Friendly Fire, Alaa Aswany [10 ebook reader .TXT] 📗

“God bless you, Hagga,” murmured Hagg Ahmed warmly, masticating.

“And good health to you, Hagg,” replied his wife in a gratified tone.

After the beans, Hagg Ahmed had made up his mind to move on to the parsley omelet situated to his right, to be followed by a glass of chilled hibiscus from Aswan, after which there might still be room for a few boiled eggs, which Hagg Ahmad would eat as is, without bread, lest he satisfy his appetite completely and thus be denied the sweet, which he had it on good authority tonight would be dishes of rice pudding on whose firm, milky, surface gratings of delicious coconut had been sprinkled.

However, no sooner had Hagg Ahmad stretched out his hand for a little more of the flaky pastry than an agonized high-pitched cry resounded, cleaving the calm of the night, and pandemonium broke out. Hagga Dawlat leaped up in terror, her chair falling over backward with a loud clatter, and Hagg Ahmad hurried after her as fast as his obesity and rheumatism would allow. The Filipina maid was standing at the door to Hagg Azzam’s room, her Asiatic face clothed in an awful fear, and the room was filled with a heavy silence. To Hagg Ahmad, as he entered, it seemed that a foul, earthy smell filled his nose and he saw his father stretched out on the bed, his toothless mouth open and his eyes staring into emptiness, while on his aged face a fixed expression had taken hold, as though he had been taken mightily by surprise, once and for eternity.

Hagg Azzam was dead, and Dawlat let out a long wail to announce the painful news, while Hagg Ahmad threw his heavy body onto his father’s corpse and buried his face in his bosom, bursting into tears like a lost child. He was totally absorbed, and when a few moments later he returned to his senses the room was empty, so he stood, wiped away his tears with his sleeve and recited the opening chapter of the Qur’an. Then he closed his father’s eyelids and mouth, covered his head with the sheet, and inserted his hand gently under the pillow, where he took hold of the keys, which he placed in his pocket. Next he went out to the telephone, to announce the news of the passing of the dear departed to his relatives and acquaintances.

An hour later, Hagg Ahmad, having donned his navy blue safari suit, was seated in the midst of the mourners in the drawing room as the Filipina circulated among those present with a tray of coffee and cold water. The neighbors came first, then Mr. Sa‘id Azzam (the deceased’s middle son and an undersecretary at the Ministry of Irrigation) his face pale and eyes bemused at the sudden shock. When Adil (the youngest son, who worked for American Express) arrived, he screamed and insisted on seeing his father and when they pulled the sheet back for him, he fell rigid to the floor, so they carried him into the parlor and rubbed his face with cologne. Mrs. Amna (the deceased’s only daughter) flung herself into the apartment and the moment Hagga Dawlat caught sight of her, she screamed in a choking voice fit to break your heart, “Come and see, Amna! Our father’s dead, Amna!” to which Amna responded by slapping herself violently on the cheeks, during which operation she collapsed onto the floor of the corridor, and Hagg Ahmad left the mourners and hurried over to the two grief-stricken women to calm them down. Then he took his brother Adil, who had become somewhat quieter, to one side and gave him a bundle containing one thousand pounds and agreed with him on the arrangements for the next day—the undertaker, the tent, the death announcement, and the rest.

Hagg Ahmad was accustomed to dealing with calamities. He was the eldest of his brothers and his work as a construction contractor had gained him common sense and sound nerves, which were further strengthened by his deep faith and knowledge of matters of religion. See him now, sitting among the mourners, silent and, head bowed, his face showing how both sad he is and also how he clings to the patience in adversity that befits the true believer. Unlike the others, Hagg Ahmad neither cries nor goes into convulsions, but his sorrows weigh upon his heart like a mountain, his looks are downcast and broken-hearted, and his lips mutter verses from the Book in the hope of alleviating the pain. It would be fitting tonight were Hagg Ahmad to keep thoughts of his father ever in the forefront of his mind, remembering how his father had looked after him and his younger brothers, sacrificing for them his comfort and his money, and how, having acquitted this sacred task in full, he was now about to go to his Lord. “O soul at peace, return thou unto thy Lord, well-pleased, well-pleasing! Verily, God has spoken truly!” murmured Hagg Ahmad as he sat amid the mourners in the drawing room lost in thought and prayer for his departed father. Then, at a certain moment, he raised his head to crack and stretch his neck (a meaningless, normal action, just like someone playing with the strap of his watch or twisting his mustache between two fingers while talking). However that may be, Hagg Ahmad’s eyes, when he raised his head, fell on the clock on the wall. The large golden hands pointed to half past three in the morning, and when Hagg Ahmad once more bowed his head, something in his chest had changed, something ignoble had started to prick him like a small, bothersome needle. Hagg Ahmad tried to resume his meditations on the departed but it was no use. The pricks merged and coalesced and an unworthy thought started to pursue him and weigh upon his mind: he hadn’t yet had his predawn meal. The calamity had struck before he’d had time to eat more than