of dates and big straw baskets. What should he do now? He had no wish to ask himself the question. Yet he didn’t know why he felt some sort of relief; what could be the reason for it? He wanted to distract himself by searching for the reason. Part of his mind was taken up with feelings of happiness and relief, but they couldn’t sidetrack him from all the sorrows that had filled his heart in the last half hour. When all his efforts failed, he leaned against the wall. Crowds of people walked past without paying him any attention. Perhaps it was the first time in his life that he had found himself alone and a stranger in a throng of people like this. He wanted to know the reason for that remote sensation that gave him contentment and rest; a sensation like the one he used to have when he had finished watching a film, and felt that life was grand and vast, and that in the future he would be one of those men who spend every hour and day of their lives in exciting fulfilment and variety. But what was the reason for his having such a feeling now, when he had not seen a film like that for a long time, and only a few minutes before the threads of hope that had woven fine dreams in his heart had been broken in the fat man’s shop?
It was no use. It seemed he would not be able to penetrate the thick veil of disappointment that separated him from that distinct feeling which existed, unexpressed, somewhere in his mind. In the end he decided not to wear his brain out, but to occupy himself with walking. But as soon as he left the wall and began to walk through the crowd, he felt a hand grasp his shoulder.
“Don’t be so desperate. Where are you going now?”
The tall man had begun to walk beside him familiarly, and when Marwan looked at him he thought he’d seen him somewhere before. All the same, he moved a step away from him and gave him a questioning look.
“He’s a well-known thief,” said the man. “What made you go to him?”
He answered after a short hesitation:
“Everyone goes to him.”
The man came closer to Marwan and linked his arm through his, as though he had known him for ages.
“Do you want to go to Kuwait?”
“How did you know?”
“I was standing by the door of that shop, and I saw you go in and come out. What’s your name?”
“Marwan. And you?”
“They call me Abul Khaizuran.”*
For the first time since Marwan had set eyes on the man, he noticed that he really did remind one of a cane. He was very tall, very thin, but his neck and hands had a suggestion of strength and firmness, and for some reason he looked as though he could bend down and put his head between his legs without its upsetting his spine or his other bones at all.
“Well, what do you want of me?”
Abul Khaizuran sidestepped the question with one of his own:
“Why do you want to go to Kuwait?”
“I want to work.