The Harafish (37 page)

52
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“What's your name?” asked a calm, sonorous voice from the darkness.

Galal gave a sigh of relief. “Galal, the clan chief,” he answered.

“Answer the question,” repeated the voice.

He stuck his chest out. “Galal Abd Rabbihi al-Nagi.”

“Answer the question.”

“Galal,” he said dryly.

“And your mother's name?”

His anger flared dangerously. Lurid demons danced in the darkness.

“Your mother's name?” asked the voice, mechanical yet threatening.

He swallowed, suppressing his rage. “Zahira.”

“What do you want?”

He hesitated, but the voice did not allow him this respite. “What do you want?”

“To know about associating with jinns.”

“What do you want?”

“I've just told you.”

“What do you want?”

Anger seized him. “Don't you know who I am?” he said menacingly.

“Galal, son of Zahira.”

“I could flatten you with a single blow.”

“I think not.” This was said with absolute confidence.

“Shall we try?” shouted Galal.

“What do you want?” asked the voice, cold and indifferent.

“Immortality,” answered Galal, surrendering on all fronts.

“Why?”

“That's my business.”

“The believer does not challenge God's will.”

“I'm a believer, and I want to be immortal.”

“It's risky.”

“Too bad.”

“You'll long to die and be unable to.”

“Too bad,” he said again, his heart pounding.

The voice fell silent. Had he gone away? Once again Galal lost all his bearings, and waited impatiently, his nerves on edge. He peered desperately around him, but could see nothing.

53
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After a period of agony, the voice returned. “Are you ready to do whatever is required of you?”

“Of course,” he replied with alacrity.

“Give my maid Hawa the largest building you own so that I can atone for my sin by providing her with a good source of income.”

“I agree,” he said after a brief pause.

“Build a minaret ten stories high.”

“On to the present mosque?”

“No.”

“A new mosque?”

“No. A freestanding minaret.”

“But…”

“No arguments.”

“I agree.”

“Spend a whole year in your private apartments seeing no one and being seen by no one except your manservant. Avoid all distractions.”

“I agree,” he said, feeling his heart contract.

“On the last day of your seclusion your pact with the Evil One will be sealed and you will never know death.”

54
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Galal made his largest building over to the Ethiopian maid, Hawa. He hired a contractor to erect a giant minaret on a piece of waste ground. The man agreed to this strange commission out of a mixture of greed and fear. Galal put Mu'nis al-Al in charge of his men, leaving him numerous instructions, and announced that he was withdrawing from public life for a year to fulfill a holy vow. He entrenched himself in his rooms, recording each passing day as Samaha had done in exile, and stayed away from the calabash, the
narghile, and Zaynat the Blonde in the firm hope that he would triumph in the greatest struggle known to man.

55
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His decision hit Zaynat the Blonde like a death blow. A painful severance, with no preliminaries, no satisfactory reason given for it. It evoked bitterness, fear, desperation. Hadn't they been like butter and honey, blending sweetly? She had been sure he was hers forever, and now he was shutting the door in her face like the dervishes in the monastery, leaving those who loved him hurt and confused. She wept inconsolably when the servants prevented her entering his room. She went to visit Radi, but found him equally perplexed. She sat with Abd Rabbihi in his room. The old man had changed. These days he seldom visited the bar and had become proper and modest. He too was troubled about his son.

“I'm not allowed to see him, even though we're living under the same roof,” he said.

Zaynat lived a tormented existence. She was not short of money but had lost her lord and master. Her self-confidence was shaken, and the future loomed threatening and mysterious.

56
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The clan was thrown into disarray. No one was content with Mu'nis al-Al, but they were obliged to obey him. They wondered what vow Galal had made, why he had handed over the leadership of the clan, and entrusted his business and property to his brother.

The dangerous news leaked out to rival chiefs. As time passed, they announced the resumption of hostilities. Mu'nis al-Al suffered his first defeat at the hands of the men of the Atuf clan, followed closely by the gangs from Kafr al-Zaghari, Husayniyya, and other neighborhoods. Eventually he was forced to pay out protection money to safeguard the alley's peace and security. The men wanted to tell Galal of the disastrous turn of events, but they
were prevented as surely as if death had snatched him from them and buried him in a sealed tomb.

57
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The people watched the strange minaret going up in astonishment. It rose higher and higher toward infinity, straight from its firm foundations in the ground. There was no mosque beneath it. No one knew its function or purpose. Even the man responsible for building it knew nothing about it.

“Has he gone mad?” people asked one another.

The harafish said a curse had fallen on him for betraying his great ancestor's covenant and ignoring his true people in pursuit of his insatiable greed.

58
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As time went by, he sank deeper into isolation. Gradually he pulled up the roots attaching him to the outside world—his power in the clan, money, his beautiful lover—and abandoned himself to silence, to patience, to his conscience. He was worn out by the hope of being the first human being to achieve the impossible dream. Every day he stared time in the face, alone with no diversions, no drugs or alcohol. He confronted its inertia, its torpor, its solid weight. An obstinate, unyielding, impenetrable mass, where he floundered like someone in a nightmare. A thick wall, oppressive and gloomy. Time was unendurable without the aid of work or companionship. As if we only work, make friends, fall in love, seek amusement to escape from it. Seeing time pass too quickly is less painful than seeing it grind to a halt. When he achieved immortality, he would try everything, unhindered by fear or laziness. He would rush into battle without stopping to think. Scorn reason as much as folly. One day he would be at the forefront of the human race. Now he crawled over the seconds and begged for mercy, palms outstretched. He wondered when the devil would come, how he would form a bond with him. Would he see him in the flesh, hear his voice, or be joined with him like the air he breathed? He was
exhausted, bored. But he would not succumb to weakness. He was not going to fail. It didn't matter if he suffered, or gave in to tears. He believed in what he was doing. He could not turn back. Eternity did not scare him. He would never know death. The rest of the world would be subject to the changing seasons, but for him it would be eternal spring. He would be the vanguard of a new form of existence, the one to discover life without death, the first to reject eternal repose. A secret power made manifest. Only the weak are afraid to live. However, living face-to-face with time is an unimaginable torment.

59
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On the last day of the appointed year, Galal stood naked in front of an open window. The sun's rays, cleansed in the moist air of winter, struck him full in the face, and the cool wind played gently over his body. The time had come for him to reap the fruits of his patience. The weary, lonely night was over. Galal Abd Rabbihi was no longer an ephemeral creature. A new spirit breathed in him, intoxicating him, inspiring him with strength and confidence. He would talk to himself and to others too, and listen to the voice of his conscience with no misgivings. He had triumphed over time by holding out against it, unaided. He was no longer afraid of it. It could threaten others with its ominous passing. He would never be afflicted with wrinkles, gray hair, or impotence. His soul would not betray him. No coffin would ever carry him, no tomb shelter him. This firm body would never disintegrate and become dust. He would never know the grief of parting.

He strolled naked around the room, repeating serenely, “This life is blessed indeed.”

60
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The door opened agitatedly and Zaynat the Blonde rushed into the room. She flew at him in a frenzy of longing and they melted in a long, passionate embrace. She began to sob convulsively. “What did you do?” she asked him reproachfully.

He kissed her on the cheeks and lips.

“How did you pass the time?”

He was overcome by a rush of yearning for her. A precious, transient feeling. He saw her young and beautiful, old and ugly in turn. A sweet deception. As if fidelity had become impossible.

“Let's forget what's happened,” he said.

“But I want to know.”

“Think of it as an illness that's over now.”

“You're so deceitful.”

“You're so nice.”

“Do you know what happened while you were away?”

“Let's talk about that later.”

She took a step back. “How beautiful you look,” she said admiringly.

He felt a pang of guilt and looked at her regretfully. “I'm sorry for making you suffer.”

“I'll be fine again in a few hours. But I want to know your secret,” she said stubbornly.

He hesitated, then said firmly, “I was ill and now I'm cured.”

“I should have stayed with you.”

“Isolation was the cure!”

She held him close and whispered amorously, “Show me if love's still the same. I'll tell you my troubles later.”

61
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He received Abd Rabbihi and Radi in the salon and embraced them warmly. They were followed by Mu'nis al-Al and men from the gang. They kissed him respectfully.

“It's all gone. We were powerless to stop it,” said Mu'nis pitifully.

Escorted by his men, Galal emerged into the alley and made for the café. The whole alley turned out to greet him, friends, enemies, admirers, detractors. He leaned toward Mu'nis. “Do some people think I'm crazy?” he asked.

“God forbid, chief,” murmured Mu'nis.

“Let them get back to work. Tell them we're grateful,” said
Galal, gazing at the crowd contemptuously. Then he muttered, “How much hatred there is. How little affection!”

62
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He visited the minaret, accompanied by Abd Rabbihi and Radi. It was firmly planted in the waste ground, with the rubble and litter cleared from around about it. It had a square base the size of a large room with an arched door of polished wood. Its sturdy bulk rose endlessly toward an invisible summit, towering above the surrounding buildings. Its sharp sides evoked power, its red color strangeness and terror.

“If we accept that this is a minaret,” asked Abd Rabbihi, “then where's the mosque?”

Galal did not answer.

“It cost us an inordinate sum of money,” said Radi.

“What's it for, son?” persisted Abd Rabbihi.

“God knows,” laughed Galal.

“Since it was finished, people talk of nothing else.”

“Don't pay them any attention,” said Galal disdainfully. “It's part of my vow. A man may do a lot of stupid things in the course of becoming unusually wise.”

His father was about to repeat his question, but he interrupted him in a decisive tone. “Look, you see this minaret? It will still be here when everything else in the alley is in ruins. Interrogate it. It'll answer your questions if it pleases.”

63
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Taking the herbalist aside, he asked him with terrifying solemnity, “What did you think of my year's retreat?”

“I took what you told me at face value,” said the man sincerely, his heart beating with fright.

“What about the minaret?”

“I suppose it's part of your vow,” he said hesitantly.

“I thought you were a man of sound judgment, Abd al-Khaliq,” scowled Galal.

“I'm damned if I've breathed a word of our secret,” he said hurriedly.

64
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At dead of night he crept along to the minaret and climbed the stairs, floor by floor, until he reached the balcony at the very top. He braved the winter cold, armored in his absolute power over existence. He craned up at the festival of bright stars spread like a canopy above his head. Thousands of eyes sparkling down at him, while beneath him everything was immersed in gloom. Perhaps he had not climbed up to the top of the minaret, but simply grown to the height he ought to be. He had to grow higher, ever higher, for there was no other way to achieve purity. At the top the language of the stars was audible, the whisperings of space, the prayers for power and immortality, far from the exaggerated complaints, the lassitude, the stink of decay. Now the poems from the monastery sung of eternity. The truth revealed many of its hidden faces. Destinies were laid bare. From this balcony he could follow successive generations, play a role in each, join the family of the celestial bodies for all eternity.

65
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He led his men out to teach his enemies a lesson and restore the alley to its former status. In a short space of time he had won brilliant victories over Atuf, Husayniyya, Bulaq, Kafr al-Zaghari, and Darasa. He hurled himself at his adversaries and they scattered before him, crushed by the humiliation of defeat. He was known to be invincible. No amount of strength or courage could work against him.