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Other workers were quite content with the area, which resembled paradise in its expansivcness and seclusion. No matter how tiring the work was, all it took was a few moments of rest, in which they would stretch out and take in the mysterious expanse, for them to forget everything: the world beyond, which might actually be better, or their homes and families. The passing trains loaded with soldiers and weapons and other things looked as if they had descended from the sky and were going back there. The moments of excitement and talk about soldiers and receiving their gifts soon gave way, vanishing into another imperceptible world and time, far more mysterious than either. All their thoughts of the world were centered on the vast open space, which gave them an exhilarating sense of eternal contentment.
The black clouds, low and heavy like German planes when they attacked the city at night, approached. The weary sun moved and hid behind the massive black clouds, promising rain. One moment later the downpour began, and everyone left everything and hurried to the cars. Merely seeking shelter beside one of the cars would do no good, for the rain did not come from any one direction, so groups of workers looked for empty, closed cars. Dimyan said to himself, “Have I really become that close with Mari Girgis?” His eyes welled up with tears as he felt serenity flowing into his soul. Did the Lord really love him that much? Dimyan got into a nearby caboose, where he found al-Bayya, Hamza, Usta Ghibriyal, Magd al-Din, and a number of other workers. Ghibriyal immediately sat down on a side seat, took out his notebook and indelible pencil from his upper pocket, and began writing in his elegant ma
The latter raised his head from the notebook, stopped writing, and said, “The English are always pla
“The English have defeated Graziani and now feel secure,” Hamza blurted out. “What they’re pla
Al-Bayya looked askance at him and said, “So, you prefer Italy to England, Tumbler?”
Dimyan and the other workers laughed at ‘Tumbler,’ which al-Bayya was the only one to use, but which fit Hamza. Magd al-Din, who had taken out his Quran and was reading silently, smiled and noticed a
“Why don’t you answer? Talk to me,” persisted al-Bayya.
The dark outside was compounded by a dust storm, even as the rain kept pouring down. Pebbles and flying sand were now audibly hitting the sides of the caboose. Magd al-Din hurried to close the windows, but the wind carried the dust through the open doors.
“I knew from the first that this was a black and dusty day,” coughed Hamza.
Everyone, including al-Bayya laughed. Magd al-Din, no longer able to read, put the Quran back in his pocket. He remembered Zahra, whose time was approaching. Will God give him a son this time? He decided that she would give birth in the village even if he did not go with her. He could not bear to be separated from her now, but he would be able to bear it when the time drew nearer.
Everyone fell silent, and eventually al-Bayya said, “I was hoping Graziani would win, too, Hamza. I hate Churchill.”
They had forgotten the conversation that had taken place earlier, and now al-Bayya brought them back to it.
“I hate him, too, Churchill,” Hamza said cheerfully, no longer afraid of al-Bayya. “I know that you met him, Usta, when he visited Egypt in ’36. I met him, too, but I didn’t like what he had to say. He’s full of hot air. He fooled Nahhas Pasha and made him sign a meaningless treaty.”
An ominous silence descended upon everyone, for what Hamza was saying was total rubbish, but they were surprised to hear al-Bayya say, “You’re right, Tumbler.”
Dimyan could not hold back his laughter, and everyone joined in except Usta Ghibriyal, who smiled to himself, as did Magd al-Din.
“Do you remember, Usta Bayya,” Hamza went on, “what the poet Bayram al-Tunsi said about Churchill and Nahhas in ’36? ‘If Chamberlain’s a greedy man who wants to pull a fast one on Tharwat, he’ll be lost. Let His Excellency know that we’ll make trouble — we’ve got nothing else to do.’“
Everyone looked around in disbelief, wanting to laugh but unable to. Exasperated and barely suppressing his laughter, Dimyan burst out, “What Chamberlain and what Tharwat balderdash, man? That was way back when we were kids. What does Chamberlain have to do with Churchill or Tharwat with Nahhas?”
Hamza did not reply, did not even bother to look at him, but rather looked at al-Bayya with humility in his eyes. Everyone waited for al-Bayya’s response. He calmly said, “Everything you say is right, Tumbler. Those were the days.”
Nothing was heard after that except the thunder and the downpour, which continued until the evening. The rain stopped then, as if to give them an opportunity to go home. They came out of the cars like little chicks shivering with cold. They decided to leave everything in place until the morning, but two long trains filled with white, black, and Indian soldiers appeared, moving slowly one after the other. As usual the workers lined up on both sides, and the usual voices were heard: “Welcome Joh