His nerves were on the verge of collapse too. Sadness, darkness, and prison. The darkness inspired him to hope desperately for victory. Many things melted away in the darkness. He forgot about the past and the future, and focused on the desire for victory. Perhaps the fact that he could not leave the house gave him a better chance to think about the situation and become thoroughly aware of the danger, to yearn for victory and keep the hidden side of his own nature quiet. Deep down inside him, a well of enthusiasm began to move which almost pushed him toward self-sacrifice. As he dawdled around in the daytime, he could read in hundreds of other faces the same feelings which tied him to life in spite of all the dust, oblivion, and undercurrents of selfishness. He was like a drowning man, thinking only of saving himself. It seemed to him that the barrier which stood between him and the revolution was dissolving at a rate which he would never have thought possible before.

Ibrahim Khairat came to visit him one afternoon on his way to his office in the city. He seemed extremely self-confident and serious. “The whole tragedy will be over in a few hours,” he said.

Isa looked at him in bewilderment with his big, round eyes.

“Some of our men are meeting the responsible authorities at this moment,” said Ibrahim. He was frowning because he felt a sense of authority. “We’re trying to persuade them to surrender so that we can save whatever can be saved!”

Isa got the impression that he was seeing the High Commissioner’s procession just as he had done in the old days. “What’s left to be saved?” he asked.

“Don’t be overly pessimistic,” Ibrahim retorted, and then continued angrily: “People who regard life and death as the same thing are really miserable creatures.”

“It’s like a nightmare,” Isa said sorrowfully.

“With the state of mind we’re in,” said Ibrahim angrily, “defeat is easy to live with.”

“We’d soon get tired if we started counting mankind’s troubles. I’m asking myself whether life is really fit for human beings!”

Ibrahim Khairat shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

“Maybe it’s some sort of idiocy to hang on to life in spite of all its miseries,” Isa continued. “But as long as we’re alive, we should wage an unflagging war on all types of stupidity.”

“Tell me,” Ibrahim asked him, “have you really changed?”

Isa did not say a word, but his face contracted into an expression of utter disgust. However, when the crisis reached its peak, new factors came rushing into the whirlpool. The world gave its decision, the threats disappeared, and the enemy was forced to swallow his pride and submit to an unprecedented reality. Then there was an outburst of joy greater than any bomb.