He had scarcely anything to do with the alley in which he dwelt. Zaita visited none of its people, nor did they visit him. He had no need for anyone, nor anyone for him. Except, that is, for Dr. Booshy and the fathers who resorted to scaring their children with his image. His trade was known to all, a trade which gave him the right to the title of "Doctor," although he did not use it out of respect for Booshy. It was his profession to create cripples, not the usual, natural cripples, but artificial cripples of a new type.
People came to him who wanted to become beggars and, with his extraordinary craft, the tools of which were piled on the shelf, he would cripple each customer in a manner appropriate to his body. They came to him whole and left blind, rickety, hunchbacked, pigeon-breasted, or with arms or legs cut off short. He gained his skill by working for a long time with a traveling circus. Zaita had, moreover, been connected with beggar circles since his boyhood, when he lived with his parents, who were beggars. He began by learning "makeup," an art taught in the circus, first as a pastime, then as a profession when his personal situation became worse.
One disadvantage of his work was that it began at night, or at midnight, to be exact. It was, however, a trivial disadvantage to which he had become completely accustomed. During the day, he scarcely left his den and would sit cross-legged, eating or smoking or amusing himself by spying on the baker and his wife. He delighted in listening to their talk, or peeping through a hole in the door and watching the woman beating her husband, morning and night. When night fell he saw them overcome with friendliness toward each other and he would see the bakeress approach her apelike husband and tease him and talk to him coyly. Zaita detested Jaada, despised him and considered him ugly. Apart from this, he envied him for the full-bodied woman God had given him as a wife, a really bovine woman, as he said. He often said of her that she was among women what Uncle Kamil was among men.
One reason why the people in the alley avoided him was his offensive odor, for water never found its way to either his face or his body. He happily reciprocated the dislike people showed for him, and he jumped with joy when he heard that someone had died. He would say, as though speaking to the dead person, "Now your time has come to taste the dirt, whose color and smell so much offend you on my body." No doubt he spent much time imagining tortures he could inflict on people and found a most satisfying pleasure in doing just this. He would imagine Jaada, the baker, as a target for dozens of hatchets striking at him and leaving him a smashed heap. Or he would imagine Salim Alwan stretched on the ground while a steamroller ran over him again and again, his blood running down toward Sanadiqiya. He would also imagine Radwan Hussainy being pulled along by his reddish beard toward the flaming oven and being eventually pulled out as a bag of ashes. Or he might see Kirsha stretched beneath the wheels of a train, his limbs crushed, later to be stuffed into a dirty basket and sold to dog owners for food! There were similar punishments that he considered the very least people deserved.
When he set about his work of making cripples at their request, he was as cruel and deliberately vicious as he could be, cunningly employing all the secrets of his trade. When his victims cried out at his torture, his terrifying eyes gleamed with an insane light. Despite all this, beggars were the people dearest to him, and he often wished that beggars formed the majority of mankind.
Zaita sat thus engrossed in the wanderings of his imagination, waiting for the time for work to arrive. About midnight he got up and blew out the lamp; a deep darkness took over. He then felt his way to the door and, opening it quietly, he made his way through the bakery into the alley. On his way he met Sheikh Darwish leaving the cafe. They often met in the middle of the night without exchanging a single word. For this reason, Sheikh Darwish had a particularly rich reward awaiting him in the Court of Investigation to try mankind which Zaita had set up in his imagination!
The cripple-maker crossed over to the mosque of Hussain, walking with short, deliberate steps.
As he walked, Zaita kept close to the walls of the houses. In spite of the blackness of the shadows, some lights still gleamed; thus someone approaching would almost collide with him before seeing his flashing eyes glinting in the dark like the metal clasp of a policeman's belt.
Walking in the street, he felt revived, lively, and happy. He only ever walked out here when no one but the beggars, who acknowledged his absolute sovereignly, were about. He crossed to Hussain Square, turned toward the Green Gate, and reached the ancient arch. As he swept his eyes over the heaps of beggars on both sides of him he was filled with delight. His joy was that of a powerful lord mixed with the delight of a merchant who sees profitable merchandise.
He approached the beggar nearest him, who sat cross-legged, his head bent on his shoulders and snoring loudly. He stood for a moment before him, gazing intently as though to probe his sleep and determine whether it was genuine or feigned. Then he kicked the disheveled head and the man stirred, but not in a startled manner, merely as though gentle ants had wakened him. He raised his head slowly, scratching his sides, back, and head. His gaze fell on the figure looking down on him; he stared up for a moment and, despite his blindness, recognized him at once. The beggar sighed and a noise like a groan rose from his depths. He thrust his hand into his breast pocket and withdrew a small coin and placed it in Zaita's palm.
Zaita now turned to the next beggar, then the next, and so on until he had completely encircled one wing of the arch. Then he turned to the other wing and, when he finished there, he went around the niches and alleys surrounding the mosque, so that not a single beggar escaped him. His enthusiasm at receiving his dues did not make him forget his duty to care for the cripples he created and he frequently asked this or that beggar, "How is your blindness, So-and-so?" Or perhaps "How is your lameness?" They would answer him, "Praise be to God… praise be to God!"
Zaita now went around the mosque from the other direction and on his way bought a loaf of bread, some sweets, and tobacco and returned to Midaq Alley. The silence was complete, only broken from time to time by a laugh or cough from the roof of Radwan Hussainy's house, where one of Kirsha's hashish parties was in progress. Zaita made his way past the threshold of the bakery as quietly as he could, taking care not to waken the sleeping couple. He carefully pushed open his wooden door and closed it quietly behind him. The den was neither dark nor empty, as he had left it; the lamp burned and on the ground beneath it sat three men.
Zaita made his way unconcernedly toward them; their presence neither surprised nor troubled him. He stared at them with piercing eyes and recognized Dr. Booshy. They all stood, and Dr. Booshy, after a polite greeting, said, "These are two poor men who asked me to seek your help for them."
Zaita, feigning boredom and complete disinterest, replied, "At a time like this, Doctor?"
The "doctor" placed his hand on Zaita's shoulder and said, "The night is a veil, and our Lord ordained the veil!"
Zaita protested, belching out air, "But I am tired now!"
Dr. Booshy replied hopefully, "You have never let me down."
The two men begged and pleaded. Zaita yielded, as if unwillingly, and placed his food and tobacco on the shelf. He stood facing them, staring hard and long in silence. Then he fixed his eyes on the taller of the two. He was a giant of a man, and Zaita, amazed to see him there, asked, "You are an ox of a man! Why do you want to become a beggar?"
The man answered falteringly, "I am never successful at a job. I have tried all kinds of work, even being a beggar. My luck is bad and my mind is worse. I can never understand or remember anything."