Astonished, he sat up straight and cried out, 'What did you say?'
She Laughed and then answered in a mildly sarcastic tone, 'Never fear. Atiya will take you to another house as safe as this one.
'But what's happened?'
'I've grown old, nephew, and God has given me more riches than I need. Yesterday, the police raided a nearby brothel and took the macam to the station. I've had enough. I'm planning to repent. I must change my ways before I meet my Lord.'
He fiuished his drink and refilled the glass. Then, as if he did not believe what he had heard, he remarked, 'All that's left is for you to board the boat to Mecca and perform the pilgrimage.'
'May our Lord give me the power to do what's right.'
After wondering about this for a while, he roused himself from his stupor to ask, 'Did all this happen suddenly?'
'Of course not. I don't reveal a secret until I'm ready to act on it. I've been thinking about this for a long time.'
'You 're serious?'
'Absolutely. May our Lord be with us.'
'I don't know what to say. But in any case may our Lord give you the strength to do the right thing.'
'Amen'. Then, laughing, she added, 'Relax. I won't close this house until I've made provisions for your future.'
He laughed out loud and asked, 'Isn't it absurd to think that I could ever find a house where I would feel as much at home as here?'
'You can depend on me to pass you on to a new madam, even if I'm in Mecca.'
'Everything seems ridiculous,' Kamal thought. 'But alcohol will always be the direction toward which sorrowful people turn their prayerful attentions. Circumstances have changed. Fuad Jamil al-Hamzawi's star has risen, and that of Kamal Ahmad Abd al-Jawad has declined. Yet alcohol will always bring a smile to the face of a grieving person. Kamal once amused Ridwan by carrying the young boy on his shoulder. Now the day has come for Ridwan to grasp Kamal in order to keep him from stumbling. Still, alcohol remains a lifeline for melancholy men.'
Even Madam Jalila was planning to repent at the very time that he was searching for a new brothel. But liquor would continue to be his last resort.
'An invalid,' he concluded, 'finds everything boring, even boredom, but alcohol will always be the key to a happy release.'
'Whenever I hear good things about you it makes me happy,' he told her.
'May God guide you and bring you happiness.'
'Perhaps I had better go? …'
She placed a finger in front of his mouth to silence him and exclaimed, 'God forgive you! This is your house so long as it is mine. And whatever house I settle in will be yours, nephew.'
Washe expiating some ancient curse of unknown origin? How could he escape from the anguish engulfing his life? Jalila herself was thinking seriously about transforming her life. Why should he not follow her example? A drowning man either finds a boulder to cling to or drowns. 'If life has no meaning, why shouldn't we create a meaning for it?' he asked himself. 'Perhaps it's a mistake for us to look for meaning in this world, precisely because our primary mission here is to create this meaning.'
Jalila gave him a peculiar look, and he realized too late that he had unconsciously spoken these last words. Laughing, Jalila inquired, 'Have you gotten drunk so fast?'
He masked his discomfort with a loud laugh and replied, 'Wartime liquor's like poison. Forgive me. When do you suppose Atiya's coming?'
151
Kamal left Jalila's house at one-thirty in the morning. The world was veiled in a darkness tempered by silence as he slowly made his way to New Street and then turned toward al-Husayn. How long would he live in this sacred district that had lost all of its spiritual significance for him? He smiled wanly. The only remaining vestige of the liquor was a hangover. His blazing desires had died away, and he plodded along lethargically. Often at a time like this when lust had been satisfied, something not regret or a wish to repent would scream from his inner depths, imploring and urging him to cleanse and free himself from the grip of physical appetites once and for all, as if the receding waves of desire had laid bare sub merged boulders of asceticism. When he raised his head skyward to commune with the stars, an air-raid siren ripped through the stillness of the night. His heart raced fiercely, and his sleepy eyes opened wide. He headed instinctively for the nearest wall, to walk along beside it. Looking up at the sky once more, he saw that searchlights were sweeping across the heavens at great speed. They met at times, only to veer off wildly on separate paths. Still hugging the walls, he increased his pace. He had an oppressive sense of being alone, as though he were the only person left on the face of the earth.
A shrill whistling sound, unlike anything he had ever heard before, plummeted from the sky, and it was followed by an enormous explosion that rocked the earth beneath his feet. Was it near or far? He did not have time to review his information about air raids, since the explosions came in such rapid succession that it took his breath away. There were repeated bursts of antiaircraft fire, and mysterious unidentifiable flashes of light streaked the air like lightning. It seemed to him that the whole earth was ilying apart in a burst of sparks. Heedless of his surroundings, he shot off at a gallop toward Qirmiz Alley to shelter under its historic vaults. The guns were firing with an insane rage, as bombs pounded their targets and made the earth shake. After a few terrifying seconds he reached the passageway, which was packed with a multitude of people, whose bodies gave substance to its gloom. Panting, he slipped in among them. In the pervasive darkness, the prevailing sense of terror was voiced by little moans of alarm. From time to time, the entrance and exit to the vaulted section were illuminated by light reflected from the streaks in the sky.
The bombs had stopped falling — or so it seemed but the anti-aircraft guns kept on firing as wildly as before, and their impact on the soul was no less distressing than that of the bombs. There was a babbling confusion of shrieks, sobs, and scolding reprimands from various men, women, and children.
'This raid's not like the others.'
'Our ancient district can't take this new kind of raid.'
'Spare us your chatter. Say, Lord!''
'We are saying, Lord!''
'Be quiet. Be quiet! May God be compassionate to you.'
While watching flashes of light illuminate the exit, Kamal saw a new group approach. He thought he recognized his father among them, and his heart pounded. Was it really his father? How could the man have gotten all the way to the alley? Indeed, how could he have gotten out of bed? Kamal pushed through the agitated throngs of people until he reached the end of the vault. In a glimmer of light, he saw the whole family his father and mother, Aisha, and Umm Hanafi. He made his way to them and then, standing beside them, whispered, 'It's Kamal. Are you all right?'
His father did not answer. Utterly exhausted, he was leaning against the wall, between Kamal's mother and Aisha. The mother said, 'Kamal? Praise God. This is atrocious, son. It's not like before. We thought the house was going to tumble down on our heads. Our Lord gave your father enough strength to get out of bed and come with us. I have no idea how he made it or how we got here.'
Umm Hanafi muttered, 'Compassion is from Him. What is this terror? May our Lord be gracious to us.'
Suddenly, Aisha cried out, 'When will these guns be still?'
Fearing that her voice suggested her nerves were at the breaking point, Kamal went to Aisha and took her hand between both of his, for he had recovered some of his presence of mind on finding himself with people who needed his support. The guns were still firing with a wild rage, but their fury started to abate by barely perceptible degrees. Kamal leaned toward his father and asked, 'How are you, Father?'
The man replied in a feeble whisper, 'Where wxre you, Kamal? Where were you when the raid started?'
To set the man's mind at ease, Kamal said, 'I was near the alley. How are you?'
