of his store. “Please join us for a minute,” he went on, the broad smile still on his thick lips. “This is a happy day indeed!”
Ahmad hesitated for a moment. It was not so much that sitting down with the boss would mean negating the purpose of his expedition, but rather that his shyness would never allow him to accept such an invitation without due hesitation.
“I swear by al-Husayn himself,” the boss went on in his usual loud voice, “that, unless you have some really urgent business to attend to, you be my honored guest. Gaber, bring us some tea and a shisha too!”
In spite of his hesitation Ahmad was delighted to accept the boss’s invitation. He went over to a chair, while the boss came back with another. They sat facing each other. The calligraphy store was exactly like all the others in terms of its size and neat appearance. It was covered with beautiful signs, with a table in the middle on which bottles of colored inks, pens, and rulers were arranged. Leaning against one of the pillars was a large sign at the top of which was written in gaudy colors “The Khan Gaafar Grocery Store,” with the name of the owner etched out in pencil but not colored in yet. The boss was wearing agallabiya, white coat, and skullcap. He was about fifty years old, stocky, and well built. He had a large head with pronounced features, an equally large mouth, and thick lips. His complexion was wheat-colored, with a red tint to it.
“Nunu the Calligrapher, your humble servant,” he said once he had sat down.
“I’m delighted to meet you,” Ahmad replied, raising his hand to his head. “This humble servant is Ahmad Akif, civil servant in the Ministry of Works.”
He had never liked mentioning where he worked as a way of salving his own sense of pride. Every time he had to introduce himself, it was a moment of sheer torture. But this time he did not feel the same way because he was well aware that people like Boss Nunu had great respect for civil servants. The man raised his hand to his head as a token of respect, then gave a gentle smile.
“It would be an honor to welcome you at any time,” the man said with his characteristic bluntness, “but was it really fear of the air raids that brought you here?”
Ahmad was utterly amazed that people already knew why they had left the old quarter when they had only been in the new one for a single night.
“Who told you that?” Ahmad asked, staring disconsolately at the man.
“The driver who brought your furniture,” he replied in all simplicity. “These days everyone’s moving somewhere else.”
That was a cue for Ahmad to launch into a defense of his family’s courage. “Actually,” he said, “all the quarters that have been subjected to the danger of air raids haveemptied out. What drove us to leave our old quarter was the fact that my father has a weak heart, and we were worried about it. We really didn’t want to leave.”
At this point the waiter came with the tea and shisha. He put the shisha pipe down in front of the boss, then brought a chair from the store, placed it in front of Ahmad, and put the teapot down on it. The boss urged his guest to take some tea, while he himself grabbed the shisha pipe with relish and took a long puff from it, filling his nostrils.
“It’s always okay for people to go looking for security, even though in fact everyone’s life is in God’s hands and fate decides what’s going to happen. Ahmad Effendi, I’m one of those people who places complete reliance on God. I have no idea how to get to the bomb shelter. Which bomb shelter are you talking about, for heaven’s sake? Have you ever listened to the words of Salih Abd al-Hayy’s song? ‘Whatever your share of life may be, that is the way it is!’ Even so I pray to God that He will be a sufficient protection against calamity. At the same time I also pray that our luck may be good. After all, if it weren’t for decisions made by some people, we wouldn’t have the
Ahmad hesitated for a moment. It was not so much that sitting down with the boss would mean negating the purpose of his expedition, but rather that his shyness would never allow him to accept such an invitation without due hesitation.
“I swear by al-Husayn himself,” the boss went on in his usual loud voice, “that, unless you have some really urgent business to attend to, you be my honored guest. Gaber, bring us some tea and a shisha too!”
In spite of his hesitation Ahmad was delighted to accept the boss’s invitation. He went over to a chair, while the boss came back with another. They sat facing each other. The calligraphy store was exactly like all the others in terms of its size and neat appearance. It was covered with beautiful signs, with a table in the middle on which bottles of colored inks, pens, and rulers were arranged. Leaning against one of the pillars was a large sign at the top of which was written in gaudy colors “The Khan Gaafar Grocery Store,” with the name of the owner etched out in pencil but not colored in yet. The boss was wearing agallabiya, white coat, and skullcap. He was about fifty years old, stocky, and well built. He had a large head with pronounced features, an equally large mouth, and thick lips. His complexion was wheat-colored, with a red tint to it.
“Nunu the Calligrapher, your humble servant,” he said once he had sat down.
“I’m delighted to meet you,” Ahmad replied, raising his hand to his head. “This humble servant is Ahmad Akif, civil servant in the Ministry of Works.”
He had never liked mentioning where he worked as a way of salving his own sense of pride. Every time he had to introduce himself, it was a moment of sheer torture. But this time he did not feel the same way because he was well aware that people like Boss Nunu had great respect for civil servants. The man raised his hand to his head as a token of respect, then gave a gentle smile.
“It would be an honor to welcome you at any time,” the man said with his characteristic bluntness, “but was it really fear of the air raids that brought you here?”
Ahmad was utterly amazed that people already knew why they had left the old quarter when they had only been in the new one for a single night.
“Who told you that?” Ahmad asked, staring disconsolately at the man.
“The driver who brought your furniture,” he replied in all simplicity. “These days everyone’s moving somewhere else.”
That was a cue for Ahmad to launch into a defense of his family’s courage. “Actually,” he said, “all the quarters that have been subjected to the danger of air raids haveemptied out. What drove us to leave our old quarter was the fact that my father has a weak heart, and we were worried about it. We really didn’t want to leave.”
At this point the waiter came with the tea and shisha. He put the shisha pipe down in front of the boss, then brought a chair from the store, placed it in front of Ahmad, and put the teapot down on it. The boss urged his guest to take some tea, while he himself grabbed the shisha pipe with relish and took a long puff from it, filling his nostrils.
“It’s always okay for people to go looking for security, even though in fact everyone’s life is in God’s hands and fate decides what’s going to happen. Ahmad Effendi, I’m one of those people who places complete reliance on God. I have no idea how to get to the bomb shelter. Which bomb shelter are you talking about, for heaven’s sake? Have you ever listened to the words of Salih Abd al-Hayy’s song? ‘Whatever your share of life may be, that is the way it is!’ Even so I pray to God that He will be a sufficient protection against calamity. At the same time I also pray that our luck may be good. After all, if it weren’t for decisions made by some people, we wouldn’t have the
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