simple: the priest holds the child and plunges him into a marble basin filled with water. Of course there’s also music and hallelujahs and hosannas—it’s a real party!”
“Well, your grandfather should’ve been baptized again.”
“He adamantly refused,” Dimyan laughed. “He insisted that he’d already been baptized and would not submit to those machinations. Deep down he was sad. He went to sleep and hasn’t awakened to this day.”
“There’s no power or strength save in God!” exclaimed Magd al-Din.
“Anyway. My father and his brothers came to hate the village, They divvied up the land and left the village. My father went into business until his money was gone; he left my mother, myself, andtwo daughters, and another son who died later of typhoid. My sisters have married and are living with their husbands in Suhag. My mother is living with me, hardly ever moving except to sleep. So this was how a big family was ruined because of a little lie. But thank God nobody said that the reverend was rendered incapable of baptizing my grandfather, or that the water in the baptismal basin had dried up when he was about to baptize my grandfather. That would’ve meant big sins, an old curse in the family. Yes, sometimes as the reverend baptized a child, he would be surprised to see that the water had suddenly dried up or that the child clung to his hand and couldn’t be wrenched away.”
Magd al-Din did not know how to comment on this story of his good-hearted friend.
“You’re a pious man, Dimyan,” he said as he looked him in the eye.
“It only seems that way,” Dimyan laughed. “I haven’t been to church for many years. The church of Mari Girgis is only two steps away from my house, and your house too, but I haven’t been to it on Sundays or during the holidays. You know why?”
Magd al-Din was not sure what to think, so he ventured a guess, “Because of what happened to your grandfather?”
“No. I just forget. I always forget. Sometimes I say to myself, Dimyan, you’re unemployed—why don’t you go to Georgius the Martyr, that’s Mari Girgis, he might find you a permanent job. Then I forget, even though I know about Mari Girgis’s many miracles. Muslims sometimes come to him on his anniversary and ask him for help. Mari Girgis is a big saint. You know the saints, of course. You know that the Alexandria city council once tried to demolish the mosque of Abu al-Darda to make way for the streetcar line, but anyone who raised a pickax against the building was paralyzed. So they left it in its place, and now the streetcars go around it. And, as the song tells us, I know that al-Sayyid Ahmad al-Badawi used to liberate the Muslim captives from the enemies. You’re from Tanta, so you know the story better than I do. Besides, brother, I’m confused: Mari Girgis has performed miracles and al-Sayyid Ahmad al-Badawi and Abu al-Darda all have made miracles. They’re all right. So why the distinction between Copts and Muslims?”
Dimyan fell silent for several moments then said, “I have an idea. What do you say I go to Mari Girgis and ask him for work, and you go to Abu al-Darda or Abu al-Abbas and ask for work? Or, how about the other way around—maybe Mari Girgis is angry with me because I’ve stayed away from him too long.”
Magd al-Din did not expect Zahra to cry in such sorrow when she heard the cannon fired in the evening to announce that the following day would be the first day of Ramadan. I le felt the same sorrow and the same need to burst out crying but he pulled himself together. He knew the difference between Ramadan in a big city and Ramadan in their village, where everyone and everything was sympathetic and friendly. A light tap on the half-closed door made Zahra quickly dry her tears.
Khawaga Dimitri and his wife came to wish their neighbors well on the occasion. As Khawaga Dimitri sat down on the sofa next to Magd al-Din, the latter said, “You’re making me fall in love
“Well, your grandfather should’ve been baptized again.”
“He adamantly refused,” Dimyan laughed. “He insisted that he’d already been baptized and would not submit to those machinations. Deep down he was sad. He went to sleep and hasn’t awakened to this day.”
“There’s no power or strength save in God!” exclaimed Magd al-Din.
“Anyway. My father and his brothers came to hate the village, They divvied up the land and left the village. My father went into business until his money was gone; he left my mother, myself, andtwo daughters, and another son who died later of typhoid. My sisters have married and are living with their husbands in Suhag. My mother is living with me, hardly ever moving except to sleep. So this was how a big family was ruined because of a little lie. But thank God nobody said that the reverend was rendered incapable of baptizing my grandfather, or that the water in the baptismal basin had dried up when he was about to baptize my grandfather. That would’ve meant big sins, an old curse in the family. Yes, sometimes as the reverend baptized a child, he would be surprised to see that the water had suddenly dried up or that the child clung to his hand and couldn’t be wrenched away.”
Magd al-Din did not know how to comment on this story of his good-hearted friend.
“You’re a pious man, Dimyan,” he said as he looked him in the eye.
“It only seems that way,” Dimyan laughed. “I haven’t been to church for many years. The church of Mari Girgis is only two steps away from my house, and your house too, but I haven’t been to it on Sundays or during the holidays. You know why?”
Magd al-Din was not sure what to think, so he ventured a guess, “Because of what happened to your grandfather?”
“No. I just forget. I always forget. Sometimes I say to myself, Dimyan, you’re unemployed—why don’t you go to Georgius the Martyr, that’s Mari Girgis, he might find you a permanent job. Then I forget, even though I know about Mari Girgis’s many miracles. Muslims sometimes come to him on his anniversary and ask him for help. Mari Girgis is a big saint. You know the saints, of course. You know that the Alexandria city council once tried to demolish the mosque of Abu al-Darda to make way for the streetcar line, but anyone who raised a pickax against the building was paralyzed. So they left it in its place, and now the streetcars go around it. And, as the song tells us, I know that al-Sayyid Ahmad al-Badawi used to liberate the Muslim captives from the enemies. You’re from Tanta, so you know the story better than I do. Besides, brother, I’m confused: Mari Girgis has performed miracles and al-Sayyid Ahmad al-Badawi and Abu al-Darda all have made miracles. They’re all right. So why the distinction between Copts and Muslims?”
Dimyan fell silent for several moments then said, “I have an idea. What do you say I go to Mari Girgis and ask him for work, and you go to Abu al-Darda or Abu al-Abbas and ask for work? Or, how about the other way around—maybe Mari Girgis is angry with me because I’ve stayed away from him too long.”
Magd al-Din did not expect Zahra to cry in such sorrow when she heard the cannon fired in the evening to announce that the following day would be the first day of Ramadan. I le felt the same sorrow and the same need to burst out crying but he pulled himself together. He knew the difference between Ramadan in a big city and Ramadan in their village, where everyone and everything was sympathetic and friendly. A light tap on the half-closed door made Zahra quickly dry her tears.
Khawaga Dimitri and his wife came to wish their neighbors well on the occasion. As Khawaga Dimitri sat down on the sofa next to Magd al-Din, the latter said, “You’re making me fall in love
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