The Time and the Place (15 page)

The men backed away in shame, while one of them shouted at him, “Soon they'll be reciting the Fatiha over your dead body.”

Othman took to roaming the quarters in his ordinary galabeya
and the strange legend that had grown around him saw to it that he was received with respect wherever he went. Whenever he came across a tough, big or small, he would block his way and demand that the man say, for everyone to hear, “I'm a woman.” If there was any hesitation, he would hurl himself at the tough and flatten him to the ground. Every day would bring battles that the officer would enter boldly and emerge from victorious. Only a few months were to pass before the toughs departed from Da'bas and Halwagi, and no one was left but old men, women, and children, or those who went about with lowered eyes and had washed their hands of violence. The weak felt as if they had been born anew, and they looked at the officer with affection and esteem in their eyes.

Uncle Laithi grew sick, lost his sight completely, and took to his bed, and Na'ima wandered around on her own with the handcart of liver. As the days passed she became increasingly beautiful, aided by the reputation she had gained from el-A'war and Gu'ran having recently competed for her. The alley expected from one moment to the next that she would be betrothed to some suitable bridegroom. Then, one night, Handas, the lad at the café, whispered to those gathered there for the evening, “Have you seen how the officer looks at Na'ima?” No one had noticed anything, so he went on. “He devours her with his eyes.”

Each one, from his own vantage point, proceeded to observe Na'ima. They perceived that she usually made her pitch with her handcart by the wall opposite the police station; that Othman would steal glances at her with noticeable interest, his eyes exploring the places of particular beauty in her face and body; and that when calling out her wares, the inflection of Na'ima's voice would be tinged with coquetry. In her sidelong glances and in every movement in her dealings there were feminine nuances directed at a man deserving of attention. As one of the
café habitués, on a subsequent evening, said, “He devours her and she likes being devoured.”

“And poor Uncle Laithi?” muttered the café owner.

“Who knows?” said the lupine-seed seller. “Perhaps the officer has asked the old man to be his father-in-law!”

“Nothing is too difficult for God,” said the blind Koran reciter.

The others' eyes, though, bespoke the extent of their hopelessness. “He's stronger than Gu'ran and el-A'war together,” said a young man, “and heaven help anyone who lets out so much as a squeak.”

And Na'ima stood in the moonlight, checking through the day's takings and singing, “Before him I was a fool.” But, desiring peace, the young men steered clear of her, saying that no girl sang like that unless she was in love.

Not many nights were to pass before Handas returned with news. “Everything has come to light—I saw the two of them yesterday at the Shubra wasteland…”

“Have a fear of God!” warned the owner of the café.

“She was standing—God be praised—in front of the cart, and the officer was eating the liver like a wild animal.”

“It's quite natural,” said the Koran reciter. “It happens to everyone.”

“But at the Shubra wasteland!” exclaimed Handas. “Didn't you hear, sir? I called on God's mercy for poor Uncle Laithi.”

Sadness penetrated to the depths of their hearts. Then the café owner said, “Her father's decrepit, but it's the honor of the whole quarter.”

“The quarter itself is too decrepit to defend her honor,” said the lupine-seed seller.

Shame turned their faces sullen, and they were astonished that this should come from the man who had bestowed peace upon them. The narghile and its tobacco had no taste for them. “And what's to be done?” asked the young man.

“Just say ‘I'm a woman,' ” said the blind Koran reciter.

Na'ima noticed the silence and contempt that enclosed her, and she began making up to this one and that, testing her doubts, but she encountered a wall of rancor. She was not afraid of being attacked, safe in the knowledge that the toughest of the toughs was to be found at his place outside the police station, but she suffered a lonely isolation. She kept her head raised proudly, yet the look in her honey-colored eyes was as a withered leaf, devoid of any spirit. At the slightest passing friction she would flare up in rage and be ready for a fight. She would curse and swear, and shout at her victim, “I'm more honorable than your mother.” And all the while the officer would be seated in the cane chair, smoking his narghile and stretching out his legs halfway across the alley. His body had filled out, his stomach was paunchy, and there was a lofty look in his eyes. His ardor, though, had subsided, and it seemed that Na'ima herself no longer aroused his feelings. Those who, despite everything, had not forgotten the benefits he had brought, sighed and said, “What will be will be.”

Na'ima now spent only the shortest time possible in the alley and would then wander far afield into different quarters and not return until night. Because she was always edgy and spoiling for a fight, her features had become stern and sullen, the look in her eyes frigid. She had become marked by a certain dullness which showed that old age was rushing toward her without mercy.

When that magic of hers that had turned the officer's head had faded—or so it appeared to curious eyes—there were whispers in the corners of the Mulberry Café. In the moments of silence the gurgling of the water pipes could be heard in the dying light of the alley like a succession of mocking laughs.

The clouds gathered and grew denser like night descending, then the drizzle came down. The road was swept by a cold wind full of the aroma of humidity. The passersby quickened their pace, except for a group that had collected under the bus shelter. The ordinariness of the scene would almost have frozen it into inactivity, had it not been for a man who rushed headlong like a madman out of a side street and disappeared into another street opposite. Following on his heels was a group of men and youths who were shouting, “Thief…catch the thief!” The uproar gradually decreased then suddenly died out, with the drizzle continuing. The road emptied, or almost so; as for those gathered under the shelter, some were waiting for the bus while others had retreated there for fear of getting wet. The noise of the chase again revived, becoming louder as it grew closer. Then the pursuers came into view as the men laid hands on the thief, while around them the youths cheered with high-pitched voices. Halfway across the road, the thief tried to make his escape, so they took hold of him and fell upon him with slaps and kicks. Receiving such a violent beating, he resisted and struck out at random. The eyes of those standing under the shelter were firmly fixed on the battle.

“What a cruel beating they're giving him!”

“There'll be a crime worse than theft!”

“Look—there's a policeman standing at the entrance to a building, watching!”

“But he's turned his face away!”

The drizzle increased so that for a while it formed an uninterrupted
sequence of silver-colored threads, then the rain fairly poured down. The road emptied of all but those fighting and those standing under the shelter. Exhausted, the men then stopped their exchange of blows with the thief and surrounded him; puffing and blowing, they exchanged inaudible words with him. Then, heedless of the rain, they became engrossed in a weighty discussion that no one could make out. Their clothes clinging to their bodies, they continued determinedly with their discussion, without paying the least attention to the rain. The thief's movements expressed the vehemence of his defense, but no one believed him. He waved his arms about as though he were making a speech, but his voice was drowned by the distance and the heavy downpour of rain. There was no doubt that he was delivering a speech and that the men were listening to him. Under the rain, they gazed mutely at him. The eyes of those standing under the shelter remained fixed on them.

“How is it that the policeman doesn't move?”

“That's what makes me think the incident might be a scene being shot for a film.”

“But the beating was real enough!”

“And the discussion and the speech-making under the rain!”

Something unusual attracted their gaze. From the direction of the square, two cars rushed out at a crazy speed. It appeared to be a furious chase. The car in front was tearing along, with the other on the point of catching up to it. Then the one in front braked so suddenly that it skidded on the surface of the road and the other knocked into it with a resounding crash. Both cars overturned, causing an explosion, and they immediately caught fire. Screams and groans rang out under the pouring rain. But no one hurried toward the accident: the thief did not stop declaiming, and none of those surrounding him turned toward the remnants of the two cars that had been destroyed a few meters away from them. They took no notice, just as they took no
notice of the rain. Those standing under the shelter caught sight of a person covered in blood, one of the victims of the accident, crawling exceedingly slowly from under one of the cars. Attempting to raise himself on all fours, he took a final tumble onto his face.

“A real disaster, no doubt about it!”

“The policeman doesn't want to budge!”

“There must be a telephone nearby.”

But no one moved, all fearful of the rain. It was a frightening downpour, and there were cracks of thunder. The thief, having completed his speech, stood regarding his listeners with calm confidence. Suddenly he began to take off his clothes till he was completely naked. He threw his clothes onto the wreckage of the two cars, whose fires had been put out by the rain. He walked around as though showing off his naked body. He took two steps forward, then two steps back and began to dance with a professional refinement of movement. At this those who had been chasing him clapped in time, while the young men linked arms and began circling around him. Perplexed, those standing under the shelter held their breath.

“If it's not a scene being filmed, then it's madness!”

“Without doubt a scene being shot for a film, and the policeman's merely one of them waiting to perform his part.”

“And the car accident?”

“Technical skill—and at the end we'll find the director behind a window.”

A window in a building opposite the shelter was opened, making a noise that drew attention to it. Despite the clapping and the downpour of rain, eyes were directed at it. A fully dressed man appeared at the window. He gave a whistle, and immediately another window in the same building was opened and a woman appeared, fully dressed and made up, who answered the whistle with a nod of her head. The two of them
disappeared from the gaze of those standing under the shelter; after a while the two left the building together. Heedless of the rain, they walked out arm in arm. They stood by the wrecked cars, exchanged a word, and began taking off their clothes until they were completely naked under the rain. The woman threw herself down on the ground, letting her head fall on the corpse of the dead man, which was lying facedown. The man knelt alongside her and began, with hands and lips, making tender love. Then the man covered her with his body, and they began copulating. The dancing and the clapping, and the young men moving in a circle, and the downpour of the rain, continued uninterrupted.

“Scandalous!”

“If it's a scene in a film it's scandalous, and if it's for real it's madness.”

“The policeman is lighting a cigarette.”

The semiempty street then saw new life. From the south came a camel caravan, preceded by a caravan leader and several Bedouin men and women. They encamped at a short distance from the circle of the dancing thief. The camels were tied to the walls of the houses, and tents were erected, after which the people dispersed, some of them partaking of food or sipping tea or smoking, while others engaged in conversation. From the north came a group of tourist buses carrying Europeans. They came to a stop behind the thief's circle, then the passengers, men and women, got out and dispersed in groups, eagerly exploring the place, heedless of the dancing, the copulating, death, or the rain.

Then a lot of building workers came along, followed by trucks loaded with stones, cement, and construction equipment. With incredible speed the workers set up a magnificent tomb. Close by it they made out of the stones a large elevated throne and covered it with sheets and decorated its supports with
flowers—all this under the rain. They went to the wreckage of the two cars and took out the corpses, the heads smashed in and the limbs burned. The body of the man lying on his face they also took from under the two lovers, who had not ceased their copulating. They ranged the bodies on the throne alongside one another, then turned their attention to the two lovers and carried them off together, still entwined, and deposited them in the tomb, blocking up the opening and leveling off the earth. After that, cheering with words that no one could make out, they boarded the trucks, which took them off with lightning speed.

“It's as though we're in a dream!”

“A frightening dream—we'd better be off.”

“No, we must wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“The happy ending.”

“Happy?”

“Or else tell the producer he's got a catastrophe on his hands!”

While they were conversing, a man wearing judge's robes sat down cross-legged on the tomb. No one saw where he had come from: whether from among the European tourists, from among the Bedouin, or from the dance circle. He spread a newspaper before him and began reading out an item as though pronouncing sentence. No one could hear what he was saying, for it was drowned by the clapping, the clamor of voices in all sorts of languages, and the rain. But his inaudible words were not lost, for movements of violent conflict like clamorous waves spread along the road, with battles breaking out in the midst of the Bedouin, and others in the areas where the Europeans were to be found. Battles then started up between the Bedouin and the Europeans. Other people began dancing and singing. Many gathered around the tomb and began copulating in the nude.
The thief danced in a frenzy of singular invention. Everything became more intense and attained a peak: killing and dancing and copulation and death, the thunder and the rain.

A large man slipped in among the people standing under the shelter. Bareheaded, he was wearing trousers and a black pullover, and he carried a telescope. He violently cleaved his way through the group and began watching the road through his telescope, moving it around in different directions and muttering, “Not bad…not bad.”

The eyes of the group fastened on him.

“Is it him?”

“Yes, he's the director.”

The man once again addressed the road, murmuring, “Keep going, don't make any mistakes or we'll have to take everything from the beginning.”

Then one of the men asked him, “Sir, would you be…?”

But he cut him short with an abrupt, unfriendly gesture, so the man swallowed the remainder of his question and kept quiet. But someone else, deriving courage from the tautness of his nerves, asked, “Are you the director?”

The man did not turn to his questioner but continued his surveillance, at which a human head rolled toward the bus stop, coming to rest several feet away, blood spouting profusely from where it had been severed from the neck. The people under the shelter screamed in terror, while the man with the telescope stared for some time at the head, then mumbled, “Well done…well done!”

“But it's a real head and real blood!” a man shouted at him.

The man directed his telescope toward a man and a woman copulating, then called out impatiently, “Change position—take care it doesn't get boring!”

“But it's a real head!” the other man shouted at him. “Please explain to us what it's all about.”

“Just one word from you would be enough for us to know who you are and who these people are,” said another man.

“Nothing's stopping you from speaking,” implored a third person.

“Sir,” a fourth entreated, “don't begrudge us peace of mind.”

But the man with the telescope gave a sudden leap backward, as though to hide himself behind them. His arrogance melted away in a searching look; his haughtiness disappeared. It was as though he had become old or been shattered by some illness. The people gathered under the shelter saw a group of official-looking men wandering about not far away, like dogs sniffing around. The man tore off at a mad run under the rain; one of the men wandering around darted after him, followed, like a hurricane, by the others. Soon they had all disappeared from view, leaving the road to murder, copulation, dancing, and the rain.

“Good heavens! It wasn't the director after all.”

“Who is he, then?”

“Perhaps he's a thief.”

“Or an escaped lunatic.”

“Or perhaps he and his pursuers belong to a scene in the film.”

“These are real events and have nothing to do with acting.”

“But acting is the sole premise that makes them somewhat acceptable.”

“There's no point in concocting premises.”

“Then what's your explanation for it?”

“It's reality, quite regardless of…”

“How can it be happening?”

“It is happening.”

“We must be off at any price.”

“We shall be called to give evidence at the inquiry.”

“There's some hope left….”

The man who said this advanced toward the policeman and shouted, “Sergeant…!”

He called four times before the policeman took note. He scowled, clearing his throat, at which the other gestured to him in appeal, saying, “Please, Sergeant…”

The sergeant looked at the rain in displeasure, then fastened his overcoat around his body and hurried toward them until he was standing under the shelter. He scrutinized them sternly and inquired, “What's it to do with you?”

“Haven't you seen what's happening in the street?”

Without averting his eyes, he said, “Everyone at the bus stop has taken his bus except for you. What are you up to?”

“Look at that human head.”

“Where are your identity cards?”

He examined their cards as he gave a cruel, ironic smile. “What's behind your assembling here?”

They exchanged glances proclaiming their innocence, and one of them said, “Not one of us knows any of the others.”

“A lie that will not help you now.”

He took two steps back. Aiming his gun at them, he fired quickly and accurately. One after the other they fell lifelessly to the ground. Their bodies were sprawled under the shelter, the heads cushioned on the sidewalk under the rain.