I came to find Mister Jumah sitting as usual at the door of the grand mosque facing the souk. The shops had started their day early, while the houses were still in a deep sleep since the night had fed on men’s nectar. I had become aware of that early in my life. In the souk, my eyes had opened up on the inconspicuous and the obscure and I thought of practicing discretion as God had taught us. Divulging secrets of other people and exposing them is detestable and unsavory; for there are secrets and things that must remain untold.

Hajj Khaleel Albitahi had a bunch of women who separately came to his shop to wipe off the tiredness of their feet after marching up and down the marketplace. I might have not personally seen them flirting or messing around with his mind, he who always scolded and shouted at his devoted wife, blaming her for giving birth to only one boy while filling the house with girls who could not be effectively utilized in running his shop. Nevertheless, I maintained discretion over what the days had revealed of his shady relations and strange acts.

Mister Jumah erected his work stall before the grand Mosque and gave me a look, which I completely understood. I would need to help him put the mat on the ground, fix it with bricks at the edges, and leave him with the task of centering the pole, two steps away from the sidewalk. For he was the only credible cobbler in this neighborhood and his daughter Fawziyah would come just little before Asr prayer with his lunch.

He was more than a cobbler who mended old and worn out shoes; he was their eternal savior from disgrace and humiliation. One might put on an old shirt to work, or don a pair of expired pants; but it would be impossible for one to wear shoes that had a hole the size of open hungry jaws crowned with toes protruding for the amusement of people through the torn socks!

Also, Mister Jumah was considered as a cover or a haven for all the people in our neighborhood, and even other neighboring neighborhoods. On top of that, he was a kind man, disregarding that he bought me a cup of tea every Friday morning, and paid for it gratefully. In that space, he squatted with his back against the wall waiting for the first customer, and then he would do miracles to save the life of the “dying pair”. To his side was a sack made of old cloth, but contained pieces of leather of various sizes, and that was what his trade thrived on.

A woman came from the countryside, handed him her right shoe, then tightened the abayah around her body and turned to tears. The marketplace was still not busy with patrons yet when he cried out for me. I was afraid the Hajj would fire me if he came and found the shop unattended, so I signaled back to Mister Jumah that no one else was in the shop but me.

I saw the woman sitting a bit far from him with her back facing him, yet I could see her trembling body and distinctively hear her whimper in the calmness of the seven AM. He came to me and asked:

Did you sell anything?

I conveyed to him that it was up to God, for Friday customers usually came in the difficult time which was an hour or two before Jumah prayer, then disappeared suddenly leaving us merchants to spend the day combating flies and stagnant air. City people would never go shopping on Friday even if it were a matter of life or death because they believed it brought bad luck and misfortune. On the contrary, people of the countryside seemed only to multiply on Friday. He nodded, while I was still mulling over these thoughts in my head!

With a broken half smile, he told me:

I’ll sit in for you. I only have one Pound; please break it at the Café

I did not comment but did what he asked of me. When I came back, he took the change, wrapped the mended pair of shoes in a paper bag, and gave them all to the woman who now had stopped whining. She refused to take the change but he swore she should share it with him. With what’s left for him, he would have breakfast, buy cigarettes, and pay for my cup of tea. God is the great provider.

I never saw the woman’s face since it was protected behind the veil, but I felt as I watched her walk away that she had become more light-hearted and gentler. When the Hajj came, he sent me to buy him coffee and on my way, I stopped by Mister Jumah and asked why he had done what he had done with the woman. He shook his head while offering me half of his Foul sandwich:

God provides for birds in caves, not to mention human beings, Filfil.

A boy suddenly came from nowhere with a copper incense burning tazza and let the clouds of incense fume and smell wander in the shop. As soon as the Hajj saw the boy, he shook in violent anger and shouted at the boy:

Get out, you tar can!

Only fifteen minutes later, the Quran reciter came in. Adjusting his caftan, the reciter sat on the chair, and started reading whatever he managed of the Quran chapters, while his chubby body was still vibrating from the abrupt movement. When he finished, the Hajj gazed at him with eyes fueled with hashish:

Tomorrow. Money did not change hands yet!

I looked at the plaza; the circle of merchants was about to complete, while Mister Jumah’s head was hardly noticeable among the crowd. My mind was swirling in my head like a rotten egg, but I managed to say to the Hajj:

I’ll go to the store to bring some goods that have run out.

He shook his head in agreement, and handed me the key. On my way, after two side streets, I met Fawziyah, and I asked her:

Where are you going?

She knew me, but she was silent for a moment, and then said:

I want some money from Dad. I need to buy some Foul and Falafel for my family.

She was holding a plate and looking at the tall minarets in awe; I asked:

Can you just wait, and I’ll walk back with you?

She nodded, and gave me a smile, young and bright like a sun shining for its first morning. I kept her waiting at the entrance of the house where the store was in the first floor. I carried the shoe boxes down and found her still waiting for me. I asked her:

What’s the time?

She innocently laughed.

I have no watch!

Feasting my eyes on the dimple on her chin, I told her:

What if we save money, then we can buy a watch and take turns of custody, one week with me and one week with you!

She very much liked the idea, and even put her hand in my free hand, and I felt an overwhelming happiness ravishing my insides. I saw her pupil glisten in joy, and my heart leaped out of its cage; for Fawziyah had a beautiful countenance and had dark brown eyes, sweet, so sweet and delicate. The boxes nearly fell, but she managed to lean towards me in time to carry half of them without saying a word. We headed back to the shop and I was a few steps ahead of her when the Hajj saw us. He watched her while she was putting the boxes on the chair next to the glass window. When she had left, the Hajj snorted and said:

Where were you …boy?
I answered back immediately:

At the store.

Sarcastically, he replied:

Alone!!

I nodded:

Yes.

He made me sit facing him and looked at me in the eye:

Hey, don’t you take me for a fool… boy. I know all the tricks of silly boys like you..

I left the shop in anger and went straight to Mister Jumah. I sat on the sidewalk contemplating and looking at the worn out shoes which seemed to be multiplying, filling the sky, and nearly blocking the sun. I saw them moving in the space towards the Hajj. I wished that I could work with Mister Jumah but I knew that my mom would absolutely not agree. That made me very sad.