He was so worked up that he felt giddy. He never thought it would end that way. Every time he remembered her changing expression, he shuddered, and felt sure that, under a happy girl’s skin, a tigress was always lurking. He stayed in this daze for a long time; he had no idea how long. Eventually he noticed that the rain had stopped and a gap was opening up on the horizon. A ray of sunshine was bursting through, even though it looked thoroughly washed. He got up without delay, put his coat on, and left without looking in her direction.

It was after midnight when he got back to his building. He found a telegram waiting for him from the family to say that his mother had died.

EIGHTEEN

The funeral would be held at Al-Qubbat al-Fidawiyya on the following afternoon. Isa got there early to welcome the mourners, and his arrival coincided with that of Hasan, his cousin, in his Mercedes. Naturally the car was no surprise to Isa, but the sight of it irritated him. He was amazed at the sudden and obvious improvement in his cousin’s health; an air of superiority gave him an upright bearing, and his eyes had a look of authority in them. They shook hands and stood there waiting in the shade of a tree. Hasan started looking him over. “You don’t look as healthy as I would have expected!” he said.

“Perhaps the weather doesn’t agree with me,” Isa replied, reviewing his sorrows in a single fleeting moment.

“That was a meaningless trip to Alexandria,” the young man said in a decisive and official tone of voice, “but then, you’re a stubborn man.”