God did not create us for a life of ease or the taking of shortcuts. The man was laying siege to him, but he was not going to give in. Yet how could he keep his freedom and gain his chiefs favor at the same time? He no longer listened to the music. But Sa‘fan went on listening, keeping time with his hands and feet and occasionally casting an inquiring look at him. He concluded that, by way of self-defense, he had better repay his invitation with one even more generous—a conclusion that caused him no slight pain. For he would never spend a single piastre except to meet a pressing need, and on the very day he received his first salary he opened a deposit account with the post office. It never occurred to him to change the place where he lived or the food he ate. He believed that thrift was an important element in his long struggle as well as a religious duty. It was also a safeguard against fear in a fearful world. Yet what must be must be. He would repay the treat with a more generous one. Moreover, it would be in a restaurant, not in his room, jam-packed with books as it was and poor in everything else. As a result, he would be spending a positively enormous amount of money. A curse on all stupid people! The sounds of music turned into a meaningless din and the gates of hell flew open. Yet the old man swayed his head to the tunes, oblivious of the offense he was committing. The world was inflicting on Othman another of its mockeries.

EIGHT

Before the end of the month, he had treated the man to dinner at al-Kashif restaurant. They had delectable fish and dessert. The old man was so happy he looked as if he expected an angel of mercy and joy to descend from heaven.

“What about spending the rest of the evening at al-Fishawi’s café?” he suggested, apparently not satisfied with the dinner alone.

Othman’s heart throbbed painfully, but he took his arm and said, “What a wonderful idea!”

As they sat in the café he remembered a Bairam festival in the past when his new galabiya was torn in a brawl in al-Husayni Alley. His father later gave him a beating and he had to wear the galabiya for a whole year, patched up by his mother. The old man’s joviality irritated him. It was obvious he expected to hear good news. He sat there with a glow of expectation in his drab eyes and an air of general satisfaction.

“Are you happy with your colleagues in the Archives?” he said.

“Yes. I believe I am.”

“They are a poor lot, but good-natured enough.”

“Yes. Yes, indeed.”

“As for you, you are an excellent young man. Will you become a barrister when you’ve got your degree?”

“No. But I hope to better my position.”