God Dies by the Nile and Other Novels (8 page)

The faces continued to float along before his eyes. Suddenly a face stood out in front, absolutely immobile. Or perhaps it was his eyes which had singled out this face from among the many faces that went by. He examined its features with growing curiosity. And a voice within him began to say ‘Elwau.' He did not know why in the midst of all the faces he had seen at one time or another, this face in particular imposed itself upon him. He had never seen Elwau and Nefissa together. Elwau dwelt at the eastern outskirts of the village, whereas Nefissa lived near the opposite limits on the west. But no sooner did he try to think seriously of a man who could plausibly be linked to Nefissa's life than the face of Elwau surged up from somewhere inside his mind. He had never met him face-to-face except once. Now and again he would glimpse him at a distance walking along with his hoe on his shoulder. He was always silent, never spoke to anyone, or turned his head to look at a shop, or a house. Nor was he ever the first to call out a greeting to those whom he crossed on his way, even if it was the Chief of the Village Guard, or the Sheikh of the mosque, or even the Mayor himself.

No one could say that he had been seen with Nefissa or with any other of the women of Kafr El Teen. But every day he could be seen ploughing his field, or digging the soil with his hoe. Even on Fridays, when everybody went to the mosque, to stand behind Sheikh Hamzawi while he led the village in prayer, he would be at work in the field. After sunset he sat
on the bank of the river watching its waters flow by, or gazing at the trees standing erect against the horizon. If somebody passed by, he did not look round, and if a person proffered him the usual greeting, his quiet voice rang out in the silence with the words of Salam, but his body continued to sit immobile.

The lips of the boy's mouth moved slightly to pronounce the name Elwau. Yet if anyone had happened to ask him why of all the names he knew in the village that of Elwau in particular had occurred to him at the time, it is doubtful if he could have been able to find an answer. He had met him face-to-face only once. But that one time, it seems, must have been enough for him to see his eyes. And to see his eyes must have been enough for him to realize that they were not the same as the other men's eyes. They were not fixed on the ground, but looked straight ahead of him with the expression of pride, which could also be seen in Nefissa's eyes. He remembered that day now. In what was probably no more than the fraction of a second was born in his mind a link, nay, an unforgettable tie, between what he had seen in their eyes. He could not define what it was exactly, but he knew without a doubt that it was there, deep inside. And it remained with him long after the memory of his encounters with them had sunk into the dark, forgotten recesses of his mind.

But the moment the face of Elwau emerged before his eyes he understood how certain things could never fade away, never die, even if they were no bigger than a drop of water
in the ocean, or lasted no longer than a short moment in the infinity of time. So when his father repeated the question he heard a voice within him say ‘Elwau.'

And his eyes opened wide with surprise when his father reiterated, ‘Elwau?' for he had not yet had the time to open his lips and pronounce the name ‘Elwau' or at least so it seemed to him, as he sat there turning things over in his mind. Yet as soon as his father echoed the name, the face he had seen only once before emerged from dark into light, changed from a hazy memory, to a reality in life. His voice rose up from his depths and vibrated with an audible sound in the air outside.

‘Elwau?!' it said.

The Mayor pronounced the name again as though to ensure that this time it was transformed into indelible fact.

‘Elwau,' he said.

The iron gate opened wide to let in three men. Sheikh Hamzawi, Sheikh Zahran, and Haj Ismail. They filed in, one behind the other, and walked up to where the Mayor sat. No one knows whether they heard him pronounce the name of the man, but they repeated in one breath, ‘Elwau.' Their voices echoed in the yard around the house, climbed over the high wall of red brick, cut into the dark mud huts to be repeated in the households before they lighted the kerosene lamps, leapt over the roofs and dropped into the twisting lanes and alleys, creeping along everywhere before the sun had yet had the time to set and light the other side of the earth's globe.

Tariq leaned over the balustrade. Below the terrace the waters of the Nile were crimson red. He watched the sun drop below the distant horizon, and the children playing on the river bank. He could hear them chanting as they wove a ragged line and danced and clapped.

Camel driver, camel driver,

It's Nefissa and Elwau

Nefissa, Nefissa, Elwau is in the basket

Elwau, Elwau, Nefissa is in the field

Camel driver, camel driver

It's Nefissa and Elwau…

His eyes opened wide in amazement, as though he could hardly believe his ears. He turned to his mother who was standing by his side, and almost breathless with surprise, asked in a halting voice, ‘Mother, is it really Elwau?'

‘How should I know?' she replied in a voice full of irritation. ‘Why don't you ask your father, the Mayor?'

VI

It was a Friday; the burning disc of the sun like a ball of fire in the centre of the sky, glared down on Kafrawi's head. His eyes seemed to be bathed in the red colour of the sun's rays, and the sweat poured out of him from every pore, streaming down his head, his neck, his chest, his belly and his thighs. He could feel it warm and sticky as it slid over his thighs to his legs, down to the cracked, horny skin of his bare feet. He felt wet as though he had urinated on himself. He slipped his hand under his
galabeya
and touched himself. He could not tell the difference between the feel of his sweat and his urine, nor could he sense whether his muscles were relaxed, or contracted, still or moving. All he knew was that he seemed to have lost all control over his arms and his legs. His body had become a separate part of him, a huge muscle which contracted or relaxed of its own accord, moved or kept still as he stood there watching it, so that he could hardly believe what was happening under his own eyes to this body of his which had always been a part of him. It was as though his soul had left his body and hovered at a distance, or as though another soul which was not his had slipped into his body.

When he saw his bare feet covered in their dry, cracked skin walk out of the field, he wondered at what was happening with amazement. How could his legs walk out of the field like this on their own? He tried to muster enough strength in order to stop them, and for a moment he thought he had succeeded, but they continued to stride slowly out of the field, and out of his control to the only place where the burning rays of the sun could not reach him at that time of the day – to the stable.

It was not really a stable. It was just a shed made of bamboo cane, palm tree fronds and maize stalks, plastered over with mud to form four walls and a roof. The buffalo would lie under it during the summer days and during the winter Kafrawi would spend some of his nights sheltered by its walls.

The buffalo was lying on her belly as she usually did when the weather was hot. Her large, brooding eyes gazed at the dark mud wall, and her jaws moved slowly churning something invisible over and over again, while fine white bubbles of saliva kept coming and going at the corners of her mouth every time she breathed out or in.

Kafrawi's body dropped down on the ground close to where she lay. His eyes fastened themselves on something with the same silent, brooding look. He tried to contract the muscles of his lids and close his eyes in an attempt at sleep. But they remained wide open, continuing to stare fixedly at the dark wall of mud. The buffalo looked at him. Her big eyes were covered in a film of moisture, like tears that had not yet formed.
She stretched out her neck coming so close that their heads touched. Then she started to wipe her lips up against his neck like a mother fondling her child. It seemed as though she was trying to say something to him, to ask him what was wrong. He rested his head on hers, wiped his wet eyes over her face, and brought his parched lips close up to her ear. He whispered, ‘O, Aziza, Nefissa is no longer here. She has run away.'

And so Kafrawi started to speak to the buffalo, to tell her what had happened. She seemed to answer him, and somehow he could understand what she said. For ever since he had opened his eyes and taken his first look at the world around him, the buffalo had been somewhere close by, either in the field or in the house. Before he learnt to walk, or to pronounce his first words he could see her looking at him with her big, silent eyes as he stood alone in some dark corner crying bitterly as only children know how to cry.

When he began to crawl on his belly over the ground, the first thing he started to do was to crawl in her direction. He could feel her touch his face with her smooth lips. Somehow she could tell when his lips were parched and dry. She would move gradually towards him until her nipple was close to his mouth, and when he opened his eyes he could see the swollen udder with the black nipple hanging down. The smell of her milk floated around him, made him stretch his neck and close his lips over it tightly, and almost immediately he would feel the warm flow of milk in his mouth.

As soon as he could pronounce a few words he called out to her. He named her Aziza, and whenever she heard the name she would turn her head towards him, and her eyes would say ‘Yes, Kafrawi.' Every day he pronounced a new word, and she answered with a look in her eyes which said something different each time. Gradually they learnt to understand one another's language. One day she complained to him that his father had beaten her with a stick several times as she went round and round tied to the yoke of the water-wheel. That day he experienced a feeling of hatred for his father, and refused to eat with him. His father tried to force him to eat by beating him with the same stick, but he refused obstinately and went to bed without supper.

When his daughter Nefissa was still a small child she used to wonder at the way he would talk to the buffalo. ‘A buffalo can talk and understand just as we do,' he said to her many a time. Nefissa herself had not yet learnt how to speak, but she too seemed to understand what he was saying to her, and she would assure him with a look of her big, black, knowing eyes. She nodded her head and laughed, and sometimes would even stretch out her small hand and try to play with his whiskers. He opened his mouth, closed his lips over her smooth little fingers, and pretended to bite. She gurgled with laughter whenever he did this, and quickly pulled her hand away. But one day he really bit her finger with his teeth, as though he was about to eat it up. She screamed with pain, and backed away from him
in fright. And from then on she started to be afraid of him sometimes, especially when for one reason or another his face would suddenly turn dark and forbidding, and begin to look like that of the buffalo. The face of the buffalo could put fear in her heart also, just as did the face of Kafrawi. She often played with her and pulled her tail, but all of a sudden a change would come over her, very much like the change which came over her father's face. Then her features no longer looked calm and resigned, but dark and angry. Her big eyes would be filled with a look which was very frightening, and at any moment she was capable of lashing out with her hoof, or butting at her with the head. On one occasion she even bit her badly on the leg.

Kafrawi rubbed his forehead against the full udder of the buffalo, opened his parched lips, and took the black nipple into his mouth. He could feel the warm milk flowing down to his stomach. His lids became relaxed, and dropped softly over his eyes. But the milk continued to flow further down to the lower part of his belly, and the upper part of his thighs. He felt something fill up, become swollen and erect, like a strange organ which was not a part of his body. He pressed on it with the palm of his hand, trying to push it back, but it refused to yield. He watched it get out, breaking through the limits of his body and his will, like a part of him over which he had lost control. Slowly it crept over the soft udder, breathing in the smell of female, lapping up the familiar wetness, slid up into the inner warmth and was lost in a great stillness, like
an eternity, like death. After a while it tried to slip out into the fresh air again where it could breathe more freely, but the hole closed itself closely about it, like strong fingers intent on choking it to death. It fought for its life, jerked with the mad spasm of an animal caught in a trap, erupted itself of all capacity to fight and collapsed, like tired eyelids on tired eyes surrendering to the deepest of sleeps.

But a few moments later he opened his eyes again to the sound of a terrifying voice screaming out. The voice was not that of anyone human, whether man or woman. Nor was it the voice of some animal being beaten. It was a strange and fearful shriek.

He had heard it once before, a very long time ago. At the time he was lying on his belly on a dusty floor, with his mother squatting beside him. She was passing white flour through a fine sieve, but her eyes were fastened on him in a big black stare which neither blinked nor shifted elsewhere. He could feel them move over his features like the caress of a soft hand. Suddenly he heard the scream. He did not recognize his mother's voice in the awful shriek which rent the air. But his eyes were drawn to her unawares. Scattered all around her and covering her hands, and her face and her hair was a fine powder now spread out in a crimson layer. Her eyes were still wide open, fastened to him with the same fixed stare, but somehow their look was no longer the same, no longer had the expression which he knew so well. These
were the eyes of someone else. His mother must have gone out through the open door and would be back any moment. He turned his head towards the door. He glimpsed two narrow, slit-like eyes which he had never seen before. They fixed him with a frightening stare. He bent his head, closed his eyes and dozed off for a while. But he was not really asleep, for he felt two arms lift him up from the ground and carry him away. He thought of opening his eyes to take a look around but he was afraid of meeting the terrible stare of the slit-like eyes, so he left himself to be carried by the two big arms. His face was pushed up against a hard, board-like chest from which emanated a strange odour. His small bare feet dangled down in the air, and swayed from side to side in rhythm with the long camel-like strides of the unknown creature that had snatched him from the ground, and was carrying him far away.