Children of the Alley Page 7

“I don’t think so. I don’t care. Anyway, she wouldn’t dare tell my father.”

  Qadri gave a brief bark of laughter and asked, “What do you think he’d do if he knew?”

  She echoed his laugh, a little bewildered, but said, “I’m not afraid of him, even though he’s tough—I can even tell you I love him, and he loves me, in a naive way—in spite of his cruelty. It doesn’t occur to him to tell me I’m the dearest thing he has in the world. Maybe that’s why I’m so miserable.”

  Qadri sat on the ground by the rock, inviting her to join him by patting the spot beside him; she sat down, shedding her confining cape. He leaned toward her and kissed her cheek.

  “So it seems it might be easier to try my father than to try yours; even so, he gets furious at the mention of your father’s name—he denies that there’s any good in him at all.”

  She laughed, remembering what she had heard him called. “ ‘You human!’ That’s how my father curses him.”

  He stared at her contemptuously.

  “Well, your father criticizes mine for being uncouth, and mine criticizes yours for being too nice. Anyway, they’ve never agreed on anything.”

  Qadri thrust his head up as if butting the air, and said warningly, “But we will do whatever we want.”

  Hind looked at him tenderly. “My father can do whatever he wants, too.”

  “There are plenty of things I can do. What does my drunken uncle want for you?”

  She laughed in spite of herself, and spoke in a tone of mingled protest and pleasantry. “Talk about my father with more respect.” She pinched his ear. “I always ask myself what he wants for me. Sometimes I think he doesn’t ever want me to get married.”

  He stared at her in surprise until she resumed.

  “One time I saw him look up angrily at our grandfather’s house, and say, ‘If he wanted his children and grandchildren to live in disgrace, does he want the same for his granddaughter? The only proper place for Hind is in that locked mansion.’ And one time he told my mother that a man from Kafr al-Zaghari wanted to marry me. My mother was really happy, and he got furious and yelled at her, ‘You slut, you stupid thing, who do you think this person from Kafr al-Zaghari might be? The lowest servant in the mansion is better than he is, and probably cleaner.’ My mother sighed and asked him, ‘So who is good enough for her?’ and he shouted, ‘The dictator hiding behind the walls of his house knows who. She’s his granddaughter, and there is no one on earth who’s good enough for her! I want her to have a husband like me.’ My mother couldn’t help herself, and said, ‘Do you want her to be miserable like her mother?’ He pounced on her like an animal and kicked her hard until she ran out of the hut.”

  “He’s out of his mind.”

  “He hates our grandfather, and curses him every time he mentions him, but deep inside he’s proud to be his son.”

  Qadri made a fist and pounded his thigh. “We would probably have been better off if that man were not our grandfather.”

  “Probably,” said Hind bitterly.

  He gathered her to his chest with ardor that matched his words, and hugged her tightly. He held her in his arms until thoughts of their weary trouble gave way to the deep passion they felt.

  “Give me your mouth,” he said.

  At this point Humam left his post by the boulder and headed quietly toward the sheep with a sad and timid smile. He imagined that the very air was drunk with the breath of love, and that love heralded trouble. But he said to himself, “His face was so serene and tender. He only looks that way when he’s behind the boulder. There’s nothing like the magic of love to wipe away our cares.” The sky was growing pale as it surrendered to dusk, and soft breezes blew by from the west. Enchantment overtook the scene like a faint melody of farewell. A billy goat leaped on a she-goat. Humam resumed talking to himself: “Mother will be pleased when that goat gives birth; but the birth of a human can bring terrible trouble. We are cursed before we are born; I can’t believe this hatred—there is no possible reason for it, except that it is between two brothers. For how long will we suffer from such hatred? If the past could be forgotten, the present would be wonderful, but we will keep on staring at that mansion, which gives us the only glory we can claim, and causes all the misery we know.” His gaze settled on the mating goats and he smiled as he rounded up the sheep, whistling and swinging his staff. He turned toward the silent boulder, which stood in its place as if indifferent to all existence.

  15

  Umaima woke up, as usual, when there was only one star left in the sky. She called Adham until he awoke, sighing. The man got up and left his room, still slow with sleep, for the connected outer room where Qadri and Humam were sleeping, and woke them up. The hut, which had been enlarged, now looked like a little house, and was surrounded by a wall that also enclosed a backyard as a sheepfold. The wall was covered with tendrils of ivy, which gave a graceful look to its roughness and showed that Umaima had not yet given up her old dream of improving her hut as far as possible on the model of the mansion. Father and sons met in the yard around a bucket filled with water, washed their faces and put on their work clothes. The air blown into the hut bore the scent of burning wood and the sound of the younger brothers’ crying. Finally they sat down around the low table before the hut entrance, eating from a pot of stewed fava beans. The autumn air was damp and almost cold at this early hour, but blew against strong bodies capable of bearing up under its gusts. From a distance, Idris’ hut, also enlarged, was visible, and the mansion stood in its silence, looking in on itself, as if nothing bound it to this outer world. Umaima came in with a jug of fresh milk, set it on the table and sat down.

  “Why don’t you sell the milk to our esteemed grandfather?” asked Qadri sarcastically.

  Adham turned his head, now gray at the temples, to Qadri and told him, “Eat and be quiet. A little quiet is the most we can hope for from you.”

  “It’s almost time to pickle the lemons, olives and green peppers,” said Umaima, munching a mouthful of food. “You used to love pickling days, Qadri—do you remember how you used to help stuff the lemons?”

  “We were always happy when we were small, even when we had no reason,” said Qadri bitterly.

  “What’s wrong with you today, Abu Zaid al-Hilali?” asked Adham, putting the jug back in its place. This was the name of a fabulous folk hero.

  Qadri laughed but said nothing.

  “Market day is coming,” said Humam. “We have to get the sheep ready.”

  Umaima nodded. Adham turned to Qadri.

  “Qadri, don’t be difficult. I can’t meet anyone who knows you without their complaining to me about you. I’m afraid you take after your uncle!”

  “Or my grandfather!”

  Adham’s eyes flashed with indignation. “Don’t talk that way about your grandfather. Have you ever heard me do that? And he’s never done anything to hurt you.”

  “As long as he’s hurt you, he’s hurt us,” Qadri protested.

  “Be quiet. Do us all a favor and be quiet.”

  “Because of him, we have to live this life, the same life as Uncle Idris’ daughter.”

  “What does she have to do with us?” said Adham crossly. “Her father was the root of the problem.”

  “I mean, it isn’t fair for women of ours to grow up in this desert wasteland. Tell me who will marry that girl?”

  “Why not the devil himself—what business is it of ours? I’m sure she’s an animal just like her father.” He glanced at his wife as if to seek her support.

  “Yes, just like her father,” said Umaima.

  “Damn her and her father,” spat Adham.

  “This argument is ruining our meal,” said Humam.

  “Don’t exaggerate,” said Umaima tenderly. “The happiest time is when we’re together.”

  Suddenly Idris’ voice could be heard from afar, bellowing curses and obscenities.

  “Morning prayers,” muttered Adham in disgust. He finished his breakfast and got up
, then went out to his cart and began pushing it in front of him, calling out, “Take care.” “Goodbye,” they answered. He headed off toward Gamaliya. Humam got up and took a side path to the enclosure, and before long the sheep were bleating loudly and the sound of their hoofs filled the path as they streamed out. Qadri rose, took his staff and waved goodbye to his mother, then followed his brother. As they neared Idris’ hut, he blocked their way.

  “What are you asking, big guy?”

  Qadri gazed at Idris with real curiosity while Humam avoided looking at him, but he persisted.

  “When may I expect a reply from the sons of the cucumber man?”

  “Go to the market if you want to buy,” said Qadri sharply.

  “What about if I decide to take one?” laughed Idris.

  “Please, Father, no scandals,” called Hind from inside the house.

  “Mind your business, you,” he answered her lightly. “I’m talking to the slave boys.”

  “We’re not bothering you—don’t bother us,” said Humam.

  “Oh, that’s Adham talking. You should be among the sheep, not behind them.”

  “My father told us not to answer your bullying,” said Humam angrily.

  Idris screeched with laughter. “God reward him—if it weren’t for that I’d have disgraced myself by now.” He added roughly, “You two are respectable people because of my good name. God damn you all! Get out of here!”

  They went on their way, occasionally waving their staffs.

  Still pale with rage, Humam spoke to Qadri. “What a bastard. That man is disgusting—even at this hour of the morning his breath stinks of liquor.”

  They drove the sheep from behind out into the desert.

  “He talks a lot,” said Qadri, “but he’s never harmed us.”

  “He’s stolen sheep from us more than once,” argued Humam.

  “He’s drunk, and unfortunately he’s our uncle, there’s no way around that.”

  Silence fell as they neared the big boulder; scattered clouds filled the sky, and sunlight saturated the vast desert.

  Humam could no longer contain what he wanted to say. “You’d be making a terrible mistake if you married into his family.”

  Qadri’s eyes shone with anger. “Save your advice. I get all I need from Father.”

  “Our life is bad enough,” continued Humam, still stung by Idris’ insults. “Don’t make it worse.”

  “Who cares if it kills you all, these troubles you create yourselves,” exclaimed Qadri. “I’ll do whatever I want.”

  They had reached the spot where the sheep grazed. Humam turned to his brother. “Do you think you won’t suffer the consequences of what you do?”

  Qadri grabbed Humam’s shoulder and shouted, “You’re just jealous.”

  Humam was shocked. He had not expected this from his brother, though on the other hand he was used to his surprises and outbursts. He removed Qadri’s hand from his shoulder and said only, “God help us.”

  Qadri folded his arms on his chest and nodded derisively.

  “The best thing I can do is leave you alone until you’re sorry,” said Humam. “You won’t admit you’re wrong. You won’t admit it until it’s too late.”

  He turned away and walked toward the shady side of the boulder. Qadri stood sullen-faced in the blazing sun.

  16

  Adham’s family was sitting in front of the hut, eating their supper by the dim starlight, when something happened whose like the desert had not seen since the expulsion of Adham. The mansion gate swung open and a figure with a lamp stepped out. All eyes turned to the lamp in speechless surprise, and followed it as it moved in the dark like an earth-bound planet. When it was halfway between the mansion and the hut, everyone focused on the human shape, trying to make it out by the reflected lamplight. “It’s old Karim, the gatekeeper of the mansion,” said Adham. Their surprise doubled when they realized that he was coming toward them; they all stood, some still holding food, some still chewing, but no one moving. The man came right up to them and stopped, his arm upraised.

  “Good evening, Adham, sir.”

  Adham trembled when he heard this voice for the first time in twenty years. It stirred in the depths of his memory the sound of his father’s deep voice, the fragrance of jasmine and henna and his homesickness and sorrows; the ground seemed unable to support him.

  “Good evening, Karim,” said Adham, blinking back tears.

  “I hope you and your family are well?” said the man with emotion he did not hide.

  “God be thanked, Karim.”

  “I would love to tell you what is in my heart, but I am commanded to tell you only that my master has sent for your son Humam to meet him, immediately.”

  There was silence and they exchanged glances in confusion until a voice asked, “Only Humam?”

  They turned around resentfully to see Idris, who was listening nearby, but old Karim did not reply. He raised his hand in farewell and headed back toward the mansion, leaving them in the dark.

  Furious, Idris shouted at him, “Walk away without answering me, you old bastard?”

  Qadri recovered from his shock, and asked angrily, “Why only Humam?”

  “Yes, why only Humam?” echoed Idris.

  “Go home and leave us in peace,” Adham told him, perhaps finding an escape from his crisis by speaking.

  “Peace? I stand where I want.”

  Humam looked silently at the mansion, his heart pounding so hard that he half imagined the sound echoed off of Muqattam Mountain.

  “Go to your grandfather, Humam,” said Adham resignedly. “Go in peace.”

  “And me?” Qadri turned menacingly to his father and asked sharply, “Aren’t I your son too?”

  “Don’t talk like Idris, Qadri. You are my son too. Don’t blame me, it’s not my fault—I didn’t invite him.”

  “But you could prevent him from discriminating between brother and brother,” complained Idris.

  “That’s none of your business.” Adham turned to Humam. “You have to go. Qadri’s turn will come, I’m sure of that.”

  “You’re a rotten father, just like your own father,” said Idris as he left. “Poor Qadri. Why is he being punished for nothing? Our family curse strikes the smart ones first! God damn this crazy family.”

  He left and was swallowed by the darkness.

  “You hate me!” Qadri shouted at Adham.

  “Don’t copy him. Come, Qadri—go on, Humam.”

  “I wish my brother could come,” said Humam in a wounded tone.

  “He’ll follow you.”

  “It’s unfair! Why does he prefer him to me? He doesn’t know either one of us, so why does he invite him?”

  “Go,” said Adham to Humam, giving him a push.

  “Be careful,” Umaima whispered, then hugged Qadri, crying, but he pushed her arms away and followed behind his brother.

  “Come back, Qadri!” Adham called. “Don’t risk your future.”

  “No power on earth will make me turn back,” said Qadri angrily.

  Umaima sobbed louder, and indoors the younger children cried too. Qadri took longer steps to catch up with his brother, and when he came alongside him in the dark he saw the figure of Idris, walking along holding Hind’s hand. When they arrived at the gate of the mansion, Idris pushed Qadri to the left of Humam and Hind to his right, then retreated a few steps.

  “Open up, Karim,” he shouted, “the grandchildren have come to see their grandfather.”

  The gate opened. On the threshold stood old Karim with his lamp. He spoke politely. “Kindly enter, Humam, sir.”

  “This is Humam’s brother Qadri,” Idris called out, “and this is Hind, who is the very picture of my mother, who died weeping.”

  “You know, Idris, sir, that no one may enter here who has not been invited.”

  He motioned to Humam, who entered. Qadri followed, holding Hind by the hand, but a severe voice Idris recognized sounded from the garden.

  �
��Go, in your sin, you pests!”

  They froze where they stood. The gate swung shut. Idris flew at them and grabbed them by the shoulders, and asked in a voice trembling with rage, “What sin is he talking about?”

  Hind squealed with pain as Qadri whirled around toward Idris and threw his hands off of his shoulder and Hind’s. She turned and ran, vanishing swiftly in the darkness. Idris stepped lightly back, then threw a punch which the boy absorbed despite its sharp impact; then Qadri punched him back even harder. They exchanged savage blows and kicks under the mansion wall.

  “I’ll kill you!” shouted Idris. “You son of a whore!”

  “I’ll kill you first!” shouted Qadri.

  They punched one another until blood ran from Qadri’s mouth and nose, and Adham came running like a madman. “Leave my boy alone, Idris.”

  “I’ll kill him for what he’s done,” screamed Idris.

  “I won’t let you kill him—I won’t let you live if you do kill him.”

  Hind’s mother arrived, screeching. “Hind has run away, Idris! Find her before she disappears!”

  Adham pushed himself between Idris and Qadri, and shouted at his brother, “Come on—you’re fighting over nothing. Your daughter is chaste, no one has touched her, but you frightened her and she ran away. Go find her before she disappears.”

  He clasped Qadri to him and dragged him back quickly, saying, “Hurry. Your mother had fainted when I left her.”

  Idris fled into the darkness, shouting as loudly as he could, “Hind! Hind!”

  17

  Humam followed old Karim down the path that led under the bower of jasmine toward the terrace. The night was a new thing here in the garden: sweet and pleasant, with the fragrance of flowers and herbs, whose delight filled the depths of his heart. The boy was overcome with a feeling of bliss and grandeur and a yearning love for this place; he knew that these were the most exalted moments of his life. His eyes picked up lights behind some of the windows’ half-blinds, and a powerful light from the door of the reception hall that threw a geometrical shape on the garden below. His heart pounded as he imagined life in the drawing rooms behind these windows—what it must be like, and who lived it—and pounded even harder when a strange truth occurred to him: that he was one of the family of this mansion, a product of this life, and now was meeting it face to face, as he stood barefoot in his simple blue galabiya and faded skullcap. They went up the steps and turned right at the terrace level toward a small door, which opened onto a stairway, and ascended in a silence like that of the tomb, until they came to a long gallery lit by a lamp suspended from the ornamented ceiling. They went to the great closed door in the middle of the gallery. “In some spot like this,” thought Humam, deeply touched, “perhaps in this very spot at the top of the stairs, my mother kept a lookout twenty years ago. What a depressing thought!” Old Karim rapped at the great door to request entry for Humam, pushed him along and stepped aside, motioning him to enter. The boy entered slowly, gracefully, and a little fearfully. He did not hear the door close behind him, and had only a strange feeling at the light that flickered in the ceiling and the corners. All his attention was drawn to the central spot where the man sat cross-legged on a cushioned seat. He had never seen his grandfather before, but had no doubt of the identity of the seated figure before him: who could this imposing being be if not his grandfather, of whom he had heard such marvels? He approached him, transfixed by the large-eyed gaze which overpowered the whole contents of his memory, yet filled his heart with safety and peace. He bowed so low that his forehead nearly touched the edge of the cushion, and extended his hand; the other gave his, which Humam kissed reverentially, then spoke with unexpected courage.