“All the evidence looks grave,” the Bey replied, frowning at Isa’s tone of voice.

“It’s not just grave,” Isa shouted. “It’s despicable—so despicable that it takes a despicable mind to digest it!”

“Your nerves are obviously—”

“My nerves are like iron, and I mean every word I’m saying.”

“If you make me angry, you will truly regret it!”

His chances of having Salwa had been reduced to a hundred to one. “I don’t care how things are,” he yelled, “or how grave the evidence is you’ve mentioned. I’ve never been an opportunist for a single day. And the ex-King had no—”

The Bey leapt to his feet, his face black with anger, and he pointed to the door with a quivering arm, wordless. Isa left the room.

In spite of this scene, Isa decided not to give in to despair before making one final effort to defend the sole corner of consolation that had not yet been destroyed for him: the last word had to come from Salwa and no one else. Neither the strength of her character nor the depth of her love gave him great expectations, but he phoned her next day in the afternoon. “Salwa,” he pleaded, “I’ve got to see you immediately.”

Back came her answer like a slap in the face.

TEN

“There must be a solution to every problem!” Ibrahim declared as they sat in their private corner at El Bodega. Ibrahim was so small that for his feet to touch the floor he had to sit close to the edge of his chair, with the brow of his oversized head furrowed to give him a stern and serious air and thus discourage any would-be jesters from poking fun at him. The four men had piled their coats on two adjacent chairs and sat there in the crowded, noisy café with their heads close together. Ibrahim Khairat could feel relaxed when talking about problems and how to solve them, Isa told himself; the recent earthquakes had not caused any losses in his world. He was a successful lawyer and a brilliant journalist. It was the same with Abbas Sadiq, who was secure in his job even though he’d been grabbing money from more people than Isa himself. There was no envy, resentment, or anger to disturb their firm friendship, however, or their long-standing political camaraderie.

Samir Abd al-Baqi took a handful of peanuts from a heaped saucer. “That’s all very well,” he said. “But the days keep rolling by without our finding a real solution.”

Isa looked through the window at the drizzle falling outside. “Do we start at the beginning of the road, on a typewriter?”