The Hakawati (32 page)

“That was not a happily ever after,” I said. “You promised to only tell me stories with happy endings.”

“You’re right, but that’s easy to fix. Orpheus died and descended into the underworld and was able to look at Eurydice as much as he wanted.”

“And they lived happily ever after.”

“That they did.”

“How come it’s always bad to look back?” I asked. “What if something is going to hit you from behind? What about rearview mirrors?”

“I don’t really know,” he replied.

I paused. “Would you have tried to retrieve Grandmother from the underworld?”

“Hmm.” He hesitated, cast his eyes upward as if contemplating. “I don’t think she would’ve wanted me to. It was the right time for her to
leave. Eurydice died before her time, which was why Orpheus went down to get her.”

“If I die,” I said, “will you come for me?”

“I’ll turn the world upside down and inside out. I’ll find you wherever you are. I’ll not only come for you, I’ll bring an entire army. You’re my little hero. That’s what you are.”

Who will raise the dead again? Fatima found her lover, Afreet-Jehanam, human-sized and demonlike, lying prone and lifeless on the white altar of King Kade. The imps jumped atop the altar. Weeping, Ishmael said, “Our brother is dead.” Fatima ran her fingers through the demon’s hair, which was no longer yellow and fiery, just unresponsive blue strings of air. She kissed his inert lips. “Wake,” she said, but he remained dead. She kissed his palm, pressed his hand to her chest. She used his swordlike fingernail to cut her lip. She kissed him again. “Wake,” she said, “drink my blood,” but he remained dead. She removed the loincloth of rhinoceros hide and held his listless penis. She put the penis in her mouth and licked. “Wake,” she said. “I am not done with you yet.” And the penis grew rigid, but the jinni did not breathe. She climbed on the altar. “Wake,” she said. “I am Fatima, tamer of Afreet-Jehanam, vanquisher of King Kade. I am master of light and dark. Wake.” She straddled her lover, descended upon him until he was inside her. She felt the force of life tremble within her. And his hair was enflamed. She bent down and kissed him. A streak of blood dripped from her lip to his, down across the convex curve of his cheek. It transformed into a young mud snake upon touching the altar.

“Wake,” she said, and he opened his three red eyes.

Elie leaned on his motorcycle, looking ruffled and agitated. He didn’t notice me until I was right in front of his face. He was now sixteen, and my mother always said that was a horrible age, because you were mean, unhappy, and uncharitable most of the time, and you ended up listening to American music. Elie was moving up in the militia. He already commanded a troop of boys who were older than he was, and, more important, he now carried two guns. He stared at his shoes. I stared at him until a sudden flutter flashed in the corner of my eye. Mariella
walked out of the lobby, wearing a drunken smile and a sweater so tight her breasts looked like a high shelf. She whistled a Beatles melody. She strolled by, pretended not to see us. She was a bad actress, but Elie was fooled. “I’m here,” he called.

“Oh,” she sighed. “I didn’t see you.” She kept walking, laughed coquettishly. “I want something to drink.” She entered the store on the ground level of the adjacent building, then stuck her head back out. “I’ll be right back.”

“I need to find a place,” he said. I nodded, unsure what to say. “She’s upset because I can’t find a place. She no longer wants to come with me to any of my friends’ places. She thinks it’s beneath her.” He paused, eyed me to make sure I was following. “You’re my friend, right? I’ve always taken care of you, so you’re my friend.” I nodded, still silent. “I have to use your room. Your mom takes bridge classes Mondays and Thursdays. We can go up there then.”

“Why do you want to visit me when she’s not there?” I asked.

“Don’t be silly. I want to use your room. You’re not going to be there.”

“You want to be alone with Mariella?”

“Yes. What the hell do you think I’m talking about?”

“What about Lina?” I didn’t think she’d be happy if she knew he wanted to be with Mariella. My sister liked him.

“Get rid of her.”

Mariella came over and greeted me by bumping me with her hip. “How’s my little boyfriend doing?” She held her Pepsi bottle with both hands, and her lips played with the straw.

“We’re going to use his room,” Elie said.

She didn’t reply, didn’t even look at him. She concentrated on my eyes. I blushed. “I don’t understand why you play the oud for my sister but not for me,” she said. “Don’t you like me?” I blushed again.

I waited in the building’s lobby on Thursday afternoon. Elie had said he’d come down as soon as he was done being alone with Mariella. I waited for a long time. Finally, he came out of the elevator, walked by me, smiled, and grabbed his crotch.

My bed was a mess. The duvet was on the floor, and so was one of the two pillows. The other was crumpled. I tried to make the bed presentable. I smoothed the damp sheets, fluffed the pillows, and covered
everything with the duvet. I sat on the bed to make it look less strange.

Istez Camil asked me to repeat the maqâm. My fingers hurt. I was dripping sweat like hanging laundry. I was happy, though. Istez Camil wouldn’t admit it openly, but I knew he was impressed. I could tell because he sat up straight in his chair and his eyes turned into slim slits of brown, unmoving, unwavering, staring at the well-instructed fingers of my left hand.

“Again.” He clapped his hands for a beat. One, clap, clap, one, clap, clap. I finished, and he wanted me to start over again. Sweat dropped into my eyes. I asked him to wait a minute. I wiped my brow, took a sip of water, and scratched my itchy head. “Let me see,” he said. He stood up and held my head. He ran his callused fingers through my clammy hair. He told me to take a break and left the room. My mother rushed in a few seconds later. Anxiety paralyzed my tongue. She held my head down and searched my hair. “Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “Don’t move.” She dashed out of the room. I heard her on the phone but couldn’t discern what she said.

The whole family had to wash their hair with anti-lice shampoo. My mother called everyone in the building and demanded that they all use the medicine. The household linen was boiled and disinfected, and so was my entire wardrobe.

My sister glared every time she walked by me. I worried that she would figure out that Elie had been in my room. All my cousins avoided me. I ended up sitting under the bush in the gated garden, huddled close to Fatima. At one point, my cousins Hafez and Anwar ran toward me and started mussing up each other’s hair and screaming, “Yuck, yuck, yuck!”

At dinner that night, in front of the television news, my mother wouldn’t stop talking about the lice. I remained silent. Uncle Jihad nudged me with his elbow. “See.” He ran his palm over his smooth scalp. “Sometimes it’s good to be bald.”

It seemed every time I saw my grandfather now he was noticeably older and weaker.

He combed my hair and I wept. “I knew you’d need me.” His voice was gentle and soft, elderly and frail. After every stroke of his fine
comb, he would dip it into a bowl of scalding, soapy water. “I knew they wouldn’t understand. Your parents are too modern.” He ran his left hand over my eyes, onto my forehead, all the way back to my hair and neck. “These days no one understands feelings, and when I leave this world—soon, probably—who will understand yours?” I cried, couldn’t stop my body from shaking. He combed. “You’re my boy, my blood.”

Seven

I
n Cairo, Baybars and his followers were housed by his aunt. “You are the son of my sister,” she told him. “You are as dear to me as you are to her. This house is your family home.” She arranged for his belongings to be moved into private chambers. She introduced him to her husband, Najem, one of the king’s viziers. That night, she laid out a wonderful feast. “Tell me about my sister,” she said. “I would love to hear her stories.” And Baybars told her how Sitt Latifah had saved his life and adopted him, how she taught him archery. His aunt’s face flushed with affection.

The next morning, Baybars wanted to breathe the fresh Cairene air. He and his warriors rode into the city. Al-Awwar was not in a good mood and made sure that his rider knew it. What was supposed to be a delightful exercise turned into a battle of wills between horse and rider. “None of our horses are happy,” the warriors said. “The vizier’s stable hands tend the vizier’s horses and not ours. We hired some help, but al-Awwar may require a stableman all to himself.”

Baybars saw that his stallion was not well groomed, his mane was not combed. Baybars apologized to his horse. Al-Awwar arched his neck and snorted.

That night, Baybars asked his uncle Najem if he knew where he could find a capable and worthy groom. The vizier said, “The stablemen’s shop is in the Rumaillah quarter, and you are sure to find a good man there. However, under no circumstance should you hire a young man by the name of Othman. The ruffian is about your age, but he has the criminal experience of an old man. He is a thief and a scofflaw who can only be controlled with a branding iron. The king has issued warrants for his arrest, but he continues to evade the law and find naïve folk to defraud.”

At the stablemen’s shop, Baybars met an old man with a beard as white as swan feathers. Baybars told the chief of the stablemen he was looking for a groom, someone who was clever and strong, honest and guileless. The chief presented a groom, but Baybars did not like him, or the second, the third, or the fourth.

An ostentatiously dressed young man with the face of a rodent entered the shop. Upon seeing him, everyone cleared out except Baybars and the chief, who ran toward the young man and prostrated himself and kissed the offered hand. Othman asked, “Did you get any money in today?” and the chief replied that he had not. “And what is he looking for?”

“He is looking for a groom, but he did not like the ones I showed him,” the chief said. “He must want a special one.”

“Do you like me?” Othman asked. And Baybars said yes.

Othman thought the young man an easy mark: he would work for him that day and rob him that night. Baybars thought, “Either that young man will obey me, or I will kill him and rid the world of a parasite.” Baybars paid the chief stableman five dinars. The chief was about to put the coins in his pocket, but Othman glared at him, and he handed the money over.