well-known monologue reciter, dressed in his village costume, rose and instantly the crowd went wild with anticipation and delight. When the applause subsided, the performer delivered his monologue. He was followed by a half-naked woman dancer, whose undulations were accented by cries of 'Mr. Ibrahim Farhat — a thousand times… a thousand times.' The man in charge of the microphones and loudspeakers joined her shouts with 'Mr. Ibrahim Farhat is the very best deputy. Microphones by Bahlul are the finest microphones.' The singing, dancing, and applause continued as the entire quarter joined in the celebrations.
When Hamida returned from her afternoon stroll she found the party in full swing. Like everyone else in the alley, she had thought it would be merely a political rally with long speeches delivered in almost incomprehensible classical Arabic. Her heart danced when she saw the merry scene. She quickly looked about for a spot where she could watch the musicians and the dancing, the likes of which she had never seen. She pushed her way through the crowd until she finally reached the entrance to the alley. She moved close to the barbershop and climbed on a big rock near its wall. From here she could see the stage perfectly.
Boys and girls pressed around her from all sides. There were also several women, some carrying children in their arms or on their shoulders. The sound of singing was mixed with applause, talking, shouting, laughing, and wailing. The spectacle captivated her and her black eyes sparkled with enchantment. A sweet, pearly smile played over her normally expressionless lips. She stood erect, wrapped in a cloak which allowed only her bronze face, the lower part of her legs, and some stray locks of her black hair to be seen. Her heart danced to the beat of the music, her blood surged hot and fast, and she was almost overcome with excitement. The man who recited the monologues made her shriek with childish delight; even the hostility she felt for the dancing girl did not spoil her excitement.
She stood completely engrossed in the entertainment, quite unaware that it was growing dark. Suddenly a compulsion seized her and forced her to look over her left shoulder.
She turned from the reciter and moved her head until her eyes met those of a man staring at her with insolent intensity. Her eyes rested on his and then quickly turned back to the stage. However, she could no longer recapture her earlier interest. She was overcome by an intense desire to look toward the left once again. Confusion and panic gripped her as his eyes pierced her with that same shameless insolence; at the same time they seemed to smile at her in a curious way. She could not bear to look at him. Instead she turned her attention to the stage in angry exasperation. It was his odd smile that infuriated her, for it seemed to express both a smug self-confidence and a challenging defiance. She could feel her temper rising, and she longed to dig her fingernails into something, into his neck, for example. She decided to ignore him, although she hated giving up so easily, especially when she still felt his rude eyes on her. Now her good mood was gone and in its place her fiery temper had arisen.
The man seemed thoroughly pleased with himself. Now she saw him making his way toward the stage, to a spot in the direct line of her vision. No doubt he deliberately intended to block her view. He stood still, his back toward her. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders, his hair long, and his head bare. He wore a suit of a greenish color. His tidy appearance and European dress made him seem oddly out of place in the crowd. She was now consumed with curiosity. This man was obviously well-to-do and what could he be doing in Midaq Alley?
Now he looked backward again and stared straight at her. His face was lean and elongated, his eyes almond-shaped and his eyebrows thick. His eyes reflected both cunning and boldness. Not content with his previous examination, his gaze now traveled from her worn slippers up to her hair. She stood motionless, waiting for his face to reveal their impression. Their eyes met and again his gleamed with that insolent look of confidence and victory. Her blood boiled. She wanted to humiliate him with loud curses in front of the whole crowd. Each time she felt this impulse she repressed it. Quite overcome with emotion, she stepped from the stone and fled toward the alley. The moment she passed through it and crossed the threshold of the house, she felt an urge to go back. However, the insolent image of him returned, and she abandoned the urge.
She climbed the stairs, filled with self-reproach for not teaching him manners. She went to her bedroom, removed her cloak, and peered at the street through the closed shutters. There he was, standing at the entrance to the alley. He was looking beseechingly at each of the windows overlooking the alley.
She stood there delighted at his obvious confusion and wondering why she had been so outraged. It was obvious that he was educated, middle-class, and totally different from his predecessors. Moreover, she must have definitely attracted him. As for that challenging look in his eyes, what a splendid battle it invited. Why should he feel this boundless self-confidence? Did he consider himself some sort of hero or prince? Meanwhile, he showed signs of giving up his search for her. She hesitated and then, turning the catch, she opened the window a bit, carefully standing behind it as though watching the celebration in progress. He stood with his back to the alley and she was sure he would renew his search. And so he did; he peered from window to window until he noticed the gap in hers. His face lighted up and he stood like a statue. Suddenly that smile was there and his whole appearance took on an even stronger look of arrogance and conceit. She realized that by allowing herself to be seen, she had committed an irretrievable blunder. Now he moved up the alley with such quick determination that she was afraid he would enter her house.
Instead he turned into Kirsha's cafe, where he sat between Kirsha and Sheikh Darwish, the very spot where Abbas used to watch her shadowy form behind the shutters. Hamida remained behind the window, still watching the stage, although her mind was far from what was taking place on it. She felt his gaze on her like a powerful searchlight.
The man remained in his seat in the cafe until the political rally finished, and she closed her window. For as long as she lived, Hamida was never to forget this night.
20
From that evening on, he came regularly to Midaq Alley. He would come in the late afternoon, sit smoking a water pipe and sipping tea. His sudden appearance and his air of respectable tidiness caused much surprise in the cafe, but eventually the regulars' astonishment diminshed as they grew accustomed to him. After all, there was nothing unusual in his frequenting a cafe that was open to any passerby. Nevertheless, he annoyed Kirsha by always settling his bill with large notes, sometimes as much as a whole pound. He delighted the waiter Sanker by giving him tips greater than he had ever received.
Hamida watched his daily coming and going, her eyes and heart filled with excitement and anticipation. At first, she refrained from her usual walk, because of her shabby clothing. It annoyed her that her usually fearless character was now forced into confinement and retreat by a total stranger. She was fascinated by the bank notes the man held out to Sanker, and quite naturally they made a strong impression on her. Money might be a dead tongue in other places, but in Midaq Alley it was very much a live language.
Although the stranger was careful to conceal his reason for frequenting the cafe, he did not hesitate to glance up at her window. When his mouth touched the water pipe he puffed his lips slightly. He would then send the smoke high into the air, as though dispatching a kiss to her behind the window. She watched this with mixed emotions of pleasure, outrage, and flattery.
She told herself that she should go for her usual walk, and if he approached her — and she knew he would — she would fling at him all the insults she could think of, and shatter his smug self-confidence. She would attack him so viciously that he would never forget her as long as he lived. This was the very least he deserved for his conceit and impudence. To hell with him! What made him think he could treat her like a common streetwalker? No humiliation was too much for him. She longed to go now and publicly insult him before the whole cafe. But oh, if she only had a nice cloak.
He entered her life at a time when she was overcome with despair. Salim Alwan had collapsed near death after giving her a day and a half of hope for the life she had always wanted, and now this had happened, after she had banished Abbas from her dreams. Because she now knew there was no hope of marrying Alwan, she renewed her engagement to the barber, even though she felt only scorn for him.
She refused to submit passively to her ill fortune and slandered her mother, saying that she envied her and coveted Alwan's wealth, and that this was why God had changed her fortune. This, then, was her state of mind when the new man came into her life. His arrogance infuriated and fascinated her. Yet his respectable appearance and his handsome masculinity attracted her. She saw in him qualities she had never before known in a man; strength, money, and a fighting disposition. Try as she did, she could not sort out her feelings for him. She was
