A rumor spread around that His Excellency Bahjat Noor was going to be transferred to another ministry. When he heard this, his heart nearly jumped out of his breast. He had done the impossible to gain the great man’s confidence. How long would it take him to gain that of his unknown successor? But the rumor proved false. One day Bahjat Noor handed him a huge bundle of papers as he said, “This is a translation of a book on Khedive Isma’il. It took me half a year to do it!”

Othman looked at the papers with interest.

“I’d like you to look over the style,” the man continued. “Your style really has no equal.”

He received the commission with total happiness and addressed himself to it zealously, energetically, and with meticulous care. Within one month he had returned the manuscript to His Excellency in perfect style, thus rendering the sort of service he had always yearned for. His Excellency was now his debtor, and at every meeting he was now greeted with a smile that even the most favored were not honored with.

Despite all this, his soul was still scourged by apprehension. He saw time running past him until it disappeared into the horizon, leaving him behind, all alone in the wilderness clasping his sacred ambition. His anxiety drove him to visit a woman who read fortunes from coffee cups, half Egyptian, half European, in al-Tawfiqiyya. She stared into the cup while he watched her, half excited and half ashamed. He told himself he should not have given in to superstition.

“Your health is below par,” she said to him. His physical health was good beyond question. But his mental health was not. Perhaps she was right after all…

“You will get plenty of money but only by dint of much trouble,” the woman went on.

He was not after money, albeit he held on tight to every piastre he earned. Perhaps she meant salary increases that would come with promotions ordained in the world of the unknown.

“An enemy of yours will go on a journey from which he will not return.”

Enemies were legion. They hid behind charming smiles and sugarcoated speeches. In his way there was a Deputy Director in the third grade, another in the second, and a Director of Administration in the first. They were all friends and enemies at the same time, as life with its pure intentions and its cruel demands dictated.

“I see two marriages in your life.”