Midaq Alley

24

"Why were you late?" her mother asked Hamida.

"Oh, Zainab invited me over to her house and I went with her," she replied, quite unconcerned.

Her mother then told her the news that they were soon to attend the wedding of Mrs. Saniya Afify. She also announced that the lady was giving Hamida a dress so that she could attend the wedding reception. The girl did her best to appear delighted and sat for a whole hour listening to her mother's prattle. Then they had supper and retired to the bedroom. Hamida slept on an old sofa while her foster mother stretched out on a mattress on the floor.

The older woman was sound asleep in a few minutes, filling the room with her snores, while Hamida lay staring at the closed window, its shutters letting in a little light from the cafe below. She lay there, recalling all the events of the bewildering day, and she remembered every single word and action that had taken place. She relived it all over again, wondering how such fantastic adventures could have happened to her. Despite her state of confusion, she was happy and unafraid, her happiness fed by her satisfied vanity and her instinctive love for adventure. She remembered how, entering the alley, she had wished she had never seen the man, but this thought found no echo in her heart. The truth was that she had learned more about herself in that one day than she had known in her whole life.

It was as if that man had crossed her path deliberately to uncover what was buried inside her, spreading it all before her eyes as though reflected by a mirror. She had said, "No," when she left him, but she really had had no other choice. Anyway, what did her refusal mean exactly? Did it mean that she must keep hidden in her house waiting for the return of Abbas, the barber? Oh God, no! There was no longer any place for him in her life. His memory was erased and she would never let it return. All the barber could possibly give her was one of those wretched marriages and the inevitable pregnancies and children, giving birth to them on the sidewalks among the flies, and with all the other hateful ugliness of the picture she could see so clearly. Yes, she had no desire for motherhood as was the case with so many other girls she knew. In fact, the alley women were far from slandering her when they accused her of hardness and abnormality. What was she to do, then? Her heart beat fast and she bit so hard on her lips that they almost bled. She knew what she wanted and what her soul yearned for. Before today she was in a state of uncertainty, but now the veil was lifted and her goal stood before her clearly.

It seemed extraordinary that, lying there, she saw no serious difficulty in choosing the path she would follow. There was simply her dull past and an exciting future. The truth was that without realizing she had chosen her path. She had chosen this man when she was in his arms in his flat. Outwardly she was angry, while inwardly she danced with joy. Her face had gone pale with rage while her dreams and hopes breathed new life and happiness. Apart from this, she felt no scorn for him for a single instant; he had been, and still was, her life, her hope, her strength, and her happiness. Her hate had only been aroused by his self-confidence when he said, "You will come back to me!"

Yes, she would go back. But he would pay a high price for this conceit of his. Her love was neither worship nor submission, but rather a constant heated battle. How long she had suffocated in that house and in the alley! How she yearned for release into the light, to dignity and to power. Was there any other way of slipping the noose of the past except with this man who had lighted such a fire within her? But she would not go crawling to him, shouting, "I am your slave forever. Do with me what you will." Her love was not like this. Neither would she speed off to him like a bullet and yell, "I am your lady mistress; submit to me!" No, she had no wish either to be or to have a passive lover. She would go to him, her heart filled with hopes and desires, and say, "I have come with all my strength, so give me all of yours too. Let us fight until death. Give me the dignity and happiness I long for." It was thanks to him that her path was now clear. How she hoped she would never lose it again, even though she had bought it with her very life.

Nevertheless, her night was not entirely free from thoughts that detracted from her resolution a little. She asked herself what people would be saying about her on the street the next day. Their answer came back in two words: "A whore!" Her mouth went dry at the thought and she remembered the quarrel she had once had with one of her factory girlfriends, when she had shouted, "You streetwalker! Prostitute!", reproaching her for working like a man and wandering in the streets. What then would be said of her? The thought made her toss and turn in distress. However, nothing in the world could have altered her decision. She had made her choice with all her strength and it was the one she really wanted. She was sliding down her chosen route and all that blocked her way to the pit were a few pebbles.

Her thoughts suddenly turned to her mother and once again she heard her snoring, which she had been quite unaware of in the last long hour. She could imagine her state the next day when she would despair after her long period of waiting. Hamida remembered how the woman had sincerely loved her. So much so that she had only rarely felt a sense of not having a real mother. She recalled how she loved her too, despite their frequent quarrels. It was as if these feelings of affection were hidden deeply within her and only now beginning to move.

She told herself, "I have no father and no mother; he is all I really have in the world." Thus she managed to put the past behind her and set her thoughts on the future and what it might bring. Insomnia possessed her and her head and forehead burned with fatigue. She lay wishing that the torment would cease and that she could close her eyes and only open them in the light of tomorrow. She tried to kill all thoughts swarming in her mind. For a time she succeeded. However, the sound of voices coming from Kirsha's cafe disturbed her even more and she lay cursing them and accusing them of deliberately driving sleep from her.

"Sanker, change the water in the pipes!" That was the voice of that filthy hashish addict Kirsha. "Oh, sir, may our Lord give her her just desserts." That was that dumb brute Uncle Kamil. "So what? Everything has its cause." That was that bleary-eyed, dirty Dr. Booshy. Suddenly, she had a vision of her lover in his usual seat between Kirsha and Sheikh Darwish, blowing kisses at her, and her heart throbbed violently. Her mind produced a picture of that apartment building and that luxurious room and she could hear his voice ringing in her ears as he whispered, "You will come back to me…" Oh God, when would sleep have pity on her?

"Peace be upon you all, brothers." That was the voice of Radwan Hussainy, who advised her mother to refuse the hand of Salim Alwan before he had been struck ill. What would he say tomorrow when the news reached him? Let him say what he liked; curses on all the alley people! Her insomnia became a wrestling match and almost a sickness as she lay there turning from side to back, to front. So the long night slowly passed, oppressive and exhausting. The decisive importance of tomorrow made her sleeplessness all the more painful.

A little before dawn a deep sleep settled over her, but she woke again at daybreak. Suddenly her thoughts all rushed back to her, as though they had been awake long before she was. Now she felt no indecision and merely asked herself impatiently how long it would be before sunset. She told herself she was now merely a passing visitor in the alley, she was no longer part of it, or it a part of her, just as her lover had said. She rose and opened the window, folded her mother's mattress and piled it into one corner. Then she swept the flat and washed the outer hall floor. She ate her breakfast alone, for her mother had left the house to attend to her endless affairs. Hamida then went to the kitchen and found a bowl of lentils, which her mother had left her to cook for their lunch. She set about picking them over and washing them, lit the stove, and stood talking to herself. "This is the last time I will do any cooking in this house… perhaps it's the last time in my life I will do any cooking. When will I ever eat lentils again?" It wasn't that she disliked lentils, but she knew they were the staple food of the poor. Not that she really knew anything about what rich people ate, except that it was meat and meat and meat.

Her mind set to work imagining her future food and how she would dress and adorn herself, her face beaming at the delightful dreamy thoughts. At noon she left the kitchen and took a bath. She combed her hair slowly and carefully and twisted it into a long thick pigtail that reached down to the lower part of her thighs. She put on her best clothes, but the shoddy appearance of her underwear embarrassed her and her bronze face turned red. She wondered how she could possibly go off to him as a bride dressed in clothes like these, and her face went pale again at the thought. Hamida made up her mind not to give herself to him until she had exchanged these shabby clothes for pretty new ones. This idea appealed to her, and all of a sudden she was filled with joy and passion.

She stood at the window, gazing down in farewell at the quarter where she had lived, her eyes moving quickly from spot to spot; the bakery, Kirsha's cafe, Uncle Kamil's shop, the barbershop, Salim Alwan's business premises, and Radwan Hussainy's house. Everywhere she looked memories flamed before her, like flares set alight by the matches of her imagination.

Surprising though it seems, Hamida stood there all this time cold and resolute, feeling not the slightest love or affection for either the alley or its inhabitants. The bonds of neighborliness and friendship were quite broken between her and the majority of the other women of the neighborhood; people like Mrs. Kirsha, who had suckled her, and the bakeress. Even the wife of Radwan Hussainy was not spared the sting of her tongue.

One day she learned that the woman had described her as foulmouthed. Hamida watched closely until a day when Mrs. Hassainy went to the roof of her house to hang her washing. Like a flash, Hamida climbed to her own roof, which adjoined the Hussainys', and climbed to the intervening wall to confront her. She shouted in scornful sarcasm, "Oh, what a pity, Hamida, that you have such a foul mouth! You are unfit to live among the fine ladies of the alley, daughters of pashas that they are!" Mrs. Hussainy preferred to keep her peace and took refuge in silence.

Hamida's eyes rested long on Alwan's office as she recalled how he had asked her to marry him and how she had remained drunk with dreams of riches, for a day and a half. How she had burned with regret at having to let him slip through her fingers! But then, what an amazing difference there could be between one man and another. Even though Salim Alwan had, with all his wealth, moved one side of her heart, this other man had moved it completely, so that he had almost plucked it whole. Her eyes moved on to the barbershop and she remembered Abbas. She wondered what he would do when he came back one day and found no trace of her? At the thought of their last parting on the stairs, her heart almost stopped, and she wondered how on earth she could have given him her lips to kiss.

She turned on her heels and moved to the sofa, even more determined and resolute than before. At noon her foster mother returned and they ate lunch together. During the meal Umm Hamida said to her daughter, "I'm trying to arrange a wonderful marriage. If I can bring it off, then God will have made our future secure." Hamida asked indifferently about this marriage, not really paying any attention to what was said. Many times Umm Hamida had said this sort of thing and all it produced was a few pounds and some meat to eat.

When her mother lay down for a nap after lunch, Hamida sat on the sofa looking at her. This was the day she was to say goodbye forever; she would probably never again set eyes on her foster mother. For the first time she felt weak at the thought. Her heart went out to the woman who had sheltered and loved her and been the only mother she had known. Hamida wished she could at least kiss her goodbye.

Late afternoon came and she wrapped herself in her cloak and put on her slippers, her hands trembling with emotion, her heart thumping violently. There was nothing to do but leave her mother without saying a proper goodbye. She was unhappy at the thought as she looked at the woman lying blissfully unaware of what the next day would bring. It was time to leave and Hamida gazed at her mother and spoke: "Goodbye, then…"

"Goodbye," Umm Hamida replied, "don't be late."

As she left that flat, her face showed strain and, disregarding all, she moved through the alley for the last time. From Sanadiqiya, she walked into Ghouriya and then turned off toward New Street. She walked at a measured pace. Eventually after some hesitation and apprehension she looked up and saw him waiting exactly where he had been the day before. Her cheeks burned as a strong wave of rebellion and anger swept through her. She longed to have her revenge on him and thus regain her peace of mind. She lowered her gaze but then wondered if he was now smiling in that insolent way of his. Nervously she lifted her eyes and found him quiet and serious, his almond-shaped eyes merely expressing hope and concern. Her anger subsided and she walked past him, expecting that he would speak or take her hand as he had done the previous day. Instead, he pretended to ignore her and she hurried on until a bend in the street hid her from sight. Then he slowly set out after her. Now she realized that he was being more cautious and treating the whole affair in a more serious manner. She walked on until she almost reached the end of New Street. Suddenly she stopped, as if she had just remembered something. She turned on her heels and started walking back and he followed her anxiously. He whispered, "Why have you turned back?"

She hesitated, then said uneasily, "The factory girls…"

Relieved at this reply, he suggested, "Let's go into Azhar Street, no one will see us."

Still keeping their distance, they made their way in complete silence down Azhar Street. Hamida realized that, by saying what she did, she had announced her final surrender. They arrived at Queen Farida Square without saying a word. Because she did not know where to go now, she stopped. She heard him call a taxi and suddenly he opened the door for her to enter. She raised a foot to step in and that one movement marked the dividing point between her two lives.

The car had scarcely begun to move when in a trembling voice he said with consummate skill, "God only knows how much I have suffered, Hamida… I didn't sleep a single hour all last night. You, my darling, don't know what love is. Anyway, today I feel happy. No, I am almost mad with joy. How can I believe my eyes? Thank you, my love, thank you. I will make rivers of happiness flow beneath your feet. How magnificent diamonds will look around your neck!" (He stroked it gently.) "How beautiful gold will look on your arm!" (He kissed it.) "How marvelous lipstick will look on your lips!" (He moved his head toward her trying to kiss her, but she prevented him and he kissed her cheek instead.) "Oh, what a shy temptress you are!"

After a moment he got his breath back and went on, a smile on his lips: "Say farewell now to your days of hardship! From now on nothing will cause you discomfort… Why, even your breasts will be held away from you by supports of silk!"

She was delighted to hear all this and felt not a trace of anger, even though she did blush. She yielded her body submissively to the movement of the taxi, carrying her away from her past life. The car stopped before the building that was to be her home. She stepped out and they walked quickly up to the apartment. It was just as it had been the day before, filled with voices coming from behind the closed doors. They went into the luxurious room and he said, laughing, "Take off your cloak and we will both burn it."

Her face red, Hamida mumbled, "I didn't bring my clothes with me."

"Well done," he shouted happily. "You'll need nothing from the past."

He sat her down in an armchair and walked to and fro across the room. Then he turned toward an elegant door beside a tall mirror and pushed it open, revealing a most attractive bedroom.

"Our room," he said.

Hamida at once replied resolutely, "Oh no… oh no… I am going to sleep here."

He looked at her piercingly and then replied resignedly, "No, you will sleep inside and I will sleep here."

She made up her mind that she was not going to be taken like a sheep. She had no intention of submitting until she had satisfied her desire to be stubborn and difficult.

It was obvious he sensed this, for he smiled ironically to express his resigned submission. Then he spoke with pride and delight: "Yesterday, my darling, you called me a pimp. Now allow me to present my true self to you. Your lover is the headmaster of a school, and you will learn everything when the time comes."