Mustapha laughed. “And since there’s no revelation in our age, people like you can only go begging.”

Begging, day and night in aimless reading, in futile poetry, in pagan prayers in the nightclub halls, in stirring the deaf heart through infernal adventures.

Mustapha spoke about Zeinab and said that she was suffering, both from his desertion and from the effects of her pregnancy. She must be in a bad way. You’ve become so hard-hearted, yet you’re prepared to be magnanimous if she’d only free you from the shackles of this dead love.

“Yes, Zeinab, there is another woman, since you insist on knowing.”

Disgust has sprouted in a fetid swamp choked with traditional platitudes and household management. What wealth and success you’ve attained offer no comfort, for all is consumed by decay. Your soul is sealed in a putrid jar like an aborted fetus, your heart suffocated by apathy and by grimy ashes. The flowers of life, withered and fallen, will come to rest on the garbage heap.

“Weep all you like, you’ll have to accept things as they are.”

Disaffection has killed everything. A few questions have tumbled the very foundations of life. I said to him, “Suppose you win the case today and the government confiscates your land tomorrow?” to which he replied, “Don’t we live our lives knowing that our fate rests with God?”

He was in his office, dawdling over a memorandum, when the office boy announced Mr. Yazbeck. The man walked in, his paunch bulging in front of him, greeted Omar with a bow, and sat down.

“Since I was passing through Al-Azhar Square, I thought I’d drop by for a visit.”

Omar said with a sarcastic smile, “You’d come from the far ends of the earth for Warda’s sake, wouldn’t you?”

“My dear counselor, you know that my garden is full of roses.”

“Fine, so don’t talk about Warda.”

He smiled broadly and said, “It would be foolish to think I could get around you, but let’s try to bridge the distance between us as directly as possible.”

“Yes?”

His eyelids lowered and he said seriously, “Warda’s been neglecting her duties.”

“She has duties other than dancing?”

“You didn’t honor us with your presence that night, sir, just to watch Warda dance.”

“So?”

“So I said I’d complain to the great man himself.”

Omar frowned but remained silent. Yazbeck continued. “Business is business, sir, and I don’t like…”

He interrupted curtly. “Do whatever you think is in your interest.”

“I don’t want to anger you…”

“But I’m excusing you in advance.”

The man bowed his head gratefully. “And I promise I’ll take her back to work if you tire of her in the future.”

“That day will never come, Mr. Yazbeck.”

“I wish you happiness, mon chéri.”