The Dreams

Dream 170

I restored the old home in which I was born, and when the workers were finished, I went to it and inspected its rooms, marshalling my memories.

I went out onto the balcony. Through the gaps in its latticed windows, I saw Bayt al-Qadi Square, with the Gamaliya Police Station and all else that belonged to it — the public water faucet and the Pasha’s Beard trees.

At that moment, I heard a commotion inside — and saw my childhood companions, whom God had taken away, running toward me joyfully. Afterward, they sang the patriotic hymns of our youth, when an officer accompanied by soldiers broke into the house.

All went silent as the man asked me about who had been singing. I said there was no one there but me. So they searched the house, before taking me to the station — where I was accused of concealing wanted criminals and of incitement to overthrow the ruling regime.

Later, the lawyer told me, “Don’t worry: they haven’t a single thing on you.”

But I was far from reassured.