Do you think people envy that filthy practice?'
Kirsha burst out laughing and said spitefully, 'Have not a single doubt of the truth of what I said! They are a hopeless crowd. Wouldn't it do them more good to look into their own souls?' At this point he realized that he had admitted the accusation by making so little attempt to refute it. He continued: 'Don't you know who that boy is? He is a poor boy whose poverty I am trying to alleviate by being charitable to him.'
Hussainy was annoyed at the man's equivocation and he shot him a glance as though to say, 'Do you really expect me to believe that?'
'Mr. Kirsha,' he said, 'it seems you don't understand me. I am neither judging you nor reproaching you; we are both poor sinners in need of God's mercy and forgiveness. Don't deny it. If the boy is poor, then leave him in the care of his Creator. If you want to do good, the world is full of unfortunate people.'
'Why can't I do good for this boy? It hurts me that you don't believe me. I am an innocent man.'
Hiding his displeasure, Radwan Hussainy looked at the near-black face before him and said pointedly, 'This boy is immoral and has an evil reputation and you have made a mistake in trying to deceive me. It would have been far better if you had taken my advice and told the truth in speaking with me.'
Kirsha knew that Hussainy was annoyed, although it did not show on his face. He took refuge in silence, bottled his anger, and thought of leaving, but Hussainy was still talking: 'I am appealing to you for your own good and the good of your home. I will not despair of drawing you back to decent behavior. Give up this boy; he is just filth created by Satan. Turn in repentance to your Lord; He is full of mercy and forgiveness. Even if you were once a good man, you are now a sinner. Though you are successful now, you will eventually lose everything by wallowing in filth. You will end up lonely and penniless. What do you say?'
Kirsha had finally made up his mind to avoid being openly obstinate. He told himself that he was free to do as he wished and that no one, not even Radwan Hussainy himself, had any authority over him. However, not for a moment did he consider making Hussainy angrier nor would he challenge him in any way. He lowered his eyebrows over his gloomy eyes and disguised his real feelings by saying, 'It is God's will.'
Distress showed on Hussainy's benevolent face and he said sharply, 'No, it is the will of the devil! Shame on you!'
Kirsha muttered, 'When God shows the true path!'
'If you don't obey the devil, then God will lead you to your salvation. Leave this boy or let me get rid of him in peace.'
This annoyed Kirsha and anxiety flooded him so that he could no longer disguise his feelings.
'No, Mr. Hussainy, don't do that,' he said in a determined tone of voice.
Hussainy looked at him in disgust and scorn and said regretfully, 'Can't you see how wickedness prevents you from finding salvation?'
'It's up to God to lead us.'
Finally despairing of reforming him, Hussainy said, 'For the last time I am asking you to leave him or let me get rid of him in peace.'
Kirsha, leaning out from the edge of the sofa as if about to get up, insisted stubbornly, 'No, Mr. Hussainy. I appeal to you to let this matter rest until God shows the path…'
Hussainy was astonished at his insolent stubbornness and asked weakly, 'Doesn't your lust for this filthy conduct make you ashamed?'
Kirsha, tired of Hussainy and his preaching, got up. 'All men do many things that are dirty and this is one of them. So leave me to find my own path. Don't be angry with me and please accept my apologies and regrets. What can a man do to control himself?'
Hussainy smiled sadly and rose too, saying, 'A man can do anything if he wants to. You just don't understand what I said. The matter is in God's hands.' He extended his hand. 'Goodbye.'
Scowling and muttering to himself, Kirsha left the flat, cursing people in general and particularly Midaq Alley and Radwan Hussainy.
12
Mrs. Kirsha waited, patient and motionless, one day and then two days. She stood behind the shutters of her window overlooking the cafe and watched for the boy's arrival. She would see him swagger past during the day and then, at midnight, he would appear once again, this time with her husband, going off toward Ghouriya. Her eyes would turn white in loathing and rage and she asked herself whether Radwan Hussainy's advice had gone unheeded. She visited him once again and he shook his head sadly, saying, 'Leave him as he is until God works His inevitable will.'
She had returned to her flat seething with anger and plotting her revenge. Mrs. Kirsha no longer worried about the slander of the gossips, and now she waited at her window for night to fall. Eventually the boy arrived and, wrapping herself in her cloak, she ran from the flat like a madwoman. She bounded down the stairs and, in a moment, was in front of the cafe. All the shops had closed and the alley people were gathered in the cafe, as was their evening custom.
Kirsha himself was bent over the till, apparently in a daze. He did not notice her arrival. Her quick gaze fell on the lad, who was sipping tea. She passed in front of her husband, who did not raise his eyes, and approached the boy. With one blow of her hand she knocked the cup from his grasp and the tea fell into his lap. He jumped up screaming in fright and she shouted at him in a voice like thunder, 'Drink your tea, then, you son of a whore!'
The eyes of all present, some people from the alley and some who did not know her, stared fixedly at the woman. Kirsha, who looked as though cold water had been hurled in his face, made a motion toward her as if to get up, but his wife pushed him in the chest, seating him once more. Mrs. Kirsha screeched into his face, her rage making her scarcely aware of what she said, 'Just you try and move, you filthy wretch!'
She turned once more toward the boy and went on: 'What has frightened you, you clever fellow? You woman in the clothes of a man! Would you like to tell me what brings you here?'
Kirsha was now standing behind the till, his anger having locked his tongue, his face pale with fury. She shouted in his face, 'If you are thinking of defending your 'friend,' then I will smash your bones to pieces in front of everyone!'
She moved threateningly toward the youth, who retreated until he reached Sheikh Darwish. 'Do you want to ruin my home, you rake and son of rakes!'
The youth, trembling violently, answered, 'Who are you? What have I done so as to…'
'Who am I? Don't you know me? I am your fellow wife…'
She fell upon him, punching and slapping him forcefully. His tarboosh fell off and blood flowed from his nose. She then grasped his necktie and pulled it till his voice trailed off in a strangled gasp.
All the customers in the cafe sat stunned, gaping wide-eyed in amazement at the spectacle. They thoroughly enjoyed witnessing such a dramatic scene. Mrs. Kirsha's yelling soon brought Husniya, the bakeress, racing to the spot, closely followed by her husband, Jaada, his mouth open. Then, after a moment or two, Zaita, the cripple- maker, appeared; he remained standing a little way off, like a small devil the earth had belched forth. Soon all the windows of the alley's two houses were flung open, heads peering down at them. Kirsha watched the boy twisting and writhing in pain, trying to free his neck from the woman's strong grip. He charged toward them, literally foaming at the mouth like an enraged stallion. He grasped his wife's two arms, shouting in her face, 'Leave him alone, woman, you have caused enough scandal!'
Her husband's strong grip forced Mrs. Kirsha to release her rival. Her cloak fell to the ground and her blood was now boiling. Her voice rose in a shrill scream as she grasped her husband by the collar and yelled, 'Would you hit me to defend your friend, you animal? Bear witness, all you people, against this lecherous villain!'
The boy grasped this opportunity to escape and streaked from the cafe, scared out of his wits. The battle between Kirsha and his wife continued, she holding tightly to his collar and he trying to free himself from her grasp. At last Radwan Hussainy came between them and ended their struggle. Mrs. Kirsha, panting for breath, wrapped herself in her cloak and, shouting in a voice loud enough to crumble the walls of the cafe, addressed her husband: 'You hashish addict! You nincompoop! You filthy lout! You sixty-year-old! You father of five and grandfather of twenty! You bastard! You dumb oaf! I feel like spitting in your dirty, black face!'
