In this novel, originally published in Arabic as Yawm la yantahi, small-time criminal Magdy needs to get his hands on a gun, and fast.
“Magdy, this is your chance.”
The sentence echoed in Magdy’s mind as he swallowed down four tranquilizers from the blister pack lying next to his mattress and got up, stretching his limbs. His clothes were raggedy, and his scrawny body with its skinny legs appeared both laughable and pitiable at once. Amir’s call had breathed new life into him.
Wesakha had sent him a warning message the day before with one of his men, who’d come to alert him that the boss expected his money by the end of the week. Magdy had of course assured the guy that he’d be there on time even though he had no idea how he’d get his hands on the cash. He’d thought about going out to rob some passerby in the quiet streets or stealing a car, but preferred to take a beat and wait for some better option instead of resorting to such humiliations — ones he’d grown too old for anyway. If someone recognized him, they’d doubtless make fun of him and rat him out, and if he was exposed, he’d end up in prison under some charge unworthy of his illustrious criminal career. He’d once dreamed that he’d become a big-time boss himself someday, had faith in himself and his own skills, but running after women had exhausted him and stopped him from making progress in life, until he’d become what he was now: living with his sisters in a ramshackle house in a shitty slum that no sensible person would ever set foot in.
Shouts and filthy curses rang out from the street, a death-match between a tuk tuk driver and his passenger over a two-pound difference in the fare. Such people were more enamored of death than life, and their lives began and ended only in the present moment, with no thought to what would come after that.
There was the sound of the tuk tuk’s glass shattering, certainly worth more than the two pounds that had started the fight, and the driver’s screaming promises that blood would be spilled.
Magdy called for his sister to make him some tea, imagining he could hear her wishing that the roof would collapse over his head and crush him once and for all as she lazily and with disgust dragged her feet to reluctantly fulfill his request, but he ignored these imaginings, chalking them up to paranoia.
His entire body pained him and his mind felt foggy as a Scottish morning. He stood at the small window with its curtains made of old bed sheets, absorbed by the goings-on outside. Some friends of the passenger’s had arrived for backup, as had some of the tuk tuk driver’s colleagues. The fight had turned into a full-scale war in which every religion known to humanity was being cussed out, and in whose first minute three soldiers had fallen, soaked in their own blood.
The tea arrived in a chipped and dirty cup, and Magdy raged at his sister, accusing her of purposefully trying to harm him. He noisily slurped the tea and went back to watching the fight. Three attackers brandishing swords surrounded a young man who’d wrapped one of his arms in his jacket to shield himself from dull blades that had never seen a sharpener in their lives. The young man darted right and left like a veritable demon, ducking to hide in this little shop here or that café there while his attackers tried in vain to reach him. In fact, he was the one landing hits, charging forth with calculated attacks, injuring one of them and then bobbing and weaving away, waiting for another opportunity to make a stealthy strike. Magdy spied another young man hiding in a narrow dead-end alley while three others searched for him. He called out to them, alerting them to the hiding place and then stood there taking it in with a wicked grin on his face, relishing the sight of the man’s blood flowing from the savagery of the beating.
He hadn’t been able to level with Amir during their call and tell him that he owed Abu Dalal money and that that was the reason he couldn’t contact him. A confession like that might have cost him the bag he was hoping for, the bag on which he was now totally relying to get Wesakha off his back.
He called another grunt who went by the name of Sayyed Silah. The call went unanswered the first time and so he called again, then a third time, ringing insistently until the call was answered by a hoarse, irritated voice, sharply demanding to know the reason for this annoyance. Magdy greeted him obsequiously, asking after his health and latest news, but Sayyed ignored this, insisting on knowing to whom he was speaking. It took some time for Magdy to jog his memory, and without returning niceties Sayyed again demanded the reason behind his call. Magdy said, “I need a weapon,” and Sayyed told him to come over first so they could talk.
Magdy tried to convince him to meet elsewhere, in a location other than Sayyed’s neighborhood, but Sayyed insisted coldly that he wouldn’t be budging from his place. He then ended the call after telling Magdy to make sure to let him know when he arrived.
Magdy hated how this was all unfolding. He didn’t like Sayyed and was afraid of setting foot in that whole neighborhood in the first place. And if this had been his attitude when he believed that Magdy intended to buy a gun, what would he do when he found out that Magdy had nothing but 200 pounds to his name and only wanted to rent a gun for a couple of hours? He’d definitely berate him; he might even hurt him. Sayyed was a dangerous man even by Magdy’s standards, but he knew of no one else who’d be able to furnish him with a gun on such short notice. And so he made up his mind to go, consequences be damned.
Another half hour and Magdy was out the door, heavy with the worry of what would happen next. The battle outside had ended, though traces — broken objects, bloodstains — remained. Some youths who hadn’t witnessed it stood around asking about what had happened and lamenting having missed it, and Magdy, walking by, taunted their regret. “You’d have gone straight from the fight to the morgue,” he threw out.
Before any of them could respond, Magdy heard a threatening voice from behind him.
“Your end is near, chicken.”
He swiveled around to find out where the voice had come from and saw Wael, Samar’s brother. A young man no less miserable than Magdy, only taller and more heavyset. He looked exactly like Samar except without her long, coarse hair and prodigious curves. Magdy saw Wael’s brown face, pitted with old chicken pox scars and twisted with malice. His hand was hidden inside his cheap woolen jacket, presumably clutching a weapon. There was no time to talk it over and no chance of winning this fight, for there was no position stronger and more righteous than that of a man defending his honor, regardless of whether this honor was real or mere delusion.
Magdy made up his mind in an instant and set off running as fast as he could, bolting like a champion sprinter. Stunned by this reaction, it took Wael a couple of seconds to take off after him in pursuit. The men Magdy had taunted jeered. “Run you chicken, you faggot!” one of them called out, taking care to drag out the insult to make sure it was understood.
It was a short chase, ending with Magdy cornered in a bare patch of yard surrounded by ugly and abandoned redbrick buildings. Wael bore down on him, panting like an exhausted bull. Magdy bent over double, staring at the ground and gasping, almost vomiting. He stretched his hand out in a gesture of supplication, bidding Wael slow down or back off altogether.
“We can solve this together,” he told Wael. “Wisely, no need to be reckless.”
“You either marry my sister,” snarled Wael, “or I dispatch you to meet your maker right here and now.”
Magdy raised his head and saw Samar’s face on a man’s body, like some fabled creature right out of Greek mythology. Curse desire and its abasements — the girl was ugly as sin and there was the proof standing before him. Despite that he’d met up with her a bunch of times, and none of their encounters had been innocent. He shook the image from his mind, still breathing hard and wheezed: “Of course I’ll marry her. Nothing could be more honorable for a man than marrying a girl from a reputable family.”
Wael scrutinized him, surprised by his quick capitulation, some of the fight going out of him. Seizing what seemed like a good opportunity, Magdy took off running again.
This time when Wael caught him — not too far from where they’d been before, inside one of the ugly buildings still under construction — he dealt Magdy a couple of punches as punishment for having escaped.
“Hey now,” protested Magdy, spitting out blood, “why are you hitting me after we already came to an agreement?”
Wael pulled out a gun and pressed it into Magdy’s side. “Are you running from your obligation? What, you think my sister isn’t good enough for a man of your fine standing?”
Magdy could see nothing else in the world that moment save for the gun pressed into his side. “I’m not running away,” he said, his eyes bright. “I was going to fetch the registrar.” Then, hopefully he added: “Hey, hang on, how much would you sell this gun for?”
Wael fell silent, unsure of what to say. Quickly Magdy went on: “The wedding is next Thursday, it’s all settled. Congratulations to us!” He said this and suddenly leaned in and planted a loud, smacking kiss on Wael’s temple. Surprised and disgusted, Wael shoved Magdy away before he could attempt another one. As Wael wiped at the spot where the kiss had landed, Magdy went on as though this had been the topic from the very beginning. “I was actually on my way to go borrow a gun,” he said, “but now that we’re family and it’s best to rely on relatives, I’ll borrow your gun instead.”
Wael stuffed the gun in his pocket and stared him down. “Forget the gun for now. As for the marriage, we want 20,000 pounds for the dowry and some jewelry too.”
“Samar deserves all that and more,” said Magdy quickly.
He stuck his hand into his pocket, pulling out ten pounds and handing them to Wael. “I still owe you nineteen thousand nine hundred and ninety.”
Wael grabbed Magdy by the collar and shook him hard. “You trying to be funny?”
“This is a down payment,” replied Magdy calmly, “to show you I’m serious. As for the wedding arrangements, I actually need your gun so I can get you the rest of the amount you asked for.”
Wael got right into his face and shouted: “Tomorrow you bring me the money and jewelry or else I rid you of both the evil and the good inside you — if there’s any good to speak of. Got it?”
“Thursday, dear brother-in-law,” said Magdy quickly. “I’ve got some big operations going and they need time. These aren’t silly little hits that are settled on the same day. Don’t you know me?”
That got Wael’s attention. “I know you very well,” he said skeptically. “And I know you’ve been a slimeball your whole life.”
“Times change,” said Magdy. “Haven’t you heard that I’m working with Wesakha these days?”
The tension of the standoff eased somewhat and the charged atmosphere began to dissipate. “Are you selling his merchandise?” asked Wael.
“Of course not,” replied Magdy indignantly. “I’m not one of his errand boys. I’m a lot more important than that.”
Wael laughed. “What, like his advisor?” he jeered.
“I don’t work for him,” said Magdy. “I work with him.”
Then, in a low voice as though confiding a secret: “I work with him on many different things, on a whole other branch of the business. A lot more profitable.” He clutched at Wael’s arm and narrowed his eyes, as though exhorting him to forget the entire conversation because it was so dangerous.
He scanned the surroundings quickly, making sure there was no one around who might have heard or witnessed what had taken place.
“I don’t care what you do with him or for him,” said Wael, “and I don’t give a crap about any of your tall tales. All I want is for you to do your duty and marry my sister, understood?”
Feeling it a stroke of luck that Wael had found him today of all days, Magdy hastened to answer. “Consider it settled, and let’s hear a ululation while you’re at it. Now give me that gun.”
Wael gave him a long, calculated look. “How much will you buy it for?”
“How much did you buy it for?”
Wael hesitated. “It was a gift.”
Magdy clamped down on Wael’s hand, the one holding the gun. “And a gift shouldn’t be sold.”
Wael snorted, trying to maneuver away. His grip tightened on the gun as Magdy tried harder to wrench it from him. “I only need to borrow it for a day,” he said.
Wael felt suffocated with Magdy bearing down on him, trying to wrest the gun in every possible way he could. Ever since he’d been arrested, Wael hated feeling restrained; it brought him back to a moment that he’d tried to erase from his mind. He bucked with rage, trying to free himself from Magdy, whose only goal was to grab the gun, latching onto Wael like he was his only hope. They grappled and pushed, moving in circles. Wael took a lurching step backward, trying to shove Magdy violently out of the way. The ground was covered with a thin layer of yellow sand, and with Wael’s sudden movement, his planted foot slipped out from under him and he teetered backward, Magdy still on top of him. Magdy cursed his recklessness, trying in vain to keep his balance. Like wrestlers in a death match, they fell to the ground, Wael coming down hard on the edge of an unfinished wall. His head slammed violently into the red bricks, and a fountain of blood erupted with shocking suddenness from the wound. He didn’t shout or make a single sound. He just slumped to the ground, his blood spreading in an ever-expanding puddle beneath him. Magdy, whose breastbone had slammed into the same wall, groaned with pain, letting out a stream of curses at Wael as he pulled himself off of him.
Only then did Magdy grasp what had happened. He felt as though he was watching a film. None of it seemed real. He stepped away from Wael’s body quickly, taking in its total stillness before suddenly coming back to his senses. He scanned the surroundings quickly, making sure there was no one around who might have heard or witnessed what had taken place. Then he stepped forward and took the gun from Wael, who’d maintained his grip until his very last breath. He quickly slipped the gun into his pocket then searched Wael’s, taking the little money he found. He made sure to also take Wael’s wallet, his phone, and the cheap ring on one of his fingers. He hoped this would make it look like a mugging gone wrong, and though he didn’t know who might actually believe that someone had tried to rob the pathetic and penniless Wael, he hoped nevertheless. After he’d taken everything of value from Wael’s pockets, he gave the body one last look.
“Boy, you really look exactly like Samar,” he said, shaking his head.
And then he took off running.
He didn’t go far. He stopped at a small café nearby and ordered a strong cup of tea. He needed a few minutes to steady his nerves, to try and process the lightning-fast turn of events. He felt nothing but anxiety; certainly no emotion over Wael’s death. On the contrary, it had freed him from the whole marriage thing. Marry Samar? Why the hell would he marry Samar? Had the world suddenly become devoid of women for him to end up sharing his bed with that desiccated mummy? He certainly deserved better than that.
Wael’s death had also provided him with a golden opportunity: he’d gotten the gun he needed and no longer had to make the long and nerve-wracking journey to Sayyed’s terrifying neighborhood, terrifying even by his standards, he who was no stranger to the back-alley life. He patted the gun in his pocket with relief, once again marveling at his good luck.
His phone rang. It was Amir, who proceeded to curse him out with every profanity over his lateness. Magdy was afraid to tell him what had happened and so he simply mentioned that he’d run into some problems that had delayed his arrival, omitting all definition or detail of said problems. He did, however, reassure Amir that he’d acquired the gun they needed. He said this with pride, hoping to receive some appreciation in return, but Amir only asked him about the number of bullets that were in the gun. Since Magdy didn’t like saying “I don’t know,” he said instead that there were nine bullets. Amir’s voice softened somewhat, and after a string of mild curses, urging Magdy to hurry up, he ended the call.
Magdy popped two pills out of the blister pack in his pocket and washed them down with some tea. He looked up at the sky, relaxing into his seat as though everything was perfectly fine, as though he was simply enjoying a pleasant day outdoors. Then he caught sight of a big splotch of blood on his light orange shirt. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and examined the skin beneath. There was no wound. It must have been Wael’s blood. He tried to clean it off with some of the water the waiter had brought him along with the tea. The stain faded somewhat, but it was still clearly there. In the end he concealed it by wrapping himself up in his heavy coat, the one that didn’t close because all the buttons had fallen off.
He stayed in his seat for about an hour. The pills had done their work, taking over his mind and blotting out his senses. Amir called again, but Magdy didn’t answer. He knew exactly what curses and insults the call had in store; it would tell him nothing new. He would simply pretend he hadn’t heard the phone ring. Let Amir wait; he was the one who needed Magdy.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he spotted some commotion near the yard where Wael had fallen — the scene of the crime. He watched nervously, trying to make out what was happening without having to ask anyone. Meanwhile, that feeling that had kept him alive until today, despite everything he’d seen and been through, that feeling that lived in the deepest recesses of his reason, that pure voice that wanted only to keep him alive, whispered to him now with urgency.
“Run,” it said. “Run you chicken.”
He heeded its warning and ran.
