“It’s far less than you deserve. I will always be indebted to you.” Then in a voice quite free of constraint, he suggested, “No doubt you’re longing to see Zeinab, the family, and Mustapha. Let’s all have dinner at home tonight.”

SIXTEEN

The dinner party was as rich in memories as it was in food and drink. Zeinab pressed his hand in welcome, her eyes brimming with tears, and Mustapha gave him a warm hug. It was the first time he’d seen Aliyyat. As he sat next to Buthayna at the table, he remarked with surprise that she was the picture of her mother as a girl.

“I can’t possibly taste all of them!” he said as the appetizers were offered. Then he turned to Buthayna. “They told you I was an old friend, but that is only a partial truth. Actually, I’m an old friend who’s just gotten out of prison.”

She smiled, taking it as a joke.

“It’s true. I’m an old friend and a veteran prisoner.”

At this point, Zeinab intervened. “Then she should know that you’re a political hero, not merely a prisoner.”

Buthayna looked at him with astonishment.

“Hero. Criminal. The words are interchangeable.”

Omar said to her, “Othman is an old friend, and now a colleague in the firm. I’ll tell you his story another time. But you already know something about the political prisoners…”

“Did the King imprison you?” Buthayna asked.

As the houseboy was placing a slice of turkey and some peas on his plate, he said, “No, the whole society did.”

“What had you done?”

When he didn’t answer, Mustapha laughed. “He was a socialist prematurely.” Then he added with a wink, “And he was fond of playing with bombs.”

The green eyes widened, and Zeinab stepped in again, trying tactfully to change the subject. “Buthayna is a poet.”

Othman looked at Omar and smiled. “Poetry is hereditary in this family.”

Mustapha warned him, “Her poems are paeans of praise to the Divine Spirit!”

Restraining the urge to say something sarcastic, he commented politely, “I hope to have the good fortune to hear some of your poems.”

Omar managed to hide his restlessness and maintain the appearance of calm. He took a stuffed pigeon, reflecting that if it had flown better, it wouldn’t have been eaten, and followed with pleasure the conversation between Buthayna and Othman. Suddenly the girl asked, “How could you endure prison life?”

“I endured it because I had no choice, and I came to be known for my good conduct. It seems that we only misbehave in society.” He laughed. “Actually, prisons are not without their advantages. Life among prisoners is classless, something we’d like to achieve in the world outside.”

“I don’t understand a thing!”

“You’ll understand my words if I’m able to understand your poetry.”

“Have you read Papa’s poems?”

“Of course.”

“Did you like them?”