'I'll stay here at least until next Sunday,' replied Abbas, getting up. 'Then everything will be in God's hands.'
'It won't be too hard to forget if you really make the effort,' Uncle Kamil commented sympathetically.
'You're right,' said Abbas, about to leave. 'Goodbye, then!'
He walked off, intending to go to Vita's bar, where he thought Hussain had gone after saying farewell to Radwan Hussainy. Abbas was still in a deeply troubled state. He looked forward to Sunday, but what would he do when it came? Would he plunge a knife in his rival's heart? Would he really be able to do it? Could his hand manage a murderous thrust? He shook his head doubtfully. All degrees of crime and violence sickened his peaceful nature.
What would he do when Sunday came? He yearned to see Hussain Kirsha to tell him Hamida's story and ask his advice. He desperately needed help. Now, convinced of his weakness, he recalled Radwan Hussainy's advice: 'Go back to Tell el-Kebir today.' Yes, why should he not give up the past and all its sadness and summon up his courage and stoicism and go off to work and to forget?
In a turmoil of indecision he entered Vita's bar. There was Hussain Kirsha soberly sipping red wine. Abbas greeted him and said emotionally, 'You've drunk enough. I need you for something. Come on with me.'
Hussain raised his eyebrows in annoyance as Abbas lifted him by the arm, saying, 'Hurry, I need you badly.'
Hussain groaned, paid his bill, and left the tavern with his friend. Abbas was determined to get his advice before the effect of drink overcame him.
When they were in Mousky Street, he said to Hussain as though in great relief, 'I've found Hamida, Hussain…'
'Where?' asked Hussain, his small eyes glinting with curiosity.
'You remember that woman in the carriage I chased yesterday? It was Hamida!'
Hussain shouted in surprise, 'Are you drunk? What did you say?'
Very serious and full of emotion, Abbas repeated, 'Believe me. That was Hamida and I talked with her.'
Still stunned, Hussain asked, 'You expect me to refuse to believe my own eyes?'
Abbas told him of his conversation with the girl and finished by saying, 'That's what I wanted to tell you. There's no hope for Hamida now, she's lost forever, but I am not going to let that filthy gangster escape without punishment.'
Hussain gazed at him for a long time, trying to understand him. By nature he was foolhardy and reckless and it took him time to get over his astonishment. Then he commented scornfully, 'Hamida is the real culprit. Didn't she run off with him? Didn't she yield to him? How can you criticize him? A girl attracted him and he seduced her; he found her easy and he got what he wanted. He wanted to exploit her talents, so he let her loose in the taverns. Why, he's a clever fellow. I only wish I could do the same to get out of my financial problems. Hamida's the real criminal, my friend.'
Abbas understood his friend and realized without a doubt that Hussain had no scruples about what his rival had done. Therefore he refrained from criticizing the man's morals and tried to arouse Hussain's sense of injury another way. He asked, 'But don't you think this fellow has insulted our honor and therefore must be punished?'
The use of the word 'honor' did not escape Hussain's notice, and he realized that Abbas referred to the near-brotherly ties that bound them so closely. He suddenly recalled how his sister had been thrown into prison because of a similar scandal and the thought enraged him. He roared, 'That doesn't concern me. Hamida can go to the devil!'
He was not completely truthful in what he said. If he had had the culprit before him at that moment, he would have sprung on him like a tiger and dug his claws deep. Abbas, however, believed him. In a slightly critical tone, he said to Hussain, 'Doesn't it infuriate you that a man should do this to a girl from our alley? I agree with you that Hamida is to blame, so one can't really criticize the man. But still, isn't it an insult to us that we should avenge?'
'What a fool you are,' shouted Hussain indignantly. 'You're not mad because of your honor, as you think. It's pure jealousy. If Hamida agreed to come back to you, you'd go off with her quite happily. How did you greet her, you poor sap? You argued and pleaded with her? Bravo! Well done! What a brave fellow you are indeed… Why didn't you murder her? If I were in your position, I wouldn't have hesitated a minute. I'd have throttled her on the spot and then butchered her lover and disappeared… That's what you should have done, you fool!'
His near-black face took on a satanic look as he continued to bellow, 'I'm not saying this to escape doing my duty. This fellow should pay for his aggression. And he will! We'll keep the appointment you made and we'll beat him up. Then we'll wait for him in all his haunts and beat him up again, even if he has a gang with him. And we won't stop doing this until he pays us off, at a good price. That way we'll have revenge and profit from him at the same time!'
Abbas was delighted at this unexpected conclusion and said enthusiastically, 'What a great idea! You're a very clever fellow!'
Hussain was pleased at this praise. He wondered how he could carry out his plan, spurred on by the anger inspired by his sense of honor, his natural aggressiveness, and his greed for money. He muttered viciously, 'Sunday isn't far off.'
When they reached Queen Farida Square, they stopped and Hussain suggested, 'Let's go back to Vita's bar.'
Abbas hesitated and said, 'Wouldn't it be better to go to the tavern where we'll meet him on Sunday, so that you'll know where it is?'
Hussain lingered a bit and then walked off with his friend, stepping out more quickly now. The sun was about to set; only a few light shadows were now being thrown by its light. The whole sky was quiet and inky black, as it always was when the first shadows fell. The streetlamps were lit, and traffic flowed on, indifferent to the change from day to night. The whole surface of the earth seemed to echo and resound with ceaseless noise. Streetcars rumbled by, auto horns blew, vendors shouted their wares, and street musicians blew their pipes, while people bustled all around. Coming in from the alley to this street was like a translation from sleep to noisy wakefulness.
Abbas felt elated, and his bewilderment dispersed. Now, with the help of his brave and strong friend, he could see his way clearly before him. As for Hamida, he was content to let the unknown circumstances decide things. He felt unable to settle anything himself, or perhaps he was simply afraid to make a final decision about her. He wanted to talk to his friend about this but took one look at Hussain's black face and the words choked in his throat. They continued on their way until they reached the scene of Abbas' last dramatic encounter with Hamida. The barber nudged his friend and said, 'This is the flower shop where we talked.'
Hussain looked silently at the shop and asked with interest, 'And where is the tavern?'
Abbas nodded to a nearby door and muttered, 'That must be it.'
They walked slowly toward it, Hussain's small sharp eyes looking carefully all around. As they walked by, Abbas looked inside the tavern and an extraordinary sight met his eyes. He let out a gasp and the muscles of his face set hard. From then on things happened so quickly that Hussain was left in a daze. He saw Hamida sitting amidst a crowd of soldiers. One stood behind her pouring wine into a glass in her hand, leaning toward her slightly as she turned her head toward him. Her legs were stretched on the lap of another soldier sitting opposite her, and there were others in uniform crowding around her, drinking boisterously. Abbas stood stunned. His anger foamed within him and blinded his vision, and he quite forgot that he had any enemy other than her. He charged madly into the tavern, roaring out in a thunderous voice, 'Hamida…'
The girl was struck with terror and her face went white with fear. She bellowed angrily in her coarse, harsh voice, 'Out! Get out of my sight!'
Her anger and shouting acted like gasoline on flames, and Abbas' rage turned to sheer fury. His normal hesitancy and reserve disappeared as he felt all the sorrow, disappointment, and despair he had suffered in the past three days boil up within him to burst forth in a mad frenzy. He noticed some empty beer glasses on the bar, took one, and, not really aware what he was doing, hurled it at her with all the force of the anger and despair within him. He acted so quickly that no one, neither the soldiers nor any of the tavern employees, could stop him, and the glass struck her in the face. Blood poured in a stream from her nose, mouth, and chin, mixing with the creams and powders on her face and running down onto her neck and dress. Her screams mingled with the enraged shouts of
