Midaq Alley

4

In the early morning Midaq Alley is dreary and cold. The sun can reach it only after climbing high into the sky. However, life begins to stir early in the morning in parts of the street. Sanker, the cafe waiter, begins activity by arranging the chairs and lighting the spirit stove. Then the workmen in the company office start coming in ones and twos. Presently Jaada appears carrying the wood for baking the bread. Even Uncle Kamil is busy at this early hour, opening his shop and then having his nap before breakfast. Uncle Kamil and Abbas, the barber, always have breakfast together from a tray placed between them containing plates of cooked beans, onion salad, and pickled gherkins.

They each approach their food in a different manner. Abbas devours his roll of bread in a few seconds. Uncle Kamil, on the other hand, is slow and chews each piece of food laboriously until it almost dissolves in his mouth. He often says, "Good food should first be digested in the mouth." So it is that Abbas will have finished eating his food, sipping his tea and smoking his pipe while his friend is still slowly munching his onions. Kamil, therefore, prevents Abbas from taking any of his share by always dividing the food into two separate sections.

In spite of his portly build, Uncle Kamil could not be considered a glutton, although he was very fond of sweets and extremely clever at making them. His artistry was completely fulfilled in making up orders for people like Salim Alwan, Radwan Hussainy, and Kirsha, the cafe owner. His reputation was widely known and had even crossed the boundaries of the alley to the quarters of Sanadiqiya, Ghouriya, and Sagha. However, his means were modest and he had not lied when he complained to Abbas that after his death there would be no money to bury him. That very morning he said to Abbas after they finished breakfast, "You said you bought me a burial shroud. Now that really is something that calls for thanks and blessings. Why don't you give it to me now."

Abbas, the typical liar, had forgotten all about the shroud. He asked, "Why do you want it now?"

His friend answered in his high-pitched adolescent voice, "I could do with what it's worth. Haven't you heard that the price of cloth is going up?"

Abbas chuckled. "You are really a shrewd one in spite of your fake simplicity. Only yesterday you were complaining that you hadn't enough money for a proper burial. Now that I have a shroud for you, you want to sell it and use the money! No, this time you won't get your way. I bought your shroud to honor your body after a long life, if God wills."

Uncle Kamil smiled in embarrassment and shifted his chair nervously. "Suppose my life lasts so long that things get back to the way they were before the war? Then we'll have lost the value of an expensive shroud, don't you agree?"

"And suppose you die tomorrow?"

"I hope to God not!"

This made Abbas roar with laughter. "It's useless to try to change my mind. The shroud will stay in a safe place with me until God works His will…" He laughed again so loudly that his friend joined in. The barber now spoke teasingly. "You're completely without profit for me. Have I ever managed to make a penny out of you in your whole life? No! Your chin and upper lip simply don't sprout and your head's quite bald. On all that vast world you call your body there's not a single hair for me to cut. God forgive you!"

"It's a fine clean body which no one would mind washing down," said Uncle Kamil with a mock seriousness.

The sound of someone yelling interrupted them. Down the street they saw Husniya, the bakeress, beating her husband, Jaada, with her slippers. The man collapsed in front of her, offering no defense at all. His wails reverberated from each side of the alley and the two men laughed uproariously.

"Have forgiveness and mercy on him, madam!" shouted Abbas loudly.

The woman continued pummeling him until Jaada lay at her feet weeping and begging forgiveness.

"Those slippers could do your body some good," said Abbas, turning to Uncle Kamil. "They'd soon melt that fat away!"

Just then Hussain Kirsha appeared; he was dressed in trousers, a white shirt, and a straw hat. He made an ostentatious show of looking at his gold wristwatch, his small darting eyes filled with pride of possession. He greeted his friend the barber in a friendly fashion and seated himself in a chair. It was his day off and he wanted his hair cut.

The two friends had grown up together in Midaq Alley. Indeed, they had been born in the same house, that of Radwan Hussainy, Abbas three years before Hussain. Abbas lived with his parents fifteen years before he and Uncle Kamil met and decided to share a flat and had remained close friends with Hussain until their work separated them. Abbas went to work as a barber's assistant near New Street, and Hussain took a job in a bicycle repair shop in Gamaliya.

From the first, they were of entirely different character: perhaps it was this dissimilarity which strengthened their mutual affection. Abbas was gentle, good-natured, and inclined toward peace, tolerance, and kindness. He was content to fill his leisure time with card playing and idle gossip with his friends at the cafe.

He avoided participation in quarrels and all unpleasantness by waving both aside with a smile and a kind word for the contestants. He conscientiously performed the prayers and fasted and never missed Friday prayers in the mosque of Hussain. Lately he had tended to neglect some religious duties, not from indifference, but rather out of laziness. However, he still attended Friday prayers and faithfully fasted during the month of Ramadan. Sometimes disputes occurred between him and Hussain Kirsha, but whenever his friend became too excited Abbas yielded and thus avoided a serious quarrel.

He was known to be easily satisfied and he was often rebuked because he continued to work as a barber's helper for ten years. He had only opened his own little shop five years ago. In that time he thought that he had prospered as well as could be expected. This spirit of satisfaction with his lot was reflected in his quiet eyes, his healthy and vital body, and his perpetually even disposition.

It was agreed that Hussain Kirsha was one of the cleverest people in the alley. He was known for his energy, intelligence, and courage, and he could be most aggressive at times. He had begun by working in his father's cafe, but because their personalities conflicted he had left to work in a bicycle shop. He remained there until the war broke out and then went to work in a British Army camp. His daily wages were now thirty piasters compared to the three piasters in his first job. All this was apart from what he made by applying his philosophy: "For a decent living you need a nice quick hand!" Thus his standard of living and his finances had increased.

His new wealth afforded him undreamed-of luxuries. He bought new clothes, frequented restaurants, and delighted in eating meat, which he considered a luxury reserved especially for the rich. He attended cinemas and cabarets and found pleasure in wine and the company of women. Frequently his drinking kindled his hospitality and he would invite his friends to the roof of his house, where he would offer them food, wine, and hashish. On one occasion when he was a little drunk he said to his guests, "In England they call those who enjoy my easy life 'large.'" For some time after this his jealous rivals called him "Hussain Kirsha the Large"; later this became corrupted to "Hussain Kirsha the Garage."

Abbas began to tidy up carefully and quickly the back and sides of Hussain's head. He did not disturb the thick mass of wavy hair on top. Meetings with his old friend now usually had a sad effect on him. They were still friends, but life had changed and Abbas missed those evenings when Hussain used to work in his father's cafe. Now they met only rarely. Then too, Abbas was aware that envy was a part of the wide gulf that now separated them. However, like all his emotions, this new one was under careful control. He never said an unkind word about his friend and he hoped for the same in return. Sometimes, to ease the gnawing envy, he would say to himself, "Soon the war will end and Hussain will return to the alley as penniless as when he left."

Hussain Kirsha, in his usual prattling manner, began telling the barber about life in the depot, about the workers, their good wages, the thefts, about his adventures with the British, and the affection and admiration the soldiers showed him.

"Corporal Julian," he related proudly, "once told me that the only difference between me and the British is that of color. He tells me to be careful with my money, but an arm" (and here he waved wildly) "which can make money during the war can make double that in times of peace. When do you think the war will be over? Don't let the Italian defeat fool you, they didn't matter anyway. Hitler will fight for twenty years! Corporal Julian is impressed with my bravery and has a blind faith in me. He trusts me so much that he has let me in on his big trade in tobacco, cigarettes, chocolate, knives, bedcovers, socks, and shoes! Nice, isn't it?"

"Yes, very," Abbas muttered in reply.

Hussain peered at himself carefully in the mirror and asked Abbas, "Do you know where I'm going now? To the zoo. Do you know who with? With a girl as sweet as cream and honey." He kissed the air noisily. "I'm going to take her to see the monkeys." Roaring with laughter, he continued: "I bet you wonder why the monkeys. That's just what one would expect from someone like you who has only seen trained monkeys. You must learn, you fool, that the zoo monkeys live in groups in the cages. They're just like humans in their actions. You can see them making love or fighting, right in public! When I take this girl there, she'll have as good as opened up the doors for me!"

"Very good," muttered Abbas without interrupting his work.

"Women are an extensive study and one doesn't succeed with wavy hair alone."

"I'm just a poor ignorant fellow," laughed Abbas in reply, looking at his hair in the mirror.

Hussain threw a sharp glance at his reflection in the mirror and asked, "And Hamida?"

The barber's heart skipped a beat. He had not expected to hear her name mentioned. Her image rose before him and he flushed red. "Hamida?"

"Yes. Hamida, the daughter of Umm Hamida." Abbas took refuge in silence, a look of confusion on his face, while his friend went on: "What a bashful simpleton you are! Your body is asleep, your shop is asleep, your whole life is sleeping. Why should I tire myself out trying to wake you up? You're a dead man. How can this dreary life of yours ever fulfill your hopes? Never! No matter how much you try, you'll only make a bare living."

The barber's pensiveness showed in his eyes as he said half aloud, "It's God who chooses for us."

His young friend said scornfully, "Uncle Kamil, Kirsha's cafe, smoking a water pipe, playing cards!"

The barber, now really perplexed, asked, "Why do you make fun of this life?"

"Is it a life at all? Everyone in this alley is half dead, and if you live here long, you won't need burying. God have mercy on you!"

Abbas hesitated, then asked, although he could anticipate the reply, "What do you want me to do?"

"The many times I've told you," shouted Hussain. "The times I've given you my advice. Shake off this miserable life, close up your shop, leave this filthy alley behind. Rest your eyes from looking at Uncle Kamil's carcass. Work for the British Army. It's a gold mine that will never be exhausted. Why, it's exactly like the treasure of Hassan al-Basary! This war isn't the disaster that fools say it is. It's a blessing! God sent it to us to rescue us from our poverty and misery. Those air raids are throwing gold down on us!

"I'm still telling you to join the British Army. Italy is finished but Germany isn't defeated and Japan is behind her. The war will last at least another twenty years. I'm telling you for the last time, there are jobs to be had in Tell el-Kebir. Go and get one!"

The barber was so excited he had difficulty in finishing his job. Abbas had a lazy dislike for change, dreaded anything new, hated traveling, and if he were left to himself he would make no choice other than the alley. If he spent the rest of his life there, he would be quite happy. The truth was, he loved it.

Now, however, the image of Hamida rose before him. His hopes and desires and her image formed one indivisible whole. Despite all this, he feared to reveal his true feelings. He knew he must have time to plan and to think. He said aloud, feigning disinterest, "Oh, traveling is such a bore."

Hussain stamped his foot and shouted, "You're the real bore! Going anywhere is much better than Midaq Alley, and better than Uncle Kamil. Go and put your trust in God. You've never lived. What have you eaten? What have you drunk? What have you seen? Believe me, you haven't been born yet… Look at your dreary clothes…"

"It's a pity I wasn't born rich."

"It's a pity you weren't born a girl! If you were born a girl, you'd be one of Midaq Alley's many old maids. Your life revolves only around the house. You never even go to the zoo, or to Mousky Street. Do you know that Hamida walks there every afternoon?"

Mention of her name redoubled his confusion and it hurt him that his friend should talk to him so insultingly. "Your sister Hamida is a girl of fine character. There's nothing wrong with her strolling occasionally along the Mousky."

"All right, but she's an ambitious girl, and you'll never win her unless you change your life…"

Abbas's face burned with outrage. He had finished cutting the young man's hair and he set about combing it silently, his thoughts in a turmoil. Eventually Hussain Kirsha rose and paid him, but before he left the shop he discovered that he had forgotten his handkerchief and he hurried back home for it.

Abbas stood watching him and was struck by how purposeful and happy Hussain seemed. It was just as though he was witnessing these things for the first time. "You'll never win her unless you change your life." Surely Hussain was right. His life was mere drudgery. Each day's work scarcely paid for that day's expenses. If he wanted to save in these hard times, it was clear he must try something new. How long could he continue to feed on hopes and dreams? Why shouldn't he try his luck like the others? "An ambitious girl." That's what Hussain had said and he was certainly in a position to know. If the girl he loved was ambitious, then he must acquire ambitions himself. Perhaps tomorrow Hussain would think — and he smiled at the thought — that it was he who had awakened him from his stupor. He knew better, however. He realized that were it not for Hamida, nothing could stir him from this life. Abbas now marveled at the strength of love, its power and its strange magic. He thought it right that God had created mankind capable of love and then left the task of developing life to the fertility of love.

The young man asked himself why he should not leave. He had lived in the alley almost a quarter of a century. What had it done for him? It was a place that did not treat its inhabitants fairly. It did not reward them in proportion to their love for it. It tended to smile on those who abused it and abused those who smiled on it. For example, it had barely kept him alive, while it rained wealth on Salim Alwan. There was Salim, a short distance away, piling up bank notes so high that Abbas could almost detect their seductive smell, whereas this palm clutched at what was scarcely the price of bread. Why shouldn't he leave in search of a better life?

These thoughts ran their jagged course as he stood before his shop, gazing at Uncle Kamil, who was snoring loudly, a fly whisk in his lap. He heard steps coming from the top of the alley, and he turned to see Hussain Kirsha striding back down again. He looked at him as a gambler beholds a turning roulette wheel. Hussain approached and almost passed; just then Abbas put his hand on his shoulder. "Hussain, I want to talk to you about something important…"