Al-Hilaly turns to us for a response, but I anticipate him and raise my glass. “A toast to the absent playwright.”

A surge of acclaim turns into a riot of drinking at the theater’s expense. I revel in scandals recalled about every man and woman present. Why were we the only ones imprisoned? Friends, libertines—drink a toast to me! I am your true symbol!

When we return to the old house, it is dawn and we have no wish to sleep. I light the charcoal in the heater in the hall, where the tiles are covered by an old Assiut rug, and Halima and I sit down, as if, in spite of our mutual aversion, we want to be together for a while. Which of us will start the conversation? How very difficult it is for us to talk to each other. We are always on guard.

“Did you like the play?” I ask.

“Very much. Very much.”

“And the subject?”

“What a silly question from someone who’s spent a lifetime in the theater!”

“Why do we always deceive ourselves? There’s no doubt about what he intended.”

“I won’t accept this silly way of thinking!”

“It was even more true than the real facts.”

“There’s no connection between the way I appear in that play and the real facts.” I can’t help chuckling at that, which annoys her. “It’s just a fantasy.”

“All of them just as we know them in real life?”

“An author is free to do as he likes, to keep some characters as they are in real life and change others, as he wishes. There were completely new elements in the plot.”

“Why did he portray you as he did?”

“That’s his business.”

“I thought he loved and respected you!”

“There’s no doubt about that.”

“You give yourself away with that bitchy look of yours!”

“I know I’m right.”

“Even Tariq!” I say with contempt. “I never imagined you’d sink to such depths.”

“Spare me your filthy thoughts.”

“If it hadn’t been for your fun and games on the side we’d have made a lot more money.”

“What about you? The fact is that he shows you much better than you really are, which proves that he really was using his imagination.” I laugh so loudly that she says, “Quiet! People returning from dawn prayer will hear you.”

“So what? That strange boy of yours. He threw us into prison.”

“How can you expect anyone to lead a decent life? You don’t follow any rules but your own.”

“But he claimed to be so perfect. That’s what gave me a pain in the neck!”

“He’s a wonderful boy. A well-known playwright. My son.” Outwardly, at least, she’s pleased with things.

“What I admire is his brutality!”

“When he comes back I’m going to leave this damn house and live with him.”