“What a trap we’ve fallen into!” said Isa, as though he were talking to himself. “We stumble about, then we’re torn to pieces, and finally we suffer terribly. We betray either our homeland or ourselves. However, from my point of view, a defeat in this particular war would be worse than death.”

“You’re very romantic,” Abbas Sadiq said.

“Why should we be unhappy?” Ibrahim Khairat asked. “There’s nothing left to be unhappy about, and, in a dead man’s view, any kind of life is better than death.”

“Sometimes,” Isa replied, “I tell myself that death would be more bearable than going backwards, and at other times I tell myself that it would be better to remain without a role in a country which has one, rather than to have a role in a country which has none.”

“By your own admission,” said Ibrahim Khairat with a smile, “you’ve got a split personality. We’re not concerned about the side of you which is talking; the opinion of the silent side is good enough for us!”

They all laughed loudly. It was getting dark. Ibrahim Khairat looked at Samir Abd al-Baqi as if to urge him to say something.

“I would like all our fellow citizens to live to enjoy human generosity,” said Samir.

“So you agree with us, do you?” Ibrahim Khairat asked.

“My words have a more profound significance than that,” Samir replied tersely.

“Are you opposed to our views then?”

“My words have a more profound significance than that,” he repeated.

Isa was lost in his own troubled thoughts. The side of him which was speaking had to defeat the silent side. He had to help it out; he had to show his scorn for the assailant quite shamelessly and thereby show his scorn for the silent side of himself. What has led us to this really sorry state of affairs? he wondered. Was there no way to forget personal defeats? The disease was raging throughout the country.

The air-raid siren sounded like a wall collapsing on them suddenly. All light left the world, and the street was filled with the sound of people running in the dark. Samir suggested they go inside the café, but the idea got no encouragement from anyone. Isa thought of his wife on her own in Dokki with Umm Shalabi and felt sorry for her. Suddenly they were frightened by the sound of distant explosions, coming one after another. They quickly hurried into the café to the corner where they sat in the winter. The distant blasts kept coming with a frightening regularity. People started guessing in what parts of town they were falling. Shubra? Heliopolis? Hulwan?

“Where did the Jews get such forces?”

“And where are our planes?”