“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, Yvonne, Sitt Maryam, Ghaffara, Bahi, and Zahra, the love of his soul, who must be withering away in the village grieving over their separation. He felt a sudden jolt of joy that almost lifted him off his feet when he remembered Shawqiya and Shawqi. That meant that he would soon return, a secret magical voice in his heart told him.
“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 inner room, but the outside door was open. The footsteps grew louder and were now at the door, then in the hall, then they saw the two of them standing in front of them. It was the English officer, Mr. Spike, in person, after a long absence. Next to him was a short man with disheveled hair and a long beard that covered his whole face; his face was dusty and looked extremely tired, his khaki shorts and shirt tattered and the legs tanned black. Mr. Spike stood staring at Dimyan and Magd al-Din then said, “This man is Egyptian. We found him in the desert. Please help him.”
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 running backwards as the dust blinded me, and I couldn’t see anyone any more. I found myself in Marsa Matruh. I spent a whole night in the train, with the soldiers mocking me and making fun of me. They didn’t give me a chance to get near the door. I would have jumped, I swear, even if it meant I’d die. All night they mocked me, Australians, Indians, Africans, and Englishmen, the whole world was mocking me, and I was lost in their midst. They asked me what my name was. ‘What’s your name?’ I said, ‘Hamza,’ and they said ‘hamsa,’ ‘amsa,’ ‘gamza,’ and they laughed and tossed me around from one to another, and I was frightened as a mouse, looking them in the eye and begging them, ‘Please help me, please let me go home.’ But it was no use. I wish I hadn’t known a word of English or had just shut up, but I did know some. I asked and persisted that they let me go. I knew they understood, but they didn’t care and didn’t move. It hurt. If I had been mute or ignorant I would have waited in silence, but I got down on my knees and begged them. ‘Please let me go back, let me go home, please, my home, home.’ And they laughed and said, ‘Home? What’s home? We are homeless. You’re like us, homeless, Hamsa,’ and they laughed, ‘Hamsa is homeless,’ and kept on laughing until a young officer, who apparently liked my helplessness and my fright, patted me on the shoulder to reassure me. Then he talked with the soldiers, and they laughed even more boisterously. I realized that he wasn’t going to help me either, but he pointed to a corner of the train car, and I went and sat there. I put my hand on my cheek and realized I was a goner, no doubt about it. I heard the officer say as he pointed as me, ‘Like a monkey!’ and the soldiers laughed, and I just gave up all hope. I remembered you, Sheikh Magd, and you, Dimyan. But strangely, I was afraid that if I came back and told my story that you, Dimyan, would not believe me, and that made me smile, despite the ordeal, and I said to myself, ‘If only I could go back. I wouldn’t care whether anybody believed me or not.’ Then, like Sheikh Magd, I said to myself, ‘May He who never sleeps take care of me!’ And He did. Praise the Lord, but He really took His time! It must have been a test, surely, but a hard one. ‘Anyway, praise the Lord for everything,’ I said to myself and fell asleep where I was, and when I woke up I found myself in Marsa Matruh in the middle of a heavy raid on the town, the station, and the train. I saw soldiers running in the desert, and sometimes I was ahead of them and at other times behind them. I saw a bomb falling near that stupid African soldier who had abducted me, and I saw him fly more than ten meters in the air, then land with his belly torn wide open, and blood gushing from it. I saw his stomach and his guts. I went close to him and saw that he was still alive but not in pain, but he looked hard at me as if he felt I was gloating over his misfortune and didn’t want to appear weak in front of me. But really, I pitied him. He just turned once and groaned, then gave up the ghost, and I covered him with sand, right there in the middle of the bombing, I swear I did. Anyway the raid ended, and we were back in the middle of the barracks, I stood there, at a loss for what to do. I expected them to let me go, but they pushed me toward the kitchen. I saw the same officer that was on the train and heard him say to a black soldier, ‘Take him to the kitchen. He’s a servant.’ The black soldier with white teeth dragged me over and asked me what my name was, and when I told him, he said, ‘What is Hamsa?’ And I said to myself, ‘My God! Must a man know the meaning of his name?’ And I told him, ‘Jackass,’ but I said it in Arabic, just ‘Humar,’ so he asked me, ‘What’s humar?’ I said ‘Hamza,’ and he looked at me for a time in silence, then said, ‘Very good, Hamsa.’