Cash first. Then food.

Abdelhamid was just inside the entrance of his shop, wearing his fine old djellaba and brocade hat, as always.

‘I heard you were sick,’ Sam called, stepping a few inches out of the thoroughfare.

Abdelhamid looked up in surprise. ‘I am never sick, monsieur, and even if I was, you would find me here.’ He smiled, and laid the kif workings to one side. Sam smiled back, and shook his hand. Abdelhamid cleared a space for him to perch at the edge of the shop. Usually, it filled Sam with pleasure to sit like this, watching the street, especially when he could catch the eye of bewildered tourists.

‘How are you?’ he asked.

‘Labas, Monsieur Hackett.’ Abdelhamid’s eyes flicked to the typewriter case. He had clocked it the moment Sam approached, but he didn’t mention it, only continued rolling.

They talked a little, as the evening flowed by. The dust hung in the air, making everything hazy, almost dreamy. People called to Abdelhamid as they passed, exchanged words, jokes, news. They glanced at Sam and sometimes smiled. Everyone knew why foreigners became so well acquainted with Abdelhamid.

‘What can I help you with, my friend?’ the man himself asked, finally. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Hash, kif?’

‘In a minute,’ Sam said, trying to sound offhand. ‘I was wondering … what would you give me for this?’ He opened the case. The typewriter sat within, its orange body glossy in the evening light, the keys a little discoloured from years of his fingertips. ‘I’m tired of lugging it around.’

Abdelhamid lifted the case on to his lap. ‘No money from America yet?’ he asked, testing a few keys.

Sam rubbed at his head. It was the reason he had given last week, after selling the shades.

‘No.’ He tried to think up some excuse, but couldn’t. He was tired and his head hurt. It would probably cost him. ‘No more money,’ he sighed. ‘A ticket home, but no more money.’

Abdel made a noise. ‘For you, there is always more.’

‘Not this time. Not from my parents. They mean it.’

‘But you have other family?’

‘They won’t help. My sister refused last time. My brother’s never given me a cent and he won’t start now. I told them all that I have nothing and this was their answer. No more.’

Abdelhamid shook his head, and peered into the case. ‘I do not know if I can sell this here. There are not many people who would buy it, only foreigners, and they will want one that is new—’

Sam shoved himself to his feet. Abruptly, it was too much. He couldn’t sit there while the Hermes was torpedoed, couldn’t be told that it was a worthless thing and nod in agreement.

‘Forget it,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Forget I brought it, it was a stupid idea, I …’