Haj Taher’s grandfather began his business carting crates of Nabulsi soap on mules down through Gaza and into Cairo, returning after weeks with huge rope-bound bundles of fresh Egyptian cotton, which he sold in the Nablus khan, using the profits to buy more soap, travel to Cairo, and repeat the circuit. When Haj Taher’s father inherited the business, he began using local tailors and dyers, and in this way managed to expand the Kamal stall in the khan into a clothing shop. Then he established relations with textile producers in Damascus, who wove silks from Mount Lebanon with cotton shipped from Britain into one cloth, dyed indigo, scarlet, emerald, saffron yellow, vermilion; and, with leftover connections in Cairo, opened a Kamal department store on Bulaq Street, dispensing quilts, pillow and mattress covers, scarves, handkerchiefs, headkerchiefs, large bolts of white and coloured fabrics sold by the arm length. This was the business Haj Taher inherited. The Cairo store grew stronger as the market expanded, and in addition to the basics they were soon selling thobs and sadari waistcoats and sarawil pants, and abayas and the headbands that peasants wore to their weddings.
By the time Haj Taher had mounted his horse to make his way home towards Mount Gerizim, the sun was slipping back down again. A breeze flapped his shirtsleeves and cooled the sweaty hair around his ears, and already the houses and trees were losing their shadows as the wind whipped the sky with fresh clouds.
“Hamdillah assalameh!” The housekeeper, Um Mahmoud, opened the door with her arms out. “Ahlan wa sahlan, ya Haj, ahlan wa sahlan.”
“Thanks be to God. Um Mahmoud, I’m hungry.”
“Your health, ya Haj, I’ll put the water on to boil. Give me your coat.”
In the entranceway Taher saw two letters on the table. He opened the first where he stood.
The Most Honourable Sir, Noble Brother, Haj Taher Kamal,
After inquiring about that most dear to us, the health of your Noble Person, I put before you our hope that you will send us a dima cloth of pleasing form and fixed colour, a dark-coloured abaya like the one you sent us earlier, with a head cover, of good quality, of a length reaching below the knee. For the ladies, two and a half good-quality pieces of dima of fixed colour, so that they can tailor them into dresses at home. Four arm’s lengths of mansuri cloth, two undergarments and four ladies’ handkerchiefs. With the grace of God, Most High, we will send you its price after the holiday with the bearer, Husain son of Sulayman al-Muhammad. We implore you not to delay its delivery to us at all, for you are well aware of the wedding coming up at Abu Uthman’s. God bless you.
Ibrahim Abd al-Wahhab
Such orders were usually handled by Hisham. But since he was here to receive it Taher could take care of it himself. It would be his first village visit as a patron since the war started, and he pictured briefly the enthusiastic welcome he would receive.
The second envelope was a pale lilac colour. Written upon it were the words:
Monsieur Midhat Kamal
Maison de Famille Kamal
Naplouse
Palestine
Haj Taher could speak English and knew the Latin alphabet, so his son’s name was quite apparent. He examined the two green postage stamps. They both showed the same image of a woman in a Grecian robe.
Four years ago, he had received a letter from Midhat with an almost identical stamp, informing him of a change of plans: Midhat had left Montpellier and would complete his university course in Paris, returning home after the war had finished as originally agreed. He had also enclosed his new address, on the Rue du Four in Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The explanation for the change was vague: an opportunity had arisen by which he might gain greater and better experience. Haj Taher had not made a fuss. Why not Paris? All the better, have his son return with some more sophistication. After they had confirmed the transfer of funds the letters became infrequent once more. The last Taher received was in the spring: a postcard photograph of Midhat leaning on a cane with his hand in his pocket, glancing off into a corner behind the cameraman.
The lilac envelope was postmarked Port Said on the 13th of October, Haifa on the 17th, Jerusalem on the 18th and again on the 19th. Haj Taher tore it open along the upper fold with his big forefinger. Both sides of the page were thick with a stream of curved