As the old man started to leave, Anis asked him: 'Amm Abduh, have you ever killed anyone in your life?'
'Oh!'
Anis sighed vexedly. 'Oh, go away,' he said.
He began to pace to and fro to tire himself out. He went out to the balcony and threw himself down on a mattress, but he was so keenly awake that he despaired of sleep. The fact that there was no kif on the houseboat redoubled his anxiety and sense of foreboding. He would have to summon the patience of the stars.
The streetlights went out. Nature took on her true colors. The first glow of dawn came creeping, staining the horizon with a violet that deepened into carnation. Then the gloom retreated, and the acacias were born again. He rose to his feet, at once despairing and defiant. He held his head under the tap for a long time, and then drank a glass of milk, which he did not want, from the refrigerator. Then he made himself some coffee and sipped it. He became sick of the place; he put on his suit and left the houseboat early, to wander in the side streets until it was time to go to the office.
He came out to the street clearheaded for the first time. He felt as far as could be from the laughter, the reveries and apparitions of the pipe. The road stretched out ahead of him, bordered on both sides by tall trees. The tops of the trees bowed to meet one another, like a frown on the edge of his field of vision. For the first time he saw the houseboats; large and small, they were moored all along a shore made pretty by the variety of the gardens on the bank.
It was extraordinary. Each houseboat had its own personality, color, youth — or old age; its own human faces appearing at the windows. And the most astonishing thing, a date palm laden with yellow dates. He would not have believed that there was a single date palm on the bank. There were a great number of trees of different sizes and shapes and blossoms. He did not know their names, or anything about them.
A caravan of camels passed him. There was a man driving them. He wondered where they had come from, and where they were going. An intimation as strong as certainty stole into his mind: that he was sliding into a depression filled with tension and pain. There was a sign over the door of one of the houseboats: 'Furnished Rooms to Let.' So here was an empty flat, and a woman as well, not so old or unattractive either, looking in his direction from the upper floor of the houseboat. Think of all the possibilities awaiting a new, bachelor tenant. But how on earth did the sober man get through the day? There was a tree in his way; the huge, sturdy trunk stopped him short. He looked up at the branches spreading out in the breeze, a huge dome, the top lost in the thin, low clouds of the morning. Then he turned once more to the aged trunk, letting his gaze wander down to the splayed gray roots driving deep into the earth beneath the pavement like talons, as if the tree were in a rigid frenzy of defiance and pain. A patch of bark had been eaten away to reveal pale yellow inner wood, hollowed in the shape of a Gothic arch. Directly in front of him, as tall as he was, it invited him to go in. The great life span of that tree — that one alone — would be enough to convince anyone, even those who did not need to be convinced, that plants were beings with no intelligence. He walked on, examining everything around him, wondering amazed whether the color of existence was red or yellow, and whether the bark of a tree was like a dead man's skin — but when did I see the skin of a dead man? Now he was sure that there was something in his way, challenging, resisting, causing pain. He realized suddenly that he had not shaved. And that when he had been smoking he never forgot to shave. And that made matters even more complicated. A voice asked him the time, but he did not bother to answer it, and paid no attention. He continued sluggishly on, catching sight of a morning newspaper seller, and passing him by.
He had not read a newspaper for a long time; he knew nothing of current events except what he picked up from his friends' delirious commentaries that merged into the endless babble of the smoking party. Who were the ministers? What were the policies? How were things going? But who cares! As long as you can walk along a deserted street without a thug attacking you, as long as Amm Abduh brings you the good stuff every evening, as long as there is plenty of milk in the refrigerator, then things must be going well. As for the agonies of sobriety, car accidents, the cryptic conversations of the night, he still did not know who was responsible for those affairs.
He arrived at the Ministry early. Hardly had he sat down on his wooden chair when he was overcome by an irresistible desire for sleep. He rested his head on the desk and sank into a deep slumber. His colleagues called on him to join in a discussion on the penal code, but he told them that the best thing for the government would be the Ten Commandments, especially those on stealing and adultery. He left the room and went to the village back home, and the boys from his childhood surrounded him and threw dirt at him, and he fell on them with a rock in his hand; but Adila grabbed his hand, saying: I am your wife, don't hit me; and he asked her about their daughter and she said: She's gone before us to Paradise, and walks among the immortals, giving them sweet water to drink, and that made him so happy; and he told her that a long life had ended, and he was trying in vain to remember that, and remember that the way to heaven was bordered with evergreens, and you could not walk along it at night, but a car could go the whole way in seconds which were ghastly with fear; and the person screamed but his voice was trapped in his throat and no one heard him and he flew through the air and landed on the branch of a tree; and he said: It was you! And she said: How did you not know? The night was so pitch-black, he said, I couldn't see a thing; and he talked a great deal to no avail; and she said: Tell me what you want, and he said: I want what I was looking for all over the houseboat — but here it is now coming in the shape of a dark cloud; there will be just one downpour, but it will be enough to slake the thirst of one roasting in torment; and then he stretched out his arm toward her, but he spotted Amm Abduh coming from the far end of the road, running as fast as he could, so he ran too, without stopping or turning around, but all the time he felt that the old man was about to catch him; and he reached the houseboat and rushed up the gangway and locked the door behind him, and found to his astonishment that everyone was there, the brothers laughing together as usual; and he embraced them, unable to believe it, and said to them: I had a terrible dream, and Ragab asked him what he dreamed; and he said: I dreamed that we were all in your car, and you were driving us along madly, and we hit a man and he flew through the air; and they laughed for a long time; and Mustafa said: Arrange the bedclothes properly the next time you go to sleep; and he sighed, and said: Let me smoke; and Samara offered him the water pipe, for she was looking after him now; and he took such a deep drag, it made his head spin, and he began to laugh at her and say: Did we not tell you? And she pushed the pipe away, and stood up and wound a scarf around her hips and began to perform an Egyptian dance; and he called on them to clap their hands, but found none of them there — indeed, there was no one else on the boat apart from the two of them, so he clapped for her on his own, and then he took her in his arms, saying: I've been looking for you everywhere, and I asked Amm Abduh about you; and at that moment there came blows pounding on the door, and Amm Abduh's voice was heard, shouting: Open up! And he dragged her by the hand to the refrigerator and they squeezed themselves into it, then he shut the door, and the pounding became more violent until the whole place began to quake, and the quaking went on until he opened his eyes and saw his colleague shaking him.
'Wake up!'
He rubbed his eyes.
'Go to the Director General,' the colleague said. 'He wants to see you.'
He looked at his watch. It was nearly ten. He staggered to his feet, his heart sinking. He went to the washroom and washed his face, and then he went to the Director General's office, and presented himself to him. The man fixed him with a cold look. 'Sweet dreams,' he said.
Pain and self-disgust prevented Anis from speaking. 'I saw you with my own eyes,' the man continued, 'as I was passing through your department. Sleeping like a baby.'
'I am ill.'
'You should have taken the day off.'
'I did not feel ill until I got to work.'
'The truth is that you are chronically ill. Incurable, in fact.'
Anis was seized by a sudden anger. 'No!' he shouted roughly.
'Are you addressing me in that tone?'
'I said that I am ill! Do not make fun of me!'
'You have gone insane — there's no doubt about that.'
And Anis shouted, in a voice like thunder: 'No!'
'You madman! This is where your addiction has got you!'
'It would be better if you held your tongue!' Anis retorted.
The man leaped to his feet, his face pale. 'You insolent man!' he shouted. 'You evildoer — you drug addict!'
