Midaq Alley

29

Salim Alwan had scarcely finished signing the contract on his desk when the man sitting opposite him grasped his hand and said, "Well done, indeed, Salim Bey. This is a great deal of money."

Salim sat watching the man as he passed through the office door. A profitable deal, indeed. He had sold his entire tea stock to this man. He made a good profit and lost a burdensome worry, especially since his health could no longer bear the strains of the black market. Despite all this, he still told himself angrily, "A great deal of money, yes, but with a curse on it. There seems to be a curse on everything in my life." It was true what people said, that only a faint shadow of the old Salim Alwan remained.

His nerves were slowly devouring him and he was forever thinking about death. In the old days he neither lacked faith nor was a coward, but now his frayed nerves made him forget the comforts of faith. He still remembered how in his illness he had lain there in pain, his chest rising and falling with that lung pain, his eyes failing fast. At such times life seemed to flow out from every part of him and his spirit seemed to have left his body. Could this really have happened? Isn't it true a man goes mad if his fingernails are pulled out? What happens, then, when his life and spirit are extracted?

He often wished God would give him the good fortune of those who die of a heart attack. They simply expire in the midst of talking, eating, standing, or sitting. It was as if they outwitted death completely by slipping off stealthily. Salim Alwan abandoned hope of this good fortune, for indeed his father and grandfather had both demonstrated to him the sort of death he might expect. He would probably linger in great agony on the point of death for half a day, and this no doubt would turn his sons gray.

Who would ever believe that Salim Alwan — healthy and life-loving — would harbor such fears? But not only dying terrified him, for now his feverish attention was also drawn to death itself. He spent a good deal of time analyzing all aspects of it.

His imagination and the culture from ages past told him that some of his senses remained after death. Didn't people say that the eyes of a dead person could still see his family staring down at him? After all, he had seen death as clear as daylight before him and he had almost felt eternity enclose him. Indeed, he felt he was already in the darkness of the tomb, with all its eerie loneliness, with bones, shrouds, and its suffocating narrowness and the painful love and longing he would probably feel for the living world. He thought about all this, his heart contracting in painful melancholy, his hands and feet icy and his brow feverish. Neither did he forget the afterlife. The assessment of his life, the retribution… O God, what a vast chasm there was between death and paradise…

So it was he clung to the fringe of life, even though it gave him no pleasure. All that was left for him was to audit the accounts and make business deals.

After his convalescence he had made a point of having a serious consultation with his doctor. He assured Alwan that he was cured of his heart condition but advised him to take care and to live cautiously. Salim Alwan complained about his insomnia and tensions, and the doctor advised a nerve specialist. Now he consulted a procession of specialists in nerves, heart, chest, and head. Thus his illness opened a door to a world populated by germs, symptoms, and diagnoses. It was amazing, for he had never believed in medicine or doctors. Now in his troubled state his faith in them was entire.

His working and leisure hours were now almost completely submerged in his private hell of anxieties. Indeed, he was always in a state of war with himself or with people. His employees saw the transformation before their astonished eyes. His manager left after twenty-five years of service, and those few employees who remained were disgruntled. The alley people thought he was half crazy, and Husniya once commented, "It was the bowl of green wheat that did it."

One day Uncle Kamil said, trying to humor him, "Why don't you let me make you a special dish of sweets, which, with God's grace, will restore your health."

But Salim Alwan became angry and exploded, "Keep away from me, you devil! Have you gone mad, you blind fool? It's animals like you whose insides stay healthy until the day of rest."

After this, Uncle Kamil had nothing more to do with him.

As for his wife, she was an easy target for his outbursts and hatred, and he still attributed his ill health to her jealousy. One time he rebuked her by shouting, "You've had your vicious revenge on my health. You've seen me crushed before your eyes. Now enjoy your peace, you viper."

His hostility toward her increased, and eventually he wondered if she had suspected his plans to marry Hamida. He knew there were many eyes watching for this sort of thing, and no shortage of ready tongues to tell the interested party. If she did suspect something, wasn't it possible that she had put a curse on him that ruined his health? His irrational state only convinced him that he was right. He planned a course of revenge on her. Thus he was rude to her and reviled and insulted her as often as possible. However, she met all his cruelty with polite and patient submissiveness. He yearned to reduce her long-suffering silence to tears. On one occasion he told her directly, "I'm tired of living with you, and there's no reason why I should hide the fact that I'm planning to get married. I'm going to try my luck once more."

She believed him, and her self-control was shattered. She fled to her children and told them of their father's decision. They were amazed and ashamed, and one day they visited him and suggested that he liquidate his business and devote his time to regaining his health. He was aware of what they feared and he rebuked them more sharply and bitterly than he had ever done before. "My life is my own to spend as I wish. I'll work as long as I please. Please spare me your selfish opinions."

Then he laughed and went on, his lackluster eyes staring into their faces, one after the other: "Did your mother tell you I plan to marry again? It's true. Your mother is trying to kill me, and so I'm leaving her for a new woman who will show me a little mercy. If your number should be increased by my new marriage, it won't matter, because my fortune is large enough to satisfy all your desires."

Then he warned them he would have nothing more to do with them and that each must rely on his own resources as long as their father lived.

"As you can see, I can scarcely taste even the bitter medicines, so why should others enjoy my wealth."

His older son asked, "How can you speak to us like this? We are your devoted sons."

"From now on you're your mother's sons!"

He kept to his threat. From that time on he gave nothing to his sons and deprived his house of the luxurious fare for which it was known. He did this so that everyone, especially his wife, would share in the restrictions imposed upon him. Alwan also constantly referred to his proposed marriage. He found this a most effective weapon for weakening his wife's patience. His sons all felt a genuine sadness for their father's condition; when they met to discuss the matter, the eldest one spoke first: "We must abide by his wishes until God works His inevitable will."

"If he seriously intends to get married," replied his lawyer son, "then most severe steps must be taken. We cannot leave him to be neglected by someone only interested in his money."

Hamida's disappearance had been a shattering blow to Salim Alwan. Although he had thought about her occasionally after his illness, she had not really been in the mainstream of his thoughts until she disappeared. This news, however, had roused his anxiety, and he had followed with great concern all efforts to trace her. When the gossip reached him about her having run off with an unknown man, he was extremely upset. That very day he was in such a temper that no one dared go near him. In the evening he came home with shredded nerves and a pounding headache that kept him awake until dawn. His heart burst with resentment and revenge toward the fickle girl. He pictured her dangling from a scaffold, her tongue hanging out and her eyes bulging. When he heard of Abbas' return from Tell el-Kebir, his frenzy subsided for some obscure reason and he invited the young man to see him.

He seated Abbas close to him and chatted amiably, asking about his living conditions and avoiding any mention of the girl. Abbas was pleased with the man's kindness and thanked him profusely. Trusting in Alwan's sympathy completely, Abbas told him everything, while the businessman gazed at him hollow-eyed.

Soon after Hamida's disappearance something happened which, although probably trivial, is still remembered in the annals of Midaq Alley.

Early one morning Salim Alwan was on his way to his office when he met Sheikh Darwish going in the opposite direction. In the old days, Alwan had been very fond of Sheikh Darwish and had often demonstrated this with gifts. After his illness, however, Alwan had completely ignored the old man. When they met near the office, Sheikh Darwish shouted out, as though to himself, "Hamida has disappeared."

This took Alwan by surprise, and he assumed Sheikh Darwish was addressing him. "What's that got to do with me?"

"And she didn't just disappear," Sheikh Darwish continued, "she ran away. And she didn't just run away; she ran away with a strange man. In English they call that an 'elopement' and it is spelled e-l-o-p…"

Before he could finish, Salim Alwan exploded, "It's a cursed day for me when I see your face in the morning, you idiot! Get out of my sight, a curse of God on you!"

Sheikh Darwish stood as though bolted to the ground, and then a look like that of a terrified child came into his eyes. He burst out weeping. Mr. Alwan continued on his way, leaving Sheikh Darwish standing alone. His voice now rose to a near-scream until it reached Kirsha, Uncle Kamil, and the old barber; they all rushed up to him, asking what was wrong. They led him off to the cafe and sat him down in his armchair, doing their best to calm him. Kirsha ordered a glass of water, and Uncle Kamil patted him on the shoulder, saying sympathetically, "Put your faith in God, Sheikh Darwish. O God, keep us from evil. For you to weep is an omen of some misfortune to come… O God, give us grace!"

However, Sheikh Darwish kept on weeping and howling, his breath gasping and his limbs trembling. Then he shut his lips rigidly, pulled at his necktie, and stamped the ground with his wooden clogs. The windows of the houses were opening now and heads stared down at the scene. Husniya, the bakeress, was the first to appear in front of the shop. Eventually the wailing reached Salim Alwan in his office. He wished the old man would stop his wailing. In vain he tried to turn his attention to something else, but it seemed to Alwan that the whole world was weeping and wailing. If only he had not shouted at the saintly old man! If only he hadn't crossed his path! He could have taken no notice of him and just passed politely on.

Alwan groaned in self-reproach. "A person as sick as you would be better off making peace with God, instead of angering one of His holy men." He abandoned his pride and made his way to Kirsha's cafe. Taking no notice of the surprised looks, he approached the weeping old man and placed his hand gently on his shoulder. "Forgive me, please, Sheikh Darwish."