He’d heard the newscaster read it on television while he was sitting in the coffee shop, and felt as if he’d found a light shining out of the gloom. Hammoud picked up the newspaper and opened it to the page with the article, and Shalaby asked him to cut it out for him so that he could keep it. He spread the clipping among his things on the table, careful not to tear or crumple it. Then he took a final gulp of his tea and rushed off back to the queue. Shalaby was still angry with Ines for what she’d said about his cousin Mahfouz; she’d insulted him, and Shalaby had been waiting to get his revenge. Her words hadn’t left his mind, and he gnashed his teeth in anguish as he remembered their conversation. He blamed himself for not giving her the response she deserved, and now he felt as though his words were tainted. Every time he told his story he glanced around, looking for her, afraid she would butt in like last time, ruining it and turning him into the laughingstock of the queue.
