Khan Al-Khalili

8

In the evening he made his way to the Zahra Café again. He did not do so without a certain hesitation; frequenting cafés was not something he was used to doing, it was entirely new. His long-standing desire for cultural seclusion now found itself matched by his favorable impression of the café and its denizens. But for his desire to joust with Ahmad Rashid and lord it over the others, he certainly would not have found it so easy to abandon his normal reclusive habits. When he reached the café, he did not find Ahmad Rashid; when he asked after him, he was told that the pressures of work often prevented him from coming. Even so, the assembled company was by no means dull; both Boss Nunu and Boss Zifta, the café owner, managed to enliven it in their own unique way.

Ahmad Akif talked a lot and laughed a lot. He started enjoying spending time with people, and especially the more refined types; for him at least, consorting with such folk was just like someone who is dead tired surrendering to sleep. He returned home at ten, and spent a couple of hours reading; all the while the images from his new life were dancing in front of his eyes as he perused every line on the page (something he had never done in any detail before). Then he went to bed and fell asleep. He had no idea how long he slept, but he woke up with a start to hear a hateful sound. At first he did not realize what it actually was, then he did, and his heart gave a terrified leap. He jumped out of bed like a madman, felt his way into his slippers, and rushed over to the door. There he bumped into his parents, with a young servant leading the way.

“How do we get to the shelter?” his father asked in a quavering voice.

“I know the way, sir,” the servant replied for him.

The family rushed to the front door in total darkness and went out into the hallway, feeling their way down the spiral staircase. By this time everyone was awake, and the silence was broken by the sound of doors slamming and footsteps rushing down the stairs. There were anxious voices and nervous laughter. The caravan clung to the banisters and stumbled its way downstairs through the darkness, gripped by fear and panic. Ahmad’s family did not need their servant to guide them; the shadowy figures and sound of voices showed people where to go. Outside, the covered streets were just as dark as inside the houses, but the dim starlight made the other streets slightly less gloomy. They all felt the same as they had on that other hellish night — scared out of their wits; they kept lifting their eyes to the heavens whenever they loomed into view. They reached the entrance to the shelter amid a flood of people and went downstairs into the bowels of the earth.

They found themselves in a wide space; the powerful electric light blinded eyes that by now had become accustomed to the pitch darkness. The firm and well grounded walls and ceiling were enough to give observers a profound sense of relief. Long wooden benches were attached to the side walls while in the middle were piles of sand. Ahmad’s family made for one of the corners and sat themselves down, while other people distributed themselves on benches and in corners. There were not enough seats for everyone, so many people had to stand in the middle. At first everyone was scared. Neither the fact that they were together, nor the light, nor the solid walls were of any help in easing their intense anxiety. There followed a tense period of waiting, during which the looks in people’s eyes gave eloquent expression to what they were feeling inside.

“It’s 2 a.m.,” muttered his father, looking at his watch. “Same time as on that dreadful night!”

Ahmad was as scared as his father, or even more so. But he made an effort to appear calm. “That raid was a mistake. God willing, it won’t be repeated!”

Minutes passed in total silence. As time went by, a sense of security began to insinuate its way into the assembly. People started whispering and talking to each other. There was a lot of laughter, and people kept trying to reassure each other. Ahmad looked at the faces of the people next to them, but they were all strangers. Now everyone rushed to say something.

“They’ll never harm the place where al-Husayn’s head is buried!” said one man.

“Say, ‘God willing,’ ” responded another.

“Everything’s according to God’s will,” said a third.

“Hitler claims to have a profound respect for the Islamic countries.”

“Not only that. People say he’s actually a closet Muslim!”

“That’s not so surprising. Didn’t Shaykh Labib al-Taqi say that he saw in a dream Ali ibn Abi Talib — may God bless him — giving Hitler the sword of Islam?”

“Then why was Cairo bombed in the middle of the month?”

“That was al-Sakakini, the quarter where the majority of the inhabitants are Jews.”

“What do you suppose the Muslim peoples can expect from him?”

“Once the war is over, he’s going to restore Islam to its former glory. He will unite the Muslim peoples, and then alliances and treaties of friendship will be signed with Germany.”

“For that reason we pray that God will support him in his war efforts.”

“And he would not be victorious if his motives were not pure — our reward is ultimately a measure of our intentions.”

Ahmad listened to this conversation with a mixture of pleasure and disapproval. True enough, most of them were local folk, but even so it had never occurred to him that their sheer naiveté could reach such a level of illusion or that propaganda — if there were such a thing — had managed to achieve such a comic effect. In spite of that he was unwilling to deny himself the pleasure of this unconscious humor and would not have done so had he not spotted at that very moment his great rival, Ahmad Rashid, walking slowly past him. He jumped up, and they shook hands.

“I didn’t see you today,” Ahmad Akif said.

“No,” replied Ahmad Rashid in his dark spectacles, “I was busy studying a legal case.”

The very mention of the subject aroused his jealousy, and he made no comment.

“I see all our colleagues are here,” the lawyer went on, casting an eye over the assembled company, “but of course I don’t see Boss Nunu.”

“I’m surprised by his strange behavior,” said Ahmad with a smile.

“All summarized in the single phrase ‘God damn the world!’ ”

“For him it’s a slogan; you could almost call it his theme song.”

“He would have paid more heed to death if he were younger.”

“For him it’s a matter of faith.”

“He has a profound sense of God’s presence. Wherever he is, he keeps Him in mind and puts his trust in Him with all his heart. He has not the slightest doubt in his mind that God will never abandon him. That’s why you can see him indulging in every conceivable kind of outrage, firm in the belief that he’s going to receive God’s forgiveness and mercy.”

“I suppose he’s a happy man,” commented Ahmad Akif with a sigh.

“Fool’s paradise is more like it,” the young man retorted with a scoff. “That’s the happiness of ignorant fools and blind faith, the kind of happiness that tyrants enjoy by virtue of controlling the lives of simpletons. It’s really funny that I’ve despaired of ever discovering happiness among people of wisdom, and yet you seem to find it in such a stupid form. You need to search for genuine happiness within the framework of science and knowledge. If that makes you feel anxious, angry, or miserable, then look on that as a sign of a genuinely virtuous human existence, one that will rid society of its faults and the human soul of its illusions. When it comes to real happiness, Boss Nunu’s version of it only credits our suffering — those of us that support science and reform, that is — to the extent that he can privilege death with its would-be repose over the boons of life with all its struggles and tensions.”

The atmosphere in the bomb shelter had already made Ahmad Akif feel tense, so he did not feel up to arguing with him. “Don’t you think,” he responded with a smile, “that the very unthinking happiness that you’ve just talked about is letting him sleep soundly while we’re all down here sweating it out through the night?”

The young man had more self-control than Ahmad Akif and simply laughed. “He’s undoubtedly sleeping soundly at this very moment, undisturbed by anyone except for the quarter’s ‘husband lover.’ ”

The look on Ahmad Akif’s face made it obvious that he did not understand what his companion was talking about.

“Haven’t you heard about her?” the young lawyer asked with a smile. “She’s a terrific woman. Her official role is to be Abbas Shifa’s wife. Do you remember him? Every evening her house provides a warm welcome to a whole crowd of heads-of-household from this quarter. Boss Zifta, the café owner, calls her the quarter’s ‘husband lover.’ ”

This information startled Ahmad Akif. “You mean.…”

“Yes!”

“What about Abbas Shifa?”

“He’s her official husband, one who’s found both a trade and a profit in playing that role.”

“Is that why everyone makes such a fuss over him even though he’s so ugly and coarse?”

“He is a much esteemed personage!”

At that moment the image of the despicable man with his disheveled hair popped into his mind. Simultaneously, however, the young man moved away, and Ahmad went with him. Very slowly they passed by all the people standing and sitting until they spotted Sayyid Arif sitting beside a pretty young girl with a baby on her lap.

“That’s Sayyid Arif and his wife,” the young man whispered.

“His wife?” Ahmad asked abashed. “How did he get married to her?”

“The way people do,” Ahmad Rashid replied. “He’s a perfectly normal man, apart from a critical condition about which he remains hopeful, especially given those German pills, and he won’t.…”

Ahmad Rashid had no time to finish the sentence because at that moment he was interrupted by a loud bang followed by a whole string of others. Ahmad Akif’s heart skipped a beat. He felt as if his whole body gave a jolt, and that bothered him in case his great rival noticed. Total silence followed, and everyone looked panicked and scared.

“Those are the anti-aircraft guns,” people said as a way of reassuring themselves and everyone else, but all it managed to do — whether intentionally or not — was to make people even more nervous and angry.

A man came rushing in from the outside. “The sky’s full of searchlights,” he said.

That made people even more anxious. There were other explosions farther away which lasted for a while and then stopped. Once again there was complete silence, which went on for quite a while. People started to relax a bit. First there were a few whispers, then everyone burst into conversation.

“The disaster of random air raids won’t happen again!”

“Radio Berlin has apologized for the raid in mid-September.”

“It was an Italian raid. The Germans don’t make mistakes!”

Ahmad Rashid allowed himself a smile. “Do you see how fanatical these people are in supporting the Germans?” he said. “What about you? Are you the same way?”

As usual, Ahmad Akif relished the chance to empathize with the underdog. Since the majority were supporting the Germans, he was glad to express an opposing viewpoint. “No,” he replied, “I’m for the Allies, heart and soul. What about you?”

“I’ve just one hope,” said Ahmad Rashid, adjusting his spectacles. “I want the Russians to win, and then they can liberate the world from chains and illusions!”

They both moved away from the people who were chatting. At the very end of the other side of the shelter, to the right of the entryway, they spotted their friend Kamal Khalil with his family. Ahmad Akif looked at them carefully and saw a very fat woman, the young boy, Muhammad, still in his pajamas, and the beautiful girl with the honey-colored eyes. Now he could see for himself the game that love had played with him; he was thrilled to discover that the connection he had made a few hours earlier was correct. He could not keep on staring at her, so he turned away feeling delighted and fulfilled.

“Kamal Khalil and his family,” he heard Ahmad Rashid say.

“Is the girl his daughter?” he asked.

“Yes, he has Muhammad, Nawal, and an elder daughter who’s married.”

He sneaked another glance at her in order to fill himself with that lovely, simple expression so full of charm. She had wrapped herself in a winter coat, and her long black hair was done up in a thick plait. She was looking drowsy and let out a big yawn. At that point Kamal Khalil spotted them both and came over with a smile. They stood there chatting. Ahmad Akif realized that the fact that Kamal had come over to talk to them meant that the family must be paying attention to them; it was not out of the question that those two honey-colored eyes were looking him over — if they had not done so already — with his flowing gallabiya and white skullcap. He suddenly felt shy and blushed. Did she remember him, he wondered. But they did not stay talking for long, because the all-clear siren went off and the shelter resumed its normal busy routine. Ahmad Akif said farewell to his two companions and went back to his parents.

“So you leave us alone while the raid’s on,” said his father angrily, “and you come back when the all-clear is given!”

“God is always with us, whatever the circumstances!” said his mother with a laugh.

Moving very slowly they made their way amid the mass of people toward the shelter’s exit and climbed the stairs to the street. The light from windows illuminated the way as they climbed up to their apartment. As they went upstairs with everyone else, Ahmad could recognize Kamal Khalil’s voice. Ahmad hurried to his bedroom in the hope of getting to sleep again, but for a long time all he could see were those two honey-colored eyes and the lovely image they presented.