Not even if you became French!”
Zahra smelled the strong odor of tobacco smoke and saw in front of her a store with a red facade and big black lettering, with a scale on the counter, behind which a man sat smoking a narghile. On the shelves were small boxes and many cigarette packs. She saw several of these stores with red facades, apparently characteristic of tobacco shops. Sitt Maryam pointed to a street from which came a strong smell of ghee, coconut, and sugar.
“This is the piazza of the Syrians. They are all pastry makers,” she said. “This is al-Laythi Street, the most famous street for antiques in Alexandria. Here they sell French objets d’art, Belgian chandeliers, Swiss watches, Italian chairs, and expensive things from all over the world.” Zahra was reminded of the strong, European-looking face of the man that she had seen smoking the narghile in the tobacco shop.
A woman in a white nightgown came rushing out of a side alley, holding a man by the scruff of his neck. After giving him a smack on the back of his neck, she pushed him into the street, then stood for a moment looking around. She was barefoot, her hair disheveled, with sparks flying from her tired eyes. Then she went back into the little alley, and three scantily clad women, who had stood by the entrance and watched as she kicked the man out, followed her inside. A young coffeehouse boy carrying a tray with a coffee cup, a small coffee pot, and a glass of water almost ran into the man who had just been beaten. But he skillfully stepped aside, laughing, “In this place, it’s sweet to be smacked on the back of the head.” The man staggered toward Zahra, who was scared and hid behind Sitt Maryam. Sitt Maryam quickly bent down, took off her slipper, and waved it in the faceof the man, who stepped back, giving her a military-style salute as the vendors in their stores laughed.
Sitt Maryam and Zahra went on through al-Laythi Street, where the antiques caught her eye, as did the men and women who moved slowly and gracefully among the wares, looking at and examining them. There was a strong smell of wood varnishes, paint, and alcohol.
“We’ve made it to the Arab street. You’ll find all kinds of furniture here.”
Zahra noticed that one alley was filled entirely with shoes of every style and color, on high tables and low tables and on the sidewalks. She saw another long alley filled with displays of used clothing, and shirts, jackets, and overcoats hung in the store entrances, giving off a faint smell. Then they entered a short street, neither wide nor narrow. In front of the shop doors were living-room sets and all kinds of chairs—wooden, upholstered, bamboo. Little boys were dusting them with feather dusters.
“Good morning, Blessed William.”
“Good morning, Sitt Maryam.”
He knows her by name, Zahra thought to herself. She realized that here she could sit down for a little while. She needed that, after having nearly screamed to leave the whole neighborhood.
Blessed William was about fifty, short with a strong build, wearing a clean gallabiya and a fez on his head.
“It’s been a while,” he said, offering two chairs to Sitt Maryam and Zahra, who sat down at once. The the smell of the concrete floor recently doused with water reached her nostrils, and the smell of frankincense burning deep inside the dark store soothed her nerves. A little boy appeared and the man said to him, “Quick, get a pitcher of carob drink.”
Blessed William went to different points on the wall and lit up the big, long store, revealing shiny armoires, beds, tables, chairs, and other pieces of furniture.
“How are things, Blessed William?” Sitt Maryam asked.
“Things are bad. The war has broken out, and everything is going sky high.”
“The war broke out only yesterday, Blessed William.”
“We’ve been living in fear for the last few months. Thedrunken English have chased the customers away. I swear by God, I considered selling the
Zahra smelled the strong odor of tobacco smoke and saw in front of her a store with a red facade and big black lettering, with a scale on the counter, behind which a man sat smoking a narghile. On the shelves were small boxes and many cigarette packs. She saw several of these stores with red facades, apparently characteristic of tobacco shops. Sitt Maryam pointed to a street from which came a strong smell of ghee, coconut, and sugar.
“This is the piazza of the Syrians. They are all pastry makers,” she said. “This is al-Laythi Street, the most famous street for antiques in Alexandria. Here they sell French objets d’art, Belgian chandeliers, Swiss watches, Italian chairs, and expensive things from all over the world.” Zahra was reminded of the strong, European-looking face of the man that she had seen smoking the narghile in the tobacco shop.
A woman in a white nightgown came rushing out of a side alley, holding a man by the scruff of his neck. After giving him a smack on the back of his neck, she pushed him into the street, then stood for a moment looking around. She was barefoot, her hair disheveled, with sparks flying from her tired eyes. Then she went back into the little alley, and three scantily clad women, who had stood by the entrance and watched as she kicked the man out, followed her inside. A young coffeehouse boy carrying a tray with a coffee cup, a small coffee pot, and a glass of water almost ran into the man who had just been beaten. But he skillfully stepped aside, laughing, “In this place, it’s sweet to be smacked on the back of the head.” The man staggered toward Zahra, who was scared and hid behind Sitt Maryam. Sitt Maryam quickly bent down, took off her slipper, and waved it in the faceof the man, who stepped back, giving her a military-style salute as the vendors in their stores laughed.
Sitt Maryam and Zahra went on through al-Laythi Street, where the antiques caught her eye, as did the men and women who moved slowly and gracefully among the wares, looking at and examining them. There was a strong smell of wood varnishes, paint, and alcohol.
“We’ve made it to the Arab street. You’ll find all kinds of furniture here.”
Zahra noticed that one alley was filled entirely with shoes of every style and color, on high tables and low tables and on the sidewalks. She saw another long alley filled with displays of used clothing, and shirts, jackets, and overcoats hung in the store entrances, giving off a faint smell. Then they entered a short street, neither wide nor narrow. In front of the shop doors were living-room sets and all kinds of chairs—wooden, upholstered, bamboo. Little boys were dusting them with feather dusters.
“Good morning, Blessed William.”
“Good morning, Sitt Maryam.”
He knows her by name, Zahra thought to herself. She realized that here she could sit down for a little while. She needed that, after having nearly screamed to leave the whole neighborhood.
Blessed William was about fifty, short with a strong build, wearing a clean gallabiya and a fez on his head.
“It’s been a while,” he said, offering two chairs to Sitt Maryam and Zahra, who sat down at once. The the smell of the concrete floor recently doused with water reached her nostrils, and the smell of frankincense burning deep inside the dark store soothed her nerves. A little boy appeared and the man said to him, “Quick, get a pitcher of carob drink.”
Blessed William went to different points on the wall and lit up the big, long store, revealing shiny armoires, beds, tables, chairs, and other pieces of furniture.
“How are things, Blessed William?” Sitt Maryam asked.
“Things are bad. The war has broken out, and everything is going sky high.”
“The war broke out only yesterday, Blessed William.”
“We’ve been living in fear for the last few months. Thedrunken English have chased the customers away. I swear by God, I considered selling the
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