The policeman whispered, "God willing".
He sighed profoundly and felt like crying. It seemed he had been born anew. With his left hand he lifted the bottom of his cloak and tucked it into the belt of his caftan so it would not impede his work. He took the basket to the sidewalk where dirt was piled. Putting the basket at his feet he filled his hands with dirt and emptied them into the basket. When it was full, he carried it to the hole and threw the dirt in before returning to the sidewalk. He kept on with this, surrounded by groups of men, both old and young, some in modern dress and others wearing traditional turbans. They all worked with a high degree of energy stemming from their desire to live.
He was refilling his basket when an elbow nudged him. He turned to see who it was and recognized a friend named Ghunaym Hamidu, the owner of an olive-oil-pressing firm in al-Gamaliya and a guest at some of al-Sayyid Ahmad’s parties. They were delighted to see each other and soon were whispering together.
"So you got caught too!"
"Before you. I arrived a little before midnight. I saw you getting your basket, so as I went back and forth with my basket I began to follow a path that would gradually bring me over to you".
"Welcome… welcome. Aren't any more of our friends here?"
"You're the only one I've found".
"The policeman told me they'll let us go when we finish the work".
"I was told that too. May our Lord hear us".
"They've ruined my knees, may God destroy their homes".
"So far as I can tell, I don't even have knees anymore".
They exchanged a quick smile. "How did this pit get here?"
"I was told that a bunch of the boys from al-Husayn dug it at the beginning of the night to prevent the trucks from coming through here. They also say a truck fell in".
"If that’s true, then you can say goodbye to us".
The second time they worked beside each other at the dirt pile they were somewhat more resigned to their situation. Their spirits had revived and they could not keep themselves from smiling as they filled their baskets with dirt like construction workers.
Ghunaym whispered, "May God and His blessings repay us for these sons of bitches".
Al-Sayyid Ahmad smiled and whispered back, "I hope they're going to pay us the normal wage".
"Where did they catch you?"
"In front of my house".
"It figures".
"What about you?"
"I had taken some dope, but I got over it fast. The English are stronger than cocaine".
"They're even more effective than throwing up".
By the light of the torches the men went back and forth quickly between the sidewalk with the dirt and the ditch. They stirred up the dust until it spread throughout the vaulted area of the gate, filling the air. They had trouble breathing. Sweat poured from their brows and plastered their faces with mud. They were coughing from inhaling the dust. They looked like ghosts brought to light when the hole gaped open.
In any case, he was no longer alone. There was this friend and the other men from his district. Even the Egyptian policemen were with them in their hearts. The fact that they had been stripped of their weapons was evidence of that. They no longer had swords in metal scabbards dangling from their belts.
"Be patient," he advised himself. "Be patient. Perhaps this suffering will pass. Did you think you'd work until morning or even almost till noon? Buck up. You won't always be carrying dirt and exploited to fill the hole… The hole refuses to fill up… There’s nothing to be gained from complaining. To whom would you complain? Your body’s powerful and strong and can take it, despite being impaired by the evening’s inebriation. What time is it? It wouldn't be prudent to check now. If this had not happened to me, I'd be stretched out in bed enjoying a sound sleep. I would be able to wash my head and face and get a refreshing drink flavored with orange blossoms from the water jug. Congratulations to us for this participation in the hell of the revolution. Why not? The country is in revolt every day. Every hour there are casualties and martyrs. Reading the papers and passing on news is one thing, but carrying dirt at gunpoint is something else. Congratulations to all of you asleep in your beds. O God, preserve us… I'm not meant for this… not meant for this. God vanquish those who doubt Your power. We are weak… I'm not meant for this.
"Does Fahmy realize the dangers threatening him? He’s reviewing his lessons now, unaware of what is happening to his father. He said no to me for the first time in his life. He said it with tears in his eyes, but it means the same thing. I didn't tell his mother and I won't. Should I reveal my lack of power to her? Should I seek help from her weakness after my power has failed? Certainly not… Let her remain ignorant of the whole affair. He says he’s not exposing himself to any danger. Really? God, hear my prayer. If it had not been for that, I wouldn't have been so easy on him. God preserve him. God preserve all of us from the evil of these days. What time is it now? Once it’s morning, we'll be safe. They won't kill us in front of the people".
"I spat on the ground to clear the dust from my throat," his friend remarked, "and one of the policemen shot me a look that made my hair stand on end".
"Don't spit. Do like me. I've swallowed enough dirt to fill this hole".
"Perhaps Zubayda cursed you?"
"Perhaps".
"Wasn't filling her hole better than filling this one?"
"It was even more strenuous!"
They smiled quickly at each other. Then Ghunaym said with a sigh, "God help me, my back’s broken".
"Me too. Our only consolation is that we're sharing some of the pains of the freedom fighters".
"What do you think? Should I throw my basket in the soldiers' faces and cry out at the top of my lungs, 'Long live Sa'd'?"
"Has the dope started working again?"
"What a loss!.. It was a piece the size of the pupil of your eye. I stirred it in my tea three times. Afterward I went to al-Tambakshiya to listen to Shaykh Ali Mahmud recite poetry in the home of al-Hamzawi. On my way back, shortly before midnight, I was telling myself, 'Your old lady’s waiting for you now. There’s nothing to be gained from disappointing her.' Then that monkey popped up and drove me along in front of him".
"May our Lord compensate you".
"Amen".
Soldiers brought in more men, some from al-Husayn and others from al-Nahhasin, who were quickly incorporated into the work force. Al-Sayyid Ahmad looked around. The place was almost packed full of people. They spread out around the trench in every direction, going between the sidewalk and the hole without taking a break, their panting faces illuminated by light from the torches. They looked thoroughly exhausted, humiliated, and afraid. There was blessed safety in numbers. "They won't slaughter this swarm of people," he reflected. "They wouldn't take the innocent along with the guilty. Where do you suppose the guilty ones are? Where are those brave young men? Do they know their brothers have fallen in the hole they dug? May God destroy them. Did they think that digging a hole would bring Sa'd back or drive the English out of Egypt? I'll certainly abandon my nightlife if God grants me a new lease on life. Abandon my nightlife? It’s no longer safe to go out at night. Will life retain any savor? Life loses its savor in the shadow of the revolution. Revolution… in other words, a soldier takes you captive, you carry dirt in your hands, Fahmy says no to you. No! When will the world return to normal? A headache?… Yes, a headache and I want to throw up too. A few minutes to rest. I don't want anything more than that. Maryam’s mother, Bahija, is sound asleep. Amina’s waiting for me like Ghunaym’s "old lady". There’s no way you could imagine what’s happened to your father. O Lord, the dust’s filling my nose and eyes. O Master Husayn… Fill, fill… isn't all this enough dirt for you? O grandson of the Messenger of God, Husayn… The Battle of the Trench, that’s what the revered preacher called it. The Prophet Muhammad, God’s peace and blessings on him, fought a Battle of the Trench and worked alongside the other men, digging the dirt out with his own hands. His enemies were pagans back then. Why are the pagans winning today? It’s a corrupt age… The times are corrupt. I'm corrupt. Will they remain camped in front of my house until the revolution’s over?"