They’d start out good, with Ali smiling and everybody happy. Then Ali’s face would begin to disintegrate, in the middle of a smile, and the contents of his skull would leak like those of an overripe melon. Or worse would happen. Omar had taken to staying awake, sitting up all night in an old armchair, taking cat naps, trying never to allow himself to become immersed in deep sleep and those horrible dreams. He even eased up on booze and coasted all day on beer, to calm his nerves. With the lack of sleep, he hardly had enough energy to be nervous anyway. He just went from place to place, doing what he had to do, too sick to sorrow, too tired to think. Awad and Zaid came around every day. Sometimes several times. He would bump into them in unexpected places. Sometimes they would greet him and shake hands, as if they were very old friends or even cousins who had not seen each other for a long time. Other times they would pretend not to know him.
