“My heart told me I’d find you here,” a raised voice said nervously. Samir Abd al-Baqi came up and sat down beside him. He looked haggard and dispirited, almost as though he were looking at him through bars. Isa was so delighted to see him that he shook his hand fiercely in a manner that seemed to be a plea for help as well.

“My heart told me I’d find you here!” Samir repeated with more assurance.

Isa laughed loudly, so loudly that the café owner behind the table blinked. “After today,” he said, “this is the only place you’ll find me.”

Samir gave him a mortified look with his green eyes. “It’s the same with me,” he said. “I left the ministry for the last time today.”

They looked at each other for a long while, each of them plunged in despair. Then Isa had a feeling of mirth; it seemed strange and not really genuine, as though he had been drinking or taking drugs.

“What’s to be done?” he asked.

“We’ve two years’ grace on full salary.”

“What about afterwards?”

“We may be able to find a job with a company.”

“Which company will risk taking us on?” Isa asked doubtfully.

“There’s a solution to every problem,” Samir replied with a sigh.

Isa started on his way home. He looked at people with curiosity as though he were seeing them for the first time. They were strangers and had nothing to do with him; nor had he anything to do with them. He was an outcast in his own big city, banished without really being banished. He was amazed at the way the ground had suddenly collapsed under his feet like a puff of dust and how the pillars which had withstood fate for a quarter of a century had crumbled. When he got home, he looked at his mother’s withered face and then sprang the news on her. She put her hand on the top of her head as though she were trying to stop the mounting pain. “Why are they doing that to you, my son?” she asked with a sigh.