Afterwards, he sat down with Umm Shalabi, who greeted his arrival with a flood of tears over the death of his late mother. He waited till she quieted down. “How was she?” he asked.

“She didn’t sleep for a single day.”

“Suddenly then?”

“Yes, and, fortunately, in my arms.”

“Was she alone in the house for a long time?”

“Never. One of your sisters came to see her every day.”

“Didn’t Susan Hanem come tonight?”

“Yes, sir, she did.”

“And Salwa?” he asked after a short pause.

“No, sir, she didn’t come.” She blinked and then continued. “She’s engaged to your cousin Hasan…”

His weary eyes leapt in a look of astonishment. “Salwa and Hasan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Since when?”

“Last month.”

He stretched out his legs carelessly and leaned back against the headrest of his chair. He saw the old, faded ceiling resting on its horizontal pillars. His gaze settled on a large gecko at the top of the wall; it was so still that it seemed to be crucified there.

NINETEEN

It was nice to sit on the El Bodega pavement in the warm June air, especially when the evening brought with it a gentle breeze. Silence prevailed when a pretty girl walked by, but Isa and his friends were by no means tired of talking about politics. Even though Abbas Sadiq had a position in the government, and Ibrahim Khairat worked as a lawyer and writer for the revolution, they still held the same views as Isa or Samir Abd al-Baqi, who tended to be reticent. Ibrahim summed up their general feelings. “It’s right there in your hands, and then someone else gets it!” he said.

Signs of resignation were written all over their faces, but they still hoped for a miracle. Sometimes they would seize on the most trivial news, and a hidden flicker of life would rouse in the barren wasteland of their hearts. Incredibly enough, Ibrahim Khairat and Abbas Sadiq were even more disgruntled than Isa.

“One of you is an important writer,” Isa told them with a laugh, “and the other is an important civil servant. So what do you want?”

“On a personal level,” Abbas replied in his ringing and harmonious voice, his eyes flashing wide, “things may be reassuring; but that doesn’t alter the general picture.”

“The truth is,” said Ibrahim Khairat, “no one has any value today, however senior his position may be. We’re a country of bubbles.”

“When I was only in the sixth grade,” Abbas said, “I was as good as an entire ministry!”

“Nothing bothers me anymore,” said Samir Abd al-Baqi with a soothing tone of resignation.

“But your position is at least as difficult as any of ours!”

Samir hurriedly revised his statement of his views. “I meant that I’m no longer troubled by regrets about the past. Sometimes I wish them success. My own dismissal doesn’t bother me because I chose it.”