He could imagine what was being said about his “illness,” but what difference did it make? Perhaps the diagnosis was even true. He talked to the animals and objects around him, and held discussions with extinct creatures. Sometimes when he was racing along in the car, the solid earth would explode into fragments, then disintegrate into a vast network of atoms, and, trembling uncontrollably, he’d have to stop. Sometimes as he was gazing at the Nile or at a tree it would come alive, the image would assume features which indicated feelings and awareness, and he’d imagine that it peered at him warily, that it questioned his existence in comparison with its own, so much more ancient and immutable. What did it all indicate? What did his desertion of work, family, and friends signify? Ah, he’d have to be on guard or else he’d find himself driven to the insane asylum.

Mustapha and Othman came to see him, at the urging of Zeinab, he realized. Mustapha’s laughter failed to ease the tension. Omar himself barely murmured a greeting, but when the whiskey was brought out, he took a drink in their honor. They looked at him awkwardly, revealing the concern they’d striven to conceal. Zeinab then came out to greet the men, and commented as she was leaving, “We were such a happy family, he was the best of men, then suddenly everything fell apart.”

Her words made it impossible to avoid the subject any longer. “Is what we’ve heard true?” Mustapha asked.

He didn’t answer, but his determined expression was sufficient confirmation.

“So, you’re leaving.”

“Yes,” he said sharply.

“Where?”

“Somewhere.”

“But where?”

He remained silent. The place, stretching on to infinity, was still a prison. Mustapha was stupid to use words without meaning.

“So now it’s our turn to be thrown on the garbage heap.”

“Yesterday Buthayna cried, but that was the only answer she got.”

“Is it the end of our relationship with you?” Mustapha asked fearfully.

“It’s the end of my relationship with everything.”

“I’ll mourn with all my heart and soul.”

“What I’ve suffered is worse.”

“And to what end?” Mustapha asked.

“To ram my head against the rock,” he answered bitterly.

“I don’t understand,” said Othman.

Mustapha continued. “Whatever it is, stay among us.”

“I must go.”

Othman said, his eyes fixed on Omar, “Shouldn’t you consult the doctor?”

“I’m not in need of anyone,” he replied sharply.

“You’re an intact organism which shouldn’t be destroyed to no purpose.”

“In reality, I’m nothing.”

“Can’t a man think while he’s among other people?”

“I don’t care about thinking.”

“What will you do, then?”

He said with annoyance, “We don’t understand each other at all.”

“But I’m sure that you’re driving yourself to ruin.”

“Rather, it’s you who are on the way to ruin.”