The Harafish (14 page)

Sulayman avoided fights whenever he could and eventually chose to make an alliance with the chief of the al-Husayn neighborhood to save himself the trouble of facing hostile attacks alone; the alley rapidly lost the dominant position it had enjoyed since the time of Ashur.

The giant's appearance changed completely: he wore a cloak and turban and used a light carriage for his outings, forgot his principles and drank to the point of depravity, and put on so much weight that his face swelled like the dome of a mosque and his jowl hung down like a snake-charmer's pouch.

Every feast day, when Sheikh Said came to wish him well he used to say, “May all your days be blessed, Master Sulayman…”

11
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The two brothers, Bikr and Khidr, were not much alike. Bikr had the beauty and grace of his mother and always appeared cheerful and arrogant. Khidr had inherited his father's prominent cheekbones and his height, but seemed more sensitive. He may have been less arrogant than his brother but nobody would have called him modest. From growing up in the Samari house the two of them had learned good manners and elegant, refined ways; their knowledge of the alley where they lived was confined to the view from the high balconies of their home, and they had never set foot on its
uneven paving stones. They ran their business from a luxurious room in the house, only meeting the most important clients and leaving the daily transactions with the public to their subordinates. They didn't understand their father. Although they only saw him at his most imposing, they were not convinced of the worth of his position and did not entirely respect it. They had no idea that, without his influence, their business would have failed, and their employees and the merchants they dealt with would have made fun of their naiveté: they gained experience and skill in the most agreeable conditions, unaware of their good fortune.

12
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One evening the family sat around the silver-plated stove in the drawing room. January sat on its icy throne and a chill drizzle had been falling since early morning. Sulayman looked at his elegant, slender sons wrapped in velvet house robes, then, smiling faintly, said, “If Ashur al-Nagi could see you now, he'd disown you.”

“Even a king would envy them,” retorted Saniyya, gazing at them with love and admiration.

Sulayman said gloomily, “They're your sons. Neither of them will want to take my place.”

“What makes you think I'd like them to?”

“Don't you have any respect for my position?” he asked dully.

“I respect it as I respect you,” she said, changing tack deftly, “but I don't want to expose my sons to such dangers.”

What was the point of quarreling? What was left of the covenant of the Nagis? His older daughters had married harafish; his youngest, brought up with the advantages of his elevated status, had married a so-called respectable man and her children would be as alien as her father had become to his origins. His conscience had relaxed, his greedy body had abandoned itself to temptation and abuses of the flesh. To object in these circumstances would be farcical.

His son Bikr said, “Anyhow, our ancestor Ashur liked the good life!”

“Who are you to think you understand Ashur?” asked Sulayman angrily.

“That's what they say, father.”

“Only those whose hearts have been touched by the divine spark can understand Ashur.”

“Didn't he take over the Bannan house?”

“It was the dream he had and the covenant that were miraculous,” said Sulayman furiously.

“He didn't need a dream to tell him to run away from the plague,” said Bikr rashly.

The blood rushed into Sulayman's face and he shouted, “Is that any way to talk about al-Nagi?”

The newly refined Sulayman turned abruptly into a wildcat and it was as if Ashur had been resurrected.

Saniyya started in fright and said sharply to her son, “Your great-grandfather was a holy man, Bikr.”

“You'll never do anything worthwhile,” his father raged at him.

He left them to retire to his room and Saniyya said to Bikr, “Never forget that you are Bikr Sulayman Shams al-Din Ashur al-Nagi!”

“That's right,” murmured Khidr.

Still smarting from his father's rage, Bikr said, “But I'm also a merchant, and a Samari.”

13
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Saniyya decided to marry off her firstborn. She liked the look of Radwana, daughter of Hajj Radwan al-Shubakshi, the herbalist, and proceeded to arrange the engagement. Bikr had never seen his fiancée but trusted his mother's judgment.

Radwan al-Shubakshi was very wealthy, had fathered many children, and loved music and entertainment.

The marriage was celebrated and the young couple settled in a wing of the Samari house.

14
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With Bikr's marriage a new beauty entered the house. Bikr loved her passionately from the first night. She was tall and slender with blue eyes and golden hair; the one thing that vexed Bikr—in a superficial way—was that she was the same height as him, and appeared taller when she wore high heels.

“You'll find she'll tend to fill out,” his mother reassured him, “and with time she'll be as plump as her mother.”

The young bride was embarrassingly shy and hardly looked anyone in the eye. But as time passed she began to take in her surroundings and fix her giant of a father-in-law and her brother-in-law Khidr with disconcerting stares.

“The bride's not settling in,” said Khidr to his mother one day.

“She'll settle when she starts having children. I know these rich girls,” she said, smiling. “Wouldn't you like me to find you a nice girl like her?”

“Not before I'm twenty,” said Khidr. Then, noticing the dark Persian eyes gazing at him from a hanging rug, he hesitated, and added, “And I prefer golden hair and blue eyes.”

Saniyya held out her coal-black plait of hair and asked him with a smile, “Is black hair no longer acceptable?”

15
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Radwana and Khidr struck up a brother-sister relationship and he helped her gladly whenever Bikr was away on a business trip. In this way he made the acquaintance of her youngest sister, Wafa. She was small and dainty and very beautiful, but she had chestnut hair and hazel eyes. It occurred to him that Radwana may have been suggesting indirectly that he marry her and he was afraid of annoying her if he refused.

One day his mother asked, “Do you like Wafa?”

“She's a nice girl, but she's not for me,” he said firmly.

“I thought she'd be just right,” murmured his mother regretfully.

“I'm afraid Radwana will be angry if she finds out,” he told her.

“Radwana has some pride. She wouldn't put her sister up for sale,” answered Saniyya, “and marriage is all a matter of luck anyway.”

16
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Bikr went away on a business trip which was to last several days. When Khidr returned from the shop in the evening he found Radwana standing at the door leading to her apartments. They greeted one another and as he turned to go she said, “I want to ask your advice.”

He followed her into the sitting room and sat down on a divan. She sat facing him and looked at him in silence as if not knowing how to begin. The drowsy perfume of incense hung in the air. He began listening to the rustle of the silence.

“I'm here to help,” he prompted.

Still she said nothing. Then noticing his impatience, she began, “I don't know how to put it. Are you fed up with being with me already?”

“Not at all. It's just that I'd like to help.”

“I don't want anything more than that,” she said mysteriously.

He waited, uneasy beneath the glow of the bright eyes. Conjectures jostled around in his head. Had he missed something? Was she going to make an embarrassing suggestion?

“I'm at your service.”

In a strange voice she said, “You don't know the situation I'm in so I forgive you for trying to hurry me.”

“Let me put your mind at rest.”

“Do you think that's possible?”

“I don't see why not.”

Avoiding his eyes, she asked, “Have you ever been defeated?”

“I don't think so. But what do you mean? Who's your enemy?”

“I have no enemy. It's a defeat from within.”

He nodded his head, still confused.

“When you confront yourself and fail,” she went on, more boldly. “When you accept that you're destroyed, I suppose you could say.”

“God forbid!” he said, frowning. “Be honest with me, think of me as your brother.”

“No,” she said emphatically. “My brothers are somewhere different.”

“But I'm your brother too.”

“No, you're not. You should hear the whole story.”

“I'm all ears,” he said eagerly.

Clearly tense, she began, “When I was a girl in my father's house I used to see you from time to time and I heard someone saying you were one of the clan chief's sons.”

He nodded without speaking, feeling strangely disturbed. Radwana continued, “I never saw Bikr at all. That's just the way it was. I didn't even know you had a brother. It's nobody's fault.”

The strange presentiment grew stronger. Fears spilled into the incense-laden air and he summoned up images of Bikr, and his mother and father; the whole family came to hear the strange tale.

“Why don't you say something?”

“I'm listening to you.”

She laughed with embarrassment and said, “But that's the end of the story.”

“Then I didn't understand it.”

“You mean you don't want to.”

“I do,” he protested, secretly despairing.

“Then I'll tell you in words of one syllable,” she said with a bold, calculating glance at him. “One day my mother told me that Saniyya al-Samari had asked for my hand for her son.”

She raised her eyes to the ceiling; her long white neck was like the silver candelabra. Something screamed at him that such beauty was created to destroy him. That sorrow was heavier than the earth, more pervasive than the wind. And that a man could only breathe freely in exile.

Gently, sweetly, submissively she confessed, “It was very hard
for me to hide my joy.” Then, almost as if she were singing a song, “I never doubted it was you.”

He flinched and remained mute.

“That's the story. Now do you understand?” she demanded.

“You were lucky you got the better brother,” he said in an unsteady voice.

“Are you talking like that because you're afraid?” she asked, gently reproving.

“No. Because it's safer.”

“You've always been affectionate toward me.”

“Of course. You're my brother's wife and he's very dear to me.”

She came toward him in a graceful movement. Leaning closer to him so that her fragrant smell washed over him she said, “Tell me what you really feel.”

He rose to his feet in alarm, saying, “I've been completely open with you.”

“You're scared.”

“I'm not.”

“You're afraid of your brother, your father, yourself.”

“Stop torturing me.”

“Walls don't have ears or eyes.”

“Goodbye,” he muttered, making for the door. He walked blindly from the room, his mind and heart numb.

17
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Khidr avoided her. He had lunch in the shop and invented supper invitations. Saniyya noticed nothing out of the ordinary and the hours passed peacefully in the Samari household.

He was plagued with sorrow and anxiety. What should he do? He was alone with his problem, unable to ask anyone for advice. He felt tempted to flee the alley altogether. But where would he go and on what pretext? He had principles; Sulayman always said that he took after his great-grandfather—although he
lacked his strength and authority—unlike his brother Bikr who loved business with all its risks and opportunities.

He suffered and did nothing, yielding bleakly to his fate.

18
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Bikr returned from his trip and stopped off at the shop before going home. Khidr welcomed him warmly. He came in beaming with pleasure at his success.

“Thank God, it was a profitable deal,” he said.

Khidr smiled, welcoming the news, and Bikr asked, “How's business?”

“Great.”

“You're not yourself. What's wrong?”

He shuddered inwardly, but mentioned some minor ailment by way of explanation. How could they have a good relationship again after what had happened? He entered the details of Bikr's transaction in the records, his head in a turmoil. Whether he told him his secret or kept it to himself it would be wrong. How could he get away?

Bikr stood up, saying, “I'm exhausted. I'd better go home.”

19
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At this moment Bikr would be seeing Radwana again. Suddenly Khidr realized how wrong he had been to stay in the alley. He thought of her, bold and beautiful, receiving her husband. Would she be able to act the part of the longing, expectant wife? Would she go toward Bikr with the same graceful movement, passionately, eyes on fire? Would the curtain drop on her brief fancy and life return to its normal course?

Or would she succumb to hidden emotions and pretend to be ill? Would the rot spread in the new marriage, making life complicated and miserable?

He shuddered. “She could easily decide to have her revenge,” he murmured to himself.

Bikr would ask her what was wrong and she would say, tearfully, “Your brother's a traitor!”

Such a lie would do incalculable harm!

Wait a minute. Why hadn't she told her father-in-law or her mother-in-law at least? She'd find someone to believe her and he'd never find anyone.

She was cunning and shameless: she would act sad and say cryptically, “I'd like to move away from here.”