"But the absurd has existed among us in abundance, even before it became an art," said Ragab. "Your colleague Ali al-Sayyid is known for his absurd dreams, and Mustafa Rashid strives after the absurd in its guise of Absolute. And our master of ceremonies here — his whole life, since he cut himself off from the world some twenty years ago, is absurd."
Samara laughed aloud, throwing off her gravity. "I am really a wisewoman, then!" she said. "My heart told me that I would find wonderful and interesting things among you!"
"Was it your heart that told you," wondered Ragab, "or Ali's tattle?"
"He said nothing but good!"
"But our houseboat is not unique, surely?"
"Perhaps not, but the more people there are, the fewer who can live in friendship."
"I never imagined that I would hear a journalist say that!"
"People generally present the same face to us as they do to the camera."
"Have we not met you in a sincere and guileless way?" said Khalid. "When will you give to us in kind?"
She laughed. "Consider that I have. Or give me a little time."
Anis piled the brazier with charcoal and carried it to the threshold of the balcony, where it was exposed to the breeze. He waited. The patches of heat grew gradually larger until the black charcoal had turned a soft, deep, glowing, crumbling red. Dozens of small tongues of flame darted up, branded with evening glow, and began to spread so that they joined into a dancing wave, pure and transparent, crowned at the tips with a spectral blue. Then the charcoal crackled, and swarms of spark clusters flew up. Female voices screamed, and he returned the brazier to its place. He acknowledged to himself his unlimited wonder at fire. It was more beautiful than roses or green grass or violet dawn; how could it conceal within its heart such a great destructive power? If you feel inclined, you should tell them the story of the person who discovered fire. That old friend who had a nose like Ali's, and Ragab's charisma, and the giant stature of Amm Abduh… Where had that curious notion gone? He had been about to toss it into the discussion when he was carrying the brazier out to the balcony…
"I am a lawyer," Mustafa was saying. "And lawyers by their nature think the worst. I can almost imagine what is going through your head about us now!"
"There is nothing like that in my head!"
"Your articles pour forth bitter criticism of nihilism, and we could be considered — in the eyes of some — nihilism itself!"
"No, no," she replied. "One cannot judge people on what they do in their free time."
Ragab laughed. "Better to say "free lifetimes"!"
"Don't remind me that I'm a stranger to you," Samara said to him.
"It is bad manners to talk like this about ourselves!" Ahmad said. "We should really be finding out about you."
"I am not a mystery!" she said.
"The writer's articles can generally be counted on to reveal the writer," said Ali.
"Like your critical pieces, you mean?" asked Mustafa.
The room resounded with laughter. Even Ali laughed for a long time. Finally he said, his face still full of mirth: "I am one of you, O dissolutes of our time, and whoever is like his friends has done no wrong. But unfortunately this girl is sincere."
"Everyone is writing about socialism," remarked Khalid, "while most writers dream of acquiring a fortune, and of nights full of dazzling society."
"Do you discuss these matters a great deal?" Samara asked.
"No, but we are forced to if someone alludes to the way we live."
Anis called Amm Abduh. The huge old man came in and took the pipe out through the side door, and then brought it back after changing the water.
Samara's eyes were drawn to him all the while he was in the room. After he had gone, she murmured: "What a fascinating giant of a man!"
Ali remembered that Amm Abduh was the only person whom he had not introduced to Samara. "He is a giant," he said. "But he hardly utters a word. He does everything, but he rarely speaks. It often seems to us that he lives in an eternal present, but we cannot be sure. The most marvelous thing about him is a that any description you care to give of him proves to be true; he is strong and weak, there and not there; he is the prayer leader at the neighboring mosque and a pimp!"
Samara laughed for a long time. "Honestly," she said, "I adored him at first sight!"
"When will it be our turn!" said Ragab without thinking.
Sana turned her gaze out to the Nile like a fugitive, and he put his arm apologetically around her. Unconnected questions poured into Anis' head. Had this group of friends been gathered before as they were tonight — clad differently — in Roman times? Had they witnessed the burning of Rome? And why had the moon split off from the earth, dragging the mountains behind her? And who was it, in the French Revolution, who had been killed in his bathroom by a beautiful woman? And how many of his contemporaries had died — as a result — of chronic constipation? And how long after the Fall did Adam have his first quarrel with Eve? Did Eve never try to blame him for the tragedy brought about by her own hand?
Layla looked at Samara. "Are you always clearheaded?" she asked her.
"Coffee and cigarettes — nothing else."
"As for us, if ever we heard of a crackdown on drugs, we'd all be at our wits' end," Mustafa remarked.
"Is it that bad!"
Ragab remembered that they had some whiskey with them. She accepted a glass gladly and he rose to fetch it. Then she asked why they were all so attached to the water pipe. No one volunteered a reply — until Ali said: "It's the focal point of our gatherings. None of us is really happy except when we are here."
She nodded, agreeing that it was a very pleasant party. Then Saniya Kamil addressed her. "You can't escape so easily — you have plenty to say that goes right to the heart of the matter!"
"I don't want to repeat clichés. Nor do I want to come across as a piece of bad didactic theater!"
"But we want to know your opinion!" Ahmad protested.
"I expound it week after week," Samara said, and took a sip of her whiskey. "But what do you have to say about it?" she continued.
"Well," began Mustafa, "for the first half of the day we earn our living, and then afterward we all get into a little boat and float off into the blue."
Now, genuinely interested, she asked, "Are you not concerned at all by what goes on around you?"
"We sometimes find it useful, as material for jokes."
She smiled disbelievingly. Mustafa went on: "Perhaps you are saying to yourself, They are Egyptians, they are Arabs, they are human beings, and in addition they are educated, and so there cannot be a limit to their concerns. But the truth is that we are not Egyptian or Arab or human; we belong to nothing and no one — except this houseboat…"
She laughed, as she might at a good joke. Mustafa continued: "As long as the floats are sound, and the ropes and chains strong, and Amm Abduh is awake, and the pipe filled, then we have no concerns."
"Why!" she exclaimed, and then thought for a minute. "No," she amended. "I will not be tempted into the abyss. I will not allow myself to be a moralizing bore."
"Don't take Mustafa too literally," Ali suggested. "We are not as egotistical as he makes out. But we can see that the ship of state sails on without need of our opinion or support; and that any further thinking on our part is worth nothing, and would very likely bring distress and high blood pressure in its wake."
High blood pressure. Like adulterated kif. The medical student turns hypochondriac the moment he enters college. The Director General himself is no worse than the operating room. That first day in the operating room! Like the first death I knew, the death of those most precious to me. This visitor is interesting even before she opens her mouth. She is beautiful. She smells wonderful. And the night is a lie, since it is the negative of day. And when dawn breaks, tongues will be made dumb. But what is it that you have tried in vain to remember all evening?