Tales from Alleyways

TALES FROM ALLEYWAYS / Naquib Mahfouz translated by Soad Sobhi, Essam Fatouh, and James Kenneson BEHIND A BARRED basement window a child's small face. To any likely passerby he cries, "Hey, Uncle, please . . ." The passerby stops. "What do you want?" "Out. I want out." "What stops you?" "The locked door." "No one is with you?" "No one." "Where is your mother?" "She locked the door and left." "Where is your father?" "He left a long time ago." The passerby interprets the situation in one way or another. Then smiles and goes on his way. The child's face, small behind the bars. Looking out with longing at the street, at people. EVERY MOSQUE SEEMS to have a man who wanders around outside with a censer, wafting smoke over people for a pittance. In our alley, it was Am Sukry, a poor man with a big family jammed into one room. His youngest child was named Abdu. Since he was the last grape in the bunch, his father decided to have him go to the mosque school, where he excelled from the first day. The sheikh of the school advised Am Sukry to send Abdu on to primary school. Am Sukry hesitated for some time, unable to decide whether to apprentice Abdu to a tradesman or set him on the long road of booklearning. The decision was difficult, for a pupil would have to be a parasite on his father for many years while an apprentice could help out with daily pay. However, Am Sukry at last chose schooling, and Abdu's high grades soon dispelled his worry and fluffed his wings with pride. When Abdu graduated from primary school, his father beamed and said, "Now I have a son who's a government employee." Yes, but Abdu insisted on going to high school—never mind that he had to go in a raggedy suit, patched shoes, and a greasy tarboosh. Because of his excellence and his ability to talk about politics, he walked with his head held high. Then he won admission to the engineering college on a full scholarship. And then got chosen to go to study in England. From that day on, Am Sukry's name changed to Abu el88 · The Missouri Review Muhandis, Father of the Engineer, and he became famous throughout the district. His son's intelligence became a proverb. In his youth, Am Sukry had dreamed of joining the protection gang, even of being the boss, or, at the very least, of winning an important fight, but time brings changes and marvels. Abdu comes to occupy a very high post in the ministry, and thanks to him we get electric lights in our alley. THERE'S A WORKER in our saddlery named Ashur id-Denf, about forty, married, and the father of ten children. His outstanding characteristics are immense strength, tough looks, andwretched poverty. He works from dawn till midnight and is always tired and hungry. He strangles with distress if he happens to catch sight of well-to-do people in the coffeehouse or if the aroma of roasting meat happens to reach his nostrils. He envies the donkey at the mill in the saddlery as much as he envies the perfumer or the lumberyard owner. One day he remarks to the imam of our mosque, "Allah creates wealth but forgets my children." This infuriates the imam, who shouts back at him, "Our prophet Mohamed, God bless him and grant him salvation, spent several nights with a big stone bound against his stomach in order to appease his hunger, so get out of here, God damn you!" Around midnight Ashur id-Denf is on his way home from the saddlery, plowing through the darkness, when he hears a soft whispering voice. "Hey, Am Ashur!" He stops and turns his face toward a closed ground floor window of the house belonging to Sitt Fadeela, the lucky widow who is going to inherit the waqf of the Shananeery family. "Who's calling?" he asks. "I want you to do something for me. Come in," says the voice. The place is so dark that the stuffed crocodile over the door is visible only as a vague outline...