Vultures and Corpses: A Selection from Leila Marshy’s The Philistine (2018)

“Suddenly, the sidewalk was blocked by a pile of garbage that leaned against a building and spilled out onto the street. There was movement at its peak: a goat had climbed to the top and was leaning over to nibble on the laundry that had been hung up to dry on a second-floor balcony. A woman ran out onto the balcony, screaming and weilding a broom, and knocked the animal clear off the pile and onto the road. As if on cue, a boy ran into the melee and collected the goat. He shook his fist at the woman, who shook hers right back and brandished what remained of her nylons. By then a small jury had gathered, half taking the boy’s side, the other half the woman’s, all of them at some point touching each other, holding onto shoulders, reaching out with hands. Malesh, malesh, they said to one another, to the woman, to the boy. At the end, the boy was made to give the woman something, some piastres, pennies really, something symbolic, which the woman accepted with equanimity. By then she had descended to the sidewalk with the rest, her housecoat and shib shibs testament to a life rudely interrupted. She thanked the boy for his just gift, nodded indulgently, then gave the money back. The surrounding group, now friends for life, nodded and smiled, one or two even clapped. Then, one by one, a smile and a handshake here and there, they left the scene until the street was empty again; even the goat had gone. . . .

That evening they sat on the balcony off the bedroom, dipping aish baladi, flatbread, into Om Malek’s cumin-filled baba ghanouj. There was a wailing from the street below and they both looked down. An old woman and a boy, probably eight, but smaller and thinner than he should be, were walking slowly in front of the apartment buildings. They were grubby and barefoot. Manal translated: Charity! Alms! Mercy on my son and me. Dear God, dear God, bless your hearts.

‘I haven’t seen her in a long time. I was thinking she was sick,’ Manal said. She went into the bedroom, rummaged through her things, and ran out of the apartment. A minute later Nadia watched as she wrapped the boy’s hand around some money and gave the woman a bag of clothes, muttering words of blessing. The woman thanked her but did not move on. Even from four storeys up the sound of water tinkling on concrete was unmistakable. The blind woman had spread her legs, hitched up her dress, and was urinating. A puddle formed on the ground and splashed onto their feet. Manal stepped back, horrified. The boy paid no attention. The woman rubbed her crotch through the dress then continued on her way.

The door slammed when Manal returned to the flat. Nadia could hear her stomping down the hall. Another door slammed. When she emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later her eyes were red and puffy. She refused to discuss it. . . . In Egypt you can be only two things. Either a vulture or a corpse. . . . Either you eat the dead bodies or you are a dead body yourself.”—Leila Marshy, The Philistine (2018)