Hajj Fahmy asked Abu Fahl to speak first since he was the one who had been wronged. So Abu Fahl walked into the circle and, like a storyteller at a fair, he began to speak. He described every moment of it — what he had said, and what they had said, and how they drove at him, and how he shattered their windshield. It was masterful; the whole crowd was enthralled. At the end of it the courtyard rang to shouts and applause and the stamping of feet. Abu Fahl, of course, was as pleased as a new bridegroom: he was smiling and grinning so much you’d have thought he’d be happy to forgive Adil al-Azraq for giving him a chance to tell that story.
All through this, Adil al-Azraq and his cousin were sullenly smoking cigarettes and drinking tea in the centre of the courtyard. By the time Hajj Fahmy called on them to speak Adil was grinding his teeth so loud it was like the rattle of stones in a crusher.
Hajj Fahmy called him to the platform and said: What have you to say for yourself?
Adil stood up, with his cigarette in his hand, and went up to Hajj Fahmy. He blew a cloud of smoke straight into the Hajj’s face and said: You’ll find out what I have to say soon enough, you son of a whore. You’ll find out when my men come here tomorrow and tear your rotten old teeth out.
Hajj Fahmy was quite unmoved, but the whole courtyard gasped. Abu Fahl leapt on Adil and sent him sprawling across the courtyard. He would have taken him apart right there if Hajj Fahmy hadn’t gestured to the others to hold Abu Fahl.
The Hajj was quite angry. He pointed his finger at Abu Fahl and said: Who do you think you are? Who gave you the right to fight in my courtyard? Do you think this is a market? There won’t be any fighting in my house.
Abu Fahl was furious, too; there were at least six men holding him and you could see they weren’t finding it easy. He shouted at Hajj Fahmy: I didn’t do anything to them at the embankment even though they tried to kill me. The others said we should bring them here, and I let them. But now that they’re here do you think I’m going to let them threaten us? Do you think I’m going to let them go? Just like that?
Hajj Fahmy looked at him very coldly and said: Since you can’t control yourself, you should let other people think about these things.
He held up his hand and looked around the courtyard. No one spoke. The Hajj said: We won’t have any fighting or beating here. But, still, it is true — these men are dirty. They’ve dealt in dirt so long you can see it caked on their skin. Fighting and beating won’t do them any good. What they need is a bath.
A bath? everyone said.
Yes, said Hajj Fahmy, a bath. A good proper bath, with lots of antiseptic to kill all the dirt that’s clinging to them. They’ll bathe themselves — we won’t do anything but watch quietly — and then they can go.
He sent a message to his wife, and soon she sent out four buckets. They were all full of water that was milky with antiseptic. Someone carried the buckets and two mugs to the centre of the circle and put them in front of Adil and his cousin. And then the crowd drew back.
Adil the Blue and his cousin were alone now, in the middle, each with their two buckets of water and a mug in front of him. The courtyard was so silent you could hear the waves breaking on the beach, in the distance.
And Alu?
Alu? Alu wasn’t weaving any longer, but he wasn’t watching, either. He was looking in front of him, totally bewildered. You had only to look at him to know that the whole thing was beyond him now. He could no longer understand what he’d started.
At first Adil and his cousin looked at the buckets and from them to Hajj Fahmy, in complete disbelief. Then Adil let out a loud, sneering laugh and shouted: Do you think Adil al-Azraq, who’s given you all work for the last fifteen years, has suddenly become a child that you’re going to make him bathe in public?
Hajj Fahmy looked straight at him, without blinking and without speaking. Adil and his cousin turned to their left and to their right and they laughed again, as though they wanted to share a joke with the crowd. Look, they said, he’s a mad old man — he’s lost his mind.
But their laughter returned to them, echoing hollowly in that bowl of silence.
They spun around then, appealing to everyone. This is crazy, they said. What’ll you get out of watching us bathe? We’ll give you some money instead. It’s true, we shouldn’t have tried to run down Abu Fahl. But it’s a simple thing and easily settled. How much do you want? Just tell us. How much?
No one took their eyes off them, and no one answered. Now they were running from one end of the courtyard to the other, like insects in a matchbox, clutching at people’s hands, Abu Fahl’s hands, begging, pleading.
Nobody moved, no one spoke.
Trapped in that storm of silence, they circled slowly back to the centre, looking around the courtyard like caged foxes. Slowly, as they began to understand the depths of their humiliation, the disbelief and mockery on their faces faded into terror. Weighed down by the silence they sank to their knees. Then suddenly they lifted up their buckets and drenched each other in antiseptic.
And at that moment the young bird-lover jerked himself free, and fought his way through the crowd. Once he was out of the lane, he began to run. He lost his way among the shacks but he kept on running, in circles, until somehow he reached the embankment. He stopped there to get his breath back, but also because he realized at last that he was lost.
Why did he run? Jeevanbhai asked incredulously. His eyes were glazed now and he was slumped across his paper-littered desk, with a glass clutched in one hand.
Why did he run? Was he scared?
No, said Zindi, tossing off another shot of whisky. He wasn’t scared exactly. He was shocked: it was as though the world had suddenly started moving backwards.
What did you do then?
Zindi could feel herself swaying on the chair, and she gripped the edge of her desk to hold herself steady. I found him near the embankment, she said. And I walked with him till we found a taxi. And all the way, like a child in search of a secret, he bombarded me with questions about birds.
Birds! Jeevanbhai snorted, curling his lip. That’s all they’re good for: birds, and their promotions and their postings. It’s no use expecting anything from them. A man has to do what he can for himself.
So, Zindi said, holding out her empty glass, I’ll be back at eight-thirty tomorrow. And you’d better have the papers ready, Jeevanbhai.
Wait, Jeevanbhai cried, with drunken petulance. That’s not all. You have to tell me more. What happens now?
What do you mean? said Zindi. I’ll come at eight-thirty, then we’ll sign the documents, and after that I’ll start work. And tell me: have you told Forid Mian yet?
No, no, I didn’t mean that. Jeevanbhai waved an impatient hand. I meant, what are they going to do next?
Zindi repeated with slow menace: Have you told Forid Mian yet? When are you going to tell him?
I’ll tell him tomorrow, don’t worry. There’s nothing to worry about. Now tell me: what are they going to do next?
Zindi poured a finger of whisky into her glass and sat back. Nothing much, she said. They were so happy with what they did to the mugaddams they’ve decided to celebrate. They’re all going to the Star tomorrow evening — half the Ras.
The room was suddenly swimming before Jeevanbhai’s eyes. He shook his head fiercely, in an effort to clear it. They’re going to the Star? he asked hoarsely.
Yes, said Zindi. They’re all going to the Star tomorrow. You know, they lifted the police cordon last week, so there’s nothing to stop them going now. They’re going to look at the room Alu was buried in. If they find the two sewing machines that saved him, they’re going to bring them out and give them to him as a gift. And the Mawali women are going to take fruit and bread and kahk biscuits to distribute at their sheikh’s grave, if they can find it in that mess. After that they’re all going on a shopping spree in Hurreyya Avenue — in all the foreign shops. Professor Samuel is going to take a briefcase full of money.