Midaq Alley

20

From that evening on, he came regularly to Midaq Alley. He would come in the late afternoon, sit smoking a water pipe and sipping tea. His sudden appearance and his air of respectable tidiness caused much surprise in the cafe, but eventually the regulars' astonishment diminshed as they grew accustomed to him. After all, there was nothing unusual in his frequenting a cafe that was open to any passerby. Nevertheless, he annoyed Kirsha by always settling his bill with large notes, sometimes as much as a whole pound. He delighted the waiter Sanker by giving him tips greater than he had ever received.

Hamida watched his daily coming and going, her eyes and heart filled with excitement and anticipation. At first, she refrained from her usual walk, because of her shabby clothing. It annoyed her that her usually fearless character was now forced into confinement and retreat by a total stranger. She was fascinated by the bank notes the man held out to Sanker, and quite naturally they made a strong impression on her. Money might be a dead tongue in other places, but in Midaq Alley it was very much a live language.

Although the stranger was careful to conceal his reason for frequenting the cafe, he did not hesitate to glance up at her window. When his mouth touched the water pipe he puffed his lips slightly. He would then send the smoke high into the air, as though dispatching a kiss to her behind the window. She watched this with mixed emotions of pleasure, outrage, and flattery.

She told herself that she should go for her usual walk, and if he approached her — and she knew he would — she would fling at him all the insults she could think of, and shatter his smug self-confidence. She would attack him so viciously that he would never forget her as long as he lived. This was the very least he deserved for his conceit and impudence. To hell with him! What made him think he could treat her like a common streetwalker? No humiliation was too much for him. She longed to go now and publicly insult him before the whole cafe. But oh, if she only had a nice cloak.

He entered her life at a time when she was overcome with despair. Salim Alwan had collapsed near death after giving her a day and a half of hope for the life she had always wanted, and now this had happened, after she had banished Abbas from her dreams. Because she now knew there was no hope of marrying Alwan, she renewed her engagement to the barber, even though she felt only scorn for him.

She refused to submit passively to her ill fortune and slandered her mother, saying that she envied her and coveted Alwan's wealth, and that this was why God had changed her fortune. This, then, was her state of mind when the new man came into her life. His arrogance infuriated and fascinated her. Yet his respectable appearance and his handsome masculinity attracted her. She saw in him qualities she had never before known in a man; strength, money, and a fighting disposition. Try as she did, she could not sort out her feelings for him. She was attracted to him and yet she had an uncontrollable desire to choke him. Perhaps by taking a walk she would find escape from her confusion; maybe in the street she could challenge him as he had her. This way she could release her indignation and also obey her deep impulse to fight — and to be attracted.

One afternoon she dressed carefully, wrapped her cloak around her, and left the flat in a carefree mood. Soon she was making her way unconcernedly up the alley. As she turned off into Sanadiqiya Street the thought struck her that he would probably misinterpret her going out like this. Wouldn't his vanity tell him that she had left the house purposely to meet him? He did not know of her daily walks, and so many days had passed without him seeing her leave the house. Anyway, no doubt he would follow her and approach her in the street and she refused to care what he might think. She would welcome whatever his vanity told him, so long as it encouraged him. So she danced off to meet him, her heart poised for a skirmish of any sort.

Despite her leisurely pace, she soon reached New Street. She imagined him jumping from his seat in the cafe and hurrying toward Ghouriya, his eyes searching everywhere for her. She could almost see him at her back, his tall body hurrying forward, while her eyes scarcely saw the confusion of people, cars, and carts in the street. Could he have caught sight of her? Was he wearing that evil smile? Let him go to the devil, to whom he belonged. The beast had no idea what was in store for him. She must be careful not to look back, for one backward glance could be worse than total defeat. Even now perhaps only a few steps separated them. Why was he taking so long? Would he just follow her, like a homeless dog? Or would he overtake her to let her see him? Perhaps he would walk by her side and begin talking to her.

She continued on her way alert and on edge. Her eyes watched everyone before her and those who might overtake her, just as her ears strained for the sound of approaching footsteps. Her apprehension was extreme, and she longed to glance behind her. However, her stubborn determination restrained her. Suddenly she saw her factory girlfriends approaching her. She emerged quickly from her confused state and released a smile. She greeted them and they asked why she had been away for several days. Hamida pretended illness. She walked along chatting and joking with them while her eyes scanned both sides of the street. Where could he be? Perhaps he could see her from where he could not be seen. The opportunity to teach him a lesson was obviously gone now. Could he be following along behind the girls? This time she could not restrain herself and she looked back, examining the street carefully. He was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was slow in leaving the cafe and had lost sight of her. Perhaps at this very moment he was searching the streets for her. When they approached Darasa Street, it occurred to her that he would probably appear here, suddenly, just as Abbas had done one day. Her hopes now brightened and her spirits rose as she said goodbye to her companions. She walked slowly homeward and turned her gaze everywhere in the street. But it was empty, or rather empty of the one she wanted. Her spirits dropped; she covered the last part of the way home feeling utterly defeated. As she made her way up the alley she stared at the cafe and gradually she could see Kirsha coming into sight, beginning with the hem of his cloak, then his left shoulder, until at last his dream-filled head came into view. Then there he was, sitting clutching the stem of his water pipe. Her heart throbbed and the blood rushed to her face as she dashed into the house, scarcely able to see before her. She scarcely managed to reach her room before she hurled her cloak on the floor and flung herself in an armchair seething with rage.

Then who was it he came to see every evening? And why did he stare at her like that? And who were those secret kisses for that he blew into the air? Could it be there was no connection between his coming there every evening and what she imagined? Were these thoughts of hers just misleading fancies? Or had he deliberately ignored her today, to teach her a lesson or to torture her. Was he playing cat and mouse? She felt an urge to hurl a water pitcher down at his head. Her confusion and rage were extreme but now she definitely knew one thing — that she wanted him to follow her in the street.

But what would she do then? Give him hell! But why should she want to take out her humiliation on him? It was that smile of his that caused all the trouble. Yes, she knew she could meet that smile and others like it. Deep within her she burned to match her strength with his masculinity, courage, and conceit.

She remained seated in the armchair, her mood totally bestial. Then she turned to the window, looked at it, and crept forward until she was behind it. She peeped out from the shutters, so that she could see and yet not be seen, shielded by the shade engulfing the room. There he was sitting smoking his water pipe in obvious peace and contentment. He appeared lost in a world all his own and his face showed no sign of that arrogant smile. She stared down at him filled with an anger that increased her humiliation.

Hamida remained there until her mother called her for supper and spent a restless night plotting her revenge. The following morning she was deeply depressed; she looked forward to the afternoon with apprehension. Before, she had never doubted he would come, but today she felt uncertain. All day she watched the sunlight move across the street and creep slowly up the cafe wall. It seemed strange to fear he would not come. His usual time came but there was no sign of him. Minute by minute passed until it was now clear that he would not appear. This confirmed her suspicions that he had deliberately stayed away. She smiled and sighed in relief. There was no reason why she should feel relieved but her instinct told her that if he stayed away today, then there was no doubt that he had deliberately refrained from following her the day before. If such was the case she need not feel frustrated. On the contrary, he was obviously putting all his skill and cunning into the chase. He was still on the battlefield, even though he could not be seen. She was delighted and relieved with her analysis of the matter. Now she was once again ready for the contest, this time with a renewed determination.

She felt restless, and wrapped herself in her cloak and went out, not even bothering to check her appearance as she had the day before. The cool air of the street refreshed her, lightening the day's anxieties. She walked along muttering angrily, "What a fool I am! Why did I torture myself like that? To hell with him!"

She hurried on, met her friends, and started back with them. They told her a member of their group would soon marry a young man named Zanfal, who worked in Saidham's grocery shop.

One of the girls commented, "You got engaged before her, but she'll probably marry before you."

This remark upset Hamida and she replied indignantly, "My fiance is away earning money so we can lead a good life."

She expressed this pride in her fiance against her will. Then she recalled how God had struck down Salim Alwan, as He does everything useless. She felt that life was the only enemy she did not know how to deal with.

She said goodbye to her friends at the end of Darasa Street and turned to go back the way she came. Only a few yards away she saw him, standing on the sidewalk as if early for a rendezvous. She stared at him for a few seconds in a state of shock, then continued on her way in a daze. She was sure he had planned for this unexpected encounter. He was organizing things quietly in his own way, each time making certain of catching her in a state of complete confusion. She summoned all her scattered resources in an attempt to work up a rage. It infuriated her that she had not dressed carefully.

The air was quite still in the brown hues of the sunset and the street was now almost deserted. He stood still, waiting for her to come nearer, a humble expression on his face. When she approached him he spoke quietly: "He who endures the bitterness of waiting attains…"

Hamida did not hear the end of the sentence because he mumbled it without taking his eyes off hers. She said nothing and quickened her pace.

He walked along with her.

"Hello, hello," he said in a deep voice. "I almost went crazy yesterday. I couldn't run after you because of what people would think. Day after day I have waited for you to come out, and when the chance came without my being able to take it, I almost went mad."

All this time he looked at her tenderly with no trace of the expression that had enraged her. There was no hint of challenge or victory; instead his words were more like a lover's lament. What could she possibly do now? Should she ignore him and walk faster and thus perhaps end the whole affair? She could do this so easily but she got no encouragement from her heart. It was as though she had been waiting for this meeting since that first day she saw him. Now her feelings were those of a woman quite sure of herself.

As for the man, he played his part skillfully, weaving his words in a clever fashion. Fear had not deterred him the previous day. His instinct and experience told him the time was not right for pursuit, just as today he knew that tenderness and humility were his best weapons.

"Slow down a little," he said, coming abreast of her. "I've something to…"

"How dare you speak to me? You don't know me!" Her voice was shrill and angry now.

"We're old friends… These past few days I've seen you more than your neighbors have in years. I've thought more about you, more than those closest to you ever could. How can you say I don't know you?"

He spoke calmly and without hesitation. She listened carefully, doing her best to remember every word. Taking care to conceal the natural harshness in her voice, she now spoke in a modulated tone: "Why are you following me?"

"Why am I following you?" he asked in mock surprise. "Why do I neglect my business and sit in the cafe looking up at your window? Why have I given up my whole world and gone to live in Midaq Alley? And why have I waited for so long?"

"I didn't ask you so you could answer with those stupid questions," she snapped. "I just don't like you following me and talking to me."

"Didn't you know that men follow beautiful women wherever they are? This is a basic principle of life. If a girl like you were not followed, then there's something wrong in the world; it would mean that the day of resurrection were indeed near."

At that she turned into an alley where her friends lived. She hoped they might see her being courted by this handsome man in a European suit. She could see the mosque square looming ahead in the distance:

"Go away," she said. "People know me here."

His gaze fixed on her told him she was enjoying every minute of this intrigue. A smile crossed his lips, which, had she seen it, would have kindled her fighting spirit.

"But this isn't your quarter, nor are these people relatives of yours. You are completely different. You don't belong here at all."

His words pleased her more than anything anyone had ever said to her. He continued to speak: "How can you live among these people? Who are they compared to you? You are a princess in a shabby cloak, while these peasants strut in their new finery…"

"What's it to do with you? Go away," she said angrily.

"I will never go away."

"What do you want?" she asked.

With extraordinary audacity, he answered, "I want you, nothing but you." This directness almost made her stumble.

"I wish you were dead," she blurted out.

"God forgive you. Why are you angry? Aren't you on this earth to be taken? And I'm just the one to take you."

They passed several shops on their way when suddenly she turned to him and shouted, "Don't take another step. If you do…"

"You'll hit me?" he asked, with that sardonic smile.

"Indeed I will."

"We'll see. Now I must leave you, but I'll wait for you every day. I won't return to the cafe, so no one will be suspicious. But I'll wait for you every single day… every day. God be with you then. You're the lovliest creature God ever created."

She continued on her way in a trancelike state of ecstasy. "You are different." Yes, and what else had he said? "You don't belong here… Aren't you on this earth to be taken?… And I'm just the one to take you." And then he had asked, "You will hit me?" She hurried along scarcely aware of anything about her. When she reached her room she came to her senses a bit. She asked herself how she could talk to a strange man without feeling the slightest shame. Yes, she had done just as she pleased. She laughed out loud. Then she recalled how she had wanted to dig her fingernails in his neck, and she felt sad for a moment. She made excuses to herself that he had spoken to her most politely, even showing more than common courtesy. Yet she sensed he was really a tiger waiting to pounce. She determined to withhold judgment till he revealed his true self. And then? How sorry she'd make him!