What is he doing? someone said. That’s how they dance in those parts, a voice answered. Haven’t you seen them in films?
Chunni was beside herself. It’s the queues, she shrieked. Stop him, Abu Fahl; something’s gone wrong. He can’t stop; the queues have got him again. But instead everyone backed apprehensively away from the leaping, whirling Professor.
At last the Professor stopped, winded, and looked around, clutching his waist, at the circle of wide eyes and frozen faces. What’s wrong, Samuel? Chunni asked anxiously. He looked at her for a moment, so sternly that she edged away. Then he doubled up, laughing uncontrollably, and his spectacles dropped off his nose.
What’s the matter, Professor? What’s happened?
Professor Samuel, holding his sides, face flushed, tears pouring out of his eyes, managed to say: Nothing. I was just practising my badminton smashes. Nice cabaret, no?
After that it was all confusion, for it was almost time to leave. Everyone was worrying about what they were going to buy now, and they milled around the courtyard, the newly arrived begging advice from the experienced, gathering information on the relative prices of the various makes of calculator they were thinking of buying for college-going brothers at home; of the portable television sets they were planning to take to their village-bound parents and sisters; and of the clothes they were going to buy for themselves (and there Rakesh was in great demand, for there was not a thing he didn’t know about all the brands of American jeans and Korean shirts). There was a mild panic when someone claimed to have heard that Professor Samuel hadn’t brought enough money for them all, and the Professor was immediately riddled by volleys of anxious questions. But he had no answers to give, because, as he said: How can I know whether I’ve got enough? First, I’ve got to count how many people there are here, and how can I count unless you stand still? That only made the panic worse — He admits he hasn’t got enough; that’s what he said — and everybody milled about even more, and that made counting still more difficult. Then, in the middle of all that, Hajj Fahmy appeared and shouted that it was time to tie on the dusters and get ready to leave, because sunset was no more than an hour away, and there would be no point in going if they got to the Star after dark. That reminded the Professor of something else altogether and he forgot about counting and pushed his way around the courtyard until he found Abu Fahl and cried, worriedly: Listen, Abu Fahl, what are we going to do if we do find those sewing machines in the Star? How will we bring them back? We can’t carry them with us into all those foreign shops in Hurreyya. What are we going to do? But Abu Fahl had his own worries now, for he was busy trying to find all the ropes and crowbars and everything else he had gathered together over the last few days in preparation for their journey to the Star, so he merely shrugged and said: How should I know? Why don’t you ask Alu? We only promised to present him with the sewing machines. He’ll have to think of some way of bringing them back himself. But that wasn’t good enough for the Professor, and he rushed off, clicking his tongue in irritation, to look for Hajj Fahmy. The Hajj tried to reassure him: Don’t worry, Samuel, it won’t be difficult — we can always put them in a taxi if it comes to that. But, said the Professor, there aren’t any taxis in that part of the Corniche. And this time the Hajj pushed him away: Don’t worry — we’ll manage.
There was nothing more he could do, so the Professor went back to his counting, and while he was at it Karthamma ran into the courtyard, sweating and wild-eyed. I can’t find Boss, she cried to anyone who would listen. I just went to the house and there was no one there. Zindi’s cleared all her things out, and Kulfi’s gone, too, and there’s no sign of Boss anywhere. But there was too much noise in the courtyard, and everyone had something to do, so nobody had time to listen to her. Frantic with worry, Karthamma found Chunni and, shouting into her ear, told her everything; but Chunni only laughed, saying: Why’re you so worried? Where could they have gone? They’ll be in the house when we get back this evening, you’ll see. Where could they go? There’s nothing to be worried about. That heartened Karthamma, for there is nothing so reassuring as having one’s fears laughed at, and she went back to thinking about the pram she was going to buy for Boss.
A little later the Professor finally finished counting and discovered that there were fewer people in the courtyard than he had expected — only thirty-two, where he had allowed for forty-five — so there was plenty of money for everyone. He tried to spread the good news, but his voice was too weak, and by that time people had forgotten about him anyway, so he had to ask Abu Fahl instead. But it was some time before even Abu Fahl could make himself heard, and when he did it only made matters worse in a way, for there was a great cheer and people began streaming out of the courtyard, and Abu Fahl had to run out and bring them back, because he hadn’t distributed the tools yet. There weren’t very many — a few crowbars, a couple of saws, some coils of rope and a pulley, a few shovels, pickaxes, an ancient car-jack, and three powerful torches — but because of the confusion it took a long time to hand them out.
At last, when all the tools had been given out and everything was more or less ready, Abu Fahl remembered Alu and saw him sitting at the loom with his head in his hands. It made Abu Fahl angry to see him sitting there like that. Come down here, Alu, he shouted, we’re going now. But Alu hesitated, and sensing his reluctance Abu Fahl went up to the platform and pulled him off it. What do you think? he said, thrusting a coil of rope into his hands. Do you think you’re going to sit there like that all day while we do all the work and fetch you your sewing machine?
The others were already straggling out, led by Hajj Fahmy and Professor Samuel. Abu Fahl waited with Alu and Zaghloul till everyone was gone. Then, after making sure that no one was left in the courtyard except the women of Hajj Fahmy’s house, they set off through the lanes of the Ras. By the time they reached the top of the embankment the sun had dipped low over the city, and the others were strung out over the road ahead of them. They could see Rakesh, Karthamma and Chunni a long way ahead of them. They stopped for a moment to catch their breath, and when they started walking again Abu Fahl clapped Alu on the shoulder. So, he said, at last you’re going to get your sewing machine.
Chapter Nineteen. Sand
The sleek black road on the embankment ran through a kilometre or so of empty sandflats after leaving the Ras behind. Then gradually it sloped downwards till the road was on level ground. A little farther on, stray mud-brick houses appeared on either side. With every step after that the houses crowded closer and closer to the road. Soon the road merged into a narrower and much older thoroughfare which ran along the inlet. From that point onwards the road became a thronged, bustling hive. Fifty or even a hundred men, no matter what they were carrying, could have vanished into that crowded street with all the ease of pigeons in a piazza.
On one side of the road, jostling for space, were tiled Iranian chelo-kebab shops, Malayali dosa stalls, long, narrow Lebanese restaurants, fruit-juice stalls run by Egyptians from the Sa’id, Yemeni cafés with aprons of brass-studded tables spread out on the pavement, vendors frying ta’ameyya on push-carts — as though half the world’s haunts had been painted in miniature along the side of a single street.
The other side of the road was comparatively less crowded, for it looked out over the inlet and no shops or stalls were allowed there. That was where the people of the Old City came with their friends and brides in the evenings, to walk and eat and watch the brilliant sails of the sambuqs and booms in the inlet.