Khan Al-Khalili Read online

  When they were out on the street, one of them suggested that they continue the game at his house.

  “So be it!” they all responded in unison.

  “What about you?” he asked Rushdi.

  “I agree,” Rushdi replied with a laugh, “but only on condition that you let me sing!”

  They all made their way to their host’s house on Abu Khudha Street. Once they had prepared the gaming table, they started playing again with an insatiable relish. The windows in the room were closed, and the heat came from their own breath. Alcohol had inflamed their innards, and they were pouring sweat. At two o’clock in the morning, someone said, “Enough! If we don’t stop now, we’ll be spending the whole Eid day asleep!”

  With that they stopped playing. By this time, Rushdi had lost everything he had earned and the thirty piasters as well.

  One of them joked with him, “That license we gave you to sing didn’t get you very far, did it?”

  They all laughed. Rushdi managed to keep his anger under control and laughed along with them. With that he said goodnight and headed for Abbasiya, but all public transport had long since stopped. He set out for the al-Husayn quarter where the family now lived and found the road totally empty; there was total silence, and the darkness was all-encompassing. He felt hot all over and was plastered with sweat; his throat felt dry as well. He felt as though he were being swallowed by the thick humidity that fall always provides in profusion, especially in the very early morning. Before long a shiver of cold ran through his body, wracking his chest and clogging his nostrils. Being the last night of the lunar month, everything was pitch-black. What made him even angrier was that it was cloudy, and so the stars were hidden. On both sides of the road the old mansions looked like ghosts sitting cross-legged as they dozed. He started talking to himself. “It would have been a much better idea not to go to the house with them. But fat chance of that ever happening!” Unfortunately, his regret was just as weak as his will. Die-hard gamblers usually accept their losses fairly calmly; the principle being that you accept the losses of one day in the hope of gains on the next.

  He noticed how long and filthy the road was, and sighed in anger and frustration. When he got to the entrance to Khan al-Khalili, he remembered what his brother had told him: second alley on the right, and third door on the left. He felt his way in the darkness until he reached the apartment building and managed to make his way up to his room quietly. He turned the light on. No sooner did he spot the closed window than he remembered the other window that overlooked it. His face broke into the first smile it had formed since midnight. In his mind’s eye he surveyed that lovely face with its olive complexion. The troubles of the night made him feel sad. “The way things had gone badly tonight were painful, true enough. But there were good things about it as well.” After changing his clothes, he went over to his desk and took out his diary. He sat there recording his thoughts before falling asleep.

  19

  The father of the family was the first one to wake up. After performing his ablutions, he left the house at dawn, heading for the mosque to perform the Eid prayers. The fresh breeze of the new day greeted him, and he was aware of the beautiful dawn hour teeming with people going in the same direction as himself, making their way through its dreamy purplish waves as they intoned their praises of God Almighty.

  Ahmad woke up second. He got out of bed, full of a joyful energy, and shaved his beard carefully. He was putting on a brand new gallabiya and skullcap when his mother came to greet him in his room; she had already done her hair and make-up. He kissed her hand and cheek, and she kissed him back on the cheek, praying that the entire family would be granted long life, happiness, and comfort. They both went into the lounge and sat side by side chatting and waiting for the rest of the family to appear—the one who had gone out to perform his duties to God and the other one who was still sound asleep and snoring. The father arrived home soon after sunrise and came into the lounge, parading his flowing overcoat, still pronouncing praise to God. They both stood up. His wife kissed his hand, and Ahmad did likewise. He gave them his greetings on the Eid day, and they all sat down.

  “Happy feast!” he said. “May the Lord make it a propitious one for us and all Muslims!”

  Glancing across the room he looked at the closed door. “Has the boy woken up,” he asked, “or hasn’t he gone to sleep yet?”

  His mother rallied to his defense as usual. “He got home late yesterday,” she said, “because he met some of his friends after being away for a year. Needless to say, he came home on foot.”

  Even so, Rushdi did not keep them waiting for long. The door of his room opened, and he emerged to make his way to the bathroom down the hall. A quarter of an hour later, he came strolling toward them in his pajamas, after combing his hair and putting on some aftershave. His face looked a little pale, although it still retained the handsomeness of youth. He had a sweet smile on his face that only his ever-cheerful mother was able to match. He was, of course, unaware of the criticism that his father had been aiming at him, and went over to him. Bending over, he kissed him reverently, and then bent over to kiss his mother on her hand and cheek. He then kissed his brother on the forehead.

  “What about my gift, gentlemen!” she said with a laugh as she spread her hands. “Happy feast!”

  Each one of them usually gave her half a pound as a special present on the feast, which made her as happy as a small child. In fact, she spent it like a small child as well, using it to buy chocolate and clothes to her heart’s content. Then she brought in the meal for the Eid-day breakfast, pastries and milk, which they all attacked with relish. People who have been fasting feel an unusual reluctance when it comes to taking that first mouthful on the morning of the feast, but before long this feeling is replaced by a delightful sense of enjoyment. After all, what greater pleasure can anyone feel at such a happy moment, one that separates the performance of a religious obligation dutifully observed from the sheer enjoyment of the reward and clear conscience that it brings about? They all grabbed pieces of pastry and munched them with unmitigated pleasure until there were circles of powdered sugar around their mouths. They washed it all down with milk, only stopping when they had drunk their fill.

  “How we long for good old days of peace!” their mother exclaimed. “Ghee was real ghee in those days, flour was flour, and pastries were real pastries!” their mother exclaimed.

  Rushdi was well aware that his mother was trying to fish for compliments. “These pastries are just fine!” he said. “There’s absolutely no reason to feel wistful about the way they were in other times.”

  They all went into different rooms. Ahmad’s heart was all aflutter with the intoxicating spirit of youth; he had felt that way ever since the girl had given him such a friendly greeting on the Night of Power. He could not forget the picture of her delicate shadow as it bestowed a greeting on him. Since then the emotions aroused by that magical greeting had not calmed down at all. He still felt happy and enthused by a feeling of joy, which convinced him that he was on track to recover his youthful energy. The somewhat faded branch would now bloom once again and the essence of life would course through him. His temples would again sprout luxuriant curls to cover up his bald spot, and his eyelashes would reassume their tinge of kohl.

  However, since that wonderful moment he had not set eyes on the girl again; she had not kept her usual appointment at the window. There was no doubt in his mind that it was shyness that was making her stay out of the way and not venture out into the daylight. That made him feel a tender affection toward her; after all, who could possibly know more about shyness than himself? He was absolutely delighted by the thought that he had discovered someone who needed to keep her shyness hidden from him, of all people! However, this was Eid morning, and his heart told him that she was not going to deprive him of a glance that would both delight his heart and revive all his hopes.

  He looked upward and found the balcony open wide, bathed in sunshine, read
y to scatter its pearls on the beautiful face that looked down from there. He waited for a while, looking out over the quarter as it happily celebrated the feast. The spirit of the occasion seemed to have permeated everything. You could see it in the colors, hear it in the air, and smell it in the atmosphere. The wilderness, bounded by the apartment buildings, was now dancing and singing for joy and proclaiming out loud the intensity of pleasure. Children were running all over the place, all decked in their festival finery with bright colors, plaits, and ribbons flying behind them. Horns were blown, and firecrackers popped. Everyone was chewing desserts and mint-flavored delights. Songs and ditties filled the air with noise. Cafés were thronged with city and country folk alike. Earth and sky alike were decked out for the feast.

  He watched the entire scene, the faces and sights, with a distracted eye. Eventually his patience had the best possible reward; his lovely girl appeared by the balcony door wearing the most beautiful outfit. He looked up at her lovely olive-colored face and plucked up the courage to give her a smile without automatically looking down. All the while his heart was throbbing violently. He gave a slight nod; for her part she was watching him with her honey-colored eyes and gave him the sweetest smile in return. She kept on looking at him, and that made him feel shy and anxious, but, just as he was about to lose his courage, she gave him another smile, then moved away and disappeared from view. He sighed in sheer delight and stood there, hoping against hope that he might see her again and be rewarded with a third smile. However, a servant came hurrying out and closed the balcony door. With that he moved away from the window, feeling a bit sad and disappointed.

  By now it was almost nine o’clock, and he remembered that he was supposed to meet his friends at the Zahra Café, having finally become one of those people who have rendezvous in cafés. He put on his fresh clothes—suit, fez, shoes, and shirt—and looked at himself in the mirror. He was impressed by his own elegance and seriousness. He recalled times past, the days of his youth—before time had frowned on him—when he had been famous for his neat appearance. He left the apartment full of happiness and walked slowly, relishing all the hopes and dreams filling his mind. “What comes after a smile?” he asked himself with all the perplexity of one distracted by joy. “What comes next, O Fortune?”

  20

  Rushdi went back to his room, lit a cigarette, and started to smoke by the window. His gaze was riveted to that particular window, all in the hope of catching a glimpse of his lovely neighbor once in a while. His hopes were rewarded when she did indeed appear at the window, wearing her new outfit and with a gray coat over her shoulders. However, she quickly withdrew, almost as though she needed to escape from his piercing stare. The young man had taken due note of the coat and surmised that she was on the point of going out. He quickly took out some clothes and started getting dressed. Within minutes he was out of the apartment.

  He wondered where was the best place to wait. Just then he remembered the narrow passageway that connected the quarter to the New Road. He rushed over there, then stopped on the sidewalk at the spot where it joined the main road. The entire street was teeming with people. Carts had come down from the Darrasa district loaded with boys and girls singing, dancing, and banging drums. He stayed where he was, one eye happily watching the crowds in the street and the other glued hopefully to the passageway. He was an old hand at this type of situation, so he was not worried.

  As it turned out, he did not have long to wait. The girl soon appeared at the entrance to the passageway accompanied by a young boy who closely resembled her. He avoided looking straight at her by lighting another cigarette. He had no doubt that she had spotted him, but he still wondered whether she had realized that he was actually waiting for her. As she made her way toward al-Azhar, he followed close behind and was able to get a good look at her for the first time. She was sixteen at the most, of medium height, and nicely turned out. However, it was her face that was the loveliest part of her, and her honey-colored eyes were its loveliest feature.

  He did not manage to enjoy looking at her for very long, because she soon reached the trolley stop and got on the women’s carriage along with her brother—that was his assumption about the young boy. He too got on the trolley, one carriage back so he could see where she got off. The trolley began to move, and he had no idea where this particular chase was going to take him. He now started an assessment: a young girl, seventy-five percent for face; sixty-five percent for figure; and it wouldn’t take long to find out whether she was easy prey or would present more of a challenge. Would she get swept up in the romance, or was she dreaming of getting a wedding ring? We’ll know soon enough, he told himself. If it’s the wedding ring she’s after, then things might rapidly become tricky; even worse, annoying. At this stage, however, the most important thing was to cajole her into chatting and then see what happened.

  When the trolley reached Queen Farida Square, they all got off—the girl and her brother first, and then him. Just then she happened to look round and noticed him staring directly at her. She immediately turned away and pretended to be deep in conversation with her brother. Now he was sure that she realized he was deliberately following her.

  The pair boarded the first trolley that came, the one going to Giza. He immediately boarded it as well. “Are they going to visit a relative,” he wondered to himself, “so they can celebrate the Eid with him?” At that moment he decided, out of the sheer goodness of his heart, that he would leave the day to her. But at just that moment they both alighted at the Imad al-din stop. He now realized that they were going to the cinema, a thought that delighted him. They all crossed the road to Imad al-din Street, the pair first, then him behind them, poised and ready to respond to a smile or any kind of gesture she might make if she looked behind her. But instead, she kept staring straight to the front, grasping her brother’s hand as he hurried to keep up with her. Rushdi kept his gaze firmly on her back and legs, her gait, and the way she walked. He was happy to discover that the view of her from the back was just as nice as from the front. Her rear view earned her a solid eighty percent. It all took him back to the old days. “Well, well,” he told himself, “these days there’s beauty to be had in Egypt.”

  When they got to the Ritz Cinema, she looked behind her and noticed him still staring hard at her. Quickly looking away, she hurried off in the direction of Studio Egypt, leaving him flummoxed by the lack of any clear signal. He regretted the fact that their eyes had not had a real conversation, and yet her choice of cinema pleased him a lot. It was showing the film, Dananir. He realized that this little chase he had embarked upon would now offer him a double pleasure. He was eager to sit next to her, so he managed to work his way to a spot right behind her in the queue at the box office; that way he could select a seat right next to hers. The young boy was standing to one side, looking at the pictures. Rushdi moved up close behind her, so close that it felt as though his breaths were actually touching her ponytail; it gave him the same sensation as the purest of scents. He watched her fingers as they picked out two seats on the cinema chart for herself and her brother. He noticed that there would be a single vacant seat to the right and three to the left. Which side would the girl be sitting on? he asked himself. To find out, he used the old guessing game, “eeny meeny miny mo,” and came up with the seat on the right. He chose it with a degree of confidence and then moved away. Looking around he could find no sign of either the girl or her brother, but that did not bother him. After all, he had the ticket in hand; that was enough to put him next to her, no matter where she had disappeared. He had no idea why, but it all reminded him—the power given him by the ticket, that is—of the sanctity and magic of marriage, all of which gave his heart a jolt.

  He was still feeling the effects as he entered the cinema. As the usher escorted him to his seat, he was hoping that his choice had been the right one, but he discovered that the boy was sitting between himself and the girl. The girl saw him coming and looked away in alarm; she refused to even
glance in his direction. He sat in his seat, delighted, and kept stealing glances in her direction. On two occasions he noticed that she was staring straight in front of her; the way she was blushing and looking thoroughly awkward made him fully aware of how bashful and agitated she was feeling. That made him feel sorry for her, and he decided then and there not to bother her any more. Instead, he contented himself by looking around at the boxes and rows of seats and fondly surveying the bosoms, necks, mouths, and wrists on display. He did not have long to wait. A bell sounded, lights were dimmed, and the screen prepared itself to unwrap the world of dreams. He was happy enough to be sitting close to the girl with whom he had fallen in love, even though his heart was actually not fully involved as yet. The heavenly voice started to sing the spring song, “How sweet the gentle breeze!” and he allowed himself to float off into another world. He had always loved singing, so much so that one day it had even occurred to him that he had been born to be a musician. As the film continued, he felt himself swept up in a divine melody.

  When the film came to an end, the lights went up. Rushdi looked over at the girl and saw that she was standing up with her eyes closed, shielding them from the bright lights after spending so long in the dark. He stood there waiting until she opened them and saw him staring at her. Once outside the cinema, he made a point of looking carefully at her fingers and noticed that she was not engaged. That made him smile. He then proceeded to trail her all the way back, just as he had on the way to the cinema. However, he decided not to follow her to al-Azhar since he did not want to reveal his little secret to anyone from his new quarter. Returning to the family apartment, he found his family waiting to eat. It was not long before his mother was happily summoning the family to the table with the words, “It’s time for the Eid stew!”