Nothing was left of the sun but its aurora, and all passersby were home by now, so Qadri, Humam and the sheep had the desert to themselves. The whole day had passed, but they had exchanged only the few words demanded by their working together. And Qadri had gone away for much of the day—seeking out news of Hind, guessed Humam, who stayed alone in the shade of the boulder, not far from the flock.
“Tell me,” Qadri suddenly asked Humam, with a hint of menace, “what are you going to do about the visit to your grandfather? Have you changed your mind?”
“None of your business,” said Humam crossly.
Rage rose up in Qadri’s heart and showed in his face like dusk falling over Muqattam.
“Why did you stay? When will you go? When will you get the nerve to admit what you’re going to do?”
“I stayed to bear my share of the hardship created by your trouble-making.”
Qadri laughed savagely. “That’s what you say to hide your jealousy.”
Humam shook his head as if in utter wonderment, and said, “You deserve pity, not jealousy.”
Qadri moved closer, his limbs trembling with anger, and spoke in a voice choked with rage. “There’s nothing more disgusting than you pretending to be wise.”
Humam stared at him wordlessly but said nothing.
“The human race should be ashamed of having you as a member,” Qadri continued.
Humam gazed unblinkingly into the burning eyes that faced him, and spoke firmly. “You should know that I’m not afraid of you.”
“Has the big bully promised to protect you?”
“Hatred makes you stink—it turns you into a loathsome thing.”
Qadri punched him in the face. The blow did not surprise Humam, who hit him back even harder.
“Don’t be crazy,” said Humam.
Qadri stooped briefly and snatched up a rock, which he then hurled at his brother with all the strength in his body. Humam started to dodge the rock, but it struck him in the forehead. A gasp escaped him and he froze where he stood, fury flashing in his eyes. Abruptly the fury disappeared from them, like a fire put out by heavy soil. A dark vacancy took its place as his eyes seemed to be gazing within him. He staggered, then fell on his face. Qadri’s mood changed. His anger vanished, leaving him like melted iron turned cold, and fear seized him. He waited impatiently for the fallen man to get up or even budge, but in vain. He bent over him and reached out to shake him gently, but Humam did not move. He turned him on his back to clear his nose and mouth of the sand; the other lay still, his eyes staring. Qadri knelt beside him and shook him again, rubbed his chest and hands, staring in terror at the stream of blood gushing from the wound. He called him pleadingly but he did not respond. His silence was intense and profound, as if it were a part of his very being—like his motionlessness, so different from that of a living person or an inanimate object. There was no feeling, no activity, no concern with anything at all; as if he had fallen to the earth from some unknown height for some unknown reason. Qadri recognized death instinctively, and began to pull the hair of his head despairingly. He looked all around, frightened, but there was no living thing except for insects and the sheep, all of whom moved indifferently away from him. Night will come and darkness will reign. He got up decisively and found his staff, and went to a spot between the big boulder and the hill; there he dug a hole with his hands, working doggedly, bathed in sweat and shaking all over. He hurried over to his brother and called him one last time, not expecting a reply. He seized him by the feet, dragged him to the hole and placed him in it. He looked at him, sighed and after a moment’s hesitation began to pile dirt on him. Then he stood and wiped the sweat from his face with the edge of his galabiya. When he saw a stain of blood soaking through the sand, he covered it with dirt; then he flung himself on the ground, exhausted. His strength deserting him, he felt an urge to cry, but the tears would not come. “Death defeated me,” said Qadri. He had not invited it; he had not wanted it; it had come on its own. If only he could turn himself into a young goat—he would get lost among the sheep; or a grain of sand—he would vanish into the earth. Since I cannot bring him back to life, I will never be strong again. That sight will never, ever leave my head from now on! What I buried was neither a living thing nor a lifeless object, but something I made with my own hands.