Other specters now ran from the garden toward the house. One of them tripped over my leg and shouted as he fell, “Watch out! There are others.”

A shot rang out and I moaned. It felt like a real pain rather than a dream confounded by the devil.

I sighed wearily and opened my eyes. This dream could only mean that I’ve not yet escaped. Why is it I think of you whenever I’m awake, yet these delusions mock my sleep? But wait. Where am I? Where are the stars, the grass, and the cypress trees? I’m riding in a car, lying on a stretcher, on the edge of which a man is perched. On the other side of the car, Othman sits in silence between two men. I must still be dreaming, but the pain in my shoulder causes me to moan.

“The bullet fractured his collarbone, but it’s only a superficial wound. He’s in no danger.”

What is the meaning of this dream, where is it taking me? When will the pain in my shoulder ease up? When will the devil and his follies be put to flight? When will the world disappear from my dreams? I moaned in spite of myself.

“Be patient a little longer,” a voice said.

I answered defiantly, “Disappear, so I can see the stars.”

“You’re going to be all right.”

I said stubbornly, “I’ll be all right when I succeed in vanquishing you.”

“Calm down. The doctor will see you right away.”

“I don’t need anyone.”

“Don’t tire yourself by talking.”

I said insistently, “The willow tree talks, snakes dance, and beetles sing.”

He went on talking to himself in a low voice. He shut his eyes, but the pain persisted. When would he see the vision? Hadn’t he deserted the world for its sake?

—

He had the feeling that his heart was beating in reality, not in a dream, and that he was returning to the world.

He found himself trying to remember a line of poetry. When had he read it? Who was the poet?

The line reverberated in his consciousness with a strange clarity: “If you really wanted me, why did you desert me?”

Naguib Mahfouz

The Beggar

Naguib Mahfouz was one of the most prominent writers of Arabic fiction in the twentieth century. Born in Cairo in 1911, he began writing when he was seventeen. Over his long career, he wrote nearly forty novel-length works and hundreds of short stories, ranging from re-imaginings of ancient myths to subtle commentaries on contemporary Egyptian politics and culture. His most famous work is The Cairo Trilogy (consisting of Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, and Sugar Street), which focuses on a Cairo family through three generations, from 1917 until 1952. In 1988, Mahfouz became the first writer in Arabic to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. He died in August 2006.

BOOKS BY NAGUIB MAHFOUZ

The Beggar, The Thief and the Dogs, Autumn Quail (omnibus edition)