Birds of Amber

To Fatima

J’ai plus de souvenirs que si j’avais mille ans.

—Charles Baudelaire,

Les fleurs du mal

Perhaps that Alexandria was nothing more than a figment of our imagination. Perhaps we had created her with myrrh, laurels, scents, imagination, and affection. [W]hat will become of me if I am to lose the Alexandria of my youth?

—Harry Tzalas, Amm Ahmad, Father and Son in

Farewell to Alexandria, 2000

Part One

1

No one as far as his eyes can see. No boats, large or small, on the Mahmudiya Canal. Not a single tram moving on the opposite bank. To his right, nothing but bricks and cement to build a new school on a portion of the expansive lot that is part of Constantine Salvago’s warehouses. Quite a celebrity in Alexandria, this Salvago the Greek! His warehouses occupy the rest of the wide open space extending from the Mahmudiya Canal to the railroad fence and are filled with barrels of oil and grease, bales of thread, bundles of wire and old leather and iron belts and various other strange things— rusted metals and metals that gleam in the sunshine. Salvago has big holdings in the National Egyptian Weaving Company, in Karmuz, the Corporation for the Processing and Compacting of Cotton near Mina al-Basal on the opposite side of Karmuz, the Egyptian Copper Factories Company in Sidi Gabir, the Tram Company, and others. This wide-open space is the junkyard for the refuse of all these companies. To his utter amazement, there is not a single human being in this vast expanse besides him; even the construction workers building the school are gone, though it’s neither a holiday nor after hours.

It’s morning, forenoon is more like it, and there’s nobody else. He’s the only one in the whole world. Does that make sense? That vague feeling that leaps up inside his head and stands there, erect? There it is: jumping up in front of him, between his eyes, immediately above his nose, its smile mocking him. He can see it and almost flicks it off to make it fall at his feet but he doesn’t. He stops and looks over his shoulder and sees nothing but the asphalt road stretching away with its faded blacktop. No one comes around anymore to look after the street. Before, at least once every year, a steamroller would come and pave the street with little basalt stones and black pitch. Is the sky still there?

He didn’t know where that question came from. He raised his eyes slowly and found that it was still there. Had it disappeared, what would’ve happened to him? At the very least, he would’ve died instantly—nothing short of instant death. His body would’ve shaken and disintegrated; his flesh would’ve come tumbling down around his feet, then his skeleton would’ve vanished completely into fine white dust. He smiled. Where could the sky disappear to, Arabi? The war hadn’t even started yet, might never start. The Israeli forces had crossed into Sinai the previous day but he hadn’t found that out yet. He noticed that the sky today was somewhat distant, more so than on other days. That was a safe bet. There were gray and black clouds coming from the north and the northwest, blocking the sunlight for a few moments during which a light cool breeze blew but, unlike what usually happened on such occasions, he didn’t feel the world open up and expand. He felt the world narrow, like a cold box, a fishbowl.

So, he is a fish, and not a goldfish at that, moving in a small area, crashing his head into the glass walls from time to time, a poor fish, always moving, always crashing.

The cold, refreshing breeze was getting to him through the short sleeves of his sky-blue shirt whose collar he took pains to starch, just as he took pains to straighten his hair and do it à la James Dean.

The light vest on top of the shirt isn’t enough to protect against a sudden chill, but that’s not important anyway. He doesn’t remember a day that he felt warm even with Katina, during those beautiful moments they spent alone together. The chill never left him. She doesn’t love him as he loves her and one of these days she must leave, as she always says.

What is really frightening him now is this feeling that he is all alone in the world, that the world is a small place that begins and ends after just one step beyond which he might fall into a pit.

He didn’t fall. He noted that the ground was flat and solid, having just split open and let him out.

He’s just been created, remembering nothing of his past, not knowing exactly where he’s heading. If it wasn’t the earth which split open and let him out, it must have been God who has cast him down from the sky. Yes, He held him by the nape of the neck and with a little flip of the finger tossed him to Earth and he penetrated all the veils and sheltering skies between. And when He saw that he was poor and lost in space, He said to him, descend to Earth in peace, Arabi, here on Mahmudiya Street where there’s nobody now but you!

So, he doesn’t have thirty years behind him now; is there anything ahead of him? A wondrous wind carried him to this world from a deep dream, a well, a dream like a well, a well like a dream, and now he is here even though no one is aware of his existence. Kirk Douglas, the strong, graceful actor with the deep dimple in his chin, tricked the horrible Cyclops who had imprisoned him and his fellow sailors in his cave and started eating one of them every day. Kirk Douglas got the monster drunk on wine and when it asked him what his name was he told it Nobody, then gouged out its one eye and ran away from the cave with his men. The monster’s wailing filled the mountains as it chased them; other monsters and beasts gathered around and asked it who did that to it and it said, Nobody and they stood around helpless. Kirk Douglas and his sailors made it back to the ship and sailed back home. Sulayman saw the movie and said that Kirk Douglas was there but the Cyclops didn’t see him, ergo, he was not there. Thus one is alive only when people see him and interact with him, otherwise one would be like Nobody. But Arabi is not convinced by all Sulayman’s difficult words even though he feels they are precious words. What is bothering him now is not that he is alone on the street but rather a strange fear that the earth will split open and swallow him back where he had been, to the dream or the well, or that God will take him back to the sky in the blink of an eye, roughly or gently, for after all it is God, He can do whatever He wants, with a hand of fire or a hand of water. He might even let him see Him as He did Moses, peace be upon him. Yes, God might reward him, poor, wretched Arabi, with a vision of Himself.

His eyes welled up with tears and he struggled to hold them back. His head suddenly became empty and his mouth started looking for words. Silence was choking him; he wanted desperately to say something, anything, even to Nobody.

He began moving his lips, but nothing came out and when sounds did come out he didn’t understand what he was saying; half the words had disappeared into silence. Yes, he said the second half of the sentence but didn’t know what it meant. Sulayman said that Kirk Douglas played Ulysses. Arabi slowly started to figure it out. Ulysses is a Greek hero, mighty and full of wiles, as Sulayman said. But Katina never told him of Ulysses and the Greeks in Alexandria are good, hard working people and none of them seem to be mighty or full of wiles.

O Arabi, how do you know? Yes, Katina is very kind and not at all full of wiles like Ulysses.

Arabi, after night day must come, she always says. One day, Arabi, your big chance will come. You’re a beautiful person. Arabi knows that he is handsome, that his only rival in looks is Rashad who joined the navy and began to show off his white navy uniform with blue stripes, but when all is said and done he is nothing but an insignificant sailor. Lutfi al-Sayih is trying to be handsome like him but he can’t. He keeps his clothes well pressed and puts tons of Vaseline on his hair but Arabi is always more handsome. That’s why Arabi did not volunteer to be a sailor like Rashad and unfortunately he cannot be an officer for he has no degrees, and in spite of being handsome, he cannot be a grade school teacher like Lutfi. So Lutfi is superior in learning but that superiority did not protect his bones from breaking every time he hit anything.

Lutfi stopped playing sock football with his friends because he broke his leg every time they played a game. He stopped horsing around with anyone because anybody could twist and break his arm. Lutfi stayed away from everyone and gave his all to studying, so he became a teacher. A few years ago he went on a date with a female colleague and they sat at the Waterfall Gardens near the Nubar Pasha statue. As they left the place there was a grassless spot made slippery by the morning rain and Lutfi slipped and fell, breaking his thigh bone. After that he gave up on love and dating.

Neither Lutfi nor Rashad can match his strength and looks but it would be really sad if Rashad died in the war. A few days ago it was said that he couldn’t come back home because of the military alert on land, sea, and air. Mahmud al-Mallah was also called to military service. He was sitting with Arabi when Muddathir, the sheikh al-hara, appeared and Mahmud said, showing off his cinema expertise, as usual: Mahmud, last take and added, The evil one is here. Muddathir told him he had to report to the district conscription office right away.

Lutfi did not serve in the armed forces because of his brittle bones. How could he? Going through boot camp would have broken his bones to smithereens. Arabi didn’t serve either because of his flat feet. The army would have deprived him of Katina. War could have deprived him of her forever. Katina’s atelier is a beautiful place where he has been working for the last ten years. He sits by the door, welcoming women as they come in and seeing them off as they go out, opening the door for them and closing it behind them. He frequently accompanies them to their houses carrying their new dresses. The women’s beauty is as dazzling as the colors of the fabrics they let him carry and they always smell just as new. They all love the coffee with cardamom and the tea with mint that Arabi serves them and they all ask his opinion of what they are wearing at every fitting. Actually he doesn’t look at the clothes but at what is under the clothes and it seems they know that, from their glances and smiles. Most of them are foreigners anyway and have no trouble with a man like Arabi ogling them and spending the rest of the day in silence. He never talks with them but constantly smiles at them as they move before him like butterflies.

At the end of the day Arabi gathers the scraps from the floor and cleans the place up. The two seamstresses, Georgette the Copt and Asmahan the Italian (whose name Arabi can never believe is real), leave. Katina stays. She lives in the small room in the back of the apartment which is so large that no one would notice or guess that somebody is living back there. Exhausted, she sits in the armchair and Arabi sits on the floor at her feet, pouring her a glass of Cypriot red wine and, on winter evenings, roasts chestnuts on the alcohol burner and pours himself a drink, getting ready to listen to the story that Katina never wearies of telling.

You know, Arabi? Yanakis was my lover; my husband, yes, but my lover above all else. You know, Arabi? Yanakis was a leftist. You don’t know what a leftist is? Leftist, Arabi, means communist. You laugh? You don’t know what a communist is? It means he doesn’t like the king, Greek king, Egyptian king, English king, king of any country. Yanakis loved workers; he loved Stalin and he hated Hitler, hated the Nazis. The Nazis entered Athens, Arabi, and Yanakis went to fight with the guerillas. Guerillas means a small army like a band of thieves but one that doesn’t steal. They appear and disappear quickly after they hit the Nazi forces. That was in the last world war, Arabi. Yanakis died in the mountains of Greece. His comrade came here and gave me Yanakis’s wallet. It had his picture and my picture and the picture of our little daughter, Phaedra. Now, Arabi, Phaedra is in Athens with her husband, Seferis. I am lonely here, Arabi.

And I am lonely too, Katina, he had said to her yesterday as he had many times before.

No. There’s an admirer who wants to marry you, Arabi, she said.

Who?

Rachel Zahaf.

She had never said that before. She only said it yesterday. He was quite taken aback.

Rachel? Rachel Zahaf is fifty years old, Katina.

She laughed and said, But she loves you, Arabi.

"I love you, Katina."

I am also fifty years old, Arabi.

To me you are twenty, Katina.

You’re crazy, Arabi. A day will come when I must go to Athens.

But I won’t marry anyone else, Katina.

"Okay, Arabi. I’ll leave and you will stay unmarried. I won’t marry in Greece, either. I was married once. Yanakis was my lover, Arabi. He was a leftist. You don’t know what leftist means? It means communist, Arabi. You also don’t know what communist means? He hated the king, Egypt’s king, Greece’s king, England’s king, any king, anywhere. He loved Stalin. He was crazy. You too are crazy, Arabi."

She pulled him by his soft hair and pushed his head into her bosom. The bottle of wine was finished so he got up with difficulty to get another but she asked him to play the Umm Kulthum record that he loved. When Umm Kulthum began to sing the ahhs song, Katina said, Change the record, Arabi. No need for ahhs tonight. Let’s hear ‘Take me to my beloved country.’

As Umm Kulthum sang, Katina swayed gleefully with the tune.

You know, Arabi, if I leave Egypt, I must give you fifty pounds with which you can start a big project, she said.

Before long though, as the song sank in, she began to sob. Arabi was disconcerted at first but he was soon able to stand up and carry her to her bed where he lay her down and covered her as he did most nights. He kissed her on the forehead but it seemed she was no longer aware of him. He snuck out of the room and the atelier. When he hit Evangelical Church Street, he looked at the Evangelical church near the house and at the street which was always quiet be it day or night and thought, if Katina really left the country one day and left him fifty pounds, he wouldn’t start any project; he’d blow it all on the nightclubs on the Cornichethe Monsignor, L’aiglon, the Excelsior, the Atiyat Husayn, the Miramar, the Blue Pearl, the Ship, and others. At the last nightclub, he’d slam the door behind him, braving the wind and the spray of the waves to the wall of the Corniche, climb the wall, pause for a few moments to take a deep breath and take in the rough sea, then, then . . . plunge into the dark water. Yes, many people are doing that at night these days.

2

Between the rows of camphor, pine and lotus trees surrounding the fence of the Chest Diseases Hospital, Ibrahim Mursi was taking a stroll with Nadia Sallam. Before them stretched an asphalt-paved clearing on which faint rays of sunlight that had managed to get through holes in the black and gray clouds poured, creating dancing shadows out of those small leaves on the trees that had withstood the autumn.

The municipal employees’ houses with their red and yellow roof tiles appear solid and clean. To the left is the small garden where they will sit in a little while.

Nadia is tall for a sixteen-year old girl, with a long, giraffe-like neck, a slender figure clad in a long dress, a Chanel, although she doesn’t know it. She is carrying a small, black purse and a green handkerchief with white flowers. Nadia has a rectangular face and thick black hair that she has let down her back. She has big black eyes, a clear ruddy complexion and a jutting bust under the dress, its elevation out of keeping with her slender build. No one knows that Nadia deliberately gives it that extra lift by the cotton she stuffs her bra with under her breasts.

Nadia is taking big strides because of her long legs and seems serious, as she always does on the street. She knows that men stare at women and that among men and youth there is a dirty bunch that do nothing all day but harass women and girls who venture out on the street. That is what she often hears her mother saying. But how does her mother know that since she has never seen her leave the house? Now Nadia is taking a leisurely stroll with Ibrahim who today bathed using a bar of scented soap on which there was a picture of Marilyn Monroe laughing; he could almost hear her laugh in the bathroom. He put on his hands and hair drops of jasmine eau de cologne which he hid from his sisters. He had also heard Lutfi al-Sayih once speaking of the Shabrawishi brand of cologne called Five Fives that he had bought and was the first to introduce to the neighborhood. Ibrahim Mursi has a round puffed face, a pale, yellowish complexion, black hair, and honey-colored eyes.

Why do we always come here, Ibrahim? Nadia asked calmly.

It’s safe here, Nadia.

She was puzzled: aren’t there any other safe places in Alexandria? Before, he had taken her to the end of the Mahmudiya Canal beyond the Tarikh Bridge where the vast open country stretched. But she was frightened by the buildings with big closed windows with narrow screens that no one could see through because of the accumulated cotton dust sticking to them: yellowed old cotton, new, snow-white cotton, and older cotton blackened by regular dust. From this deserted bank of the Mahmudiya Canal she could see the tops of the ships at the harbor, ships with black or white smokestacks, their masts carrying colored banners covering the heads of high cranes that looked like ancient, mythical birds. That day Ibrahim said that it was a safe place as workers in these huge cotton mills appeared only at specific times—at 7:00 A.M., 3:00 P.M., and 11:00 P.M. when the different shifts began and ended. Outside of these there was nothing but silence and a few birds flying overhead. It was about six o’clock in the summer and the silent, huge place was filled with fear. Ibrahim told her that day that some street thugs or robbers might come from Bab al-Karasta or Suq al-Gumaa or Kom al-Nadura and pester them and take what they had, but that he was ready for them for he had an automatic retractable switchblade. He took that out and pressed a button on one end and its sharp steel blade came out. She was terrified but she smiled and said, What do we have that they can take?

She was somewhat soothed by the gentle, refreshing breeze making its way slowly from the harbor through the cool, damp buildings. But this gentle breeze was not enough by itself to justify venturing out here always. They had left behind the dock where one could rent a colorful rowboat at the Tarikh Bridge. Nadia wanted very much to rent one but Ibrahim was afraid they might be seen together and said if they wanted to do that they should go to the dock on the far end near the zoo. There was nothing more to say so they fell silent, adding to the total silence surrounding them throughout the buildings, the little basalt walkways between the giant bins and the open, deserted wilderness beyond.

Suddenly a young man and a young woman emerged in the distance. Before Nadia or Ibrahim could say anything, they saw the young man lean the woman against the wall of one of the bins and press his whole body against hers and kiss her. The woman, whose body was now hidden by his, put her arms around him. Then Nadia noticed that they were slowly getting down to the ground. Ibrahim held her hand in a tightening grip but she withdrew it quickly and demanded that they go back at once. She didn’t wait for his response but bolted and turned as he panted, trying with great effort to catch up with her. When they had moved away a great distance, she stopped, displaying such anger that he was truly scared. But the sight of the man and woman as they lay down on the ground had not totally disappeared yet and Nadia found herself smiling. Then her smile gave way gradually to laughter. She asked him not to bring her to that place ever again.

Ibrahim chose the small park in front of the Chest Diseases Hospital. Despite its size, it had several mulberry trees, huge, old oak, and a number of acacia trees.

Ibrahim told Nadia that Alexandria had many beautiful parks, such as the Waterfalls, but it was usually packed with lovers and someone might recognize them. Then there the zoo, or Nuzha, as people in Alexandria called it, but it posed the same risk as the Waterfalls. As for the former royal Muntaza Gardens, they were very far and until now closed to the public. So this was the only safe garden since only a few peasants came here to visit inmates and usually sat in the park, ate, and chatted, then disappeared after a little while. Occasionally a tired man or woman would stop for a little while to rest then continue on his or her way. Usually a lone dog or a miserable cat could also be seen wandering aimlessly.

Every time I sit here I see a man from the top floor window looking at me, Nadia said. Ibrahim looked and saw the pale face of a man with unfocused eyes.

He is not looking at you, Nadia. Look at all of the windows and you’ll see patients staring off into space.

Poor wretches, Nadia said. When Ibrahim said nothing, she added, I know that TB is terminal and that this is a TB hospital.

After a short silence, Ibrahim said, Let’s not talk about diseases. Tell me what you did yesterday.

But she didn’t speak. A cat holding a little mouse by the teeth appeared and walked slowly looking right and left until it disappeared under the bushes by the fence. Nadia raised her eyes suddenly and once again saw the man who was looking at her from the window of the top floor. Now she was sure: he was smiling at her and she could also see clearly that he was wearing a white handkerchief. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.

When something like that happens, don’t look.

He meant the cat but she was slowly absorbing the sight of the inmate with a mixed response of bafflement and delight and didn’t feel Ibrahim putting his arm around her shoulders. She felt a sudden heat climbing up her body and she didn’t know why she was feeling like that: was it the shock of seeing the cat with the mouse, the sick man smiling and waving, or Ibrahim’s arm? In the meantime Ibrahim started thinking suddenly that Nadia was an idiot. She is tall for a girl, walks fast, and if someone pesters her she shrugs and says Poison on you and pouts. But he loves her and he doesn’t know why.

Do you know what would happen, Ibrahim, if somebody saw us?

I know. I’ll soon find a job and marry you.

I am afraid, Ibrahim. My folks are Saidis and yours fellahin.

But I am educated and your family won’t turn me down.

She was bothered by this answer. So she didn’t continue in school. Her father never gave his consent. In the whole neighborhood you wouldn’t find a single girl who continued in school except Maryam, the Copt, who was younger than all of them and this year started going to preparatory school and Nawal who graduated from nursing school and who was now working at the government hospital. All the girls who went to school left after just a couple of years. Ibrahim had taken a photograph out of his shirt pocket and was now placing it in front of her eyes and she shouted, Wow! Abdel Halim Hafez! Wow! And you’re with him. How?

That’s a secret.

Nadia’s voice trembled as she said, I want to see Abdel Halim Hafez in a movie.

"Come with me tomorrow to Cinema Rex. It’s showing Days and Nights."

Do you want my father to kill me?

They fell silent for a while. She was now the one holding the photograph which she kept examining, wondering how Ibrahim’s likeness had come to occupy a small square near Abdel Halim Hafez’s shoulder. Ibrahim told her, It’s a complex technological process.

What do you mean?

I paid Kakian a whole quarter of a pound to do it.

Kakian? Who is Kakian?

A very clever Armenian photographer near Abu al-Dardaa.

His name is Kakian?

Yes.

Long live Kakian, Nadia shouted and quickly kissed Ibrahim on the lips. The kiss, and the surprise, intoxicated Ibrahim and left him speechless. Delight, wondrous delight mixed with pleasure, ran from his lips through his whole body, an overpowering delight that wrapped up his whole body. It was his first kiss: her lips imprinted themselves on his and a current of honey flowed into his blood creating such ecstasy that he was on the verge of flying out of his own body. He stood there; eyes wide open in a total daze. She had gone to the big oak tree and stood under it, looking at him in genuine shame.

How did she do that? It was also her first time kissing a man. She didn’t know that a kiss could bring all this joy that was seeping through the pores of her body or release all those swallows from her chest. Still in a daze, he walked toward her and when he was close enough he put his arm around her shoulder. In a soft voice and in genuine pain she said, Are you going to hate me, Ibrahim? You are, aren’t you?

He had not come down from his ecstasy yet. She said, Let’s go back.

She calmly removed his arm from her shoulder and they walked in silence for a few minutes. Then she heard him saying in a soft voice, Allah. She knew he was still intoxicated from the kiss; she still was as well, but she couldn’t show it. It wasn’t she who kissed him, a mysterious force made her do it and she would never forgive herself for this weakness. She asked him, "Did you see Days and Nights?"

Of course.

Who’s the actress?

Amal Farid.

Beautiful?

Her voice is beautiful, like a child’s.

He wondered why she asked him that question since she didn’t know the actors and had never been to the cinema.

I mean, what does she look like?

He hesitated and found himself at a loss for words. He realized that he couldn’t really describe a woman’s beauty; he had never thought about it. He couldn’t say more than pretty and ugly! He began to remember the words of the bums who sit on the staircase at the entrance of the tunnel leading to al-Mallaha, words aimed at the women supposedly to please them. They were always impertinent words having to do with legs, bellies, mounds, pudenda, eyes, and buttocks. No one knew where these bums came from; they just appeared; people knew their names but they didn’t know where they disappeared to at the end of the day or where they went. However, they always come back the following day. To his excitement he realized suddenly and mysteriously that the actress Amal Farid with the childlike voice is petite, with a narrow waist and large chest despite her compact shoulders. What were really sensual about her were her full lips. Look at him! Now he was an expert on lips only a few minutes after his first kiss. Amal Farid also had a soothing ruddy complexion, long eyelashes, and an innocent but penetrating glance. But the prettiest thing about this actress truly were her high-heeled shoes that, with her long dress wide at the bottom, gave a butterfly quality to the way she moved. He didn’t tell Nadia that. Instead he said, She looks reasonably good.

He had heard his father once describe a female relative of his to his mother who asked him how he knew all that if he were not looking at her with lust in his eyes. He noticed that Nadia was smiling happily, perhaps boastfully. Maybe she realized that the actress was not pretty. She actually was thinking that, but she said to herself: Who am I to compare myself with her? When her happy smile disappeared suddenly, Ibrahim asked her, What’s wrong, Nadia?

She didn’t answer. She told herself: You want Ibrahim and you’ve got him, so why are you thinking about Abdel Halim Hafez and why do you want to compete with Amal Farid? Besides, the real Abdel Halim Hafez is sick and in London receiving treatment according to the reports and the movie is nothing but make believe.

She said calmly, Ibrahim, it seems I’ve lost my mind. Can you imagine? I was jealous of Amal Farid being with Abdel Halim Hafez. I was afraid he might marry her.

Ibrahim didn’t say anything at first because he didn’t know what to say but he suddenly declared, I will prevent this marriage at any cost!

They burst out laughing in the wide open space between the back fence of the hospital and the Karmuz tram workshops. They had moved away from the hospital on their way back, running next to the workshops’ high wall topped with pieces of broken glass to prevent thieves from climbing over and into the workshops. They stopped and Ibrahim said, Abdel Halim sings a very beautiful song in the movie.

But there was a sudden loud explosion. A tall army truck appeared speeding from the direction of the Mahmudiya Canal loaded with boxes of ammunition. Behind it were three other vehicles on each of which were a long small-caliber canon and a number of soldiers. Ibrahim and Nadia turned to see where the vehicles were going and they saw huge crowds of children coming from all directions to the park as if they were torrents running from the mountains to the valley, filling it with thunderous sounds. The whole place was filled with the roaring voices of the children shouting.

We will fight! We will fight! Everyone will fight!

Nadia was terrified. She gripped Ibrahim’s arm.

What happened, Ibrahim?

It seems the war has broken out, Nadia.

Where did all these children come from?

From the schools. The government must have closed the schools today because of the war.

They kept an eye on the park that kept filling up with children and shouts to his surprise and her fright.

So where do the army soldiers go?

I don’t know, Nadia. The cars stopped in front of the park. Maybe these are anti-aircraft guns that they’re going to set up on top of the hospital.

I am frightened, Ibrahim.

Don’t be afraid. These are necessary precautions. I don’t think England can come back to Egypt.

I hate the English, Ibrahim. Let’s hurry up.

I hate them too, Nadia.

They hurried on the street which grew quieter the further away they went. When they were alone again, Nadia said to him suddenly as she gripped his arm and looked at his eyes, Sing it to me, Ibrahim. Sing Abdel Halim Hafez’s song, the one you heard in the movie.

He looked around and found no one in the vast expanse between the wall of the tram workshops, the hospital fence, and the municipal employees’ houses, a great open area of pleasant light and green trees. He closed his eyes and sang in a soft low voice:

Your light is enough for me.

It lit up my soul and my heart,

It made me see with my eyes

What was destined for me in my love.

And, because she had heard the song may times on the radio she joined in with him:

I read in your light

Words as beautiful as you are

Your light is enough for me.

They continued on their way, laughing, but the Mahmudiya Canal appeared very close.

Ibrahim said, We’ve reached the borders, Nadia.

This was the last point to which he could accompany her. She now had to make her way alone to the ferry which would take her to the other bank, where the housing project stood. He, on the other hand, would have to turn back, enter Kom al-Shuqafa, continue on Bab al-Muluk Street until its intersection with Pompey’s Pillar Street where he would turn right to Karmuz Bridge, cross it and turn right again to cover the one kilometer which separates the Project from the bridge. By that time Nadia would have arrived well ahead of him since his route took more than half an hour. That was the only way to keep others in the dark.

He stood watching her as if he wouldn’t see her again. She was doing the same.

Ibrahim, we must meet somewhere else, away from the hospital.

I was thinking the same thing.

She left him hurriedly, scampering the short distance remaining from the wall of the workshops to the clearing between that and the ferry where anyone on the other bank could see her. But she was alone now, so, no problem, even though she always arrived at the ferry out of breath because of the speed and the stress. But it didn’t take her long to calm down when she got on the ferry and told herself that everything was the way it always was: the children were playing, the workers of the salt and sodium company were sitting at the stores of al-Enaibsy, and al-Sayyid Khalil, and Warda on the ferry was eating harisa and smiling non-stop. Everything was silent and nobody was aware of anyone and poor Ibrahim was still scurrying in Kom al-Shuqafa; perhaps he hadn’t made it to Bab al-Muluk Street yet, but it wasn’t a long distance for a man anyway. Besides, the whole route passed by busy streets which Ibrahim said were always filled with the smell of the water and soap which the women poured onto the street in the morning from their balconies. She didn’t know why the women in working class neighborhoods poured out that soapy water.

3

What was it with Eid’s staring at women’s faces? No one could figure it out. Seeing him following women and girls on the street made people smile. Upon seeing a woman coming from a distance, going toward al-Mallaha to buy fish or coming out of the dark tunnel connecting al-Mallaha and the Mahmudiya road after buying the fish, Eid would head directly for her, unconcerned about anything but her eyes, seeing nothing but them. He doesn’t care if the woman has come out of the tunnel with her body wrap half undone or her arms or shoulders bare, or the collar of her gallabiya revealing more than her neckline. Such issues did not matter to Eid, even though they mattered a lot to the bums sitting near al-Enaibsy’s store next to the stairs leading to the tunnel, men of unknown identities who came everyday to hang out with Mahmud, Shorty the ice vendor and his assistants, and the spice merchant, Ground Pepper, as he called himself. Eid would wait until such a woman adjusted her clothes then would dash toward her and once in front of her he looked at her eyes and smiled.

The initial reaction of the women is confusion: some scream or run, others give him a tongue-lashing or hit him lightly on the shoulder, but it doesn’t take them long to recover their composure and smile or laugh. Eid then turns his back to them and throws up his hands in the air in a gesture imitating adults, and his eyes light up with joy and he laughs. Eid has become well-known to many women from Karmuz, Ghayt al-Aynab, Kafr Ashri, and Kom al-Shuqafa who frequent al-Mallaha. What is that handsome, blond, barefoot boy looking for in women’s eyes and faces? No one knows. When Arabi once asked him that question, Eid stared long and hard at him, then smiled, turned away and left. Arabi stood there, surprised and puzzled, then he too smiled and never asked that question again, realizing he wouldn’t get anywhere with it. Eid’s own father reached the same conclusion; he had given him so many beatings to make him go to school regularly, but as soon as Eid reached the gate of the school, he would stand watching Karawan go in, and then go back looking for women. Eid still does that every day: he gets up early, accompanies Karawan but never enters the school. His father and his mother, sadly, have given up on him.

I am afraid someone might hurt Eid, someone with one of the women, said the father.

I fear it even more than you do, the mother said as a tear rolled down her cheek and the father murmured, The Lord works in mysterious ways! As he reflected on his son’s fair complexion and green eyes he said to himself that his beautiful boy did not deserve to be in such a mess. He had stopped beating him since the night Eid jumped out of the house as if he were jumping down from the roof to the ground. Eid then ran down the main road to the Mahmudiya Canal. They couldn’t find him for three days, even though he wasn’t as far away as they thought. At night he had gone up to the roof from the back of the project houses; he climbed up the smooth wall facing the railroad tracks and lay down totally still on the roof. He didn’t eat or drink anything and couldn’t move at all. He almost died of thirst but he didn’t think to get up or go back. No one heard him make a sound, a moan, or a cry for help, even though every ten houses shared a common roof and the women and girls usually went up there to hang the clothes to dry. None of them noticed that thing stretched out next to the neglected wall or thought to check it out to see if it was Eid or some other living thing.

Eid had covered himself with old rags that he had found on the roof and fell asleep until the third day when Johnnie went up to the roof in the late afternoon and began to play with the pebbles and small rocks that nobody knew where they came from. She started languidly throwing pebbles, knowing that Khayr al-Din was on the other roof, watching her fondly. A pebble fell from her hand and didn’t bounce. Johnnie went closer to that soft thing on which the pebble had landed and she saw Eid’s yellowed hand under the rags. Murder! she screamed, Murder! as she ran hysterically around the roof. All the men, women, youth, and children of the Project went up on the roof and Eid kept looking at them wearily: he had sat up but couldn’t get up. That night his mother stayed up with him putting chicken meat in his mouth and feeding him hot chicken soup all night long while his father kept crying in silence.

Eid goes with Karawan to the Qabbari Elementary school. They cross the railroad tracks and the al-Basha platform where goods arrive from the interior of the country by freight train. As soon as they go out of the gate, accompanied by Mustafa and Abdu who are in the higher grades in school, Eid leaves them but he doesn’t go back the same way. He goes toward Kafr Ashri