“They’ll come every night. We won’t have to worry about being poor anymore.”

She gave me a look that boded ill, so I said, “Al-Hilaly, al-Agrudy, Shalaby, Ismail. You know. But we have to organize something that will keep them coming.”

“That’s a dangerous game.”

“But it’s a very shrewd one. The profits will be incredible.”

“Isn’t it enough for us that Tariq and Tahiya are staying here? We’re sinking to the lowest depths.”

“We are rising to new heights. You and your son can both shut up.”

“My son’s an angel. He’s the one I’m worried about.”

“Just let him try defying his father, damn him. You’re ruining him with your silly ideas.”

She gave in, but with resentment. She’d forgotten her wedding night. It’s strange: people always yearn to be free of government regulations, but they’re delighted to load shackles on themselves.

Here she is returning from her mission. Except for her services in the house, I’d have wished she’d never come back. There’s disappointment in her face and I don’t ask her any questions, ignoring her until finally she sighs, “His apartment is still locked up.” I’m glad to have a customer. It’s an excuse to avoid her. When he’s gone, she hisses at me, “Do something.”

My mind isn’t with her: it’s busy pondering how the government could throw us into prison for doing what it practices itself quite openly. Don’t they operate gambling houses? Don’t they promote brothels for their guests? I’m full of admiration for them. It isn’t operations like that that drive me to rebel. It’s the hypocritical injustice.

“Go and see al-Hilaly again,” the woman says in a louder voice.

“Go yourself!” I say sarcastically. “You know him better than I do.”

“God have mercy on your mother!” she says, stung to fury.

“At least she wasn’t a hypocrite like you.”

Then she sighs, “You don’t love your son. You never loved him.”

“I don’t like hypocrites. But then, again, I don’t deny he helped us.”

She turns her back on me, muttering, “Where are you, Abbas?”

Where’s Sirhan al-Hilaly? He’d gone out and hadn’t come back. He was hardly likely to have gone to sleep in the bathroom. Meanwhile the gambling was still going on, and I was raking my percentage of the winnings after every round. Wasn’t it time for Halima to serve drinks? Where was she? “Where’s our producer?” I asked.

Everyone was busy with his cards and no one answered me. Was Tariq giving me a funny look? Halima should bring the drinks. “Halima!”

No answer. I couldn’t leave my place or I’d be robbed. “Halima!” I shouted at the top of my voice. A little while later she appeared.

“Where were you?”

“I fell asleep.”