Between them was a table with a silver jug and a tray of biscuits on it. The Pasha motioned to Isa to pour out two glasses and they proceeded to drink although neither of them enjoyed it. During all this, Isa looked around at the picture of Saad Zaghlul49 hanging on the wall above the huge desk to the right of where they were sitting.

“Would you believe, sir, that I haven’t been able to contact my minister so far?” Isa asked.

The Pasha quietly stroked his silver-gray mustache. “I can’t blame you for complaining these days,” he said. “Where’s the minister? No one knows. Where’s the Army? No one knows. Where are the police? No one knows. The public security system has disappeared and meanwhile the devil’s on a rampage.”

“I wonder if the fire’s still burning.”

The Pasha stretched his legs till they reached around one of the ebony legs of the table. His black shoes shone more brightly in the gleam of the quadrangular crystal chandelier. Isa glanced at the heater mounted on the wall and was struck by the transparency of the flickering red flame; it made him think of the Magi and he began to enjoy the pleasant warmth it was giving out. His eyes glided over the classical-style furniture, which seemed to be shrouded in a kind of dignity and antique splendor, and at the same time to convey the sorrow of departure, which in turn made him think of Antony’s funeral speech over the body of Caesar.

“The fire should be out by now,” Shukri Pasha Abd al-Halim replied with careful indifference. “That is, now that it has done its job!”

The young man’s honey-brown eyes gleamed. He tried to draw some more out of the Pasha. “Maybe it was just reckless anger,” he suggested tentatively.

The Pasha showed his teeth as he smiled. “It was anger all right!” he replied. “But beyond that anger there was envy. Anger may be genuinely reckless, but envy always follows a distinct plan of action.”

“How can this happen when we’re in power?”

The Pasha gave a dry and abrupt laugh. “Today’s like an overcast night,” he replied. “Wait till we find out where the head and feet are.”

Isa breathed in sharply and then sighed so hard that the fringe of the velvet tablecloth rustled. “What about the parties?” he muttered.

“They’re too weak to organize anything at all!” the Pasha replied, both corners of his mouth curving down as a sign of contempt.

“Who then?” asked Isa with a clear look of doubt in his eyes.