He went slowly down Ghouriya, allowing his thoughts to wander and asking himself, his heart filled with hope, "What will the evening bring me, I wonder?" In spite of his absorption in his thoughts, he was conscious of the shops on both sides and from time to time he returned the greetings of some of the shopkeepers he knew. He mistrusted such greetings, for he never knew whether they were merely greetings or whether they had some sly and derogatory meaning behind them. People wouldn't live and let live and were always only too ready to slander with their avid and greedy mouths. They were forever talking about him, and what good did their defamation do? None at all! It was as though he enjoyed their criticism and he continued doing as he wished.
He continued until he came up to the last shop on his left, close to al-Azhar. Now his heart beat faster still and he forgot the greetings of people and the unpleasant thoughts they inspired, while a faint glint of evil seemed to issue from his dim eyes. He was now near the shop, his mouth gaping and his lips drooping as he crossed its threshold.
It was a small shop, with an old man sitting in the center behind a little desk. Leaning against one of the shop's shelves, piled high with goods, was a youthful-looking lad who was the shop's salesman. As soon as he saw the customer he stood up straight, smiling as an alert salesman should. Kirsha's heavy brows rose and his eyes settled on the youth; then he greeted him gently. The youth returned his greeting in a friendly fashion and suddenly realized that this was the third time in three successive days that he had seen this man. He asked himself why the man had not bought what he wanted all at the same time.
Mr. Kirsha said, "Show me what socks you have…"
The youth brought out several types and spread them on the counter. Kirsha examined them, looking surreptitiously at the boy's face as he did so. The youth did not shy away from him and a faint smile crossed Kirsha's lips. He dragged out his examination as long as he politely could, then he spoke quietly. "Don't be angry at me, my boy, my eyesight is weak. Now, you choose a pair for me which appeals to your good taste…"
He was silent a moment, gazing intently into his face. Then he went on, a smile on his drooping lips: "Just like your handsome face…"
The good-looking boy showed him another pair, pretending to ignore the compliment. Kirsha said, "Wrap up six pairs for me."
He waited while the lad wrapped the socks, then he suggested, "You had better wrap up a dozen. I am not short of money, praise God."
The youth silently did as requested and muttered, as he handed him the parcel, "You have made a good buy."
Mr. Kirsha smiled, or rather his mouth split open mechanically; this was accompanied by a slight twitching of his eyebrows. He said mischievously, "Thanks to you, my boy," and then quietly: "Praise be to God."
Kirsha, having paid for his parcel, left the shop just as excited as he had been when he entered. He turned toward Azhar Street, crossed slowly to its opposite side, and stopped in the shade of a tree. Standing with one hand on his stick and the other gripping his package, he kept his eyes fixed on the shop a fair distance away. The lad, his arms crossed on his chest, was now standing in the same position as when Kirsha entered the shop.
Kirsha gazed toward him, only able to make out a dim picture of the boy, but his memory and his imagination supplied what his weak sight could not distinguish. He told himself, "He knew what I meant, for sure." Then he recalled how gentle, humble, and well mannered he was and his ears recalled his voice as he had said, "You have made a good buy." Kirsha's heart froze in excitement at the thought and he sighed from deep within him.
He remained standing in his place for some time, burning with apprehension and excitement, until at last he saw the shop close its doors. When this was done, the old shopkeeper and the lad parted, the former going off toward the gold market and the lad moving toward Azhar Street. Slowly Kirsha left his tree and walked in the direction taken by the youth. The boy saw him when he had crossed two-thirds of the street but showed no concern or interest and was about to pass him by without more ado when Kirsha came up to him and said politely, "Good evening, my boy."
The lad looked at him, his eyes giving a suggestion of a faint smile, and mumbled, "Good evening, sir."
Kirsha, forcing conversation, continued: "Have you locked up the shop?"
The boy noticed that he was holding back, as though inviting him to slow down, but he continued his pace and said, "Yes, sir."
Kirsha was forced to quicken his pace and they walked together on the pavement, the cafe owner never taking his eyes off the boy. He remarked, "Your working hours are long, may God help you!"
The boy sighed and replied, "What's the alternative? If you want to eat, you must tire yourself out…"
Kirsha was delighted that the lad was conversing with him and sensed that his friendliness was an auspicious sign. He exclaimed, "May God reward you for your exertions, my boy…"
"Thank you, sir."
The cafe owner went on indignantly: "Life's really one long trial, but it's very rare that one's exertions receive the reward they deserve. What a vast number of exploited working people there are in this world."
This statement struck a responsive chord in the boy and with conviction he agreed. "You are right, sir. What a lot of exploited workers there are in this world."
"Patience is the key to joy. Yes, what a lot of people are exploited and what this means in simple terms is that there are a great number of exploiters. However, by the graciousness of God, the world's not entirely devoid of merciful people, all the same…"
"Where are these merciful people?"
He almost answered, "I am one of them myself," but he stopped himself and said reprovingly, "Don't be slanderous, my boy. All is well with Muhammad's people." Then he changed his tone and asked, "Why are you going so fast? Are you in a hurry?"
"I must go home to change my clothes."
Kirsha asked him with interest, "And after that?"
"I go off to the cafe."
"Which one?"
"The Ramadan cafe."
At this Kirsha's smile was so broad that his gold teeth gleamed in the dark and he said temptingly, "Why don't you honor our cafe?"
"Which one is that, sir?"
Kirsha's voice went hoarse as he replied, "Kirsha's cafe in Midaq Alley. I am Mr. Kirsha myself."
Much impressed, the lad commented, "I am honored, sir. That is a very well-known cafe…"
"Will you come?"
"If God wishes."
Kirsha, with patience, commented, "Everything is dependent on God's wishes. But do you really intend to come or are you just saying that to evade me?"
The boy laughed quietly and said, "No, I really intend to come.
"Tonight, then!"
When the lad made no reply, Kirsha said emphatically, his heart dancing with delight, "Without fail…"
The boy muttered, "With God's permission…"
Kirsha sighed audibly and asked, "Where do you live?"
"Wikala Lane."
"We are almost neighbors. Are you married?"
"Of course not… I am with my family."
Kirsha commented politely, "You seem to come from a good family. I can tell. A good jug pours forth good water. You must take great care to look after your future. You must not remain a shop salesman all your life."
A look of anxiety crossed the boy's handsome face as he asked, "Can someone like me hope for anything better?"
"Have 'we' run out of ideas?" asked Kirsha scornfully. "Weren't all big men once small?"
"Oh yes, but it's not inevitable that small men become big."
Finishing the boy's statement, Kirsha added, "Unless he has some luck! Let's remember today, the day when we got acquainted, as a day of great good fortune. Shall I expect you tonight?"