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 manner, without taking off his beret. Al-Bayya, on the other hand, removed the scarf around his neck and took off his skullcap, revealing a totally bald head that was as red as his face, probably from running for cover. The sound of a distant train was getting nearer, as was the sound of English soldiers singing and Scottish bagpipes. It was impossible for any of the workers to leave the cars where they had taken cover, as the rain was coming down in buckets, soaking the dusty ground in a few seconds. They looked from the doors and windows of the cars at the soldiers, some of whom were also looking at them through the train windows. “They’re getting drunk on the train, I swear,” Hamza said, laughing in amazement. But no one paid any attention to what he was saying as the sky suddenly darkened, then lightning was followed by incessant thunder, and it seemed that the seven heavens were going to come crashing down on the bare ground. The men were afraid and fell silent for a few moments, until al-Bayya said, “It seems the English are planning something, Usta Ghibriyal.”
The latter raised his head from the notebook, stopped writing, and said, “The English are always planning something, Usta Bayya.”
“The English have defeated Graziani and now feel secure,” Hamza blurted out. “What they’re planning now is not to leave Egypt. I hoped Graziani would defeat them, but the idiot let me down, may there be a curse on his house!”
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 annoyance and anger in al-Bayya’s eyes, which were very strange, as they looked at you and past you at the same time. The fact that they were blue helped strengthen that feeling.
“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 Johnny,” “Welcome Indian,” “English good,” “Germany no good.” The laughter of the soldiers could be heard through the open windows and doors. That night the soldiers threw the workers many cans of tuna, corned beef, cheese, and cartons of chocolate, tea, and cookies. The workers were now running back and forth alongside the trains. Magd al-Din was content with what the soldiers threw to him, so he did not run. Neither did Dimyan, who was watching Hamza, whose short stature made him look comical as he approached the steps of the train cars and raised his arm to the soldier standing there, but not quite being able to reach to get the goodies, which forced the soldier to go down one step. Hamza took what he was given, then put it on the ground and quickly moved to follow another car and another soldier. Hamza knew that no one would touch anyone else’s loot and that, had it not been for the dark, they would have divvied it all up equally. Hamza was energetic that evening. Dimyan saw him reach out his hand to an African soldier who suddenly let go of the cookie carton and grabbed Hamza’s hand, and in one quick move lifted him on the steps of the car, then pushed him inside. Dimyan shouted, “Hamza,” but no one heard him. The trains passed, and the workers began to gather their loot, but Hamza’s remained on the ground. “I saw the African soldiers carry Hamza into the car,” Dimyan shouted. The workers laughed and al-Bayya said, “Hamza is an acrobat — he’ll defi-nitely get off the train near the house. Gather his things and take them to his house.” But Dimyan, who had moved closer to Magd al-Din, sensed something else, which Magd al-Din also understood but did not want to believe.