———

Mr. N was standing on his beloved apartment balcony, using a feather duster to clean the dirt piling up in the corners. Going over to the gardenia and the carnation in their pots near his writing table, he raised his head to look up at the looming tower overhead, with all its many levels, rising higher each day and casting a shadow not only over his building but upon Mr. N himself, making him feel like a dwarf contending with a giant. He and his spacious balcony had dwindled to the size of a fly beneath the tower’s gaze. Even during the war, Mr. N hadn’t felt that anything really threatened his neighborhood. Not because it was spared the bombings that all neighborhoods were exposed to then, share and share alike, but because N—though he wasn’t called N back then—was certain that his building was too solidly built, too low to the ground, too hidden on its side street, to make for a worthy target. And so it was—with the exception of the building’s glass, which got broken and needed replacing all the time.

“It won’t be long before this damn tower drives me from my balcony and my home!” Mr. N said aloud, feeling his chest tighten. He went inside. Maybe emigration was the solution. He could shut his front door, head for the airport, and buy a ticket on the first available flight. Just like in the movies. Without any suitcases, visas, or complications. He would trot around the globe to his heart’s content, and if he got tired, he could just rest wherever he happened to find himself. That’s how his earliest ancestors did it after they rose up onto their hind legs and learned how to look off into the distance. They would just get going. They would have a bite and then get going. Have sex, stand up, and get going. They would give birth to their children and nurse them as they walked. They traversed all of Africa on foot. Then they moved on to the rest of the continents, occupying the globe, barefoot and naked. I too want to travel like that, thought Mr. N. I will walk in a straight line, and when I run into the sea, I will wind my way along the coast, step by step, until I’ve circled the Mediterranean and … and returned to where I started.

One day, Mr. N decided to go out. But where to? It was a long time since N had departed his little circle of light. The number of his friends was already zero. Relationships with other human beings were nonexistent. His basic, daily social interactions amounted to nothing. “Why not go down to Bourj Hammoud?” he heard himself saying. He could take along whatever he needed and make a day of it. He could stay away until the construction noise went quiet for the day. The idea was persuasive. More, the idea was intriguing. It would allow Mr. N to take stock of an area of the city he’d rarely visited. His life tended to take him toward the city’s center rather than its outskirts. He went into his bathroom to confront its nonfunctional, European-style toilet. Taking the bit that needed replacing from where he’d left it on top of the tank, he dropped it into a white cotton tote bag, slung the bag over his shoulder, and exited his sanctuary, hurrying down the steep staircase.