to her that she could conscript Abbas against the man who was using her so heartlessly. He would become the instrument of her revenge while she remained apart from any unpleasant consequences. Now she spoke in her frailest voice: 'I'm a poor, miserable creature, Abbas. Don't be angry at what I said. My mental agony has almost made me lose my mind. You see me only as a low prostitute. But it's what you said, I was betrayed by a devil. I don't know why I gave in to him. I'm not trying to excuse myself, nor am I asking you to forgive me. I know I've sinned and now I'm paying for it. Forgive my temper and hate me as much as your pure heart will let you. I'm just putty in the hands of this horrible man. He sends me into the streets after having robbed me of the most precious thing I had. I loathe and despise him. He's responsible for all my misery and suffering. But it's too late now. How can I ever get away from him?'
The wounded look in her eyes made him forget the hysterical woman who had been capable of murdering him only a few minutes before. Her appeal had worked as she hoped it would.
'How awful, Hamida! Both of us are miserable because of that low bestial criminal. I'm sorry, but what you did will always stand between us. We suffer, but his life goes on. I won't be happy until I smash his head in…'
This pleased Hamida, and she turned her head lest Abbas notice her delight. He had fallen into her trap even faster than she had hoped. She was especially pleased that he had said, 'What you did will always stand between us.' She felt relief that he did not want to forgive her. Above all, she did not want that; nor did she want to be taken back.
'I can never forget that you abondoned me and that people saw you with him… It's over between us. The Hamida I loved no longer exists. But that monster must suffer. Where can I find him?'
'You can't find him today. Come next Sunday afternoon. He'll be in the bar at the top of this lane, the only Egyptian in the place. I'll look toward him when you signal me. What do you plan to do to him?' She spoke as though she feared the consequences for Abbas.
'I'll smash the filthy pimp's head.'
Looking at him, she wondered if Abbas could possibly be capable of murder! She knew the answer, but she hoped the encounter might at least bring Ibrahim Faraj before the law; thus she would have her revenge and freedom as well. This fantasy delighted Hamida. She sincerely hoped no harm would come to Abbas and she cautioned him gently, 'Be careful, won't you? Hit him and then drag him to the police station. Let the law handle him from there.'
Abbas, however, was not listening. He mumbled, downcast and half to himself, 'We shouldn't suffer without him paying too. We're both finished. Why should that pimp get off free and laugh at us? I'll break his neck; I'll strangle him!'
Looking up at Hamida, he asked, 'And you, Hamida, what if I get this gangster out of your life?'
This was the question she dreaded. It could mean only that Abbas' affection for her might revive. With quiet determination, she answered, 'My ties with the old world are broken now. I'll sell my jewelry and take a respectable job, somewhere far away…'
Abbas stood thinking. His silence filled her with uneasiness, but eventually he bowed his head and said almost inaudibly, 'I can't find it in my heart to forgive you… I simply cannot… but please don't disappear until we see how all this ends.'
The note of forgiveness in his voice unnerved her. She would have preferred that both Abbas and Ibrahim Faraj perish.
Anyhow, it would be easy to disappear if she wanted to, but not until she had been avenged. It would be so easy to go to Alexandria; Ibrahim had often talked about the city. She could be… free there, away from the parasites.
Her tone was now sweet and gentle. 'As you like, Abbas…' His heart was geared for revenge, but it also throbbed with deep affection for Hamida.
33
It was a day of joyful leave-taking. Radwan Hussainy was loved and respected by everyone in the alley. Hussainy had hoped God would choose him to make the holy pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina this year and so He had. Everyone knew this was the day Radwan Hussainy would leave for Suez on his way to those holy lands, and his house was filled with well-wishers, lifelong friends and devout Muslims.
They clustered in his modest room, which had so often echoed with their pious and friendly discussions. They chatted about the pilgrimage and their reminiscences of it, their voices rising from every corner of the room and mixing with a trail of smoke billowing up from the brazier. They told tales of the modern pilgrimage and those of bygone days and related holy traditions and beautiful verses concerning it. One man, with a melodious voice, chanted verses from the Holy Qur'an, and then they all listened to a long and eloquent speech by Radwan Hussainy that expressed his heart's goodness.
A pious friend wished him: 'A happy journey and safe return.' Hussainy beamed and replied in his most gentle manner, 'Please, my friend, don't remind me of my return. Anyone who visits God's house with a longing for home deserves to have God deny him reward, ignore his prayers, and destroy his happiness. I will think of returning only when I have left the scene of the revelations on my way back to Egypt. And by 'returning' I mean going back on the pilgrimage again, with the help and permission of the All Merciful. If only I could spend the rest of my life in the Holy Land, seeing the ground which once was trod by the Prophet, the sky once filled with the angels singing, and listening to the divine revelation coming down to earth and rising to the skies again with souls from the earth. There one's mind is filled only with the revelations of eternity. One throbs with love for God. There are the remedy and the cure. Oh, my brother, I long for Mecca and its bright heavens. I long to hear the whispering of time at every corner, to walk down its streets and lose myself in its holy places. How I long to drink from the well of Zamzam and take the road of the Messenger on his Flight, followed by the multitudes of thirteen hundred years ago and those of today, too. I long to feel my heart grow chill when I visit the grave of the Prophet and pray in the Holy Garden. I can see myself now, my brothers, walking through the lanes of Mecca reciting verses from the Qur'an just as they were first revealed, as if I were listening to a lesson given by the Almighty Being. What joy! I can see myself kneeling in the garden imagining the beloved face of the Prophet before me, just as it appears to me in my sleep. What joy! I can see myself prostrated low before the edifice and pleading for forgiveness. What peace I'll have! I see myself going to the well of Zamzam, saturating with water those wounds of passion and crying out for a cure — what divine peace! My brother, speak not of my return, but pray with me to God to fulfill my hopes…'
His friend replied, 'May God fulfill your hopes and give you a long and happy life.'
Radwan Hussainy lifted his outstretched palm to his beard, his eyes glistening with joy and passion, and continued: 'A fine prayer! My love for the afterlife does not turn me toward asceticism or make me dissatisfied with life. You all know of my love for life, and why not? It is a part of the creation of the All Merciful, who filled it with tears and with joys. Let, then, he who will give thought and thanks. I love life in all its colors and sounds, its nights and days, joys and sorrows, beginnings and ends. I love all things living and moving and still. It is all pure goodness. Evil is no more than the inability of the sick to see the good concealed in the crevices. The weak and sick suspect God's world. I believe that love of life is half of worshipping and love of the afterlife is the other half. Therefore, too, I am shocked by the tears and suffering, rage and anger, spite and malice which weigh down the world, and the criticism with which, as well as all these, the weak and sick afflict it. Would they prefer their lives had not been created? Would they ever have loved if they had not been created from nonexistence? Are they really tempted to deny divine wisdom? I do not declare myself innocent. Once sorrow overcame me too and it ate away a piece of my heart. In the throes of my pain and sorrow I asked myself: Why did God not leave my child to enjoy his share of life and happiness? Did not He, the Glorious and Almighty, create the child? Why, then, should He not take him back when He wished? If God had wanted him to have life, then the child would have remained on earth until His will was done. But He reclaimed my child in all the wisdom His will decreed. God does nothing that is not wise, and wisdom is good. My Lord wished well of both me and the child. A feeling of joy overcame me when I realized that His wisdom was greater than my sorrow. I told myself: O God, You brought affliction upon me and put me to the test. I have come through the test with my faith still firm, certain of Your wisdom. Thank You, O God.
'It has since been my practice that whenever anything afflicts me, I express my joyful thanks from the bottom of my heart. Why should I not do so?'
