Khan Al-Khalili

14

Then came the Night of Power during the blessed month of Ramadan. The family celebrated it in style: the breakfast table was graced with roasted chicken and a tray of kunafa. At suppertime Sitt Dawlat started by wishing her husband good health and her children long life and happiness. Akif Effendi, the father of the household, went to the al-Husayn Mosque to witness the celebration put on by a group of Qur’an readers on this most favored of nights.

The night was a happy one, but just before dawn, as the family was going to bed, the air-raid sirens went off. They put on their clothes and rushed down to the shelter along with all the other inhabitants of the apartment building. By now they were all so thoroughly familiar with the route that they did not need any help from servants. Ahmad felt both alarmed and secretly happy, the latter because the shelter would bring him that much closer to Nawal; he could feast his eyes on her beloved countenance. Once in the shelter, he noticed Ahmad Rashid and Sayyid Arif chatting, so he went over and joined them. They were standing close to the most visible corner of the room.

“Have you heard what Sayyid Effendi has just told me?” Ahmad Rashid asked as soon as he saw Ahmad Akif. “He says that Sulayman Ata was engaged to the daughter of the perfumer today!”

“That’s right,” said Sayyid Arif with a smile, “a truly blessed event!”

“Just see how money can have its way with beauty,” Ahmad Rashid commented angrily. “The very worst aspect of this world of ours is the way lofty virtues and values can be subjected to animal necessities. How could that lovely girl have allowed herself to give her hand to such a foul ape? Their union is not a real marriage, it’s a double crime: robbery on the one hand and rape on the other. Her beauty will continue to reflect his ugliness, while his ugliness will reflect her crass greed.”

He gave a cryptic smile, then went on, “Such a crime could never be committed in a socialist system!”

Someone else chimed in at this point. “Didn’t they tell us,” he asked angrily, “that the Germans wouldn’t be conducting air raids during Ramadan?”

Sayyid Arif looked in his direction. “The English are bombing Tripoli,” he said, “and they’re Muslims too.” He then turned to his two companions. “There’s no military reason for the English to bomb Tripoli,” he said with complete confidence. “They just want to force the Germans to bomb Cairo!”

Ahmad Akif did not pay any attention to the discussion; but stared silently through the indifferent throng. However, he did not have much time to enjoy it, because a gruff voice suddenly yelled, “Shut up, everyone! Aircraft noise!” With that, the entire place fell silent, with everyone listening.

“No, it’s not,” another voice chimed in. “That’s the police car!”

“Yes it is,” the first voice insisted. “It’s aircraft noise. Listen!”

Everyone listened, and sure enough, there was the sound of a plane diving from high in the sky. Ahmad’s heart gave a leap. He looked over at his parents; his mother had her eyes aimed at the ceiling, while his father had his closed. Then they heard the sound of an anti-aircraft gun being fired in the distance, followed by intermittent gunfire. For a moment the noise stopped, but then it resumed even louder than before. Now the gunfire was non-stop and completely random. Everyone began to panic and started blathering hysterically.

Someone who was feeling scared tried desperately to sound calm. “That explosion was Almaza for sure,” he said.

Everyone took comfort from what he said, albeit unconsciously.

Ahmad went over to his parents. “How are you, Papa?” he asked, even though he was feeling as scared and edgy as everyone else.

“God our Creator is here!” was his father’s quavering response.

The sound of gunfire continued, and its sources became even more numerous. Sayyid Arif started identifying the source of every single round of fire, as though he was some kind of expert on the subject. “Abbasiya that one,” “Almaza,” “Bulaq,” “that one’s from the Citadel,” and so on.

This was followed by a round of fire that was the loudest yet. “That’s a German gun,” said Sayyid Arif. “The government purchased it from Germany before the war.”

People started getting aggravated at this kind of talk and told them to stop. The noise intensified, and there were yet more moments of extremely violent gunfire which went on for quite a while. Everyone’s nerves were on edge. In actuality, it was not a very long time, but the tense period involved needed to be measured more in terms of rapid breathing and pounding hearts. It felt as though everyone was carrying the burdens of fate on their shoulders.

Gradually, the gunfire began to slow down, and then it could only be heard from one direction. Finally the last gun fell silent, and silence ensued. No one knew, needless to say, whether the firing would resume or the night’s punishment was at an end. Even so, people who had been feeling as if their very souls had come close to being seared, now began to relax a bit. There was a short period of silence, then the all-clear sirens went off. Everyone stood up, intoning the shahada as they did so.

Ahmad glanced over at his beloved goal. She was looking in his direction, and their eyes met. That made him so happy that it swept away all the traces of fear and panic he had just been feeling. He watched as she went ahead of her family toward the shelter door; when she reached it, she turned and gave him a very meaningful look. With that she went quickly up the stairs. Ahmad was so overjoyed by the situation that he assumed that she wanted him to follow her; after all, eyes are like instincts — they have their own secret and silent language. His innate shyness held him back, and yet the way she had rushed outside gave him a temporary courage that managed to overcome his shyness and hesitancy.

He headed toward the door ahead of his parents and their servant and made his way up the stairs, wondering all the while if he would run into her in front of the door. What was he supposed to say or do? However, he saw that her shadow had moved several yards away in the direction of the apartment. They were the only two who had left the shelter thus far; if he quickened his pace, he could catch up with her.

In less than a second, he would be able to walk with her along Ibrahim Pasha Street and go up the staircase together, alone. These ideas occurred to him immediately, but he didn’t make a move; actually he did move, but just a few steps. The distance between them actually increased until she was almost at the entrance to the building. Once again his bashfulness got the better of him. He started looking behind him as though asking his parents to catch up and get him out of this fix. With that, all fear, hesitation, desire, and hope came to an end.

In the company of his parents he made his way silently back to the apartment building, feeling a heartfelt sense of regret. As they started climbing the stairs, he looked up sadly, fully aware that if he had only been able to overcome his fears he could have had her to himself. Even so, he was still asking himself what he would have said to her. Just suppose he had plucked up the necessary courage and greeted her, and she in turn had greeted him with a smile, a word, or a gesture — notwithstanding the entire issue of how he should greet her, which posed a problem of its own. What was he supposed to say? “Good morning,” “Hello!” “Peace be upon you!” or what? Suppose he had done that, and she had replied, then what? Would they have said nothing else until they parted company by the door of his apartment? What are lovers supposed to say in situations like this? How many of them there are! In streets and on boats they whisper and confide in each other, so how was it he had lost the knack of speaking in their favorite tongue?

As he went back to his room, he was full of remorse, but still delighted. In fact, he was veritably drunk with the kind of happiness that is the heart’s most pleasant sensation of all. Whatever the case might be, he could not forget the way her look had issued a call to him — that in itself being one of the wonders of delight in the canons of emotion. In and of itself, that was enough to justify the particular joy he was feeling despite his bashfulness and regret. He glanced over at the window — which by now he was calling “Nawal’s window”—and his besotted heart urged him to look up to the balcony. Opening the window he looked up and, to his astonishment, saw that the door was open, the light in the room was lit, and the girl was standing right by the door. What on earth could have led her to stand by the door at this early hour? He could see her shadow, but the features of her face were obscured because the light was behind her. It was the same with his room, meaning that she could only see his shadow too. That was enough to encourage him to stay and stare at her. He had not been standing there for very long when he had the most wonderful surprise in his whole life: she greeted him with a gesture of her head! He was stunned, but this time it was not enough to stop him; he too nodded his head in greeting. The girl was obviously shy; as he watched, she went back inside and closed the balcony door. Then the light was turned off. Ahmad just stood there for a while, unaware of either the passage of time or of his own self. Shutting the window, he sank to his knees, placed his palms on his chest, and prayed in a low voice, “O God, praise and thanks be to Thee!”