under threat. His mother complained constantly, and he was the one who had to take her blasts of venom and bitterness.

“He’ll squander it all,” she would say ominously. “You’ll be out on the streets.”

To him, his family seemed permanently cursed. They all ended up mad, debauched, or dead. His heart shriveled, as the love and loyalty began to ebb away, and he adopted a more combative attitude toward the future. “Why did my mother marry a man like that?” he wondered in astonishment.

21.

Things went from bad to worse, like a summer’s morning advancing to the blazing heat of high noon. Shams al-Din’s heart hardened, as his feelings of antipathy and rage mounted. Sitting in the café one night, he was told that his father was dancing half-naked in the bar. He rushed there in a frenzy, sick at heart, but determined to take action. He saw his father gyrating drunkenly, clad only in his underpants. His inebriated audience clapped along with him. “Float on the water,” they sang at the tops of their voices.

Galal did not notice his son’s arrival and remained completely absorbed in his dancing. Some of the drinkers saw Shams al-Din, stopped clapping and singing, and tried to warn the others.

“Let’s watch this. It should be good,” urged one of them with malicious pleasure.

As the clapping and singing died down, Galal stopped dancing with an aggrieved air. Then he noticed his son. He saw he was angry and ready to make a stand, and this infuriated him. “What brings you here, lad?” he shouted.

“Please put your clothes on, father,” said Shams al-Din politely.

“I said what brings you here, you cheeky son of a bitch?”

“Please get dressed,” persisted the boy.

His father lunged unsteadily at him and gave him a slap that ripped through the silence of the bar.

A chorus of voices egged him on approvingly.

The man fell on his son again, but he was so drunk that his strength soon gave out and he collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

There was a short burst of laughter, then silence returned to the bar.

“You’ve killed your father, Shams al-Din,” a voice called.

“He didn’t even have time to say his prayers!”

Shams al-Din bent over his father to put his clothes back on, then slung him over his shoulder and carried him out in a hail of coarse, mocking laughter.

22.

Galal came to shortly afterward lying on his bed in his marital home. His red eyes roamed around him and fell upon Afifa, Shams al-Din, and the familiar features of the room he hated. It was nighttime and he should have been in bed with Dalal. This boy had made him the laughingstock of the drunks in the bar and not shown him the respect owing to a father. He sat up in bed, fuming with rage. Then he leapt to the ground. He lunged at Shams al-Din, and began pounding him with his fists. Afifa threw herself between them, sobbing loudly. Galal turned on her in blind fury. He grabbed her around the throat and squeezed hard. Vainly the woman tried to struggle free, giving every sign that she was being choked to death.

“Leave her alone. You’re killing her,” shouted Shams al-Din.

Intoxicated by the savagery of the crime, Galal paid no attention. In desperation Shams al-Din seized a wooden seat and brought it down on Galal’s head with demented energy.

23.

A heavy calm took the place of the shouting and hysteria. Galal lay supine on the bed, soaked in his own blood. The neighbors came rushing to see, closely followed by Sheikh Mugahid Ibrahim. The barber gave first aid and stopped the bleeding, while Shams al-Din cowered in a corner, abandoning himself to his fate.

Time was absent altogether. One mocking instant had spread out far and wide, bursting with possibilities. A single haphazard moment, more influential than all the thought and planning in the world. Afifa and Shams al-Din each realized that the present was thrusting away the past, destroying it, burying it.

“What cruel fate would play games with a father and his only son?” muttered Mugahid Ibrahim.

“It’s the devil,” wailed Afifa.

Silence hung over Galal like a mountain. His chest continued to rise and fall.

“Galal!” called Mugahid Ibrahim.

“God have mercy on us!” cried Afifa.

“What can you find?” the sheikh asked the barber.

“It’s in God’s hands,” answered the barber, still intent on his work.

“But you have your expertise as well.”

The barber approached the sheikh. “No one could survive such a beating,” he said under his breath.

24.

Galal opened his dim eyes. He could scarcely recognize anybody. Still he said nothing, until the nerves of those around him were at breaking point, but gradually he began to recover consciousness.

“I’m dying,” he murmured.

“Don’t say such things,” gasped Afifa.

“The shadows don’t frighten me.”

“You’re fine.”

“God’s will be done.”

Mugahid Ibrahim approached the bed. “Galal,” he said. “It’s Mugahid Ibrahim. Speak before these witnesses.”

“Where’s Shams al-Din?” asked Galal in a weak voice.

Mugahid Ibrahim summoned him to the bedside.

“He’s here beside you.”

“I’m dying.”

“What happened?” asked the sheikh.

“It was an act of God.”

“Who hit you?”

Galal said nothing.

“Tell us,” insisted the sheikh.

“I’m dying.”

“Who hit you?”

“My father,” sighed Galal.

“Dead people don’t hit you. You have to tell us.”

He sighed again. “I don’t know.”

“How’s that?”

“The alley was dark.”

“Did someone attack you in the alley?”

“On my own doorstep.”

“You must know who it was.”

“I don’t. The darkness hid him. He didn’t want to be seen.”

“Do you have any enemies?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you suspect anyone?”

“No.”

“You don’t know who did it and you don’t suspect anyone?”

“I called to my son to help me and then I lost consciousness.”

Mugahid Ibrahim was silent. All eyes were on Galal as he lay dying.

25.

Shams al-Din listened in astonishment to his father’s last words. His courage failed him and he said nothing. He received the dying man’s affection with humility, cowardice, and regret. He avoided meeting Mugahid Ibrahim’s eyes, then buried his face in his hands and wept. Throughout the funeral and the days immediately following it, when people flocked to offer their condolences, he never closed his eyes in sleep and moved among them like a ghost pursued by the shades of hell. His grandfather and great-grandmother had gone mad; one of the line had been a foul pervert; but he was the first of the cursed Nagi family to kill his father.

When he was finally alone with his mother she said encouragingly, “You didn’t murder your father. You were forced to defend me.” Then she added, “Don’t forget. God knows the whole truth.” Then, impassionedly, “The way he protected you is enough to atone for all his sins. He’ll meet his Lord as pure and innocent as a newborn baby!”

Shams al-Din dissolved in tears, murmuring, “I’ve killed my father.”

26.

Abd Rabbihi invited Shams al-Din to The Citadel, former home of Galal, the builder of the minaret. Shams al-Din knew he was his great-grandfather and that he was about a hundred. He found an old man who no longer left his house, or even his room, but who, for his age, was astonishingly healthy, lively, and dignified, and saw, heard, and understood what went on. Shams al-Din marveled at the way he had remained in such good shape and outlived both his son and grandson, but felt not one jot of love or respect for him and did not forget how he had treated his father.

Abd Rabbihi scrutinized him for some time, his face a few inches away from Shams al-Din’s. “My condolences,” he said at last.

Shams al-Din responded coldly.

“You resemble your grandfather,” said Abd Rabbihi.

“You severed all connections with my father,” said Shams al-Din icily.

“Things were complicated,” replied Abd Rabbihi.

“You mean you wanted the legacy to yourself,” he said fiercely.

“Apart from Ashur’s legacy, inherited wealth is a curse.”

“But you’re enjoying it right up till the end.”

“I invited you here to express my sympathy,” said the old man, troubled. “Take your share if you want it.”

“I refuse to accept any kindness from you,” said Shams al-Din, as if expiating his sin.

“You’re stubborn, my child.”

“I don’t want anything to do with a man who disowned my father.”

The old man closed his eyes. Shams al-Din left the house.

27.

Shams al-Din had to confront life. His features were stamped with a gravity which aged him by fifty years. He tried to behave devoutly and honorably. He took his father’s place at the head of the carting business and immersed himself in work as a means of escape. He was known in the alley as a father-killer, a curse on two legs, corresponding to that stationary anathema, the minaret. What would you expect of a young man who was the son of a bastard and the grandson of the man responsible for building the minaret? Shams al-Din resolved to brave his ill luck with a stern face and an inflexible will, nourished by the regret which filled his heart. He followed his religion faithfully, gave alms to the poor, behaved amicably to his customers, but led an outcast’s existence. His eyes wore a look of permanent melancholy. He hated all forms of merriment, singing, music, the bar, the hashish den. Since people caused him anguish, he hated them too, but he clung on to life.

28.

Marriage was the best remedy Afifa could come up with. Sadiqa the bean seller’s daughter pleased her and she went to propose the engagement, commending her son’s reliable occupation and illustrious forbears, but the family declined to marry their daughter to a father killer. Shams al-Din was not much interested in marriage, but this refusal rubbed salt into his wounds and he determined to marry at any price.

There was a dancer called Nur al-Sabah al-Agami, a girl of easy virtue whose background nobody knew. He liked the look of her and visited her after dark one night, not to sleep with her as she had expected but to propose to her! The girl was amazed and assumed he must be planning to make her work for him.

“No, I want you to be the lady of the house in every sense,” he told her sincerely.

Her face lit up with pleasure. “You’re a fine young man, and it’s no more than I deserve.”

29.

Afifa was upset. “She’s a whore,” she protested.

“Like my grandmother Zaynat,” said Shams al-Din sullenly. Then he added sarcastically, “Our distinguished family seems to be full of them!”

“Don’t give up so easily, son.”

“She’s the only one who’ll have me without bad feeling.”

30.

Nur al-Sabah married Shams al-Din Galal al-Nagi. Emerging from his seclusion he gave a party for his employees and his mother’s family, ignoring those who ignored him. The alley sneered at the marriage. The names of Zaynat and Zahira were frequently on people’s lips as they recounted snippets about the family that had descended from the heavens and was finally rolling in the mire.

The bar owner Anba al-Fawwal declared boldly, “Ashur himself was an abandoned baby, wasn’t he? And the mother of his children worked in this very bar.”

31.

The marriage was destined to succeed. Nur al-Sabah metamorphosed into a housewife. Shams al-Din was happy with her and part of him was more at ease. All that clouded the serene atmosphere were the sporadic quarrels between Afifa and Nur. Afifa was stern and intolerant, Nur sharp-tongued and fiery. But these did not shatter the conjugal harmony and Nur gave birth to three girls and was finally blessed with a boy, Samaha.

32.

With the passage of time Shams al-Din became less aware of his worries, and the painful memories of his crime faded to the back of his mind, although melancholy had become part of his nature. Samaha did not have the good looks of his father and grandfather, but rejoiced in a more powerful physique. His mother and grandmother doted on him, guarding him like a precious treasure. He did badly at Quran school. One day he was fighting with a schoolmate and hit him in the face with a slate, almost blinding him. This landed his father in a lot of difficulty and he could only extricate himself by paying a considerable sum in compensation. Back home he thrashed the boy savagely, much to the sorrow of his mother and grandmother, then dragged him to work in the stable prematurely, saying, “Let’s hope you learn some manners from the donkeys.”

Samaha grew up under his father’s gloomy eye and rapidly reached adolescence.

33.

Although the boy was never out of his sight from the moment he awoke until bedtime, he was uneasy about him, sensing a willfulness there and anticipating trouble.

Then one day Sheikh Mugahid Ibrahim remarked spitefully to him, “Give them an inch and they take a mile!”

He had the feeling he meant Samaha but found it hard to believe since he kept such a firm hold over him. He pressed the sheikh to be more explicit.

“Did you know your son was Karima al-Anabi’s lover?”

Shams al-Din was shocked. When did the boy get the chance? “He’s never out of my sight till bedtime.”

“Then while you’re asleep he slips out of the house,” laughed the sheikh.

Still Shams al-Din could not take it in. Karima al-Anabi was a widow approaching sixty and his son was a teenager.

“Take care he doesn’t get used to all that sophistication and maturity!” teased Mugahid Ibrahim.

34.

Shams al-Din lay in wait in the darkness outside Karima’s door. He had ascertained that the boy’s bed was empty. An hour before dawn the door opened and a shadowy figure slipped out. He walked straight into his father’s arms. He was afraid at first and got ready to strike out at his assailant, but then he recognized the voice and capitulated.

“Filthy pig!” Shams al-Din dragged him furiously after him and caught a whiff of his breath. “You’re drunk too.”

He struck him a blow that drove the cheap brandy right out of his head. Once he had got him home he started to beat him so savagely that Nur and Afifa woke up, and learned the story through the words and blows.

“Stop, father! My face!” shouted Samaha.

“I should kill you! You went behind my back!”

“I swear I won’t do it again! Please stop!”

“She’s older than I am. Sinful creature!” snorted Afifa.

Shams al-Din gestured toward Samaha. “He’s the guilty one. Nobody else.”

35.

Shams al-Din thought to himself that such beginnings threatened much worse to come. If you began by making love to a woman old enough to be your grandmother, where did you go from there? He had seen Madame Karima on her outings around the alley, and been appalled by her youthful dress and garish makeup, coupled with her exuberantly overweight body. He was convinced, in any case, that it was a complete disaster for an adolescent youth to get used to being kept by a woman.

At this time Mu’nis al-Al died and Suma al-Kalabshi succeeded him as clan chief. Conditions in the alley were more degrading and unjust than ever. The harafish accepted these misfortunes as the inescapable blows of fate. The whole clan system—regardless of who the chief was—had become one long-standing calamity.

36.

Grandfather Abd Rabbihi died and was given a big funeral which neither Shams al-Din nor Samaha attended. Afterward they learned that he had left Samaha five hundred pounds, but when the boy asked for it, his father told him to wait until he was officially an adult. He watched the boy more closely than ever and made his life miserable. One day when they were working together in the stable he happened to look over at him and caught an empty, blank expression in his eyes that made him feel dispirited. “The boy doesn’t love me,” he said to himself. He sighed. “He’s stupid. Doesn’t he realize I’m doing it for his own good?”

37.

Events rushed by like the dusty foam on the river. One morning as Shams al-Din sipped his coffee he detected a dreadful anxiety enveloping Nur and Afifa. His heart pounded. “Where’s Samaha?”

He was met with an uneasy silence and his fears grew.

“What’s he done now?” he asked sharply.

Nur started crying and Afifa said in a tremulous voice, “He’s not in the house.”

“So he’s started creeping around in the night again?”

“No. He’s left us.”

“Run away?” Heavy with apprehension, he went over to the strongbox and found the legacy gone. “He’s a thief as well,” he bellowed.

“Don’t be hard on him, son. It’s his money,” said Afifa.

“A thief and a runaway,” declared Shams al-Din emphatically. He shifted his eyes suspiciously between the two women. “What’s going on behind my back?” he demanded.

38.

He presumed he would take refuge with Karima al-Anabi. Mugahid Ibrahim made inquiries.

“Not a trace of him anywhere in the alley,” he reported several hours later.

Shams al-Din was convinced that God was punishing him for his crime. He’d have to pay, just as he’d already paid for the sins of others. His son would probably kill him one day. Why not? The boy was completely cynical about the world. Shams al-Din threw a ferocious glance at the minaret. “Why don’t they demolish that obscenity?”

39.

Not a trace was found of Samaha even though Shams al-Din charged his drivers to be on the lookout and make inquiries wherever they went. The boy was following in the footsteps of all the other men and women in the family who had disappeared leaving no clues behind them.

The years went by. Afifa died after a long illness. Nur’s life had turned sour. Shams al-Din learned to bear his burdens, muttering, “What will be, will be,” whenever things went wrong.

40.

However, unlike Ashur and Qurra, Samaha did not stay away for good. He returned to the alley one day, a grown man. A grown man, who had lost many precious things forever. His body was full of brutal power. His beauty was hidden by a mask of severity and an uneven tissue of scars and bruises. Had he been hiding out with bandits? Even his own father failed to recognize him at first glance. When he realized the truth and was hit by a great wave of mingled joy and sorrow, he was uncertain whether to be relieved or resentful. He was torn between love and rage. In the stables among the bustle of drivers and donkeys they exchanged a long look.

“What have you been doing all this time?” he asked pityingly, taking him aside.

He repeated the question, while Samaha remained silent, his appearance speaking for him.

“Did you spend the money?”

Samaha bowed his head. Ah! Some make their money work for them, others fritter it away. He heaved a deep sigh and muttered, “Perhaps this has taught you a lesson.” Then, irritated by his silence, “Go and see your mother.”

41.

The feeble flicker of hope in Shams al-Din’s heart quickly died. He recovered from the fierce wave of paternal feeling which had swept over him. He saw in his son obstinacy, deviousness, and stupidity, united in a sort of inflexible, cruel strength he had never encountered before. Still he did not despair altogether. “Back to work, son,” he said gently. “You have to prepare to take over this business one day.”

Nur encouraged him with her affection, her entreaties. Samaha refused to work as a driver, so his father kept him at his side letting him help in the essential running of the business. But he was restless and kept asking for more money. His father could no longer treat him like a child and he spent his evenings in the bar, the hashish den, with prostitutes, but he never went near his first mistress.

“You ought to think about getting married,” Shams al-Din said to him in his mother’s presence.

“There isn’t really a girl worthy of a descendant of the great al-Nagi!” he teased.

“Do you realize what this name implies?”

“People who perform extraordinary miracles like building a haunted minaret!” he said brazenly.

“You’re crazy!” cried Shams al-Din in a fury. Then he gave up and walked off, muttering, “He hates me, that’s for sure.”

He shook off his forebodings for a while but could not help thinking gloomily, from time to time, “He’ll kill me one day.”

42.

Shams al-Din discovered that a considerable sum of money had gone missing. He knew at once what this meant and realized he would end up going bankrupt. He went straight off to the bar. Samaha was sitting with Suma al-Kalabshi and his men as if he was one of them. He gestured to his son to accompany him but he did not move. Lost in a fog of alcohol, he stared at his father aggressively.

Shams al-Din swallowed his anger. “You know why I’m here,” he said.

“It’s my money just as much as yours. And I’ll spend it as I think fit,” retorted Samaha coldly.

“Well said,” put in Suma al-Kalabshi.

“You’ll ruin me,” said Shams al-Din, ignoring the clan chief’s remark.

“You have to spend money to make money,” answered Samaha with heavy sarcasm.

“This boy talks sense!” said Suma.

Anba al-Fawwal moved close to Shams al-Din. “Count to ten,” he warned in a low voice.

But Shams al-Din succumbed to his anger. “You are all my witnesses,” he shouted. “I’m throwing this ungrateful son of mine out of my house, and I disclaim all responsibility for him from this moment on.”

43.

For Nur al-Sabah this was a dreadful calamity.

“I’ll never give up my son,” she cried.

Shams al-Din hated her at that moment with the full force of his anger and resentment. “He won’t enter this house again as long as I live.”

“My son! I won’t let him go!”

“It’s your sordid background coming to the surface,” he said, beside himself with rage.

“There are no whores or madmen in my family!”

He struck her, knocking her to the floor. Crazed with anger, she spat in his face.

“Get out of here! I’m divorcing you,” he roared.

44.

Nur and Samaha went to live in a separate flat together. Samaha joined Suma al-Kalabshi’s gang, but because he was so extravagant he was never content. He made no attempt to hide his hatred for his father and denounced the Nagi family vigorously, as if he was their worst enemy.

Shams al-Din lived alone. He no longer felt secure and expected to end up like his father or worse. He went to enormous lengths to protect himself, heaping generosity on his employees to win their hearts, keeping his doors and windows firmly locked, making donations to Suma and being as friendly as possible to him.

45.

One day Mugahid Ibrahim visited him. “I’m here to give you a piece of advice,” he announced.

“What do you mean?” asked Shams al-Din with foreboding.

“Stop being so hostile. Give him some money.”

Shams al-Din could think of nothing appropriate to say so the sheikh continued, “Yesterday in the bar I heard him promising his companions a few good evenings, once…”

He hesitated and Shams al-Din finished gloomily for him, “Once I die or someone kills me off.”

“Murder wasn’t mentioned. But there’s nothing sadder than seeing a son wishing his father dead…or vice versa.”

“But I don’t wish him dead.”

“We’re only human,” said the sheikh, making his meaning plain.

46.

Shams al-Din felt fear like a bird of ill omen hovering over him. He set off to see the clan chief, resolved on a singular course of action. He saluted him respectfully, then said without further preamble, “Do me the honor of granting me your daughter’s hand.”

The chief stared hard at him, then said, “There’s no law against a girl of sixteen marrying a man in his forties.”

Shams al-Din bowed his head humbly and Suma continued, “You’re from good stock and you’ve got plenty of money!”

Shams al-Din continued to look deferential, satisfied with his reception so far.

“What would you pay for her?”

“Whatever you ask,” answered Shams al-Din with secret trepidation.

“Five hundred pounds.”

“It’s a vast sum, but she’s worth more than money,” he said sagely.

The chief held out his hand. “Let’s make that official.”

47.

Sanbala Suma al-Kalabshi married Shams al-Din Galal al-Nagi.

The whole alley came to the wedding. Shams al-Din found himself in an eminently desirable and secure position. Sanbala was not beautiful but she was young and strong. She was also the chief’s daughter.

48.

Nur and Samaha were in a state of panic.

“I might as well say goodbye to my inheritance,” said Samaha.

“But your rights won’t be affected,” said his mother, as if she didn’t have much faith in what she was saying.

“Do you imagine Kalabshi will bother with the law?”

“Life’s more precious than money,” Nur admonished.

“The man has me watched day and night,” exploded Samaha. “I’m the successor to the terrible Nagis. And this new alliance will make him more wary than ever.”

Nur sighed. “Watch out for yourself, son. To hell with your father! And God preserve you.”

49.

Samaha was convinced his life was still in danger, because his death would make Sanbala sole inheritor after Shams al-Din and enable the chief to consolidate his position once and for all.

It was strange, but Shams al-Din himself did not enjoy the lethargy of his newfound security for long. What was there to stop Samaha taking revenge on him? He knew his son’s wild, rash nature better than anyone. And Suma al-Kalabshi had all the cards in his hand now. His fear of dying had thrust him right into the lion’s jaws. The chief would not rest until he had taken his last penny off him. He felt no real affection for Sanbala, and his yearning for Nur returned with a vengeance. But he had to endure this union along with the other irritations in his life. A simple truth was embedding its claws in his flesh: the past would never return.

50.

Suma al-Kalabshi visited him one night. He signaled to his daughter to leave the room and Shams al-Din feared the worst. What did it mean, this nighttime visit? Suma’s face, round as a ball, covered in scars, repelled him. He hated his easy manner, as if he was in his own home. The chief began to talk about amazing coincidences, odd twists of fate, the obscure forces controlling men’s destinies. Shams al-Din was at a loss, until finally the chief said, “For example, look how a particular person’s existence is equally inconvenient for both of us!”

Instantly Shams al-Din realized where the man’s speculations had been heading. An image of his son rose up before his eyes. He was more alarmed by this complicity with his secret desires than he was afraid for Samaha. He decided to act the innocent. “Who do you mean?”

“Come on!” said Kalabshi scathingly. “What kind of fool do you take me for?”

“Do you mean Samaha?”

“So do you!”

“He’s my son.”

“You were your father’s son!”

He winced. “You’re powerful enough. You shouldn’t be afraid of anyone.”

“Cut it out. Are you really that stupid?”

“Perhaps you should make yourself clearer.”

“Put everything in your wife’s name, then Samaha will give up and go away.”

His heart sank. “Or finally decide to have his revenge on me,” he said desperately.

“As long as I’m alive, no harm will come to you.”

He saw the trap open wide, the hunter baring his teeth. Poverty or death or both at the same time. Impossible to accept, impossible to refuse.

“Give me time to think,” he implored.

The chief glowered. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“A little time,” he begged.

“Tomorrow morning. That gives you all night,” said the man, getting to his feet.

51.

Shams al-Din couldn’t sleep. Sanbala, all beautifully dressed and made up, tired of waiting for him and fell asleep. He put out the light and sat huddled in his cloak against the cold. He saw the specters in the dark. All the specters from the past. Why this sudden disintegration after he had persevered so long? Hadn’t he borne his burdens serenely? Paid for his sins without complaining? Always been serious, reliable, patient? So why this to take away all he’d struggled for? It was because he had plunged into an abyss of fear. Fear was at the root of the misfortune. He had been frightened of his son and driven him out, then divorced his wife, then gone running into the devil’s lair. Without stopping to think rationally. Because he had panicked. When he had fought fear and beaten it, he had faced life with his head held high. His family’s bad reputation, his own foul crime, the alley’s scorn, had not defeated him. He had faced life boldly, put despair to work for him. On immoral foundations he had built a respectable home. He had prospered in his business, gained power and wealth. Now he was being asked to give up his riches. Next Samaha would kill him and be arrested for his crime, then Kalabshi would have wealth and security. A specter in the darkness said, “Don’t kill your son. Don’t make your son kill you. Don’t submit to a tyrant. Don’t let fear get the better of you. Put despair to work for you. If life becomes impossible, seek consolation honorably in death.”

The winter wind wailed mournfully. Intoxicated by his reveries, he pictured Ashur listening to the same wind one night long ago in his immortal basement room.

52.

In the morning a light rain had begun to fall, breathing the pure, capricious, rebellious spirit of the late winter season, and the cold chilled people to the marrow of their bones. Shams al-Din made his way over the slippery ground with the aid of his stout stick. Suma welcomed him, sitting cross-legged on his sofa in the café. “Good to see you, Shams al-Din!” He motioned him to sit beside him, and murmured, “Shall we start proceedings for the sale?”

“No,” replied Shams al-Din with frightening calm.

“No?!”

“There’s no deal.”

The chief’s face grew livid with anger. “This is an insane decision.”

“It’s the voice of reason.”

A grim mask of evil etched itself on Suma’s features. “Don’t you depend on your alliance with me?”

“Apart from God, I depend only on myself,” said Shams al-Din with the same resolute calm.

“Are you challenging me?”

“I’m explaining my position, that’s all.”

Anger seized Suma and he slapped him hard. Enraged, Shams al-Din returned the blow with even greater ferocity. The two men jumped to their feet in a single moment, brandishing their clubs, and began to fight savagely. Shams al-Din was strong and ten years younger than Suma, but he didn’t have the habit of fighting. Suma’s men appeared on all sides with amazing promptness. Samaha was among them. In deference to the traditions, they surrounded the combatants but did not intervene. Suma al-Kalabshi had the upper hand and summoned his strength to deliver the decisive blow. At that moment Samaha suddenly leapt forward and brought his club down on the chief’s head. Suma’s legs gave way beneath him and he crashed over on his back. This all happened at lightning speed. The men shouted and fell on Shams al-Din and Samaha. But there was another surprise in store. A group of Suma’s men crossed over to join forces with Shams al-Din and Samaha.

“It’s a mutiny!” cried several voices.

The two groups fought one another with savage enthusiasm. Clubs clashed, bodies made violent contact, loud cracks exploded in the air, curses flew about under the damp rain, blood flowed, hatreds were unleashed. Shutters were closed on shopfronts, carts hurtled along, people gathered at either end of the alley, windows and wooden lattices were crowded with faces. Shouting and wailing rose to the sky.

53.

Shams al-Din’s broken body was carried to his house. Samaha managed to drag himself home to bed, where he lay more dead than alive. Suma was finished, his legend destroyed, his men routed.

54.

The same day, the truth was uncovered. Samaha wanted to be chief and had secretly won a group of Suma’s men over to his side. He planned to eliminate the chief and gain control over his father. The surprise battle between the two men had given him the opportunity he needed. When he attacked to protect his father he signaled the start of his insurrection. His plan had succeeded, but for the moment he hovered between life and death.

55.

The rain continued to fall throughout the day. The air was dark reddish-brown, steeped in drowsiness. The sticky ground was patterned with animals’ hooves. Shams al-Din lay dying, cared for by a neighbor, since Sanbala had fled. He didn’t open his eyes or speak a word, only stirred vaguely every now and then. He appeared detached from everything around him, and in the middle of the night he died.