attention to a Jewish broker, so that a stranger would have thought Alwan a close friend of the man. He was, in fact, a veritable crouching tiger, willing to cringe and fawn until he mastered his adversary, and woe to anyone he _did__ master! Experience had taught him that this gentleman and others like him were enemies with whom one must be friendly. They were, as he put it, useful devils.
If he made a contract for tea, which was certain to bring a good profit, he would sit twisting his mustaches and belching whenever an unpleasant thought struck him. The visitor would try, after the tea contract, to persuade him to buy some real estate — he already knew of Alwan's desire to do so — but the merchant had decided to postpone the matter until after the war and refused to listen to the broker. The visitor then would leave the office, satisfied with the one contract he had made.
At midday, it was Alwan's custom to have lunch in his pleasant room that contained a couch for his subsequent afternoon siesta. His lunch generally consisted of vegetables, potatoes, and a bowl of husked green wheat. When he finished, he rested on his couch for an hour or two. During this time the activity in the company premises subsided and the whole alley became quieter too.
The bowl of husked grain had a story behind it, which the entire alley knew. It was both a food and a prescription which one of his senior employees prepared for him. For some time it had remained a secret between the two men, but, of course, no secret survived long in Midaq Alley. It consisted of a bowl of cooked green wheat, mixed with pieces of pigeon meat and ground nutmeg. He would have it for lunch, then drink tea every two hours afterward. Its magic effect began at night and lasted for two full hours of sheer delight. The preparation had long remained a secret between him, his employee, and Husniya, the bakeress. The alley people who saw it thought it a harmless lunch. One commented, 'May it prove wholesome and bring a cure,' while others would mutter, 'May it be full of poison, with God's permission!'
One day curiosity possessed Husniya and she decided to try the preparation on her husband, Jaada, the baker. She scooped out a large portion of the food in Alwan's dish and filled the empty space with plain green wheat. She was confident that Alwan had not noticed the substitution. Encouraged by the success of the experiment on her husband, she tried it again. However, Salim Alwan was not long in discovering what was happening. He could not help noticing the sudden change which had affected his nightly activities. At first he blamed the employee who prepared the dish, and when he denied it, he became suspicious of the bakeress and he easily learned of the theft. He called the bakeress and rebuked her. Furthermore he stopped sending his dish to her bakery; instead he sent it to the European bakery over on New Street.
The secret was now out and it spread until Umm Hamida knew of it. That was too much, of course, and soon all the inhabitants of the alley learned of it and, in the wink of an eye, they were all experimenting with it. At first Salim Alwan was angry when he heard his secret had spread, but he soon ceased to care. Although he had spent most of his life in the alley, he had never really belonged there. The truth was, he cared for none of them. In fact, the only two to whom he ever raised his hand in greeting were Radwan Hussainy and Sheikh Darwish.
For a time, the bowl of food almost became the staple diet of the whole alley, and had it not been for its costliness no one would have given it up. Kirsha, the cafe owner, Dr. Booshy, and even Radwan Hussainy tried it after verifying that it contained no ingredient prohibited by the sacred law. Salim Alwan ate it regularly. The truth was that he seemed to spend his whole life in a suspended state of excitement. Mornings he galloped to the office while his nights were devoid of the customary amusement for a man of his type. He frequented no cafe, club, or bar and had absolutely nothing except his wife. It was for this reason that he indulged in his marital pleasures in a most immoderate fashion.
He woke up in the early afternoon, performed the ritual washing, and said his prayers. Then he put on his gown and cloak and returned to his office, where he found his second cup of tea waiting for him. He sipped it slowly and with pleasure, belching so noisily that it produced an echo in the inner courtyard, and set about his afternoon with the same vigor as he had in the morning. However, from time to time he looked as though something were disturbing him. He would turn toward the alley and consult his great golden watch, while his nose twitched uncontrollably.
When the sunlight reached the top of the alley wall, he turned his sprung chair and faced the road. Heavy minutes passed during which his eyes remained on the road. Then his eyes gleamed and he pricked up his ears at the sound of slippers on the slanting flagstones. Hamida passed quickly in front of the office door. Alwan twisted his mustaches carefully and turned his chair back to his desk, a look of pleasure in his eyes, though he felt somewhat uneasy.
It was only at this time of day that he got a chance to see her, except for the occasional glance he stole at her window when he would venture out in front of his office, pretending to calm his nerves by walking a bit. He was naturally eager to preserve his honor and dignity. After all, he was Salim Alwan, whereas she was only a poor girl and the alley overflowed with sharp tongues and roving eyes. He stopped his work and thoughtfully drummed the top of his desk with his forefinger. Yes, she was indeed poor and lowly, but unfortunately desire could not be denied, could it?
She was poor and humble, but what about her bronze-colored face, the look in her eyes, and her lovely slender body? All these were qualities which far outweighed mere class differences. What was the point of being proud? He quite frankly desired that pretty face, that body of sensuality and those beautiful buttocks which were able to excite even a pious old man. She was, in fact, more precious than all the merchandise from India.
He had known her since she was a little girl. Often she had come to his shop to buy mascara, cosmetics, and perfumes her mother needed. Alwan had seen her breasts develop from tiny bulges to medium size, and finally to their present protuberant form. He had observed her bottom while it was only a foundation, with no structure yet raised upon it. He had seen it become a slender rounded form, ripening to maturity, and now, at last, it was a dome of perfect femininity and most attractive.
Salim Alwan continued to nourish his admiration until at last it grew into an all-consuming desire. He acknowledged this and no longer attempted to deny his true feelings. He often said to himself, 'If only she were a widow like Mrs. Saniya Afify.' Indeed if she were a widow like Mrs. Afify, he would have found a way long ago. However, since she was a virgin, the matter must be considered most carefully. Now he asked himself, as he had so often done in the past, what he could do to win her.
But in the back of his mind lingered thoughts of his wife and family. His wife was a worthy woman, possessed of all a man could desire as far as femininity, motherhood, tenderness, and household ability were concerned. In her youth she had been pretty and fertile, and he could not criticize her for anything. Apart from that, she came from a noble family, far above his own where ancestry and position were concerned. He had a sincere affection for her. In fact all he had against her was that her youth and vitality were gone and she could neither keep up with him nor bear his attentions. In comparison he seemed, with his extraordinary vitality, an eager youth unable to find in her the pleasures he yearned for.
The truth was that he did not know whether it was this that attracted him to Hamida, or whether it was his passion for her which made him more conscious of his wife's inadequacies. Whatever the reason, he felt an irresistible urge for new blood. He finally said to himself, 'What's wrong with me? Why should I deprive myself of something made lawful by God?'
However, he was a respectable man and longed for people's esteem. The thought that he might be the center of gossip horrified him. He agreed with the saying 'Eat what you please, but wear what pleases others.' So it was that he ate his bowl of wheat, but as for Hamida…! Good heavens!
If she had been from a noble family, he would not have hesitated a moment to ask her hand. But how could Hamida become a fellow wife of his present wife, Mrs. Alwan? And how could Umm Hamida become his mother-in- law just as the late Mrs. Alifat had been? How on earth could Hamida become the wife of the father of Muhammad Salim Alwan, the judge, Arif Salim Alwan, the attorney, and Dr. Hassan Salim Alwan? There were other things, too, no less serious than these, which he must give due consideration. There would have to be a new household set up and new expenses; these would probably double his previous expenses. There would also be new relatives entitled to an inheritance. This would probably destroy his close family unity and would cause ripples of discontent across its calm surface.
For what, he asked himself, would he undergo all these difficulties? The desire of a fifty-year-old man, a husband and father, for a girl in her twenties! None of this escaped him, for he was not the sort of man to overlook consideration of anything concerned with money or the proper conduct of his life. He continued turning all this over in his mind, bewildered and irresolute. His desire had now become one more worry to plague his life. It formed part
