Adrift on the Nile

"The comedy of comedies!"

The water pipe circulated without ceasing. They were silent, to collect their scattered thoughts. There were no more accusations to make. History? The future? It was all nothing. Neither more nor less. Zero. Miracle of miracles. The unknown was revealed in the moonlight. Amm Abduh's voice came from outside, as he chanted words that no one could make out. Somebody laughed; and somebody else said that it was amazing how quickly the time had passed. They could hear the waves lapping against the bottom of the boat. Yes indeed, the part played by the moon in all this . . . And the part played by the ox, blindfolded at the waterwheel. One day the sheikh said to me: "You love aggression, and God does not love aggressors," as the blood poured from my nose. Or perhaps the sheikh had said that to the other man, and perhaps the blood had been pouring from his nose. How can you trust in anything after that? And then the same voice said: "Amazing how quickly the time has passed."

Ahmad sighed. "Time to go," he said.

That is the death knell of our evenings. An indolent activity spread among them, and then Ahmad and Mustafa left, followed by Khalid and Layla. Ali and Saniya, however, slipped into the bedroom overlooking the garden. Amm Abduh came to tidy up the room, and Anis complained to him about the quality of the tobacco. The old man replied that there was nothing except bad tobacco on the market.

A sneeze came from the balcony. Anis suddenly remembered Sana. He crawled out to the balcony on all fours. Then he leaned against the rail, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Beautiful evening," he murmured. The moonlight had retreated from the balcony to the other side of the boat, toward the road, drawing its glittering carpet behind it.

"Do you think he will come back?" she asked.

"Who?"

"Ragab!"

"How miserable it is, to be asked a question one cannot answer!"

"He said that he might come back at the end of the evening."

"Might."

"Am I annoying you?"

"Of course not!"

"Do you think I should wait?"

Anis gave a light laugh. "People have been waiting for their saviors for a thousand years."

"Are you laughing at me, like them?"

"Nobody is laughing at you. It's just their way of talking."

"In any case, you're the nicest."

"Me!"

"You don't say evil things."

"That is because I am dumb."

"And we have something in common."

"What is that?"

"Loneliness."

"You're never alone when you smoke."

"Why don't you flirt with me a bit?"

"The real smoker is self-sufficient."

"How about a little trip on the river in a sailing boat?"

"My legs can hardly carry me."

She sighed. "There's nothing for it. I shall have to leave. There is no one to take me down to the square."

"Amm Abduh will take anyone who has no one to go with."

In the breeze, the moist breaths of the night; and from behind the locked door of the bedroom, chuckles of laughter. The sky was completely clear, studded with thousands of stars. In the middle of the sky he saw a smiling face, the features obliterated. He began to feel as he had only ever felt when he set the world record at the Olympics. The time had gone so amazingly fast that the true tragedy of the battle appeared now before his eyes. The Persian King Cambyses sat on the dais, his victorious army behind him. On his right, his conquering generals; on his left the Pharaoh, sitting bowed in defeat. The prisoners of war from the Egyptian army were passing before the victorious Cambyses when suddenly the Pharaoh burst into tears. Cambyses turned toward him, asking what it was that made him weep. The Pharaoh pointed to a man walking, head bent, among the captives.

"That man!" he said. "I knew him so long in his glory, it pains me to see him bound in chains!"

9

Everything has been prepared for the evening, and now Amm Abduh is giving the call to the sunset prayer. But there is a heavy trial ahead, of waiting; waiting for the enchanted cup of coffee to work its magic. Waiting is a tense feeling of sleeplessness, and there is no cure for it except the balm of eternity. Until then the Nile will not ease you, nor the flocks of white doves; and with an anxious eye you picture your companions of the evening disperse as you picture all endings. The moon, appearing over the acacias, only serves to reinforce this melancholy instead of soothing it away; and as long as that is so, even good actions are succeeded by regret, and the heart is oppressed by any wisdom save that which sounds the death of all wisdoms. Let pains retreat before the magic, never to return. When we emigrate to the moon, we will be the first settlers ever to run from Nothingness to Nothingness. Pity the web of the spider who sang one evening in the village, in time to the croaking frogs. Just before sleeping this afternoon you heard Napoleon, accusing the English of killing him by slow poison. But the English are not the only ones who kill by slow poison . . .