A look

 

In the beginning of a day we don’t know how it will end…  

One morning, while people are usually seeking to start a blessed day, Ali, the old fruiterer, was standing, preparing the setting to sell his fruit in the street and romancing the fruits with his lovely sweet calling songs.

        His eyes were full of hope.  The delight of the sunshine was reflected there, mixed with the tiredness of spending the night in the street.  Exhaustion featured on his face as it was his practice to stay up late and then sleep in the street at night instead of going to Abou-Elnomros, where he lives, and coming back in the morning.

The fruit merchant would bring him the goods every morning and he must be ready and waiting for him lest the merchant pass him by. He must pay half the price at least for the goods. Then with expert hands he would have to clean and arrange the fruits one by one in the baskets. Everything should be ready and neat before the customers started getting out from their homes to market, or to visit friends. He sings everyday, no matter how tired he feels. He is so old and poor and yet his tired smile never leaves his face

.

Suddenly, his delight turned over to panic as officers and soldiers jumped in front of the old man like vultures and started to throw his fruits to the big van. Their excitement indicated that they were familiar to such actions; the strangest thing was that the same familiarity didn’t make Ali move to stop them. The soldiers were very rough and their chief officer had a vicious look. Street people only stood watching the scene, unable to face the officer or even to pick up the dropping fruits. The soldiers seemed to possess an incredible conviction of the importance of what they were doing. Yes and why not?  Weren’t they organizing the streets and decorating the white area like the rest of the town?

I thought of approaching the chief officer to talk to him as an “educated” person that he is, but someone else preceded me and the officer offended him badly; then, with a fierce look, he ordered his officers to separate the people.  After everything was over, I went back to my shop, my haven.  Every time I go out into the wide streets, I long for my small shop and limited world.  I wished to tell the officer that such simple, poor people are not the ugliest thing in town; they are only naïve people who sell their goods in the streets earning 20 piasers( Egyptian coin) a kilo or at maximum 25 piasters. Those who really make our entire world ugly are sitting now in their luxurious offices, wearing their fashionable suits, moving smoothly and comfortably and you bow when you see them.  All of these ideas remained in my head--maybe in everybody’s heads.

We were midday, about one o’clock, and Ali’s last look was still engraved in my mind without explanation.  I couldn’t forget his eyes, following the van as it walked away, the soldiers in it, with such looks that suit a prime minister rather than mere soldiers who hardly earn their living and are as humble as Ali.

 I wondered if there would be any beauty in the town without a man like him, passing by, saying “good morning”, hearing his pleasant replies and lovely calling songs for customers.  In the beginning of a day we don’t know how it will end… The officers had left him and took the fruits. From the soldiers’ looks, it was crystal clear that there was a delicious fruit meal awaiting them.

As Ali was collecting the fifty pounds for paying the fine in order to regain the scales, he said about the fruits, “Thank God they only took the fruits, not me as well.  May Allah reward me for my loss.”

Yes good man, thank God, He is the Most Powerful while we are the most powerless; He will reward you for being patient and convinced with your status. It may be quite enough for you to have that peaceful contentment and for them the fruits.

The desire to keep life going turned the whole situation into a big joke.

“It would have been better if we had eaten the fruits,” someone said.

“If only I knew what was about to happen, I’d have stayed the whole night eating them,” Ali remarked.

The event ended but it seemed that such a despicable day would have yet another incident.

A woman ran out in front of my shop, screaming in panic, followed by her husband,  who was threatening her.  When a group of girls saw the scene, they followed them saying to each other, “let’s find it out, girls.”  Every time this couple passed by a shop, its crew came out to watch.  I was shaving for a wealthy client (shaving is enslavement--what does it mean to shave for someone when they can do it for themselves?)  So, I asked someone, “What is going on?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Hasan is running after his wife.” 

She was wearing a house dress with her hair disheveled.  He was behind her wearing shorts and a blue t-shirt.  This tall, respectable, venerable rich man looking so savage.  She, too, was known by her elegance, gentle talk and wealthy appearance.  She was esteemed highly by everyone in our area. When she accompanied her child to get his hair cut, she looked elegant, paid well, and she wisely handled her child’s fear of the tools.

She found refuge in an upholstery shop. The upholsterer, who never cared for anything in the world but his sofas, didn’t even move to know what was going on--maybe because of privacy or maybe because of his respect for Mr. Hasan, who lay in wait outside the shop with a wild lion look. There was a long moment of horrible silence.  Suppression and humiliation were engraved in her eyes.  It seemed that she had been hiding for a long time behind her bright appearance and gentle talk while, in fact,  she was living with the cruelest of men.  It turned out to be a false appearance.

The lion’s share of her fear of him was more about her fear of being revealed like this amongst the humdrum people in the street.  Looking at her prestige in such a hard time in front of the barber, the carpenter, and the unmovable upholsterer was considered welfare to her at that moment.

People were afraid to say a word, wordless as they were with the officer hours ago. In everyone’s mind was the thought, “they are a couple and such things happen.”

Her husband stood in front of her like a lurking cheetah and gave her a fierce manly gaze, then said “you made me run in the street you bitch.”  (But, the vicious cheetah is too lazy to make any more effort to run and eat his prey.)

He was about to attack when two women and a man showed up.  She sought their protection as they were less dangerous, though they had the same hateful look for her.  Savage, but without the same authority as her husband. When they approached her, she said in a pitiable tone “please, not in the street.”

When I got closer to her, I saw signs of a cheetah attack on her face. She had been injured.  His brother told her to accompany him. Then they all went away, the cheetah watching from a distance.  She went with his brother, mother, and sister and he walked into the crowd, receiving a special respect.  All of them just walked away; they were in the front and he a few metres behind, walking in calm and peace. Then the side talks and juicy gossip began.

“What do you think could have happened?” someone asked.

“He called her bitch, you heard it,” another man said.  “If so he will kill or at least divorce her,” he continued on expertly.

All of a sudden, the two looks seemed identical to me.  I knew then the explanation of Ali.  Although they had all distance and boundaries in every area, the look of Ali and the look of the woman were exactly the same, as if they were for the same person and the same eye.  It was a look of oppression, helplessness and hope.  An air of disappointment, an endless call for aid from the collected bones of flesh and blood.

When I went back to my client, I was silent.  He told me, “they are a couple…. and such things happen; tomorrow everything will be all right.”

The next day was exactly as my client had suggested. In the morning, Ali was standing again, preparing his fruits.  As for the woman, she looked all right as she hung the laundry on the white, fragile rope.

In the beginning of a day we don’t know how it will end…

Ended