On that long-ago day, the father and his sons came back from battle carrying al-Qasim wrapped in a gallabiya. The mother screamed. Magd al-Din, eleven at the time, sat alone in a corner and cried. Al-Qasim was the kindest of his brothers. He was also the bravest, and his courage was well known in their village and in the neighboring villages.

The Talibs buried their son, the one betrayed by his wife, in the late afternoon, and that night the Khalils buried their son who had been killed. The village slept in silence and terror. The following day no one left home. On the third day people went out after a rumor had spread that the Khalils had accepted God’s judgment, that their dandy son had caused the eldest Talib son to die of grief, and for this the Talibs had killed the eldest son of the Khalils. Everyone was even and no one owed anyone anything. By week’s end, though, one of the Talib sons was found killed outside the village. All attempts by the mayor, the county, and the governorate to reconcile the two families failed. No one accused anyone of murder. Everyone knew how it would happen: an eye for an eye, until the two families were extinct. It was no longer surprising for people to know which family harbored the next victim; the game was precise, no matter how much time passed between one victim and the next. Whenever another was killed, the people of the village shunned Bahi even more. It was he who had caused the conflagration of this quiet village that knew of vendettas only from old tales about old times, which no one alive had witnessed. Bahi wished one of the Talibs would kill him, but they paid no attention to him. They humiliated him. They did not kill him because they did not deem him worth it, and he knew it. That was why he frequently left the village and stayed for days on end in Tanta or Kafr al-Zayyat. Abd al-Ghani’s widow took to singing at the edges of the fields and walking along the irrigation canal outside the village. If she entered the village by mistake, the children chased her away with stones and chanted, “Bahiya loves Bahi.” That was what they called her now; her real name was Wagida. Bahi often heard the children and wished that one morning they would find Wagida — or Bahiya, as they called her— dead. But that did not happen, just as the Talibs did not kill him. They had killed five of his brothers, just as his brothers had killed five of them. The children eventually grew tired of chanting whenever they saw Wagida, so she started coming into the village, and the women opened their doors to her and offered her food and drink and followed her in pity as she walked through the village singing sweetly. Britain had declared Egypt a protectorate, and people began to see troop trains pass by the village and told strange stories about them. The county and governorate police forces went into the villages to pick out the best men and send them to fight in faraway lands. People forgot Bahi’s story, and the vendetta between the two families abated. People were now more interested in the stories about the “Authority” and what it was doing to the peasants and in stories about the finest young men, the flower of youth, who had disappeared ¡n mysterious circumstances, as well as the heroes who had come back from the war and those who had not. They wondered how Britain could have defeated Germany, and resigned themselves to God’s will, which had not granted Wilhelm II victory, so that the pestilence of British occupation was not lifted from Egypt. Gradually the stories of the war also began to fade from memory, as did Saad Zaghlou’s revolution after the war. The village, however, remembered its martyrs in the revolution and the war before it, and her lost children. Among them was Bahi, who had disappeared during the war years and had not returned.

The train was leaving another station as the conductor scrutinized the tickets of the well-dressed man and his children. Magd al-Din opened the Quran at random, and his gaze fell on the seventh sura, “The Heights.”

Out of the blue, Zahra asked him, “Why did they do that to us, Sheikh Magd?”

There were many verses preceding the point at which he had opened the book, and he did not think to read the chapter from the beginning. His voice rose a little, heedless of those around him, “Moses said to his people: ‘Seek God’s help and be patient, for the earth belongs to God to give as a heritage to such of His servants as He pleases, and the end will be in favor of those who fear him.’”

“Almighty God has spoken the truth,” he murmured to himself and closed his eyes and the Quran.

He began to recite from memory in no particular order, “And as the unbelievers plotted against you to keep you in bonds or kill you or get you out. They plot and plan but the best of planners is God. Say: ‘Nothing will befall us except what God has decreed for us. He is our Protector… ’ And in God let the believers put their trust… The likeness of this present life is as the rain, which We send down from the sky. By its mingling arises the produce of the earth, which provides food for humans and animals until the earth is clad in its golden ornaments and decked out, and the people to whom it belongs think they have all power over it, our command reaches it by night or by day and we make it like a harvest, clean-mown as if it had not flourished only the day before! Thus do We explain the signs in detail to those who reflect… For to anything which We have willed, We but say ‘Be’ and it is. To those who have left their homes in the cause of God, after suffering oppression, We will assuredly give a goodly home in this world. But truly the reward of the Hereafter will be greater if they only realized it. They are the ones who have persevered in patience and put their trust in their Lord… Do not say of anything: 7 am going to do that tomorrow, ‘without adding, ‘God willing.’“

His voice was rising gradually, until it almost filled the whole car. “And call your Lord to mind if you forget,” he continued. “I hope my Lord will guide me closer to the right road…And if you punish, then punish with the like of that which was done to you. But if you endure patiently, that is indeed best for those who are patient. So give glory to God night and day and give praise to Him in heaven and earth all day long. “

The short man turned to his friend and whispered, “That man is reading, but the Quran in his hand is closed. He is reciting loudly and seems not to be paying attention to what he is reciting. He must be truly troubled.”

“You will see a lot more than that if the war goes on for a long time.”

The short man, surprised at his friend’s comment, said nothing and thought instead of the reception Alexandria was going to give them at night.

King Farouk performed the Friday prayers at the Mosque of Mustafa Odeh Pasha in Fattuh Street in Gumruk — as the morning papers announced. The king was welcomed by the prime minister, Ali Mahir Pasha, Abd al-Rahman Azzam Pasha, His Eminence Sheikh Muhammad Mustafa al-Maraghi and, of course, the mayor of the city. After prayers the king returned to the Muntaza Palace, as happened after every prayer. The morning newspapers also announced that the number of newborn babies this week was 520 for natives and 25 for foreigners. As for deaths, there were 100 for natives and one for foreigners. Causes of death for Alexandrians were old age, scarlet fever, meningitis, malaria, and pulmonary tuberculosis for adults; and for children and infants they were dysentery, whooping cough, and tetanus. The only foreigner who had died was a Greek, killed by a drunken Cypriot.