The people said, “The government is lame, but it can beat a gazelle.” The police were able to track down the first woman who had gone to court, Khadra — who had disappeared from the village after her divorce. They found her in Tanta living with Bahi, who was now dividing his time between Tanta and the village. She said she had tried many times to prevent him from continuing, but that he was intent on wrecking all the homes in the village. People shunned Magd al-Din’s house and family for some time, but because of Magd al-Din’s Quranic education and piety and Bahi’s past, people eventually were friendly to Magd al-Din again. Bahi became a mere memory in his jail cell in Tanta. No one but Magd al-Din knew that when Bahi finished his sentence, he left for Alexandria. No one ever knew what became of Khadra. “No way could she get away with it. She’s probably already been killed by her father or her brothers,” was the comment anyone who brought up her name would get. Several years passed without Bahi making an appearance in the village; he was now totally forgotten. The mayor, who could have looked for Bahi anywhere in Egypt, remembered him suddenly. When he thought of something to do about it, he kicked Magd al-Din out of the village, and to make sure the people would not remember the unpleasant story, he said the expulsion was related to the vendetta. With him he expelled Khalaf, the last of the Talibs. But the people of the village remembered vividly what Bahi had done to the mayor and secretly laughed. And there was Bahi, laid out helplessly before his brother, now devoid of strength, weakness, or rashness. He had chosen his own death in the city that he had said was white.

8

Pompey’s Pillar is the name of the huge column erected by Alexandrians to immortalize the memory of the Roman emperor Diocletian. They dedicated it to him as a gift, in appreciation for the prosperity they had enjoyed under him, forgetting that it was Diocletian who had persecuted them most, and persecuted the Christians in Egypt and Palestine in general.

Pompey’s Pillar is in the middle of Rhakotis, almost in the exact midpoint of Karmuz Street. The pillar is separated from the street by a wall that surrounds the whole archaeological site. To the left of the relics of Kom al-Shuqafa lies the Muslim cemetery, which takes up a large portion of Karmuz Street, extending to Rahma Street. The cemetery is called ‘the pillar tombs,’ in reference to Pompey’s Pillar. The tombs end on the north side at Italian School Street, a quiet, narrow street seldom noticed by pedestrians or cars. For this reason, many lovers go there in the evening, lured by the dark to make out and sometimes, take their love-making farther without fear of being discovered.

Behind Pompey’s Pillar extends the hill of Kom al-Shuqafa, where some Nubian families and gypsy clans live. The Nubians usually sell peanuts and seeds in little paper bags on the street. The gypsies go out on short trips to the city to do their usual things, reading palms and shells, telling fortunes, dancing, and selling cheap costume jewelry.

The streetcar runs up and down Karmuz Street, beginning at the bank of the Mahmudiya canal, halfway between Karmuz Bridge, which leads east to Ghayt al-Aynab, and Kafr Ashri Bridge, which spans the canal near the harbor. In front of the point where the streetcar route begins, on the southern bank of Mahmudiya Canal, lie the houses of workers who work in the railways south of the city. Behind these railroad tracks lies Lake Maryut, which extends farther than Alexandria, reaching as far as Amiriya in the west and Idku in the cast. Magd al-Din will have to discover all these places, but that will be later on.

Every day, Magd al-Din went to the cemetery, where he sat in front of his brother’s tomb and recited the Quran as long as he could. On his way to the cemetery he would see Pompey’s Pillar high above and realize that it was a relic from a bygone era. A strange thought would occur to him. He wished he could go up and sit on top of the pillar, and spend the rest of his life there, without food or drink, ceaselessly clamoring the name of God, exactly as the great Sufi saint al-Sayyid Ahmad al-Badawi did on the roof of a house in Tanta, until he died.

“You can’t go on like this,” Dimyan told him, after following him to the cemetery one day.

“What should I do, Dimyan?”

“Come with me to look for work. I usually get work most days now. Besides, you can’t spend your life sitting in the cemetery. This, God forbid, is an act of godlessness.”

Magd al-Din looked at him for some time and finally said, “You are right, my man.”

Since the day Bahi was killed, a great friendship between the two men had developed in no time at all. Everything at the hospital was over quickly thanks to the presence of Khawaga Dimitri and Dimyan. The following morning the public attorney’s office gave permission to bury the body, and by noon it was interred. As the shroud-wrapped body was lowered into the grave, Magd al-Din realized the great wrong he had done his brother: he had disobeyed his wish that he be buried in the village. That night Bahi had laughed and said that if he died and was buried in the village, he wouldn’t cause anyone any problems. It was impossible for Magd al-Din to change what had happened. He could not go back to the village, and his mother should be kept in the dark, at least for now. God alone knew how helpless he was.

Khawaga Dimitri paid ten pounds for the tomb and the burial expenses and told Magd al-Din in a whisper, “You can return it to me when things are better.” Magd al-Din was sure he could repay it, for his land in the village produced income, and he was sure his sisters would send him his share every season. What puzzled Magd al-Din was the affection show-ered on him and his wife by Khawaga Dimitri and his family even though they had only known each other for a few weeks. Sitt Maryam told Zahra, “Your brother-in-law was a prince.” “Dimitri told Magd al-Din, “Your brother was a good guy.” Magd al-Din surmised that Bahi must have done them some favors when the need arose. He told Zahra to empty Bahi’s room out so Khawaga Dimitri could have it back.

Nothing in Bahi’s room was needed, so the furnishings were sold to the secondhand-goods merchant in the morning. Magd al-Din took Bahi’s clothes and gave them away to the poor at the cemetery. Zahra found an envelope in the armoire containing twenty pounds and cried when she gave the money to Magd al-Din. Bahi was saving from shame before Khawaga Dimitri — Magd al-Din could now return the ten pounds Dimitri had loaned him so magnanimously.

Even though he had not asked about it, Zahra told her husband the story of how Bahi took part in the battle and how he died. She said she heard shouts on the street. At the time she was in Sitt Maryam’s room, and they looked out of the window. She saw Bahi moving as fast and as gracefully as a horse, brandishing his club, and he felled everyone he hit. He was completely different from the Bahi she had known. He was like a supernatural force, throwing men to the ground right and left. There were many peasants on his side, but the southerners were more numerous. Her eyes could only see Bahi. Just as the battle was about to end, after most of the southerners had cleared the street, a group of them appeared from one alley, heading straight for for one man, Bahi. All the clubs came down on his head. At once, she went down to the street screaming, but Bahi was already dead. It seemed that he looked at her as if he were asking her to be a witness to his courage. Magd al-Din asked her if the woman Bahiya had reappeared in the street since then, and Zahra said she had seen her only the day Bahi was killed. She had seen her that day, but did not believe it, and looking at Bahi, who had just been killed, she soon forgot about her.