He remarked factually, “Social conformity is a fine thing.”

She said nothing. A pretty girl strutted in front of them and the glance he caught from her delighted his senses like the scent of jasmine.

“When I return to normal, I’ll have to develop a philosophy of life which allows true happiness.”

“God help us.”

“God wishes us to be concerned about the welfare of all.” He glanced at her teasingly, then said, “But how would God respond to supplication in this case?”

She understood the implication, but withheld comment. He forgot the subject and turned to other thoughts. Although he felt lighter and more energetic, a nagging exasperation remained—the flies, his work, and his wife. One day Buthayna will be preoccupied by someone other than you, as will Jamila, who now builds pyramids in the sand. For God’s sake, what do you want? Why does silence reign amid all the clamor? Why do you have the foreboding of fantastic perils? You hear the distressing sound of links snapping and feel that your footing is shaking so violently that your teeth will fall out. In the end you’ll lose all your weight and float in space. Hold fast to things and regard them carefully, for soon their forms will disappear and no one will heed you. The waves are destroying Jamila’s sand pyramid and the wind blows away the newspapers in which truth is relegated to the obituary sections. The client says to you, “I want to entrust my case to the Master.” How ludicrous! Honorable counselors. All that’s left for us is to work in the national circus.

“Why are you so distracted, dear?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Are you really all right?”

“I think so.”

“Judging from experience, I think you’re in need of care.”

“We must respect experience.”

“Shall I tell you the cook’s opinion?”

“Does the cook have an opinion?”

“She said that the man who’s satisfied and successful is vulnerable to the evil eye.”

“And you believe that?”

“Of course not, but sometimes confusion drives us to seek any explanation.”

“So all you have to do is consult an exorcist.”

“Sarcasm was not in your nature before.”

He said, smiling, “A little sarcasm doesn’t do any harm.”

“Let’s forget it, dear.”

On their way home, she detained him briefly as the two girls walked ahead. “I have some good news for you.”

He looked at her with secret despair.

“I discovered something unexpected in Buthayna.”

“Other than what you discovered last year?”

“Yes. She’s a poet, Omar.”

He raised his thick eyebrows in surprise.

“I’d noticed her absorption in writing and that she’d tear up what she’d worked on only to start it again. At last she confided to me that she writes poetry, so I laughed and told her….”

Zeinab hesitated, so he asked, “What did you tell her?”

“I told her that you also started out as a poet.”