The Lamp of Umm Hashim by Yahya Hakki

Author:Yahya Hakki
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The American University in Cairo Press
Published: 2004-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Year after year, Ismail came first in his class. When the results of the examination were announced, glasses of sherbet would be passed around the neighbors, even to the odd passerby. The woman selling taamiya and busara made from beans would make trilling cries of joy and would ask God to keep him safe, and Master Hassan, both barber and doctor for the district, would achieve his usual tip. The Lady Adeela, for her part, would burn incense, thus fulfilling her vows to Umm Hashim. Loaves of bread would be baked and stuffed with sprouting beans, and Umm Mohammed would carry them off in a basket on her head. No sooner did she appear in the square than the loaves would be seized, the basket would disappear, her milaya would be gone, and she would stumble bashfully back home, partly in amused anger at the greed of Sayyida’s beggars. Her experience would provide the family with amusement for several days.

Thus, in the protection of God, then in that of Umm Hashim, Ismail grew up. His life did not take him outside the quarter itself and the square; the farthest excursion he ever made was to Manyal, where he would walk beside the river or stand on the bridge. With the coming of evening and the waning violence of the sun, when the sharp reflections and straight lines had changed to curves and illusions, the square would come to itself and would be empty of visitors and strangers. If you are of pure heart and conscience and listen carefully, you will be conscious of a deep, secret breathing traversing the square. Perhaps it is Sidi al-Itris, the mosque’s doorkeeper—for is not his name numbered among the Servants?—sitting in his private quarters, shaking the dust of the day’s work from his hands and clothing as he breathes a sigh of satisfaction. Were it your good fortune to hear this deep breathing, you might at that instant take a look at the dome and see it engirdled by a radiance of light, fading then growing stronger like the flickerings of a lamp toyed with by the breeze. This is the lamp of Umm Hashim that hangs over the shrine—walls cannot obscure its rays.

Slowly the square fills up again. Exhausted, sallow-faced, and bleary-eyed, each person is dressed in what chance has bestowed upon him, or, if you will, what he has found to hand. The calls of the street vendors make a mournful melody:

“Great green broad beans!”

“Eat something sweet and call down blessings on the Prophet!”

“Tender radishes!”

“Use a miswak for keeping your teeth clean, just as the Prophet did!”

What is the hidden tyranny they complain of! What is the burden that weighs down the breasts of them all! And yet, for all that, their faces show a kind of contentment and serenity. How easily they forget! Many are the hands that take in so few piasters and milliemes. Here there is no law, no standard measure, no fixed price; there is only custom, giving

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