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“You should have left this place and joined me,” said Dimyan, lying. In the last few days he had felt that he no longer knew Alexandria and that she no longer knew him. He had no life away from Magd al-Din, and now he was feeling that he could not stay here.
“Yes, I should’ve joined you,” agreed Magd al-Din.
“Why didn’t you, Sheikh Magd?”
Magd al-Din did not have an answer. He realized that he had almost lost all sense of time, that the world was larger than al-Alamein. He kept staring at the face of Dimyan, who continued talking about Alexandria. When Magd al-Din learned that Dimitri’s house had been destroyed, he felt depressed and was able to recall the smell of the home, that calm, sweet smell that induced sleep and rest, a house where you did not hear the noise outside. That was Khawaga Dimitri’s house. He remembered Bahi and immediately recalled the aura that had surrounded his face for so long. He wondered if Dimyan was going to meet the same fate as Bahi. When Magd al-Din recalled the little house, it brought back all the images that he had lost: Lula, Camilla, Yvo
“I didn’t know they’d canceled civilian trains,” Dimyan said.
“Since the withdrawal they no longer come here. They stop at al-Hammam now.”
“Yes, I took one of them, and at al-Hammam I boarded this train in the rear car. There were no soldiers there — they were on top of the cars and the equipment.”
“Nothing can stop you, Dimyan! Come on, let’s go home.”
In truth Magd al-Din wanted to confirm the aura of light around Dimyan’s face and find out if it appeared in the shade indoors, and whether Dimyan knew about it or understood what it meant. Dimyan was unknowingly joining the ranks of the saints.
On the way Dimyan asked him, “Do you have any information on Brika?”
“All the Bedouin have left this area for al-Hammam or Amiriya.”
By nightfall Dimyan had tired of Magd al-Din’s staring at him, but he considered it to be a new phase that his friend was passing through temporarily. Magd al-Din talked about how they had to stay there until they received instructions to leave. Dimyan asked about the kind of work that they could do now. Magd al-Din said they had to switch the train onto the old tracks and spend the night there to accommodate another train that usually arrived at the station during the night. He said it was an important job that they should not neglect, even though the crossing was now useless and the semaphore irrelevant, since the trains no longer went farther than the station. The aura of light grew brighter in the night. They heard footsteps approaching. They were in the i
He left the tired man with them and went away. The man stood staring at them, then said in a trembling voice, “Don’t you know me, Sheikh Magd? Don’t you know me, Dimyan?”
“Who? Hamza!”
They both shouted and pounced on him, embracing him and lifting him off the ground. In a few moments he was sitting between them crying and laughing and telling his story.
“Where can I begin, Sheikh Magd? What do I say, Dimyan? This story of mine could be the subject of epics recited by professional storytellers! Yes, I swear! Coming back to Egypt was the farthest thing from my thoughts. Where was Egypt? From the moment that stupid African son-of-a-bitch soldier pulled me up, I lost all hope of ever coming back. May God forgive him — I saw his belly blown up before my very eyes. May God forgive him. He took me away from you, from my children, from my people and my country. You all moved away from me. I saw you ru