Yet I was also a stranger to the person I had been just days earlier, that hot afternoon, when Leila approached me during one of her rare visits to the magazine and, an air of purpose about her, forbade me from opening my mouth. Then she produced from the magic box of her handbag the most unexpected object: a white ceramic cow the size of my palm. She handed it to me and said, “You have no excuse now,” and gazed into my eyes with a strength that shook my heart and a smile I tried not to see. Then she delivered her double-edged command:

“Seif, wake up!”

Her statement—her order, rather—was meant literally. I’d assumed the thing would sound like a regular alarm clock, despite being done up to look like a grinning cow, but at the appointed time it lowed. A deafening low that snatched me quaking from sleep in order to silence the noise. It felt like it might break the windows. That such a small object could produce such a terrific din astonished me, and I was reminded of the surprise I’d received a few days before. The name Bahr Kamel was unusual. A man called Ocean suggested a bearlike figure—if not broad then very tall at least—but the man I met was more like short and thin. Short and thin and gray-haired, wearing the jeans and bright blue T-shirt of a younger man.

Leila told me he was waiting for me in the lobby. As soon as he saw me he slid elegantly to his feet, there was a brief introduction, then he took my arm and gently guided me to the exit so that we could continue our conversation outside. I was no stranger to monomaniacs barging into the office with bombshells that only ever burst in their own minds, but this man had none of that unbalanced energy and I went with him. Outside on the street, he glanced around, pulled a small notebook from his pocket, and, after a brief consultation, announced that the alley was nearby.

We crossed July 26 Street, then Tawfiqiya, and as we were approaching Ramses Street it seemed for a moment that we must be making for the train station, but he turned instead toward Galaa, along the green-painted railings and past the coffee shop that was famous for its poor service. Now I was sure we must be headed for a grand old historic building that lay up ahead, but before we reached it, Bahr stopped and smiled.

“Get ready.”